From Robinson Crusoe

The headlights were steady but not bright enough, and there were some water stains on the windshield.

The roar of the engine, the shaking of the car body, and the groans of various old and dilapidated parts made one drowsy.

Damon's pickup truck wasn't new.

In fact, it might not be much younger than Damon's son—

Although the United States had already started producing pickup trucks in 1940, from 1942 to 1945, due to the impact of World War II, the U.S. War Production Committee completely prohibited automobile companies from manufacturing civilian vehicles, and all production lines were put aside for military needs.

The situation did not improve until 1946, when major companies such as Chevrolet, Dodge, and Ford began to resume production of civilian pickup trucks.

However, the restarted production line could not meet the huge market demand in a short period of time. The new pickup trucks were not only expensive, with a minimum price of $1000, but also scarce, making them unaffordable for small farmers.

Damon is one of the many citizens who cannot afford the price of a new pickup truck.

The pickup truck he was driving was a pre-war product, probably manufactured around 1930. Although it was still drivable, its condition had deteriorated due to a shortage of parts.

In order to keep it working, Damon had to order custom-made, hand-forged screws from small workshops, along with various parts salvaged from scrapped vehicles, and assemble them onto the truck to keep the old pickup truck running.

……

With one hand gripping the steering wheel, Damon held a Camel unfiltered cigarette between his fingers.

These cardboard cigarettes cost only 10 cents per pack. Because they had no filter, they had a strong flavor and a significant energizing effect, making them popular among low-income workers.

The headlights weren't bright enough to begin with, and then a downpour started after nightfall, so Damon didn't dare drive too fast.

The car windows were open, but the smoke in the driver's cabin still lingered. There were very few vehicles on Route 66 at night, and the empty road made it difficult for Damon to concentrate.

Damon yawned. The pickup truck had already driven down the slope. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, then stepped on the brakes and pulled the truck over to the side of the road.

"If only we had a radio, we could listen to pop songs on the street..."

Silently thinking, Damon threw down his cigarette butt, leaned over the hood, wiped the water stains on the car window with his sleeve, and then went to the edge of the woods to unbuckle his belt and urinate.

The headlights on the front of the car shone two beams of light, but they couldn't illuminate the boundless darkness.

Damon didn't notice that while he was getting out of the car to relieve himself, a tall man emerged from the woods and climbed into the truck bed.

After urinating, Damon habitually pulled out his cigarette case from his pocket and took out a lighter to light another cigarette.

However, the cigarette pack was completely empty; there wasn't a single cigarette left.

Helplessly, Damon held the cigarette pack to his nose, took a deep breath as if trying to extract the fragrance of nicotine, sighed, and bent down to search for the cigarette butt he had just thrown away in front of the car by the light of the headlight.

After a moment, Damon finally found the damp cigarette butt and relit it.

A cool breeze and a slightly spicy tobacco scent lifted his spirits. Damon returned to the driver's seat, and the dilapidated pickup truck continued its journey with a clanging and rattling noise.

……

After going down the slope, Damon arrived at the broken-down car not far away.

The pickup truck was moving slowly, and Damon had just finished using the restroom, so he was still quite focused. He saw the tree branch lying on the road from about ten meters away, and the Chevrolet behind it.

As the car slowed down, Damon glanced at the Chevrolet's license plate and casually looked up at his loosely strapped watch.

Damon frowned, realizing that the heavy rain had made him drive too slowly and might delay his delivery.

But the driver in the car appeared to be seriously injured.

After hesitating for a moment, he finally circled around the branches, stepped on the brakes, and stopped next to the car.

"Hey!"

He bent down to look into the driver's seat, intending to see if anyone was still inside, but instead found the open door and the smashed window.

Realizing something was wrong, Damon took a step back and nervously continued peering into the car.

However, apart from the unconscious driver, he saw nothing.

Hey, is anyone there?

Damon spoke again, and finally, he saw a girl's small head peek out from the back seat of the car—

"Can you save my dad?"

The little girl, still with tear stains on her face from the fright, looked extremely pitiful.

"Of course, but I need to take you to town first. I don't have much time. There will be police officers to help you when we get to town."

Damon glanced at his watch again, then walked over to the car.

"Uncle, you'll help me, right?"

The little girl couldn't trust this stranger. She warily eyed Damon's rough skin and stubble-covered face, and didn't immediately leave the back seat.

Damon was getting impatient. The delivery deadline was fast approaching, and he had to leave as soon as possible, otherwise that damned Brian would definitely find an excuse to deduct his commission—

Both Brian and his wife are notorious misers, and once they find an excuse to splurge, things will definitely get ugly.

With a quick glance, Damon straightened up. He had intended to leave and ignore all this trouble, but then he noticed the driver was wearing a nice mechanical watch on his wrist, which seemed like a lucrative opportunity.

"Of course, honey, I'll definitely help you, but I need to get some payment first."

With a broad smile, Damon climbed into the car and deftly removed the driver's watch.

As he was removing the meter, he noticed that the driver's shirt button was undone, exposing the blood-stained lining. Then, he saw the wallet on the front seat.

Greed compelled Damon to stealthily reach out and slip the wallet into his hand, his smile remaining unchanged.

Compared to the hypocrisy of before, this is perhaps more sincere.

The little girl looked down and saw Damon's actions, but she didn't say anything. She just hugged her toy rabbit, climbed out of the back seat of the car, and obediently followed Damon into the pickup truck.

Before getting into the car, she glanced at her unconscious father one last time.

With a "bang," the pickup truck door slammed shut. Damon sat back in his seat and habitually reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette.

The moment his fingers touched the cigarette pack, he realized he was out of cigarettes.

Damon licked his lips uncomfortably, but then his mood improved considerably when he thought of the watch and wallet he had just received.

With a tap on the gas, the pickup truck roared like a frail old man, speeding away from the stranded car toward Prescott.

……

As we drove across the dark fields, many of the rural homes enclosed by wooden fences had already lit up their lights.

The cattle gazed into the distance from their pen, occasionally punctuated by the barking of dogs.

The trees along the road became increasingly sparse, opening up a clear view. A few wisps of clouds still hung in the distant sky, and the daylight grew brighter.

Chen Zhou leaned against the large iron tank in the truck bed, wrapping his coat tightly around himself.

The road wasn't too bumpy, but the cargo on the truck swayed and kept pushing him towards the middle.

Not knowing how far he was from the end of his journey, he could only close his eyes and quietly wait for the "hitchhiker" to stop.

The driver was clearly getting impatient in the latter half of the journey, the pickup truck speeding along excitedly, accompanied by a chaotic clanging of metal. The outline of a small town gradually appeared in the distance. On the very edge of the town stood a three-story church, where some early risers had already set off to pray.

……

Every now and then, Damon would glance at his watch, afraid that he was walking too slowly and would delay the delivery of the goods.

Today might be his lucky day. Despite some setbacks along the way, things went very smoothly overall. He not only got a new watch and found a wallet, but also arrived at Brian's shop right on time.

Seeing Mr. Brian and his eldest son waiting at the door, and checking the time, Damon was in a great mood.

"Wait for me in the car. I'll take you to the police station after I unload the goods."

After saying goodbye to the little girl in the passenger seat, Damon got out of the car humming a little tune.

As he expected, Brian, that cunning old fox, immediately came over and greeted him.

Anyone who is fooled by his friendly appearance is sure to be ripped off.

While secretly criticizing the cunning of these "city folks," Damon pretended to take out his cigarette case and offered Brian a cigarette.

He hoped that Brian, who discovered he was out of cigarettes, would politely offer him one.

However, Brian merely glanced at him, ignoring his awkward behavior, and urged him to unload the cargo.

"Damn it, what a miser!"

Having already guessed Brian's reaction, Damon abandoned his idea of ​​trying the high-end cigarettes and walked dejectedly towards the truck bed.

……

When Damon got out of the truck, he noticed that the cargo bed was lowered much than usual, but after a short while, he found that the cargo bed had returned to its original position.

It was still dark, and unable to figure out why, Damon simply stopped thinking about it and opened the cargo box door at the back of the truck bed to start unloading.

……

The Brians have French ancestry; their ancestors were said to be artisans in Paris who came to America after falling on hard times.

Damon heard from the old man in Prescott that Brian knew several important figures in the state legislature, and even the town's sheriff had to give him face. Therefore, despite his dissatisfaction, Damon still dared not disobey Brian.

Of course, status and position are only one aspect. More importantly, the commission offered by Brian is indeed quite generous. Even if some is deducted, it is still a considerable income for Damon.

Although they reside in Prescott, Brian and Mrs. Brian's work maintains close communication and connections with the outside world.

They are a pair of wax artists whose main job is to create a variety of wax figures of celebrities and exquisite handicrafts made of wax.

On weekdays, the Brians always stay indoors, spending their time creating wax figures.

Every so often, they sell the wax figures they commissioned for celebrities or museums; some of these wax figures are reportedly even sold to major cities like Las Vegas, New York, and Hollywood.

Damon was responsible for providing Brian with the materials needed to create the wax figure.

The large barrels in his car contained plaster, clay, paraffin wax, and pigments such as lead white, ultramarine, and Prussian blue.

Every week or two, Damon would travel to Little Rock, the capital of Arkansas, or other relatively nearby towns to load goods, and then tirelessly transport them back.

Besides him, several other old guys with cars also liked to do these rough and tiring jobs.

For the people in town, this was already considered a job worth fighting for.

Damon, who is usually dishonest, would not normally get this job, but recently the other old guys' beat-up pickup trucks have all broken down due to various problems, so it was Damon's turn to make a fortune.

……

The metal drums containing paraffin or clay were quite heavy, and Damon's car wasn't allowed to drive directly into Brian's yard.

That would damage Mrs. Brian's carefully maintained lawn, or frighten their temperamental bully dog.

Therefore, Damon had to use a handcart as a transfer point to move the iron drums onto it before pushing the cart into the warehouse.

The final unloading work was more tiring than loading and driving. Brian never helped with unloading, but his eldest son would occasionally carry some bags of pigment to share the burden.

Although the enthusiastic young man was only helping with the simplest tasks, it still saved people a lot of trouble.

Damon was always flattered by this.

It's really not easy for a child from a wealthy family to help him with chores.

……

After making several trips, Damon's forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat, and he desperately needed some nicotine to perk himself up.

But looking at Brian, who was sitting in a chair drinking his morning tea, Damon figured he wouldn't share even half a cigarette with him.

But he really wanted a cigarette right now, so after thinking it over, Damon decided to take a look at the wallet.

A wealthy person who can afford a new car might also keep a pack of cigarettes in their wallet.

Walking over to the pickup truck, Damon wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, picked up the wallet he had found, and opened it, only to find that there were no cigarettes inside, not even a single bill.

"Hold!"

Damon cursed and threw his wallet on the seat, then suddenly realized something was wrong.

When he came to his senses, he discovered that the little girl in the car was gone, and there was only a blanket and a small plush toy left on the passenger seat.

"Where...where is she?"

Damon peeked out and saw that the opposite car door was closed, and there was no sign of the little girl under the seat, which made him very puzzled.

However, Brian wouldn't allow him to rest for too long at all—

According to this miser, delays in delivery or transport would impair his genius, and an artist's inspiration is something that money can't buy.

While Damon was looking for cigarettes, Brian had already stood up with his teacup in hand.

Fearing a deduction from his commission, and thinking that the little girl might get off the truck to use the restroom or get impatient and go to find the police, Damon didn't dare to be negligent and obediently continued unloading the goods.

……

Even after he finished his work and returned to his car with the crumpled $4, the little girl still did not reappear.

Damon had no idea where she had gone. He considered telling the police, but the watch and wallet in his hand felt like red-hot iron, reminding him of the terrible consequences if the police found out.

After much hesitation, Damon finally decided to let it go; as long as he didn't tell anyone, no one would know.

Besides, the little girl walked away on her own; it had nothing to do with him.

Of course, besides these, Damon was also affected by the shattered windows and open doors of the Chevrolet.

He knew that others might have "picked up" things from the car in a similar way before, so he felt justified in doing the same thing himself.

If the previous person wasn't punished, then I won't be either.

That's what he thought. (End of Chapter)