The leaves weren't the only thang rustlin that night.

I got a call from a farmer. He put me on the trail of some hot bovines. Now, I ain't the judgemental type, but these cattle was stolen, not sexy. I had work to do that would take coffee, cigarettes, and my Aerosmith tape. Following a truck through California customs without getting noticed ain't easy, but it ain't impossible. I done it before and got a big payday when the perp turned out to be Elsie Chapo. He'd been stealin RumChata's top teats for years. He's still bakin in a Wisconsin prison to this day.

Well the job paid right, so I took it. Bethel already had a full tank, some binoculars, and a fully inflated spare if I had any trouble, so I set out for Barstow, the US's greatest city right behind Newark, Gary, and Detroilet.

Four smokes into this convoy we hit trouble...