The Nightcrawler

by Mick Ridgewell

  The screen door creaked when Pete pulled it open and he nudged Roger inside. Roger looked around the front room with adoration. It was just like his Gran’s. The furniture looked old but clean and solid. The dark wood end tables were covered with framed snapshots and bric-a-brac. Everything on them sat on lace doilies. A large coffee table in the center of the room was adorned with a big purple molded glass bowl filled with pink and yellow M&M’s. Roger thought they had probably been there since Easter. Maybe not even this past Easter.

  Pete stepped around him and headed through a door in the back right corner of the room. “Come on, Rog, Jenny ain’t gonna bite cha.”

  Roger followed Pete into the kitchen, surprisingly modern compared to the room he just left. Ceramic tile covered the counter and backsplash, and perfectly matched the floor. Stainless steel appliances glistened as the morning sun streamed through the bow window. The plants on the window shelf cast oddly shaped shadows across the floor. A small round oak table with three mismatched place settings on frilly floral print placemats filled the room.

  Without realizing it, Roger inhaled deeply. The smell of bacon invaded his sinuses. Jenny stood at the counter next to the stove cracking eggs into a bowl. She turned to Roger and smiled. She had the kind of smile that could make anyone feel welcome. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt covered by an apron that could be from Minnie Pearl’s own clothing line, Roger thought she looked like a cast member from Hee Haw, another of Millie’s favorite forms of syndicated entertainment when he was little.

  “Roger, I make the best cheese omelet in these parts. Can I interest you in tryin’ one?”

  “Sounds awesome, Miss …”

  “Just call me Jenny. Okay, Roger?”

  “Okay, Jenny it is.”

  Pete had made his way to the table and sat with his back to the wall. He motioned to Roger who followed suit and sat in the next chair, both watching Jenny as she poured some of the whipped eggs into a skillet, filling the room with a loud sizzle.

  “Don’t cha just love that sound, Rog?” Pete said. “Nothing sounds better than a batch of eggs hittin’ a hot griddle.” He began rubbing his hands together as if in anxious anticipation of something phenomenal.

  “Here’s the secret to a great cheese omelet, Roger. After you fold it put it on a plate and put it in a warm oven.” Jenny slid one plate into the oven and removed two others. One was piled high with what looked like a whole loaf of toasted bread. The other was covered with cooked bacon.

  Continuing she said, “Just for a minute or so to give the cheese a chance to melt into the eggs.” Putting the bacon and toast on the table she winked at Roger and added, “But don’t go telling everyone my secrets you hear.”

  “No ma’am,” Roger replied, grinning back at her.

  “Rog is plannin’ to hike the Grand Canyon,” Pete said as if trying to find a way into the conversation.

  “That so, Roger? Well you be careful when you get down to the canyon floor, it’s terrible hot down there this time of year.” Jenny’s face took on a look of mild concern. “And you make sure you get a guide and if you can’t find a guide you make sure you let someone know what part of the canyon your gonna be in, okay? That is one place you don’t wanna get lost. By the time the rangers see the buzzards circlin’ it’s too late.” She took the plate with the eggs out of the oven and shoveled them onto the three plates. Roger and Pete started on their omelets and Jenny poured them each a glass of OJ and sat down.

  “Now Jenny, don’t go scarin’ the boy. He’ll be just fine, eh Rog?” Pete said through a mouthful of eggs.

  Roger was nibbling on a piece of toast and didn’t answer. He just nodded and with a warm grin did his best to ease Jenny’s mind. The dream that Pete woke him out of had slipped away until Jenny’s advice brought it right back.

  “So listen, Rog, I don’t know if yer in a hurry to get to the canyon but Jenny tells me there’s a rodeo at the Buffalo Bill State Park nearby if yer interested.”

  “Sounds cool. Either of you going?”

  “Not me,” Pete answered clearing off his plate. “I gotta get this load into Salt Lake City.” He wiped his hands with a red and white checkered napkin, and then began rubbing his belly with great satisfaction.

  “I’m takin’ the Greyhound to visit my sister in Lincoln,” Jenny said. “She ain’t been feelin’ too good these days. You should go though, Roger. It is a nice place to visit. You can camp there for a while too.”

  Jenny finished her omelet, took a strip of bacon in her fingers and nibbled at it. She looked across at Roger. He smiled at her in a way he hoped said thanks for the breakfast.

  Returning his smile she said, “I put out a fresh towel in the bathroom if you wanna take a shower. Old Pete there used up most of my hot water but I bet by now the tank should be back up to temp. I could wash your clothes for you if you like. I bet it would feel good after bein’ on the road for a while.”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” This time, his smile emanated from pure joy. Roger couldn’t remember ever going this long between showers.

  “The bathroom’s just at the end of the hall, hon,” Jenny said, patting him on the hand.

  Roger got up and began to pick up his dishes.

  “You just leave them, dear. I’ll take care of it later.”

  Jenny had also got up and reached for Roger’s plate. Pete remained seated, sipped his juice, and chuckled quietly at the sight of Jenny exercising her mother instincts. Her boy had left town for college eight years ago and she only saw him a few times a year now. She was relishing the feeling of youth in the house again.

  Two hours later Roger had showered, shaved and dressed in freshly laundered clothes. Pete left while he was in the shower. Jenny told him that Pete hated goodbyes. She also said that Pete had really formed an attachment to him and wished him all the best in the future. Roger was disappointed that he didn’t get to say goodbye to Pete but he hoped they would meet again.

  “Well dear,” Jenny said as Roger stood at the front window looking out at the glorious day. “Have you got a plan for the next part of your journey?”

  “I think I’m going to check out that rodeo.”

  “Good for you, hon. When you get there try to get back and meet some of the competitors. They really are a colorful bunch.”

  “I’ll do that. I should get out of your way so you can pack for your trip. I hope your sister is doing better.”

  It wasn’t until that moment that Roger noticed Jenny was holding his backpack. Hugging it would be a better description. He stepped toward her and she handed it to him. As he took it she held out her arms to draw him in.

  “I put lunch and some treats in your pack. Pete left his card for you. It has his cell number on it. He said to call him anytime, I wrote my number on the back. I hope you will call once in a while. You know, just to say hi.”

  With Jenny still clinging to him, Roger asked for directions to the rodeo. She released him and explained in detail how to get to Buffalo Bill Park.

  Chapter Seven

  Scott rolled over and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 8:17 am.

  “Shit,” he said in a half whisper. His plane was somewhere over the Dakotas, give or take. He flipped the covers off his naked body and sat up on the edge of the bed. His feet rested on the pile of clothes he had worn the previous night. He turned on the radio and the sultry voice of a woman said, “Hello boys, it’s eight-eighteen and you’re listening to Classic Rock on WCSX. This one is going out to all of our boys overseas. They’re putting theirs on the line for us.” Bob Seger began to sing.

  Scott sat, wondering what to do with his day. It was too early to phone anyone back home. Max wouldn’t be rousing Tina to take her morning walk for another hour at least.

  He walked over to the window, slid the curtain over just far enough to look down onto the street. The sunlight came crashing through the gap like a passenger train through a dark tunnel. Scot
t stood his ground squinting down at the carpet until his eyes had adjusted. The bustle of rush hour was well underway.

  It looked like the start of a beautiful day. The sun’s glow was brilliant, the sky was clear and blue, a few thin white clouds barely noticeable high up in the atmosphere floated along adding just the right amount of contrast to be beautiful. He looked over his shoulder at his new golf clubs and smiled. Maybe he could do nine somewhere on the road.

  At nine fifteen, he picked up the phone, dialed C.S. and T.’s main line. After two rings, “C.S. and T., Sarah speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Good morning. And how are you today?”

  “Are you back in LA already?” Her tone became hushed. Scott thought she sounded much the same as his assistant when she was talking to her boyfriend during working hours.

  “No. I missed the plane. I’m still in the hotel. Is Thomas in yet?” His voice carried no hint of having been intimate with her just hours ago.

  “One moment and I’ll transfer you,” and with a sharp click he was listening to a weak instrumental rendition of “Me and Bobby McGee”.

  Scott could picture Thomas at his large L-shaped desk, with the cherry wood top. There’d be no clutter on it, just an in-tray, a picture of his wife and a flat screen computer monitor.

  Scott heard one ring then, “Thomas Andrews.”

  “Good morning, Thomas, it’s Scott.”

  “Are you calling from the plane?”

  “Still in the hotel. Slept in.”

  “Well I guess it was a good night then.” That comment had them both chuckling a bit. “So, what do you think of the Charger?”

  “It’s a great machine. I may have a buyer for it. He really wants a Hemi but I may be able to hook him if he drives yours. I thought I’d take a couple of weeks off and drive her to LA. Maybe hit the links here and there along the way. If this guy doesn’t buy the car I might buy her myself.”

  “Sounds good to me, I’m sure all the paperwork you need is in the glove compartment. Do you think you can get thirty for it?”

  “It’ll be close but let’s wait and see. I’m going to head out soon; thanks for dinner last night. It couldn’t have gone better. I’ll call you next week about the car.”

  Thomas wished him a safe trip and Scott hung up the phone.

  After a quick breakfast in his room, he packed his bags. He traveled light, a small carry-on bag, his laptop and a small suitcase. He called guest services and requested a bellhop to bring his things down.

  At 10:37, there was a knock at the door. Scott opened it.

  “Good morning, Mr. Randall. My name is Jimmy,” said a skinny, pimple faced kid who looked about nineteen. “I’m here to get your luggage.”

  Scott didn’t say a word. He just held up a finger, and then sat on the bed to make another call. The bellhop worked slowly putting the bags on his trolley unable to avoid hearing Scott’s side of the conversation.

  “Tina. Scott.”

  “Are you at LAX?” Tina asked.

  “No I’m still in Detroit. Missed the plane.”

  “When’s the next flight, can I pick you up?”

  “I’m driving. I’m going to bring a car back. It’s a 69 Charger.”

  “From Detroit?”

  “Ya, gonna take some time to see the country. Play some golf.”

  “Did you bring your clubs?”

  “Not a problem, I bought some new ones here. Can you stay there until I get back?”

  “Sure, they’re renovating the pool in my building, so I can use yours for now.”

  “Great. How’s Max?”

  “As sweet as ever.”

  “Good. Don’t feed her too much. I don’t want a fat dog when I get there.”

  “You’re such a worrier.”

  “Thanks again, Tina, and let them know at the office that I’m not coming back right away. I’ll call you again when I get to Vegas. Bye.”

  Jimmy said he was ready to go down and Scott followed him out of the room, as though the bellhop knew a shortcut to the lobby.

  “Where ya from?” Jimmy asked.

  “LA” Scott replied, annoyed that this pimple faced, little pissant was talking to him.

  “Nice clubs, Mr. Randall. Where did you play while you were here?”

  “Didn’t. Just bought them yesterday.”

  The elevator door opened. Scott was relieved that the Q & A with Jimmy was over. He approached the front desk where a cheerful woman asked, “Checking out?”

  He just nodded and said, “Scott Randall.”

  She typed his name into her computer and inquired, “Was everything satisfactory, Mr. Randall?”

  He smiled and nodded without saying anything.

  “Your bill has been taken care of by a Mr. Thomas Andrews. If you’ll just sign here.” He scribbled an illegible signature. “Thank you, please come back and stay with us again.”

  Scott smiled again. “Thank you. I will.”

  A few steps behind him Jimmy was waiting with Scott’s bags neatly placed on the trolley.

  “Can I get you a cab, Mr. Randall?”

  “No, I have a car in the garage.”

  Jimmy pushed the cart inside the first available elevator and Scott stepped in behind him not bothering to say a word.

  “Did you park on level one or two, Mr. Randall?” Scott held up two fingers.

  The door slid open, the garage was near empty.

  “Which one’s yours, Mr. Randall?”

  “The red Charger just ahead on the right.”

  The young lad stopped behind the Charger. “Whoa! Bitchin ride.”

  A smile crossed Scott’s lips briefly.

  While Jimmy stowed the luggage in the trunk, Scott looked at his watch, 11:15. “Jimmy, I need to pick up a road atlas. Any idea where I can get one?”

  “Sure, Mr. Randall. There’s a bookstore across the street. I’m sure they would have one.”

  You couldn’t figure that out, Scott thought to himself. You were just there yesterday. Jimmy pointed him in the direction of the stairwell.

  “The stairs are the quickest way, Mr. Randall,” he said. Scott thanked him, handed him a twenty then walked up the stairs.

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk he took a deep breath, exhaled and felt energized by the improved air quality compared with the dank garage. Then two steps toward the street, a familiar pungent odor made him feel nauseated.

  “Say man, can ya spare some change?”

  It was him, the same bum that spoiled his walk yesterday. So much for the rejuvenated feeling he got from the morning air. The stink on this guy was worse than yesterday. Who would have thought that possible? Scott was as angered by the intrusion as he was repulsed by the smell.

  “I told you no yesterday, now fuck off.”

  The bum just grinned, cocked his finger like a kid playing cops and robbers. He pointed at Scott, made that same clicking sound with his tongue and said “Okie-dokie.”

  Scott crossed the street and when he looked back the bum was gone.

  Inside the bookstore, the same clerk who rang in his purchase the previous day was working the cash register.

  “I need a road atlas,” Scott announced.

  Just then the phone rang and she answered it. “Books and More, can you please hold?” She looked at Scott and pointed him to the travel section. He quickly found the atlas and returned to the checkout, putting the atlas on the counter.

  “Hold on,” the clerk said into the phone, and then rung in Scott’s purchase. “Will there be anything else today, sir?”

  He looked out the window, no sign of the smelly man.

  “That’ll be all,” he said.

  She smiled that same smile that must be part of the training in retail. “$11.75,” she said. She took his money, made change and said, “Please come again.” Then she continued her phone conversation.

  He put the change in his pocket without counting it and headed back to the hotel garage.

  In the driver�
��s seat, Scott opened the road atlas and planned the first leg of his journey. He needed to get to the westbound I-94. Confident that he could get there, he closed the atlas and put the keys in the ignition. The 440 started with a roar that vibrated through the entire garage and then backed out smoothly. He smiled as the tires squawked from the slightest pressure on the gas pedal.

  When he got to the sidewalk, a fine mist of water on the windshield blurred his vision. A man reached across the hood and removed the water with a squeegee. The guy leaned up close to the open driver side window with an outstretched hand.

  “Jesus Christ,” Scott blurted out.

  Scott didn’t expect to see him again. Yet there he was inches from his face, smiling. The teeth that were there were a decaying yellowish color. Scott’s sinuses were now flooded by the bum’s breath, the smell turning his stomach.

  Offended and a bit shaken, Scott yelled, “Get the fuck away from me!”

  The guy’s smile never waned. He backed up a step. Then made the same finger gun gesture and clicking sound with his tongue.

  Scott squealed the Uniroyals as the back end of the Charger fishtailed a bit, and narrowly missed an oncoming car.

  “Fucking freak. Smelly fucking freak.” he said to no one in particular.

  He drove in silence for fifteen or twenty minutes, more than a little creeped out by too many encounters with the bum. Gradually his mood returned to where it was when the morning air first hit his face. He got to the I-94 with no traffic headaches. The sun was brilliant. The sky was as blue as he could ever remember it being. The wind rushing through the open windows of the car was exhilarating. The familiar drone of the Charger’s V-8 was very calming. He reached for the radio.