Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  “’S okay. I’m not much of a golfer.” Jimmy dumped a packet of sugar into his mug and stirred. “I’m planning to hit the road tonight anyway.”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “I like driving at night. And you’ve given me enough caffeine to keep me awake for a week, I think.”

  The response came with a grin. “Happy to be of service.”

  The cute kid with the camera gestured to get Shane’s attention. As Shane stood up straight, he gave another slight groan—hardly more than a sigh, really. He shuffled off, dragging his left leg.

  Jimmy was comfortable on his stool in the Rattlesnake Inn. Too comfortable, considering it was time to go. That was the advantage of staying in shitholes like the Comet Motel—he was never sorry to leave them. The Rattlesnake was a hell of a lot nicer than the Comet.

  All he had left to do was hand over the goddamn letter. But he didn’t want to give it up. Which was stupid. Tom wasn’t his father. Jimmy didn’t have a father. Never had. Not even one who hung around just long enough to make a few bittersweet memories. His birth certificate said “father unknown.” None of his mother’s subsequent boyfriends or husbands qualified; the best of them had simply ignored him.

  When Jimmy was nine and begging Derek to take him out for ice cream along with his other brothers—Derek was sixteen and had just acquired a beater car—Derek refused. “I don’t gotta take you nowhere, asswipe. You’re not even our real brother. You’re only a half brother.”

  Jimmy had asked Mama about it, and she scowled. “Their daddy left me a long time before you came around,” she said. “But you’re still brothers.”

  “Then who’s my daddy?”

  “Nobody,” she spat, then ordered him to get out from underfoot. After that she refused to discuss the subject at all. To this day, Jimmy wasn’t sure whether she even knew who’d fathered him. Maybe some nameless guy she met in a bar. God knew, Jimmy had experienced plenty of hookups with nameless guys when he was younger, although pregnancy was never an issue.

  When Shane returned, Jimmy slid to his feet. “I guess I’m ready for the bill.”

  “You sure? I don’t close for another two hours. You’re welcome to stay.” He looked sincere.

  But Jimmy shook his head. “Thanks. But it’s time to move on. How much do I owe you?”

  Shane gave him a careful look. “Two fifteen with tax.”

  “Two fifteen? I must’ve drunk about five gallons of the stuff.”

  “Refills are free. And I have to keep a fresh pot going all the time anyway. Most of it just goes to waste on a slow night. So you didn’t really cost me any extra.”

  Jimmy opened his wallet and peeled out three ones, which he set on the counter. “Well, thanks. And thank you for not… for letting me stay.”

  “Come on back next time you’re passing through.”

  “I will,” Jimmy said, although he knew he’d never visit here again. He picked up his duffel, which had somehow grown heavier as it sat on the floor, and slung it over his shoulder. With a final little wave to Shane, he pushed through the saloon doors. The letter was still in his pocket, which made him feel slightly guilty, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to give it up. Don’t need to disturb Shane’s quiet life, he told himself.

  The geezers had long since abandoned their bench, and no other signs of life appeared on Main Street. Everything except the inn was closed for the night. Jimmy’s footsteps sounded loud on the sidewalk, and overhead the stars were very far away.

  His Ford still had the parking lot all to itself. Jimmy dumped the duffel on the front seat before sitting behind the wheel. He slipped the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it. He listened to the quiet instead, and thought about the way Shane smiled even as he limped. Was Shane really gay, as the men on the bench had joked? Well, what the hell difference did that make? Jimmy wasn’t going to pick him up. Wasn’t ever going to see him again. But maybe later, the next time Jimmy had a date with his own right hand, he’d get to thinking about that bartender again. The way his hair was a little too long and looked mostly brown indoors but might brighten to red-gold in the sunshine. And his eyes—filled with sparkle and life and colored like that precious stone. Sapphire? Yeah, these images might help Jimmy get through a few lonely hours.

  He swore under his breath at his own stupidity.

  Then he turned the key—and of course the engine did nothing at all.

  Chapter Five

  JIMMY STARTLED awake and bashed his leg painfully into the steering column when something banged close to his ear. He brought his seat upright and looked blearily through the window. A woman in a police uniform gave the glass another knock. It was hard to make out her features with the glare of the morning sun, but she didn’t look happy.

  He carefully cracked the door, waiting until she stepped back a little to open it all the way. Even when the rest of the car had been operational, the window never rolled down.

  She took in his mussed hair and day-old whiskers. “Sir, you can’t camp here. This parking lot is for day use only.”

  He managed to avoid making a smartass comment about the fact that it was day now. “I’m sorry. My car wouldn’t start last night and it was late, and….”

  Her frown softened slightly. “I can give you the number for Hank’s. He’ll come by and give you a jump start.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. But I’m fairly certain my problem’s bigger than a dead battery.”

  She squished her mouth to one side. “Well, you can’t stay here.”

  He didn’t know why it was such a big deal. It wasn’t as if the city was hurting for parking spaces. Aside from the Ford, the police cruiser, and a delivery truck, the lot was empty. But he just nodded. “I understand.”

  After one more stern look, she got in her car and drove away. He had the impression she’d be back soon to check on him. Fine. He’d be long gone.

  He checked to make sure his few belongings were all in the duffel bag. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he got out of the car and shouldered the bag. The highway was a couple of miles away. He’d probably have good luck catching a ride there.

  But as he walked down Main Street, it occurred to him that he had to pee. He could have found a tree somewhere away from prying eyes, but he also really wanted to wash up a little. Brush his teeth and tidy his hair. He was groggy—the Ford wasn’t comfortable to sleep in, and thanks to all the coffee, he’d had trouble falling asleep. And he was hungry. He hadn’t had anything but popcorn and coffee for dinner, and he hadn’t had a hot meal in forever. So when he came upon Mae’s Café, with the scent of sausage and maple syrup wafting through the open door, his feet carried him inside.

  Mae’s was crowded and noisy. Mostly locals, he guessed, because a lot of the conversations seemed to cross from one table to another. A big display case full of pastries served as the cashier counter, and behind that, a doorway led to the kitchen. Three women in their twenties who wore white aprons and looked like sisters bustled back and forth between the kitchen and the tables.

  “Help you?” asked one of them, a chubby bleached-blonde with several facial piercings.

  “Um, one, please.” He didn’t often eat in restaurants, and he felt a little uncomfortable.

  But she grabbed a plastic-coated menu and led him to a small table with two chairs. It wasn’t prime real estate, seeing as it was close to the bathrooms, but he liked it because he preferred sitting at the edges of rooms. Besides, he had enough space to tuck his duffel out of the way.

  “You want coffee?” she asked, setting the menu in front of him.

  “Please. And a glass of water too.”

  She nodded. “We have fresh-squeezed OJ and grapefruit juice.”

  What the hell. Why not? “Orange sounds great.”

  He perused the menu carefully, squinting a little. He’d always had sharp eyes, but lately he’d been finding small print hard to read. Another unpleasant reminder that he was aging. But he soon forgot those mo
rose thoughts because the menu was engaging. There were a lot of choices, and everything sounded wonderful. He still hadn’t decided when the waitress returned and plunked down his drinks.

  “What’ll it be?” she asked, pad and pen ready.

  “I can’t make up my mind. What would you recommend?”

  That earned him his first smile from her. “You want my personal favorite? The french toast with the blueberry topping. The topping’s homemade and it’s really good. Get yourself some sausage and home fries on the side and you won’t be sorry.”

  “You’ve made yourself a sale.” He handed her the menu.

  After she left, he grabbed his duffel and hurried into the bathroom. He pissed and then gave himself a quick assessment in the mirror. He tried to keep his hair short so it never looked too messy. And his whiskers didn’t yet look too disreputable, though it annoyed him that they grew in much grayer than his hair, which was still mostly dark brown. All right, then. He could almost pass muster. He quickly changed into a clean T-shirt, washing his underarms and applying deodorant as he did so. Then he brushed his teeth and splashed his face. It would have to do, and he knew he should feel grateful to have done that much. There had been plenty of times when he hadn’t had access to running water, let alone hot water and soap.

  Feeling slightly more human, he returned to his table and poured sugar into his coffee, now just cool enough to drink. The juice was delicious, and he liked the pulp. He was just considering whether to dig out his book and read during breakfast when someone approached the table.

  “I thought you were heading out last night.”

  Shane was smiling at him. He wore that same blue plaid overshirt, this time with enough buttons undone to show a gray T-shirt underneath. The sunlight sneaking in from the café’s front windows confirmed Jimmy’s suspicion—Shane’s hair was almost red.

  “I thought I was too,” Jimmy said. “My car said otherwise.”

  “Damn. Where did you sleep?”

  Jimmy just raised his eyebrows since the answer was obvious. They both knew he hadn’t booked a room at the resort.

  “Damn,” Shane repeated. “You should have said something. It’s too cold to sleep outdoors.”

  “Wasn’t that bad. I have a decent coat. And a blanket.”

  Frowning, Shane shook his head. Then he seemed to realize it was a done deal, because he gave a slight shrug. “Mind if I join you for breakfast?”

  None of the other tables were empty, but surely Shane could have sat with someone else. He probably knew most of the other patrons. Jimmy’s heart gave a stupid little wiggle, like a puppy glad to see its owner. “Sure,” he said gruffly.

  A moment later, the waitress brought Jimmy’s overflowing plate, as well as a coffee mug for Shane. “Usual?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  The food looked amazing and smelled even better. Jimmy eyed it with unremitting greed.

  “Don’t wait on my account,” Shane said. “Mae’s french toast tastes best right off the griddle.”

  So Jimmy took a forkful, and holy shit, his taste buds went straight to heaven. He might have moaned slightly, because Shane chuckled. “Mae has that effect on a lot of men.”

  Jimmy swallowed before answering. “Women don’t usually do it for me, but I might be willing to switch teams for the woman who can make this.” He pointed at his plate.

  Was that a glint of interest in Shane’s pretty eyes? Maybe. Jimmy was no great catch, but in a town the size of Rattlesnake, the pickings were probably slim and fresh meat hard to come by.

  “Mae’s cinnamon rolls are even better than the french toast,” Shane said. “And what she can do to a strawberry rhubarb pie is practically obscene. Wrong season for that, though.”

  “You eat here a lot.” A statement, not a question. Jimmy had never stuck around long enough to be a regular anywhere. It might be kind of nice.

  “Almost every day. I have a little apartment over at the Snake, and I have a kitchenette and all, but I can’t cook. And I work through dinnertime. So I eat my big meal of the day here, in the morning.”

  As if on cue, the waitress appeared with Shane’s plate. It wasn’t as overloaded as Jimmy’s, but it did contain an enormous omelet overflowing with cheese and veggies. The omelet was flanked by two slices of toast and a ceramic cup of grapes and orange segments. Shane watched Jimmy assess his meal. “Not too much longer and Mae’ll have fresh strawberries instead. Yum.”

  “You eat that every day?”

  “Every Tuesday. I alternate menu items by the day of the week. It… helps me remember. French toast is on Fridays.”

  Jimmy nodded, then shoveled more food into his mouth. He hadn’t known it was Tuesday and he didn’t know the date. Those things rarely mattered much to him. He certainly didn’t have a weekly meal schedule. The concept was strange yet oddly endearing. “What’s on Wednesdays?” he asked.

  “That’s my depressingly healthy day. Oatmeal.”

  They ate silently for a while. Whenever new customers entered the café, they waved at Shane and stared curiously at Jimmy before taking their own seats. “You know everyone in town, huh?” Jimmy observed.

  “Ought to. Lived here my whole life. Where are you from?” He paused with his fork in midair.

  “Nowhere in particular.” Time to change the subject slightly. “So do you own the inn?”

  Shane swallowed and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “No, but my aunt Belinda does. That was her at the desk last night. She and Uncle Emilio used to live in the apartment and run the place, but after he died, she moved in with my cousin Trudy, and I… I bet you don’t need to know my entire family history, do you?”

  “I don’t mind,” said Jimmy. Who already knew bits of Shane’s family history that Shane probably didn’t. “Ring of Fire.” Tossing rocks at cans.

  “Well, it’s not all that exciting. Anyway, I’ve lived at the Snake for over seven years now. I like it. It’s practically across the street from the best breakfasts in Calaveras County.” With a little flourish, he ate the last of his omelet.

  Jimmy’s food was long gone, and he could have paid and left. But Shane leaned back comfortably in his chair, not seeming inclined to leave, and Jimmy wasn’t in a hurry. He could enjoy some company for a while yet. They both smiled at the waitress when she refilled their coffee cups.

  Jimmy dumped sugar into his and stirred. “A bunch of years back, I was in a little town in South Dakota. One of those old farming towns where most of the young people have moved away, and everyone else is just sort of waiting to die. Wasn’t near the freeway or Mount Rushmore or anyplace tourists go, so there was no reason for anyone to go there except the locals. I could’ve laid down in the middle of Main Street and had myself a good nap without much danger of getting run over.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Just passing through,” Jimmy said, smiling. “It was raining. There was one bar—Dan’s Silver Dollar. I asked the bartender if there were any cheap beds around. He said I could stay upstairs in the old hotel for free if I wanted. It’d been closed for a few years already, but there were mattresses and running water. He said it was haunted, though.”

  Shane was leaning forward as if he didn’t want to miss a word. “So did you stay?”

  “Didn’t have much choice. There was nothing else for miles and I didn’t much like the idea of sleeping rough. Not much for cover in the plains states, you know?”

  “I’ve never been,” said Shane, and he sounded more wistful than anyone ought to be over South Dakota. “So what happened? Did you see any ghosts?”

  Jimmy remembered the smell of dust and old plaster as he huddled in his own blanket on a bare mattress. There were no light fixtures in the room and possibly no electricity, so the only illumination was a single streetlamp shining through the water-streaked window. The storm had kicked up a few notches after he’d settled in, and the wind howled mournfully. “I saw a few things creeping in the shadows in the corners, but
maybe that was just spiders and mice. And I heard things. Whispers. Cries. A man’s voice shouting. I smelled a woman’s perfume. When I came downstairs in the morning, I was a celebrity. Half the town was there, and someone bought me a steak breakfast. And I’d stayed dry all night, so it was definitely a success. I didn’t tell them I’d spent the night scared half to death.”

  Shane smiled and shook his head. “I’ve never seen any ghosts at the Snake. But I figure an old place like that, it’s full of memories. Can you imagine the things that must’ve gone on there during the gold rush days? Wish I had a magic camera so I could see some of them.”

  “You could see old Rattlesnake himself.”

  “Yeah. Find out if he really was such a mean-tempered bastard.”

  Jimmy liked Shane’s company, and not just because Jimmy was a little lonely and Shane was easy on the eyes. Shane seemed sweet and happy, the kind of guy who had a grin for everyone and didn’t judge a tired drifter with a day-old growth of whiskers.

  A man in his late sixties entered the café. His cowboy hat looked like the real deal instead of an affectation, and his lined face was deeply tanned. He caught sight of Shane and ambled over. “Not surprised to see you here,” he said.

  Shane grinned. “I’m not surprised at you right back. Mom talked you into fetching cinnamon rolls?”

  “Doc’s coming out to take a look at one of the horses today. As if the ridiculous amount of money he’s gonna charge us ain’t enough, your mother thinks we oughta feed the sonofabitch too.”

  “It’s a tough life, Dad.”

  Dad? Jimmy peered curiously at the man, who looked nothing like Tom. The man peered back, his eyebrows slightly raised. Then he stuck out his hand. “Adam Little.”

  “Jimmy Dorsett.” Adam had a firm grip and skin as tough as old canvas.

  When Adam continued to stare at Jimmy, Shane huffed with exasperation. “Jeez, Dad. He’s just some poor guy who was willing to share his table with me. Stop giving him the hairy eyeball.” He turned his attention to Jimmy. “Sorry. He seems to think that guarding my virtue is his job.”