Blacktop Wasteland

by S. A. Cosby

“Jamal bringing a car to the shop. I gotta go down there and open up.”

  Kia slipped out of her chair and into Beauregard’s lap. She threw her arms around his neck.

  “Noooo, you can’t leave. We just getting started.” She kissed Beauregard on the neck, but he thought she was aiming for his cheek.

  “You drunk, boo. I’m gonna get Kelvin to take y’all home. It’s midnight and we gotta get the boys. K, you mind taking them home and picking up Darren and Javon?” Beauregard asked.

  “You sure?” Kelvin asked. The jocularity that had been in his voice earlier had evaporated.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Bug, I’ll ride with you,” Kia said.

  “Baby, you need to go home. You gotta work tomorrow. Go with Kelvin and them. I’ll be home after a while,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” Kia asked.

  “Nothing. Just gotta go open up for Jamal. One day I’m gonna get my own wrecker truck and we won’t have this problem,” he said. He tickled her chin again, but her face was slack.

  “NO, something’s wrong.” she slurred. The last shot was hitting her. It had also apparently improved her lie-detecting skills.

  “Nah, baby, it’s okay. I’ll be home soon,” Beauregard said. He slipped her off his lap and stood. Kia rose and wobbled but Beauregard gripped her left elbow and steadied her. Kelvin and his friend rose as well. Beauregard kissed Kia on her cheek.

  “See you in a few, boo,” he whispered.

  “You sure?” Kelvin asked.

  “I’m sure. I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow,” Beauregard said.

  “Bring me a doughnut when you come home,” Kia said.

  “Alright, baby. I love ya.”

  “You better,” she said. She headed for the door with Kelvin and his friend in tow. Kelvin looked back over his shoulder. Beauregard didn’t say anything. Kelvin followed the ladies out the door.

  Beauregard turned around and went back toward the bar. As he passed the table with the two hillbilly hoodlums, he gave them a closer look. The one on the left had a bulge in his waistband on the right side. Beauregard wasn’t shocked they were able to get a gun into Danny’s. The bar didn’t have a bouncer. The sign on the door prohibiting weapons was taken as a suggestion by most of the patrons. Beauregard walked past the scarred man sitting at the bar. He had a bulge in the small of his back under his white shirt.

  Beauregard went to the bathroom in the rear of the building. He ran some water in the sink and rinsed his face. Three armed men he had never seen before were in a bar in his hometown. Had the Thompsons hired some out-of-town hitters? That didn’t seem likely. Patrick and his dad were hands-on type of boys. If there was going to be any blowback, they would do it themselves. Beauregard dried his face with a paper towel.

  He’d been watching the news off and on since he’d seen the report about Eric. The jewelry store manager had been found burned to a crisp in her apartment. Ronnie’s girl had skipped town but she’d left a dead body behind. The police said that arrests in the robbery were imminent but Beauregard thought that was some high-grade horseshit.

  “Someone’s tying up loose ends,” he said to his reflection.

  That was the risk you took being in the Life. No matter how smart you were or how well you planned there was always the possibility that some shitkicker would show up at your favorite bar looking to double tap your ass. It was the Sword of Damocles you willingly placed above your head every time you pulled a job.

  He took a deep breath and exited the bathroom. He grabbed an empty chair from one of the tables in the bar and pulled it up to the table of the two gunmen in cheap blazers. He sat down next to the one on the left.

  “Can I help you?” Lefty said.

  “That depends,” Beauregard said. Quick as a cat he grabbed Lefty’s gun with his left hand while grabbing Lefty’s left wrist with his right. Boonie always said he had his father’s hands. He pressed the barrel of the gun into the hard slab of Lefty’s belly.

  “Maybe you can tell me why you and your buddy at the bar been eyeballing me all night.” Righty reached under the table, but Beauregard shook his head. “No. Put your hands back on the table, palms down. Do it now or I’m gonna start pulling the trigger and I ain’t gonna stop until it goes click.”

  Righty’s face bloomed as red as a circus balloon, but he did as he was told.

  Beauregard’s neck tingled. Someone was coming up behind him. He didn’t take his eyes off the two gunmen. The scarred man pulled up a chair and sat down. He had a glass filled with some dark liquid.

  “You a slick one, ain’t ya? Although to be honest, a one-armed monkey could get the drop on Carl here. No offense, Carl,” the scarred man said. Carl didn’t seem like he took too much offense to anything. Even a gun in his stomach.

  “Who sent y’all?” Beauregard asked. He didn’t turn and face the scarred man. He kept the gun pressed against Carl’s belly. Someone had played a bluesy love song on the jukebox. Couples were slow dancing on the old parquet floor. Bodies gently twirling in small elliptical orbits in time with the mournful notes coming from the speakers.

  “Right to the point. But this ain’t the part where you ask questions. This the part where you use your eyes and your ears,” the scarred man said. He reached into his pocket. Beauregard pressed the gun deeper into Carl’s flesh.

  “Burning Man…,” Carl said in a low rumble of a voice.

  “Don’t worry, Carl, Beauregard here is a smart boy. He ain’t gonna ruin your guts here for no good reason. I just got something on my phone he needs to see,” Billy said. He placed his phone on the table and touched the screen. Beauregard cut his eyes downward.

  There was a cell phone on the table. A short video was playing. The video showed the tail lights of a car leaving Danny’s parking lot. Beauregard narrowed his eyes. The tail lights belonged to a Nova. Kelvin’s Nova.

  “We was gonna pinch you when you left, but you made us. We had five guys. The three of us in one car and two more boys in another. Word has it you a real wild boy with a mean streak. But when you made Carl here, I says to myself, well, now we gonna dance. So, I told my boys in the other car to follow your little friends there. Now I seen how fast you is. And goddamn if you ain’t as fast as a knife fight in a phone booth. So you probably thinking you might be able to shoot me, Carl and Jim Bob,” Billy said.

  Carl winced.

  “But,” he continued, “if my boys don’t hear from me in say, oh I don’t know, five minutes, they gonna light up that car like the goddamn White House Christmas tree.”

  Beauregard pulled back the hammer on Carl’s gun.

  “What if I don’t believe you? What if I just shoot the three of you and call my friend and tell him to punch it? That Nova has some get-up-and-go.”

  Billy smiled.

  “I bet it does. But that’s an awful lot of what ifs, ain’t it, Beauregard? Come on now, like I said, you a smart boy. Give Carl back his gun and let’s go on up the road. Got somebody that needs to talk to you, and he ain’t the type that likes to be kept waiting.”

  Beauregard leaned into the gun and it dug deeper into Carl’s flesh. He could shoot Carl, that much was a given. Could he get the one on the right and the one Carl called Burning Man too? Even if he got all of them, could Kelvin outrun the car tailing him? Like Burning Man said, that was an awful lot of what ifs.

  “Tick tock tick tock,” Billy said.

  Beauregard thought about what Boonie had said. About the way men like him died. He didn’t want to take Kia with him. That honor was reserved for men like the three seated at the table with him. Along with whoever was their boss. Beauregard shoved the gun back in Carl’s waistband.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Billy tossed back his drink. He grimaced, then put his glass on the table. He picked up his phone and let his fingers slide across the screen. He put the phone back in his pocket.

  “See, now Christmas don’t have to come early.”


  TWENTY-ONE

  They didn’t blindfold him. That was a bad sign. It meant they didn’t care if he saw where they were going. Which most likely meant he wasn’t ever leaving once they got to where they were going. They didn’t tie his hands up either. No need really. They had their insurance policy, after all.

  Beauregard sat between Jim Bob and Burning Man. They were riding in a 2010 Cadillac CTS. A nice midsized sedan with a powerful 3-liter engine. The interior of the car was bathed in a ghostly pale light. LED lighting ran along the inside of the doors and along the floor. Just a subtle accent lighting, nothing too overbearing. Beauregard noticed the child locks were engaged. He had thought about hitting Jim Bob with an elbow, opening the door and pushing him out after he had relieved him of his gun. Shove the barrel into Burning Man’s eye and suggest he contact his boys and call them off completely. He could see that plan was going to be foiled by well-meaning consumer advocates.

  They jumped on the interstate and headed west. The Caddy sliced through the night. Beauregard felt his ears pop as they began to climb into the Blue Ridge Mountains that bisected Virginia at odd intervals.

  Finally, they took an exit near Lynchburg. The off-ramp deposited them onto the oak tree–lined main street of some quaint hamlet tucked away near Peaks of Otter mountain. Dark green streetlamps played peekaboo with the wisteria trees up and down the street. A banner stretched across the front of an imposing granite building lined with columns proclaimed that the Kimball Town Fair was one week away. The car turned off Main Street and down an equally well-lit side street. The car stopped in front of a tobacco shop at the end of the sidewalk. It was the last shop in a short row of stores. A brick facade was interrupted by a huge picture window. A glowing sign above the front door said it was THE HOT SHOP. The neon sign in the window of the shop said it was closed. Jim Bob pushed the barrel of his gun into Beauregard’s ribs.

  “Try something. I want you to. Then I can pull the trigger until the gun goes click,” Jim Bob said. He leered at Beauregard, showing his crooked teeth.

  “Alright now, Jim Bob, you know Lazy wants to talk to this boy,” Billy said as he opened his door. Jim Bob pushed Beauregard toward the same door. They all exited the car on the same side. Carl got out and before Beauregard could react, he punched him in the right kidney. Beauregard stumbled and fell against the car. He took a deep breath, coughed, and then stood up straight.

  “Goddamn, you boys got two-inch peckers or something? Stop that shit. Lazy wants to talk with him. He can’t talk if he throwing up and pissing blood,” Billy said. Beauregard didn’t detect any real concern for his well-being. Burning Man’s only concern seemed to be not disappointing Lazy. Whoever that was.

  “Sorry, Billy,” Carl mumbled. Beauregard figured Burning Man must be this Billy’s nickname. That struck him as oddly cruel, but then again you didn’t get to choose your nickname. If you did, no one would refer to him as Bug.

  Billy aka Burning Man knocked on the door of the smoke shop. A thin white boy with lank blond hair and a sleepy face opened the door.

  “Y’all came back quick,” the boy said.

  “He didn’t put up much of a fight. He here?” Billy asked.

  The boy shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Okay,” Billy said. He gestured toward the interior of the store. “After you,” he said to Beauregard.

  Beauregard entered the store. The overhead lights were off but there were enough novelty neon signs and clocks on the walls to light his way. The signs and clocks all depicted scenes from old movies. Some Beauregard recognized, some he didn’t. There was Rick and Sam at a piano from Casablanca against a red backdrop. A clock on the far wall above a shelf full of cigars was adorned with the maniacal grinning face of Richard Widmark as Tommy Udo from the original Kiss of Death, outlined with a cool blue chemical fire.

  The kid who opened the door sprinted past Beauregard and knocked on a door behind the counter. A huge beast of a man opened that door. Jim Bob pushed Beauregard on through. The room was sparsely decorated. There was a cheap oak desk with a rotary phone sitting anachronistically near the edge. The walls were blank slabs of gray concrete. There was a wooden chair behind the desk. Three metal chairs sat in front of the desk. The spartan confines of the room stood in stark contrast to the garishness of the rest of the shop.

  “Have a seat,” Billy said. There was only one empty seat among the three chairs. Ronnie was sitting in the first chair and Quan was sitting in the second. Beauregard sat next to Quan.

  “Bug, I’m—” Ronnie started to say but Beauregard cut him off.

  “Shut your mouth,” he said. Ronnie dropped his head. Beauregard crossed his arms. Quan had his head in his hands. His breathing was hard and labored. He was tapping his right foot like he was keeping time with the world’s fastest rhythm section. A box fan sat in the corner moving the stifling air around. A single light bulb encased by a wire mesh cage shone down from the ceiling. A few empty plastic milk crates were stacked in the far-left corner of the room. Beauregard figured it had been a storeroom at one time. Now it was a shabby torture chamber masquerading as an office.

  Both Quan and Ronnie had been smacked around. Quan’s mouth was bleeding profusely. His white basketball jersey was covered with red splotches. Ronnie had a mouse under his left eye. His nose was swollen and crooked. Neither of them had been restrained either. There was obviously no need. There was no fight in them. Beauregard could see that as soon as he entered the room. Their stooped shoulders and downcast eyes told the story of their submission. If it came down to it, they wouldn’t be any help.

  Beauregard heard the hinges on the door creak.

  “Well now, the gang’s all here,” a high, tremulous voice said. Beauregard felt Quan flinch.

  A tall, thin man entered the room. He wore a neatly pressed pair of khakis and a black button-down shirt under a black corduroy vest. He was narrow in the hips with jagged angles for arms. His ruddy face was narrow and ended in a wickedly sharp chin. A dark pile of brown hair tinged with gray stood up on his head like he had stuck his finger in a light socket while wearing a bad toupee. He stood in the center of the room directly under the lone light. He grinned at them. A rakish smile that spread across his face like spilled milk. Huge teeth too white to be real filled his mouth.

  “This here the Apple Dumpling Gang, huh?” the man said. He laughed at his own joke. After a half a beat, all of his men laughed as well. He motioned toward the chair behind the desk. Carl grabbed it and the man parked himself in front of Quan. He crossed his legs. A smirk had replaced his grin.

  “I love movies. Don’t matter what kind. Horror movies, crime movies, old movies, new movies. Hell, I even like romantic comedies. Love me some John Hughes. And Molly Ringwald? Whew whee,” the man said.

  “We so sorry—” Ronnie tried to say but the walking wall who had opened the office door smacked him in the back of the head. Ronnie pitched forward and landed on the floor in a heap. Jim Bob and Carl grabbed him by his arms and sat him back in his chair.

  “But some of my favorite movies are heist movies. I love that shit, man. Something about a heist that goes down smoother than a twenty-dollar hooker gets me every time,” the man said. He stood and turned his chair around. He sat back down and rested his arms on the backrest before laying his chin on his hands.

  “You gotta tell me. How’d y’all do it? Did y’all sew stop watches in your gloves? What kind of engine was in that car? Who came up with driving off the damn overpass? That was some brass balls shit there, I tell ya,” the man said.

  No one spoke.

  “Come on now, it’s alright. Y’all can talk now,” the man said.

  Still no one spoke.

  “It was a modified V8 with a nitro kit,” Beauregard said finally.

  The man winked at him. “Nice, nice. See, that’s what I’m talking about. Heist movie shit,” he said.

  “Are you Lazy?” Beauregard asked. He heard footsteps behind him. He braced himself for t
he blow but the man in front of him held up his hand.

  “Hold on, Wilbert. This fella here just reminded me I forgot my manners. My mama named me Lazarus Mothersbaugh on account of how I died during delivery and then came back to life once they got the cord from round my neck. But everyone else round here calls me Lazy. I think cuz they was too lazy to say my whole name,” Lazy said. All his men tittered except for Billy. He was staring off into space.

  “Now back to the matter at hand. If you boys had robbed any other jewelry store anywhere else, you would be sitting pretty as you please. But you robbed one that belonged to me. So that means you in some deep doo-doo,” Lazy said.

  He smiled but this time it seemed forced. Beauregard thought it was an actor’s smile. Just another part of a performance.

  “Any of you ever heard of me?” Lazy asked. Quan raised his hand. “Goddamn, boy, you ain’t in English class,” Lazy said. Carl laughed.

  “You boys really screwed me over at that store. I was using it as a pay window of sorts. I got hold of some diamonds in a deal that we don’t have to go into right now. Let’s just say I’m a silent partner in some very interesting developments. But son, them diamonds better than cash. Easier to carry and impossible to trace. That comes in handy when you paying for two or three of them Mexican fillies from out West. Yessir, I had a nice lil setup out there. And you boys fucked it up good. Now the cops snooping around. And some of my transactions have gone south,” Lazy said. He sucked his teeth and nodded his head. “But goddamn, the way you pulled it off, well I just gotta tip my hat to you. Now that girl, what’s her name, Burning Man?”

  “Jenny.”

  “Yeah, Jenny. She said you was the brains, Ronnie. You the one that put it all together,” Lazy said. He pointed one long narrow finger at Ronnie. Ronnie’s face was ashen. “But Beauregard, you was the one behind the wheel. Goddamn, that was some high-test driving there, boy.” Lazy kept pointing at Ronnie, but he turned his head to look at Beauregard. “That wasn’t your first time at the rodeo, was it?” he asked.