Bad Radio

by Michael Langlois

  Looking into her fierce eyes, I had to smile. “That’s very true.”

  She folded her arms and sat back. “Wake me when we get there.”

  The sun was just hovering over the horizon when we crossed over onto I-80. A small sign with an arrow that read “Belmont – 31 Miles” appeared on the shoulder without the usual warning of prior signage. I had to brake hard and swerve to make the ninety-degree turn onto the cracked gray asphalt that ran off into the distance.

  The main highway soon vanished in my mirrors, leaving nothing but an endless ribbon of worn-out road before and behind us. To my left the sunset was fading fast and the scent of dust was giving way to the first faint tang of cool night air.

  “Wow, pretty deserted out here.”

  “Probably why Piotr chose it. The more isolated the better.”

  Anne spotted the reflective green rectangle first, just as dusk began to settle around us. It said, “Belmont City Limit” and underneath was a smaller sign riveted to the same post that declared, “Pop. 30,218 – Home of the Wildcats.”

  The sign was faded with a pattern of shallow dents across the face. A pretty common sight out in the country, where bored young men would inevitably connect the possibilities of shotguns, pickup truck beds, and targets whizzing by.

  She grinned at me and shook an imaginary pom-pom. “Go Wildcats! That was the name of my high school’s team, too.”

  “I think every town in America is required to have at least one team called the Wildcats. Were you a cheerleader?”

  “Do I look like a cheerleader to you?”

  “Every time I close my eyes.”

  “Pervert. No, I was never a cheerleader. I would have loved to try out, but Patrick wouldn’t let me. Never a moment to spare from my competition training.”

  Streets began to branch off from both sides of road as the town sprouted up around us. “You feel prepared, then?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Me neither.”

  27

  The tires plocked loudly as we hit the sunken concrete edge of the diner parking lot where the asphalt road failed to meld with the older town structures. There were a few cars huddled around the squat building, as if they were looking forlornly into the plate glass windows at their owners. The Range Rover stood out sharply among them as I pulled in, the only late-model car in the group, and the only one not covered in dusty grime.

  I turned off the ignition, and we sat quietly listening to the engine tick as it cooled. “Hungry?”

  “Not really. You?”

  “Always.”

  “Is it really a good idea to just walk in there? Maybe we should sneak around or something first.”

  “In a town this size, strangers stand out like a house fire. No amount of sneaking is going to hide the fact that we’re in town, so we may as well not waste time trying. Besides, I’m starved.”

  The sun wasn’t all the way down as we crossed the parking lot, but it was nearly full dark anyway. Heavy bottle-green clouds squatted overhead, stealing much of the day’s last light. It looked like tornado weather. A damp breeze whipped past us, smelling faintly of ozone and swampy rot.

  Anne spit. “Ugh, that’s horrible.”

  “Probably a water treatment plant close by.”

  “No, it’s the other kind of stink. This place reeks. It’s bad.”

  “Ah. Well, I guess I’m glad I can’t smell it then. Any bags around?”

  “I can’t tell. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Give me a few minutes to get used to it.”

  “More food for me, then.”

  “If you say food one more time, I’m going to throw up on you. Got it?”

  I put up my hands in surrender. “Got it.”

  We went in.

  The place was ugly. The fluorescent lights overhead didn’t do the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor and orange vinyl booths any favors.

  Four tables occupied the middle of the floor, topped with blue-speckled white Formica and surrounded by dull chrome chairs with blue vinyl seats. Booths lined the walls to the left and right of the entrance, and a long counter fronted by revolving stools took up the back wall. Behind the counter was the kitchen. Everything looked hard used and faded. Nobody looked up when we went inside, which surprised me.

  Only one man sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. He was wearing a denim baseball cap with the bill pulled down low, a brown windbreaker, jeans, and black cowboy boots. His gaze was fixed on the contents of his cup.

  Three of the booths were occupied. One of them by four older people, two couples by the looks of it, who were chatting animatedly over dinner and having a good time.

  Another booth had a young family with a toddler strapped into a high chair at the end of the table, the parents to each side in the booth. The kid was rubbing mashed potatoes in his hair and laughing. The dad seemed to find it funny, the mom did not.

  The last booth contained a fairly large young man in his mid-twenties hunched over a paperback in front of a half-empty plate.

  We sat down at one of the tables closest to the door. A waitress came out of the kitchen and strode briskly up to our table, flipping open her order tablet with one hand and pulling a pen out of her apron with the other. Her dark hair was tied up in a limp ponytail, and she wore a tiny gold cross on a thread-thin chain around her neck.

  “Welcome to Mesa Diner,” she said. “Menus are right there,” she pointed her pen at a wire clip with several laminated cards sticking out of it in the center of the table, “what can I get you to drink?”

  I gave her my best smile. “Coffee, black.”

  “Just water for me.”

  She left without writing anything down and busied herself behind the counter.

  I leaned over the table and whispered. “Is that her?”

  “Who?”

  “Is that the waitress from your dream?”

  Anne shook her head. “No, too old.”

  I pulled out a menu despite knowing full well that I was going to get a cheeseburger. I glanced over the selection of meat between bread, fried meat, and breakfast meat and figured that Anne was in for another salad.

  We got our drinks and ordered. While we sat waiting for the food, everyone in the place snuck looks at us except for the guy at the counter and the guy with the paperback. Even the cook stuck his head out the order window to get a peek.

  I was finishing my burger when the family with the toddler left. The group of elderly revelers was lingering over coffee. Neither the man at the counter nor the man with the book had moved. At least Book Guy was actually reading. Counter Guy had yet to take a sip of coffee.

  I got Anne’s attention and then looked pointedly at Counter Guy, then touched my nose. She shrugged at me. Great.

  I pushed back from the table and walked over to the counter. The waitress looked up. “Yes?”

  I turned to the man. “How’s the pie?”

  He looked to be in his late forties or so, and jowly with a bulbous nose. The waitress answered. “Good. It’s cherry tonight.”

  “I’ll take a slice.” The man glanced at me without turning his head, just a quick flick of the eyes.

  She nodded and pulled a chilled plate out of the pie case and handed it to me. Big square grains of sugar were scattered over the pale dough. Only the crinkled edges showed any evidence of browning. “Thanks.”

  I sat back down at the table and had a bite. Canned cherries and underdone supermarket pie crust. No doubt about it. This town was evil.

  “Well?”

  “Guy’s a bag for sure. Saw a twitch in his neck while I was up there.”

  “You think the waitress knows?”

  I shrugged. “He’s been sitting in front of a full cup of coffee since we got here, and she’s never spoken to him, or even walked to that end of the counter. At the very least, she knows that he’s not a real customer.”

  “What about the other guy? With the book.”

  “I have no idea. Y
ou’re supposed to be my needle finder. Start finding.”

  “Fine.” She got up and made a show of looking around the diner. Then she stepped over to the guy’s booth. “Excuse me, do you know where the little girl’s room is?”

  The guy looked up, startled. He pointed to the obvious restroom sign by the counter and Anne thanked him. His eyes lingered on her ass as she walked away before returning to his book.

  Anne returned from the bathroom just as I was finishing my pie. “Not a bag.”

  “I know, he checked you out when you walked away.”

  “Is that all guys think about?”

  “Human ones, yeah.”

  The waitress came by and dropped off the check. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  “Directions to a motel? We just drove into town.”

  “We only got the one. It’s called the Belmont Inn, and it’s just up the main road about a mile. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She topped off my coffee and retreated to the counter. We paid the bill and left.

  Back in the car, Anne let out a relieved sigh. “How could you just sit there eating pie with that thing in the same room with us? Jesus.”

  “I like pie.” She rolled her eyes. “If he was going to attack, he would have done it as soon as we went inside. He’s just there to keep an eye on the place.”

  “It’s scary to think of it being able to be patient like that. Just to have a goal in mind and do it, no matter how long it takes. The ones I’ve seen so far have been like frantic crazy people, running and fighting the entire time. I felt safer when I thought they all acted like that.”

  I nodded and started the car. “Don’t think of them as monsters that look like people. Think of them as people who have the souls of monsters. It’s their will that’s been replaced, not their minds.”

  She hugged herself, as though cold. “How do they get inside you? Is that going to happen to us if we stay here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  28

  We found the Belmont Inn two miles down the road, marked by a wide white sign with a baby-blue neon outline of an arrow on it. The inn itself was a pair of one-story squares with large blue diamonds painted on the once-white walls. One corner of the front building had glass doors with the word “Lobby” on them written in gold sticker letters. The paint was peeling and faded from too much sun and too little maintenance.

  Anne made a face. “Gross. Maybe I’ll sleep in the car.”

  “Feel free, I’m sure the bags will enjoy watching you sleep with their faces pressed up against the windows.”

  “Motel it is, then.”

  The lobby was cool and dry, a nice contrast from the moist pre-storm air outside. Below both plate glass windows, one to each side of the double doors, long air-conditioning units rattled and whined. The flat carpet was baby blue to match the exterior, with faded orange diamonds marching across it. The counter was blonde wood with a blue top made of some artificial stone, with an orange plastic bowl full of fresh apples sitting proudly on top.

  “Well, hello there! Welcome to the Belmont Inn, can I get you a room tonight?” The innkeeper was a plump woman just past middle age, with curly brown hair and cats-eye reading glasses complete with a thin rhinestone strap draped from the arms. She had thick arms and pudgy hands, and she had them spread wide on the countertop as she leaned towards us, smiling. I don’t know if I’m any kind of judge of character, but I liked her immediately.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re looking for a room for the week, if you have one.”

  “I surely do. We’re all out of twin beds, but I can offer you one queen if that’s okay with you.”

  I glanced at Anne and she smiled at me. “The queen will do fine.”

  She winked at me and started filling out a form by hand. She had me sign it, and two minutes later I had keys in hand. “Your room is right out front, number 103. My name is Barbara and I’m at zero on your phone, call me if you need any little thing. Don’t forget to take an apple, now. They’re good for you.”

  “Thank you, Barbara.” We walked out, apples in hand, and found our room.

  As I expected, the carpet in the room was blue, and the bedspreads were orange. A subdued orange, thankfully, but orange nonetheless. By now we were getting our routine down pat, so it wasn’t long before our duffles were stored, and we were settled.

  “So,” said Anne, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “what now?”

  “Wait until it gets really late, maybe 3:00 a.m. or so, and then drive around town. Can’t be too many places in a community this size where you can hide your occult bloodletting operation.”

  “Sounds good. What do you want to do until then?”

  I put on my best movie villain leer. “Well, we did pay for this bed.”

  She laughed. “Eat your apple, old man. We need to be ready in case there’s trouble. I’m sure they know we’re here.”

  “I hope so, I did everything except sit in that bag’s lap at the diner. Contact with the enemy will get us leads. Provided we survive it, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  At around midnight we were flipping channels between infomercials for miracle cleaners and all night fire-and-brimstone sermons when headlights swept past the window, rolling tall shadows briefly across the walls. I killed the TV. Footsteps crunched towards our room.

  “Bag?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’m still trying to get used to the stink here.”

  Two loud knuckle raps on the door announced our visitor. I stood up to answer it. “Not a bag.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They don’t knock.” I opened the door. “Yes?”

  Paperback Guy stood in the doorway. “Hi, I need to talk to you. Can I come in? It’s important.” I could see the bulge of a gun under the black hoodie that he wore.

  “Sure, come on in.”

  As he walked past me I grabbed his arm and swept his feet out from under him. As his feet left the ground, I kept my hold on his arm and pushed him backwards and down with my other hand. Air percussed from his lungs in a long cough as his back slapped forcefully against the thin carpet.

  Anne swept neatly past us and closed the door. I removed his gun, a black 9mm Taurus, and tossed it to Anne. She stepped out of reach and pointed it at our guest, who was now trying to raise his hands as well as gasp for breath. His eyes flicked back and forth between me, standing over him with my arms crossed, to Anne’s unsmiling face, to the barrel of his own gun.

  “Wait,” he wheezed. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “By spying on us in the diner, following us to our hotel, and trying to gain access to our room in the middle of the night with a gun? That doesn’t sound very helpful.”

  “Listen to me. If you don’t want to be a missing persons statistic, then you need to move on, right now. Can I get up?”

  “Sure. Slowly.”

  He heaved himself to his feet. I noticed that he had tattoos on his arms and just peeking out of the neck of his shirt. “You really need to leave. Bad things happen to people who visit Belmont, and that goes double for anyone who stays at this rat-trap hotel. So I risk my ass when fresh meat comes to town, without any thanks by the way, trying to get dumbasses like you clear of trouble. That’s what I do. Can I have my gun back?”

  Anne clicked off the safety. “Sure, come get it.”

  “Whatever. I did my boy scout routine and now you’re warned. If you get snatched, it’s your own fault.” He turned towards the door.

  “Wait. Anne, let’s be friendly.”

  He stopped and faced me, arms crossed.

  “Okay, but the gun’s mine.” She flicked on the safety and tucked the gun away behind her in her waistband.

  “We appreciate the warning, really. Tell me about the kidnappings.”

  “It’s complicated, and you wouldn’t get it even if I tried to explain. Let’s just say that some bad people are running this
town, and you want to get out before they come for you. Get it?”

  “So what do you get out of your lone hero act? Won’t the bad guys kind of frown on that and grab you, too?”

  “Oh, they try, but we’re too smart for ‘em. Me and some other people are sticking around, trying to get the folks that we can still save out of town, and keeping new ones from coming in. So take my advice and keep moving.”

  “Maybe we want to stay and help.”

  “Yeah, right. Just move over to another town, and keep vacationing or whatever. You have no idea what we’re up against.”

  “You mean wormy guys that are jumpy and stabby and eat bullets like candy?”

  Our visitor froze as thoughts chased themselves plainly across his face. “Shit!” He sprang for the door. He was closer, but I was faster. I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. He drove one of his elbows into my ribs with surprising strength. It was painful, but also a mistake. It let me hook my arm through his and pin it behind his back. I put my other hand behind his neck and powered him back to the ground, this time face first. He managed to turn his head at the last second and took the impact on his chest and cheek.

  He stopped struggling when he realized that no matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t budge me. “Fuck! Fuck!”

  “Calm down. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “Go ahead and take me away, that won’t stop us. It won’t make any difference!” He started struggling again.

  “Will you stop? We’re on your side. We tracked Piotr here and we’re going to shut his operation down. It’s my turn to say we’re here to help.”

  He went still. “I don’t know who that is, but if you’re on our side, then let me up.”

  “I’ll let you up if you promise not to run for it again. Because if I can’t stop you before you reach the door, then the pretty girl over there with the gun is going to do it for me. Understand?” He nodded, so I let go and stood back.

  When he stood up, he looked pissed. He also had a rug burn on one cheek and a split lip. “So what’s your deal?”