by Pro Se Press
“He might as well have been my uncle for real.”
I mulled this over for a second, then offered her some more rope.
“How’s that?”
She laid her head on my shoulder, and I thought she was gonna try to steer my question off track.
“I told you before, my Mom wasn’t really around. My aunt, who really happened to be my Dad’s sister, took care of me. Steve Stamper was her neighbor. He was into cars and always had a hotrod in the driveway. My aunt’s husband got killed in Vietnam. She always cooked and did Steve’s laundry. He took care of her.”
“He was her sugar daddy?”
“I don’t know about that. I only ever saw him put his hands on her one time. They held hands at my high school graduation and she kissed his cheek. I’m sure there was more to it than that. I know men, and even a good one won’t hang around if there isn’t something in it for him.”
Steve Stamper was a name that was widely known among boys when I was a kid. He was a real live walking Champion City super hero. He built and raced at the old Champion City Bowl. He was a drag racer and also owned a short track racing team. His everyday ride was a Hudson Hornet.
“I remember going to see him at the track. When I was a kid we all wanted to be him.”
She gave me those brown eyes again.
“Y’know, when I got out on my own, they took up together. When I was a girl, he always said—‘Teeny, one of these days gal, I’m gonna make an honest woman out of you.’ You know, he had that rough Kentucky, chainsaw voice.”
She smiled, but I wonder if it wasn’t painful for her to talk about. I was getting into her, and I was enjoying our time. I turned us on to the highway, and she figured out a way to get closer. She took my hand off the wheel and held it between both of hers for a minute before she put it on her knee.
“What happens if I’m straight with you? I’m not stupid enough to figure that you’ll forget what’s happened tonight.”
Her hands covered mine on her knee, and our fingers were partly interlaced. She wasn’t offering anything by doing that, and I didn’t take advantage of it. It was nice just being there with her, but she had a point. I needed to choose my next move carefully.
“Let’s get into that. Let’s say you’re straight with me? Those guys can’t hurt you if you decide you’re leavin’ that life behind and you do. But when you flirt with both sides of the line, that’s when you get hurt.”
“Are you trying to be my hero again?”
For some reason this turned my knob, something about the whole business seemed wrong just then.
“No, but you keep asking me if I like you, and every time I try to do something to let you know I like you, you come off with this crap.”
She let that cook for a minute while I passed a couple of trucks.
“So you do like me?”
She sounded excited again. The next thing I know she’s got my hand north of her knee cap far enough to get my attention.
Again, she wasn’t really securing my hand in that position, but she wanted me to know that she was perfectly fine with it being there.
I let it rest there for a couple of minutes so she wouldn’t think I was put off by her, and then I moved it back to the wheel. I didn’t want either one of us to start something we didn’t plan to finish.
“Let’s save that for later. We were getting someplace.”
“Oh you’re getting me places alright.”
She took my hand again and squeezed it before returning it to her knee. She smiled up at me and I sort of smiled back. I couldn’t help myself.
“So where were we?”
“You were about to tell me all about how you got tied up in Angelo Delapina’s racket on Pleasant Hill.”
I was watching the road, so she couldn’t manipulate me with those brown eyes. Despite attempts to ignore it, I did feel them on my face.
“No, I was telling you about how I knew Steve Stamper, and how he and my aunt took up together when I left home.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t finish. You were on with that trying to distract me.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Well that was pretty much it. I left home after high school and one morning I went over to do my laundry, and they were naked and sharing a blanket on the couch when I walked in. You’d think as much fuss as she made over me having a boyfriend in my room once, that she was some kind of nun. He was holding her close on the narrow couch. She just looked up at me and smiled and held out her ring.
“He did it, Candi. He made an honest woman out of me.”
She looked up at me just then and her eyes were wet.
“I can’t imagine bein’ that much in love with somebody and not...”
She puckered up and I thought she was gonna have a full on bawl just then.
“Okay, I get it. But what happened with White Walls, and how the hell did you wind up workin’ that joint after your aunt married Stamper?”
“Work there, hell I got a call one day from some lawyer that told me the place was mine,” she hissed. “Truth was, I could act like it was mine, and file and pay taxes like it was mine as long as I played the game for The Outfit, but it ain’t really mine.”
I saw the lights of the truck stop off to the right up ahead and I dropped over one lane. When the exit came up, I followed it around and hooked a right into the parking area. Since I was in a car and not a big rig, I pulled right up near the door. I planned to take a table that would allow me to watch the door, my car, and a good piece of the lot.
“Shouldn’t we like park way in the back or something? What if they come looking for us again?”
“I don’t think we need to. This isn’t a place known for its mob activity.”
She shot me a look like she was pissed. I liked her well enough, but not enough to forget that I’d had somebody shove a gun in my face twice on her account.
We got out of the car and went inside. The conditioned air was much cooler than the hot and humid wet blanket that hung outside. I walked past the sign that directed, ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’, and headed for the corner table I wanted. Candi was right behind me, stuck like glue.
She slid into the booth and I sat down beside her. I had the feeling she was gonna dish about the rackets on the Hill, but I was getting tired of pressing her.
The truck stop was your usual chain deal. The dining room was done up in flat white paint with knotty pine wainscoting and trimmed out nice with a border around the top of the walls, with different kinds of trucks printed on it.
“My old man used to love the food in joints like this.”
She looked up at me when I said it, like she was hanging on my every word.
“Your old man was a cop and liked truck stop food, and married an old fashioned girl. Other than the marriage, your apple didn’t fall far from the tree did it?”
I was starting to relax a bit. The only other people in the joint were a beefy guy sitting next to a smaller, fitter military type in flannel, and a grizzled looking old couple sitting near the door.
“Yeah, I guess not. I carry granddad’s gun at work sometimes.”
She was into me. I could tell by the way she was so interested in what I had to say.
“Oh? Is it a lucky one?”
“Granddad was in the thick of it. He never put a lot of stock in shooting people, even if they shot at him. He’d beat ‘em stupid because they were more likely to learn a lesson. Dad on the other hand, didn’t want a shooting on his conscience. Don’t get me wrong, he was a tough bastard, as tough as they come, but he liked people enough to trust them.”
I was starting to feel lonesome for the old folks and on the narrow edge of pissed off when the worn out old screw came to take our order. Her greasy blue and tattletale gray uniform had seen better days and her piled up hair-do smelled of rancid grease and cigarette smoke.
“Hi there, how are you kids doin’ tonight?”
The waitress’s eyes fell on the dried blood on Candi�
�s cracked, swollen lip and the bruise rising on her cheek and gave me a shameful look.
Candi followed her gaze and smiled, realizing that the waitress had the wrong idea.
“It’s okay honey, he ain’t the one responsible.”
That waitress was eyeballing me trying to figure if Candi was trying to play her false.
“Damn shame if you ask me, any man puts his paws on a pretty girl like you.”
This old broad wasn’t your everyday run of the mill busybody, she was really concerned. I got the impression maybe somebody took the liberty of knocking her around at some point. I personally find that kind of behavior rude and intolerable. I thought about asking her where to find the bastard and thought better of it.
When the hag finished giving me the business, she looked back at Candi for another moment, checking out her dress I think.
“What were you kids gonna have tonight?”
I glanced at Candi, who seemed to be waiting on me.
“I want a steak and a baked potato, and do you guys still have that Bohemia Style Beer, that comes in the flip bottle?”
The waitress looked at me like she could appreciate a man who knew what he wanted.
“What cut of steak, honey—Rib eye, Strip, or Porter? Yes we still have your beer Not many young guys like the stuff.”
I have to give it to her, the gal didn’t miss a beat.
“Porter.”
She scribbled on her pad and looked at Candi, who ordered a New York Strip, a baked potato and a glass of iced tea.
The waitress screwed her hairdo around toward the counter and her body followed a second later as she took off after the beefy fellow.
“Charlie, you big stick. Don’t you run off without paying for your meal!”
I rolled my eyes and got up. I went after him out the door. He couldn’t run worth a shit but he’d outrun the waitress. I loped after him and caught him half way between the door and the big rig he was running for.
I came up on his left side and barred his arm.
“Come on numb nuts; pay the lady for your meal. Crime don’t pay.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business. Ain’t no cops around here and you might get your ass busted.”
Okay, he gets a checkmark by his name. I understand he don’t know I’m a cop, but he’s not only made off with free grub, he’s just written a check against his ass.
“Look palooka, I am a cop.” I said it slow, without the nonsense.
He shot me a look and then committed himself to the mistake he was making. He tried to give me a shove but I gave his arm a sharp yank.
He winced and tried to shove me again.
“Look pal, you got two choices for the way this plays out. You can knock this shit off; we can walk inside and you can pay the lady, or you can grab some concrete and take a ride in the vomit-scented back seat of a patrol car. It ought to be a good time considering the heat and all.”
He must have been weighing his options. A lot of guys smart up once you put things into terms they can understand. He didn’t immediately make an effort of stopping.
“Look man, if I gotta take you down it’s gonna get ugly for you. If you go back and pay, no harm done. You were just getting your wallet.”
He gave me a hard look just then and stopped. I started to steer him around by his arm but he didn’t move. He planted his feet and held up a hand.
“Look man, my rig’s right over there. Last night some lot lizard got me when I first pulled in. She hooked my wallet or somethin’. I can’t find it anyplace.”
“Let’s go over there and look, but if you try anything, I’ll call the state patrol and then it gets to be something else.”
He gave me that hard look again and walked off in the direction of the truck. I looked back toward the restaurant and then followed him.
The guy walked to the passenger door of a midnight blue truck cab and jammed a key into the lock. He fiddled with it for a moment and pulled up on the handle. The door popped open and much to his surprise, and mine, a young, hard looking woman stuck her head out from between the seats.
“What the hell are you doing in there? You got my wallet. You looking for my checkbook next?”
“Well I um...” She was obviously shocked that she’d been caught.
“Come on, out of the truck.”
She started down and he pulled her off the step and sort of slung her at me. I gave her the business and she admitted to having made an, ‘ahem’, barter of services. She wasn’t going to admit to hooking his wallet until I mentioned that I was going to call the sheriff’s office.
“If there’s anything you want to say to this guy, I’d advise you to do it. I’m about half a second from callin’ county. If you tell me no, and they find it on you, it bumps this thing up a notch and it gets worse from there.”
She fussed around with her tote bag for a couple of minutes and finally opened it and began rummaging through it. She finally handed over a worn out wallet with a single chain link fastened to a grommet at the corner.
The guy opened it and spread it wide, even stuffing a fat finger in looking for money. He unzipped another pocket and eyeballed it.
“What about my money? I paid you a hundred bucks, but you took my whole wallet, eleven hundred bucks in cash and checks.”
She held up a hand in denial.
“Look, I can call somebody to come out here and pat you down, but then you go downtown for hawking ass. Give him his money or go for a ride in the bubble-gum taxi.”
I reached in my pocket, like making for my cuffs.
She shook her head in protest and gave me a hard look.
“All right baby, here ya go, a full fuckin’ refund.” She pulled down the right cup of her tank bra and pulled out a handful of cash. She tucked the tank top under her exposed breast and flipped through the folded money.
“Here.” She shoved a pile of money at him. While he was counting it, she stuffed the rest back into the cup of her top. She gave me the eye and then made a show of flopping her breast back into her top.
I looked at him. He must have counted his dough five or six times.
“Is it all there?”
He looked at me and then gave her the eye. “Yeah, it’s all here.”
He stuffed the cash in the front pocket of his pants. “I’m gonna go pay my bill.” He stomped off in the direction of the restaurant.
“Are we done here or did you want to get it on?”
She swiveled her hips and shook her tits at me.
“I prefer women who bathe. How’d ya get in the truck?”
“It was unlocked.”
“Beat it. If you’re here when I finish my steak, I’ll roust your ass, and have you run in for that wallet. Don’t stop to look for any unlocked doors.”
I heeled it back to the restaurant. When I went in, the guy was explaining to the waitress, who seemed thankful not to have to pay for his meal out of her tips. I noticed as I walked by that he was also purchasing a sticker for his cab that depicted a small green lizard behind a barred red circle—No lot lizards.
I made my table, but Candi was gone. I looked around the joint but something told me she was long gone. I stuffed a hand in my jacket pocket, and I knew how she’d got gone—She’d lifted my keys.
I went to the door we’d come in, and sure enough my car was gone. Damn. I should have just let that alone and put her in the corner for filing a false report. What was I thinking? What was I gonna tell the cop who took the report? I should be smarter than that.
I went to the counter and gaped over it to the shelf behind. I saw a phone ten feet to the left. I walked down the counter, then reached over and grabbed the old table model.
I glanced at my watch, it was almost shift change.I was going to call C.C.P.D. and have one of the guys come get me.
Behind me, the bell on the door jingled and I turned around. There stood a young black man wearing Champion City Blues. I lowered the phone and went to him.
“Hey, I’m Officer Thurman Dicke. Can I bother you for a ride? My girl hooked my car—she had an emergency.”
I took out my wallet and showed him my badge and ID. He took it and examined it closely before handing it back.
He offered me a hand and smiled broad.
“John Jones. You know I don’t believe that shit for a minute?”
I nodded.
“Look man, I went out to grab a guy who ran off without paying his bill. It’s a long story but some lot Lizard got his wallet and so we rousted her to get it back.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“More than you know.”
“Where d’you live?”
“Shawnee Hotel downtown, but the girl lives at 321 South Center.”
He nodded and gave a look around the dining room before he turned back to the door.
“Alright man, let’s go do this before I remember that I’m hungry, tired, and off duty.”
We headed for the door, but the waitress stepped in front of me. “What about your food?”
I frowned, “Is it ready?” She started to shake her head. “Changed my mind.” I brushed past her on the way out the door behind Jones.
I caught up with him and we walked out to his cruiser, a ’72 Dodge that had seen better days.
I grinned in spite of myself.
“What, you don’t like my ride?”
“No, not that, but last year they sold off a bunch of cruisers just because somebody at the Sheriff’s Office decided that they needed to be driving Caprices instead of Crown Vic’s—then they issue a guy who has to sit all day long in a cruiser the oldest piece of shit they got.”
“Hey, watch your mouth. Maisey might not be pretty, but she’s got it where it counts.”
We got in and he started up the engine, which purred with a little chug at idle. I nodded at him and a slow grin spread across his face. He pulled out of the space and hit the gas as we headed for the entrance. The engine whined like an Indy car.
“I’ll say she’s got it.”
“Teach you to talk mean about my Maisey.”
He drove us out of the lot and around the service road to the west bound on ramp for the highway. We smoked ol’ Maisey back into town, eyes peeled for my ride and any sign of Candi Apple Pink. I gave Jones the lowdown on Candi and he agreed that she was trouble, but not yet guilty of anything more than joyriding—both my car and my nerves.