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High Stake Haul: The Vegas Trucking Underworld- Episode 3, Haulin and Brawlin

            Max Cruz was a 2nd generation Mexican American young man at the age of 22, he was the youngest member of Caslow Trucking’s criminal underground crew, under the leadership of Esteban Caslow.

 Max was only 5 foot 6 inches tall, was heavily dark complected, had a toned build, short, messy black hair, and a handsome face. He drove down the road in his dark blue Mack Ultraliner, cab-over semi-truck, pulling a 48-foot flatbed trailer, taking a load of rough lumber from Vegas to Boise, chatting with Esteban on the CB as he drove.

 “Come on, man, you’re telling me that Owens guy literally tried to hijack our load?”

“He tried to, he sent some guys after Chase but he shook’em off.” Esteban’s voice spoke over the CB radio speaker.

 Max’s face became downcast as he worried for his friend, and he paused for a moment before keying his CB mic and speaking again.

 “How is he, friend?”

“He’s perfect, but they messed his rig up pretty bad, they had M4A1s according to Chase and Statler.”

 “Oooh, I bet Flash was ticked about his truck, huh?”

Esteban laughed. “Yeah, he was pretty mad, gave Broker Adams an earful too; Adams insisted that he was going to go to the bosses about it, but I don’t know.”

 “Are you starting to lose faith in him?” asked Max.

“You just focus on the road, Mighty Mouse, and get that rig to the destination on time, yeah?”

 “Hey! That’s why they call me, Mighty Mouse!” Max exclaimed confidently. “Because I’m short but mighty, man: I’ll have it there on time, I’ve got the cruise set at 85, and I’m making great time.”

 “Yeah, just watch the sharp turns.”

“Of course.” Max replied before hearing sirens.

 Max looked in his mirror and saw what looked like a state highway patrolman pursuing him, and then he heard a familiar voice come over his CB radio speaker.

 “You better pull that thing over, Mighty Moose.” Said a deep, bellowing voice.

“Hey, I think you have the wrong guy, Trooper Wright.” Max joked. “Edwards is the Canadian, not me: I’m Mighty Mouse, not Moose.”

 “Son, if you don’t pull that rig over right now, I’m going to open fire; my orders have been handed down from the top and they’re telling me…”

 “They’re telling you things that are going to get you in a lot of trouble, Wright.” Max interrupted. “Or don’t you remember the rules?”

 “Those Bosses don’t scare me or my superior, Tiny Mouse, and I plan to take all of you boys down hard.” Wright said, before sticking his pistol out the window and firing shots into Max’s reinforced rig.

 Max shook his head. “You’re wasting your time, Trooper, this truck has more armor than a stinking tank, man.”

 “I’ll get you, Cruz, you and all of your little friends.”

“Hey Cruz.” Came a man’s voice over the radio; the man who’d spoke had a thick Newfoundland accent and Cruz’s face lit up with joy when he heard it.

 “SnowBird! Is that you, bro!?!”

Just a few miles down the road, coming in the other direction on the highway, was a long-nosed Kenworth W900 that was flamingo pink in color with sky-blue flames on it. SnowBird was a fairly stocky built man, standing about 5 foot 9 inches tall, had short, flat red hair, and a white,

alabaster skin tone.

 “I heard my name being used and I just thought I’d reach out to the whipper-snapper who decided to use it.”

 “Yeah, man, I was just telling our friend, Trooper Wright, that he had me all wrong and he’s really after you, bro.”

 “After me, are you, Dean?” SnowBird replied.

“Now, you just stay out of this, Calvin Edwards.” Wright demanded. “It doesn’t concern you in the slightest.”

SnowBird was close enough now that he could see the big Mack Ultraliner, leading the police car by over 7 car-lengths, and he shrugged to himself, frowned, and keyed his CB mic.

 “Oh… well, I guess you’re on your own, Mouse, I don’t have any business… OH LORD!”

 Suddenly, SnowBird turned his wheel and pulled his rig across the highway, putting himself between the trooper and Max, and stopping his truck in a sideways position, blocking the road.

 Wright slammed on his brakes, but it was too late, and he collided into the side of SnowBird’s trailer.

 “Thanks, Bird!”

“Thanks?” SnowBird said confusedly. “I almost hit a dog; didn’t you see it? Didn’t you see that big black dog?”

 “There wasn’t any dog, Edwards!”

“There wasn’t?” Edwards asked in a bewildered tone. “I’m so sorry, Dean, maybe I just need to get some more sleep.”

 “No, no, I’m sure I saw it too.” Said Max, several other drivers voicing their agreement over the CB, some of them even saying that they would be willing to testify that they saw the dog too.

 “You two won’t get away with this!” Wright insisted. “We’re coming for you! And we’re going to take you down!”

 Later that night, Max walked back to his truck, after being unloaded, the sun starting to set in the sky.

 “Hey, Mighty Mouse.” Came a raspy baritone voice.

Max looked up to see 3 men standing there, all of them carrying weapons: one had a baseball bat, another had a steel pipe, and the last had a long silver chain that he twirled around in a circular motion.

 “Tommy, Eric, Hoss: to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can it, Cruz.” Hoss snapped, the baritone man walking towards Cruz, gripping his ball bat with both hands.

 “It looks like your luck has just run out.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” came a female’s voice from behind the three men.

 Hoss turned to see who had just spoke, and when he did, Cruz stepped forward and kicked the man in the groin so hard that the much bigger man simply let out a single gasp and passed out.

 The woman stood 5 foot 8 inches tall, had a slender build, long, curly brown hair, glasses, and a vanilla white skin tone, and she took one step forward towards the man with the chain and leaped into the air, delivering a roundhouse kick to his temple and knocking him out cold.

 The man with the steel pipe swung it at Max, and the short Mexican-American man took the blow to his ribs and trapped the man’s arm with his. Then he headbutted the much taller white man in the sternum, then punched him in the throat with all the power he could muster.

 “You alright?” asked the woman.

Cinny Caslow was Estaban’s wife, and one of the drivers on the Underworld crew with Cruz, and he smiled as he nodded.

 “I am, thanks to you, Cinny.”

“Good.”

 “Why do you think these guys attacked me?” asked Cruz.

“I’m not sure, but we’re going to find out as soon as that one’s throat stops hurting.”

 The man put his hand up.

“Please! Please!” he pleaded. “I’ll tell you, just don’t hurt me anymore.”

 “Then talk.” Said Cinny.

“Borris Forsett.” The man stated.

 “Who’s that?” asked Max.

Cinny shook her head. “I’m not sure, but we’re going to find out.”

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