by Travis Pasch
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dingy Places
The hero rides ever deeper into the desert. The cool night air blows his long coat around, his horse's feet barely keep moving forward. He has been driving his horse harder than he should, it will die soon at this pace. He has been driving himself just as hard, who knows how long his life will last. He can't help but feel the weight of his eyelids as he continues to his destination with all the speed of a dying snail. He chases the third Rouwling boy, known for his near inhuman endurance and the power to push on after most men have died of exhaustion. The same can be said for the man's horse, it's one of the fastest runners of all time and sports endurance that defies logic.
Luckily for the hero, he knows the man's one true weakness: gambling. Most notably cards, or anything that the outlaw deems takes more skill than luck. Most would say he cheats at every game, but no man would challenge his honor, because all that have ended up with bullets in their chests. The town where the hero expects to find him can't be much farther, at least that's what the hero keeps telling himself. He keeps imagining it just barely in the distance and refuses to stop. He keeps tricking himself into seeing the lights coming off the small frontier town.
He tries to lie to himself once again, but he's not sure he can believe himself this time. He lifts his water canteen and squeezes it with all his remaining might, but he can't coax a single drop to fall into his overly parched mouth. He slumps with the weight of a thousand worlds onto his horse, the horse comes that much closer to hitting the ground.
"Almost there," he whispers into the horse's ear, reassuring it, the words sound so untruthful to his own wanting ears. He sees the town ahead, but he knows once again his mind is playing a cruel trick on him. He thinks how impossibly strong the outlaw's fortitude must be. Before this grueling hunt the hero thought no man could even come close to his power of will, he realizes his hubris will drag him to hell. He remembers a quote his father used to love,
"The fastest way to the top is often the fastest way to hell."
That statement has finally come true, this man has the largest bounty of all the Rouwling brothers. His determination to secure it will surely kill him. Somehow the town he saw in the distance is materializing itself all around him. It's nothing special, just a gold rush town down on its luck. The buildings that looked so fake and small are now clouding his vision and looking so real. The roofs of all the buildings are slumping more than himself, the wood shingles are nearly rotten in every single spot. His adrenaline pumps back through his veins, reviving him. He directs his horse to the nearest trough filled with water.
An old man sits on his porch, outside a small house adjacent to the drinking trough, rocking in a well-made chair, eying the hero suspiciously. The hero understands the look, he's gulping the dirty water along with his horse. Dirty water must be better than none. After drinking until his stomach hurts the hero looks up at the old man.
"Where's the card games around here old timer?" he asks in a gruff voice.
"Over there, but you better watch out. I heard the men playing there tonight are vicious," the old man says in a barely audible voice.
"Good," is all the hero says as he walks away. He ties his horse up and walks to the decrepit building the old man indicated. He checks his pistol to make sure it's ready, hoping he is as well. He pushes open the doors with both hands, looking in at the chaos running rampant inside. Ragged looking men are drinking and yelling in nearly every inch of the place. Loose women sit on the laps of the few men who look to have more than just dust in their pockets. A poker table in the corner catches his eye, he can see the Rouwling boy sitting with a massive amount of money piled in front of him.
He walks straight for the table, intent on catching the man in a cheat, the perfect excuse to shoot him. Without that excuse he's nervous of how quickly the other patrons of the bar will turn on him. They don't appear to care too much about the man being an outlaw, wanted for killing women and children. He sits down straight across the table from the outlaw, everyone at the table turns to him.
"Deal me in," the hero says with all the false confidence in the world. The dealer throws the cards his way.
"Dollar ante. Five card draw," the dealer says. The hero obliges, the buy in worries him.
"Seems like all the luck's been going your way tonight," he says to the outlaw.
"Not just tonight friend, always," he responds with a killing look.
"I don't doubt it," the hero says. He looks down at his cards, nothing good; he plans on discarding three of them but has to fold to the small bet of the beady eyed man on his right. The outlaw raises him instantly for almost all of the beady eyed man's chips. Everyone else around the table folds and the beady eyed man stares down the massive Rouwling. The beady eyed man folds with a sigh.
Much of the night holds nothing but the same, he tries to catch the outlaw in a few spots, but the hero thinks he might be on to him. He has folded nearly every hand when the hero raises, this might turn into a larger problem than he anticipated. The thought crosses his mind that the man may just truly be a good player. The hero finally looks down at a good hand, two pair: jacks and nines. The play comes around to him with only a small raise, he doubles the bet and as play reaches the outlaw he just calls. Only one other man stays in the hand, the beady eyed man. The hero discards his lone unpaired card and is dealt the card back from the dealer and looks at another jack, a full house. This might be his chance to catch him. He raises the amount of the pot, which is about half of the bounty on this outlaw.
The beady eyed man folds again with a sigh before even looking at his new cards, a perfect spot for the Rouwling boy to try something. The air in the room thickens as everyone at the table goes silent. The outlaw pushes all his money to the middle, and starts to laugh.
"One way or the other, this man's gonna' try and kill me. Ain't it so?" he inquires pointing at the hero.
"Why would I? I'm only here to take your money," the hero says with a straight face. He knows he's been careless in tracking the man for so many days, how could he not have seen him.
"Don't play me for stupid, boy. Just kill me now if you plan to!" the outlaw yells as he pulls a gun from his waist. Before he can even get the gun to bear, the hero hurls a card into his right eye, blood spurts from the open wound. The man shoots wildly, holding his bleeding eye with his free hand. He tries in vain to scan the room with his good left eye. He spots the hero diving behind a nearby table through the blood and shoots. He hits one of the whores sitting on a man's lap instead; the man holds her limp body in disbelief.
The hero jumps out of cover from another table and unloads three shells into the outlaw's chest. The outlaw plummets backwards, his gun blazing a trail of bullets into the ceiling as he falls. The hero walks over to the body, past the stunned patrons of the saloon. He kicks the gun away from the outlaw's hand and stares at the card still sticking out of his eye, he's sure glad he learned that trick as a kid. He takes the man's gun as proof of his death. The man with the dead woman on his lap is yelling something he can't quite make out, he figures it's some kind of threat. The hero ignores the words, he's totally focused on whether Rouwling would have beat him in the last hand. He goes to the table and flips his hand, four deuces. The man would have had him; he laughs to himself and finds himself face to face with the yelling man.
"This funny to you?" he yells into the hero's face, his brash voice smells fitting for such a giant of a man, garnished with an even bigger mustache. The hero pushes him aside and aims to leave the bar. The man pushes him hard in the back, nearly making him face-plant. The hero spins around, the man stands poised in a fighting stance. The hero feels much too tired and agitated to deal with this. He uses the outlaw's gun in his hand to shoot the giant of a man in the belly, he sinks to his knees faster than an anchor. On his knees, the giant rests closer to the height of a normal man, and all the more manageable. The hero surveys the room again to see if there are any more challengers. No one seems too
keen on facing him.
He blasts the doors open, trying to leave just as dramatically as he entered.
__________
For once Azelia's back doesn't burn with painful fear, a fear derived from eyes always luring at her from the dark, finally, after weeks of worry, she is certain Clint doesn't know where she is. She lazily passes the night away, this feeling of safety and comfort is more priceless than ten pounds of gold. The breeze blows freely through her light tent and the beautiful view of the clear sky patched with blazing stars lie visible through the open portion of her tent. The sky always feels like an escape, she's always wished to live free among the clouds, just the freedom of the idea makes her wish she could change lives with a passing bird.
The whistling noise rustling through the tops of the trees distantly reminds her of the massive spell of dreams that started when she met Zale. She is starting to like the adventure abounding in her dreams. She closes her eyes and lets the cool wind slowly caress her to sleep.
__________
He arises to the sound of cars, just another reason Clint hates his apartment. Every surface holds endless memories of Azelia, the carpet clasps her fragrance and the sofa retains the pattern of her lingering figure to a maddening minutia. He pushes past the angst to lull himself back into the sweet dream realm where he has no pain or heartache. Despite his want for sleep, the rumbling tractor trailers outside pull him unwilling into a full, if weak, reality. He forcefully opens his eyes to see the egg white ceilings and the barren walls of his small bedroom, he ripped the pictures down after she left. The only furniture gracing the place is a bed, a sagging dresser, and a bedside table.
The sun peeks through his partially closed blinds, resting comfortably on his bare chest. He rises and leaves the relative comfort of his dirty bed. The single redeeming factor of his residence is the air conditioning, it battles the heat relentlessly and keeps his space a cool seventy two degrees all year. He wears nothing other than his favorite and overused silk underwear as he brushes his red eyes, the sleep sticks heavy to his half open lids. He opens his blinds, letting the day make its way into the room, bringing with it the sights of the city.
He tries to make up lives for the pedestrians passing his open window in an ill attempt to get his mind off everything for a few minutes. That's a tall order considering he was up all night trying to find where Zale went and had failed miserably. He knows he's up to something of ill repute, when he switched cars Clint really thought he had him, but he couldn't keep up without a tracker. He may have imagined it but he could have sworn he got into woman's clothing when he switched cars, but that could just be his mind running away with itself. After a quick examination of his situation he realizes that he should just give up all this stupidity and go home, go back to what he knows. A tear rolls down his unshaven cheek and makes a monumental splash on the ground. His shift of mind is so swift it frightens him.
Like a beaten fighter he accepts his fate and tries his best to swallow his pride. Defeat has been staring him in the face for what feels like ages and nothing he could do here now would be of any consequence.
He walks back to his dresser and picks up the phone. What could one call hurt, the worst they could do is yell at him and that would be that, sealed forever, but he must know if he has a chance. He dials their number from memory and hopes for salvation. Every ring brings a breath of relief; maybe they changed the number, an easy out almost slips into truth. He starts to take the phone away from his ear after a few rings, they must not be home. As he puts the phone down a man's voice comes singing from the other line; he freezes.
__________
Zale walks to the stairs he has grown so accustomed to seeing and mounts them with ease. He needs to get some writing done today, and why not do it in the presence of Azelia? He's starting to forget what the allure of isolation is. He enters the coffee shop almost like a king returning home, in his mind everything he does is a grand gesture, all his slight movements noticed by every living soul in the place.
He gets to the counter and rests his arm on it. The girl behind the register doesn't even notice him, his pride is unaffected. He clears his throat and stands.
"Can I get you something?" the girl says in an impossibly unenthusiastic voice.
"Just a large coffee and, uh, is Azelia here?"
"Yeah"
"Could you get her for me?"
"Sure," she says and turns to leave. He sits at a close table and pulls out his small black laptop. He wants to look important for some reason today, and writing here makes him feel it. He spots Azelia coming out of the back and waves, she waves back and smiles. Her smock is dirty and her hands pruned, hopefully he's more entertaining to her than dish washing.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey," he responds, he stands up and tries to hug her. She puts her arms around his neck but keeps the rest of her a distance.
"Sorry, I don't wanna get you all dirty."
"I don't mind," he says and pulls her closer. She shoots him a small smile surrounded by red cheeks. They sit down across from each other after the long embrace. "Dish washing, must be fun."
"Oh, loads. I just wish I could do it more often," she says as they both smile. The girl from behind the counter brings him the coffee.
"You should get back there, John is super pissed," the counter girl says.
"He's leaving soon. You gonna be around for a while? I'll take my break soon," she says already walking away.
"Yep, I'll be here," he says and sips his coffee. He opens his laptop but just stares at the screen not moving his fingers; the white light of the screen is mesmerizing. He is falling into a weird trance thinking about nothing, the world around him starts to shrink into a very small tunnel. He jumps; the vibration from his phone scares him back into reality. He opens his phone and examines the text message. It's from Jade.
"Come out with me tonight I have something special," it reads. He's excited by the prospect but doesn't want to blow off Azelia. But, of course he does, a lie will slip easily from his lips about a fake meeting with his agent, that he can't risk being tired and needs to get to sleep early. And, he can take her to lunch, why does he need to see her later? He quickly convinces himself he's not a bad guy at all.
__________
She isn't sure in any way that she's making the right decision. But after last night Jade feels comfortable enough with her ability to control him. If he proves of a higher constitution than she thought, she can use him, and if worse comes to worst she can kill him like she originally planned. Besides she is taking on more ambitious tasks and an extra hand couldn't hurt. She reads his response with more than an ounce of excitement, tonight is the night.
__________
She glares at the clock on the wall, much like one would stare down a demon sent to devour a soul. If her boss wasn't here she could have been hanging out with Zale already. She's forced into waiting for her scheduled break and for some reason the hands on the clock hanging on the atrocious wall are not moving, even the second hand seems to be broken.
"Hey! Just because you're waiting for your break doesn't mean you just get to sit around and look at the clock, get back to cleaning!" her boss yells at her, she grudgingly gets back to cleaning the dishes. She only has about five minutes left but they are going to turn her clammy and nasty when she finally gets to talk to Zale. If only she were as strong and uncaring as she is in her dreams, she tries to banish the thought immediately but it creeps back up to the surface as the burning water hits her face and makes her yelp.
"Piece of..." she trails off as she sees her boss coming back around again to check on her. She shakes her head and tries to make it look like she is cleaning furiously in the nasty sink located at the back of the shop. She wonders if Zale is still out there, would any man wait for her?
"You're done, for now," her boss calls to her, she feels a sense of relief for the first time all day. She throws off her apron and looks at her reflection in the mirror
above the sink.
"I look like hell," she says in disgust, puts her hair into a ponytail, applies some quick lipstick from her pocket, and splashes some water on her face. She's halfway pleased with her efforts and goes out front. He waves when he looks up from his computer and spots her; she smiles and moves over to him.
"Hey," he says cheerfully, smiling like he just got some great news.
"You seem happy."
"Things are going good today," he says and shuts his computer.
"Got something on that screen you don't want me to see?"
"Only lots of porn, nothing big," he says laughing, she joins in with him.
"Good I was nervous it was something bad, like little cats playing with each other, or something maybe even worse," she teases.
"That would be terrible. You wanna' get somethin' to eat?"
"Sure, where you wanna go?"
"There's a cool diner pretty close," he says, already packing his things up before waiting for her to answer.
"Sounds good," she says and waves to the girl behind the counter.
"I'll be back soon," she yells to her. The girl responds by waving and doesn't look up from her magazine.
__________
The smell of aged wood is the first thing to hit Zale's body, even before they walk in his stomach growls in anticipation from the strange smell. Azelia's soft hand presses against his, deep like a hot iron, the normal grace of her touch is turned sour by the fact that he's going to have no choice but to lie to her in scant moments. He pushes open the large yellow double doors and feels instantly transported through time, to the Midwest in the early eighties. The long banquet tables, duct tape furniture, dingy chairs, and aging waitresses with smoked filled lungs bring him to a time before his birth. Despite its shabby appearance this place makes the best pizza in town, and the prices haven't changed since the eighties.
"Whoa," Azelia exclaims. She moves her eyes all over the interior. "I'll trust you on this one..." she says with a slightly forced smile.
"Just the two of you?" a pretty woman asks, probably the youngest person working here and she's at least thirty five.
"Yep," Zale replies. They follow the hostess to a small corner table meant for four; it's the smallest table in the whole place. "Trust me, it looks... a little off, but it's amazing."
"I'll believe you this time, what are you up to later?" she asks, he gets a nervous look for a second.
"Not much just getting to bed early, I have a meeting with my publisher tomorrow," he lies, and hates the fact that his lies are see through. He's sure she can tell, see into his soul and find the truth, instead of reading his soul she keeps her eyes fixed on the old school menu.
"Oh, that sucks, I don't get off till late," she says nonchalantly. He breathes a tiny sigh of relief.
"Yeah, any idea of what you're gettin'?" he asks, trying to change the subject. She just shrugs her shoulders. "Try the, uh, the burgers or pizza are super good."
"Get me whatever's good, I trust you," she says with a wink. Great, now she trusts him. His phone vibrates again and he opens it quickly, so fast she takes notice.
"Something important?"
"No, just the publisher making sure I'm coming tomorrow," he says, truthfully the message was from Jade and read:
"Be here soon, big night tonight."
He closes his phone quickly and smiles at Azelia.
__________
The sick feeling of anxiety is finally leaving him and the terrible feeling of regret now fills that empty space. Clint knows he shouldn't follow Zale tonight, dishonor hits home at the thought of his actions. But the idea of some weird psycho hanging out with his love is absurd and pushes his need past such insecurities. He realizes he is being idiotic but the necessity to save Azelia takes precedence.
He huddles down in his car and waits, the hours have gone slowly but surely by, he knows at some point Zale has to arrive. The call with his dad went well and now he has something to look forward to, besides the multitude of snacks he brought along for himself. He can go back home to open arms, all his anxiety about returning was unfounded. Clint's spirits rose immensely at hearing his father's lovingly forgiving voice, he didn't get a chance to talk to his mom, but he's feeling patient. He can't leave the city just yet, he has to leave with some pride, he hates to lose and this unfinished business is driving him insane.
A car pulls into the apartment complex, and not just any car, the large blue station wagon. He perks up in his seat and pushes a pile of junk food wrappers off the dashboard. This time he is going to follow a little further back and not lose him, he can't. Before he goes back home he has to try and save Azelia. He gets his camera ready. He is going to have proof this time.