Last Gas Station In America

The prompt for the Chatham Writers Group for Monday was the Edward Hopper painting titled “Gas”. My fiction story follows.

End of the Line

The whitewashed building and red gas pumps of Mal’s Derby Line Mobil station stood in sharp contrast to the deep green pine trees that rose behind it.  The last rays of the setting sun lent a golden hue to the dry grass that bracketed the Derby Line Road.  The black top road melded into the darkness of the dense pines so much that it appeared to end just past the station.  In fact, the road continued East for 100 yards before making a sharp left turn and crossed into Canada.  

It had been over an hour since the last car had stopped to fill its tank at the station so Mal Devine decided to close for the day.  He folded and stowed away the cheeky sandwich board sign that warned drivers “Last gas station in America”, locked the gas pumps and was preparing to move the cans of Mobiloil into the service bay when his peripheral vision caught movement inside the sales office near the cash register.  Startled, he blinked several times to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks.  No, there was movement in the office!  Shadows near the register for sure.  His mechanic had left right after the last customer stop, there shouldn’t be anyone else but him at the station!

Pretending to have not seen anything, Mal planned to slip into the office after securing the oil display cart.  However, the moment he entered the service bay, a voice behind him said, “Don’t do anything to make me hurt you Mr. Devine, but I need all your cash and I need it now!”

Mal’s brow furrowed; he recognized the voice.  He put up his hands.  “I won’t do anything rash. I am going to turn around, if it’s okay.”

“Real slow, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.  Please, just give me your cash, Mr. Devine. And I’ll be on my way.”

Doing as he was told; he came face to face with the robber, who’s partially raised arm brandished a tire iron.

“Teddy Dobbs, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?”  

Teddy stepped towards Mal, grabbed him by his necktie and snarled, “I don’t have time to talk.  Last time, give me your cash or I’ll lay into you with this iron!”

“Okay,” gasped Mal, “but I can’t get the money if you hurt me.  And you’re choking me.”

Teddy loosened his grip somewhat, “You were always kind to me.  But I gotta get out of Derby Line and fast.  I did something bad, really bad. I don’t have time for chit chat!”

“Alright. I already closed the register for the day, the money is in the safe.  But, Teddy, it’s not much.”

Teddy followed Mal into his office.  Surprisingly, it was neatly arranged.  Not something you would expect t see in a gas station.  There were shelves on one wall of the office with various trophies and photos of little league baseball teams.  Teddy coughed to cover a gasp when he spotted a photo of him standing between his two coaches.  One coach was his dad. The other was Mr. Devine.

Mal hunched over to work the combination to the safe, but Teddy stopped him.  “Get in your chair and tell me the combination.  I don’t want to chance you havin’ a gun in there.”

“Okay, whatever you want, but there is no gun in the safe.  Can I ask you what you did that was so bad?”

“My Dad stole all my money.  I had saved up $1200.  He gambled and drank it away at the casino in Stanstead.”

 “Did you hurt your father, Teddy?”

“What? No! He’s my dad!  I’m really mad at him, but he hasn’t been the same since my mom died.  He’s lost one job after another because of his drinking.  I have to work instead.  I worked 3 jobs, two shifts and on weekends.  I take care of the bills and food and whatnot.  But I also saved for myself because I gotta get out of here.  This is no life for me here Mr. Devine.”

“How did your dad get your money?”

“He forged my name on a withdrawal slip.”

“How’d you know he lost it gambling?”

“My dad told me he lost it, claimed he was cheated by Mayor Trent!  Of all people.  I went to see if I could get the money back.  I tried to reason with the Mayor, and I didn’t mention cheating.  He got in my face, called my dad a drunk and said we were all low-lifes.  Then he jammed his finger in my chest.  I saw red, Mr. Devine.  I hit Mayor Trent hard, and a lot.”

Teddy opened the safe and pulled out a brown bank envelope.  It contained $40 in small bills and change.  “I’ll take what’s in your wallet too.” 

“No…”, was all Mal was able to say, then his world turned dark.  

Somebody was calling to Mal, from far away, a vaguely familiar voice. He thought it was coming from the forest.  Then he heard the melodic sound of his wife’s voice calling him.  He smiled.  The pungent smell of ammonia made him gasp and his eyes flew open.  His head ached and his jaw felt like wet sand.  “Oh, Mal! Thank God!” His wife cried out from somewhere behind him.  

“Welcome back Mal,” a smiling Doc Blanchard hovered over his face, waving a smelling salts pack.

The stern visage of a Vermont State Trooper leaned in next to the Doc and in a soft voice asked, “Can you tell us what happened Mr. Devine?  Do you know who hit and robbed you?”

He tried to speak, needle points of pain in his jaw made him wince.  “No. Wearing mask,” he mumbled.  

The State Trooper sighed.  His wife sobbed, “Oh Mal.”

Ernie Stricsek

The Chatham Writers Group

June 12, 2023