A Gray Life: a novel

by Harvey, Red

  * * * *

  Rap. Rap. Rap.

  What the…?

  Rap. Rap. Rap.

  Ashley looked at the clock on the dingy nightstand. 3 a.m. Perfect. Check-out wasn’t for another nine hours. Couldn’t be housekeeping. It had to be either Grease-ball or someone else. Neither possibility motivated Ashley to open the door.

  Maybe if she ignored them, they would go away. Ashley reached for a sheet to cover with. Her hands came away empty, and she remembered why. She wasn’t in her bed. Instead, she was sleeping in a strange bed, on top of a comforter. All of her clothes were still on; the thought of putting on her pajamas had seemed ridiculous.

  Rap. Rap. Rap.

  “Hang on.”

  Ashley took the gun out from under the pillow, safety on. It got tucked into the back of her jeans, as she assumed it was where guns were naturally placed.

  She went to the door, the one with all the phone numbers and grotesque sayings written on it. The doodles distracted her, as some of the sayings were accompanied by pictures.

  Come see Carmella, usually found in 3B. A stick figure with Gloria-like jugs was drawn next to the words.

  More knocking and Ashley stopped reading the door advertisements.

  "Who is it?"

  “Hello? Sorry to bother. I got a flat tire. Got a phone I can use?"

  It was a woman, and she was in trouble. Surely, it would be wrong not to help her because of immobilizing fear. Ashley cracked open the door.

  "Hi, are you--?"

  The maiden in distress shoved herself into the room. Her exaggerated motions forced Ashley backward. It took a balancing act her to keep her ass from falling to the ground. After seeing the expression on her unwanted guest's face, she was glad to not be in a vulnerable position.

  "Can I help you?"

  "Yeah, you can take your business elsewhere."

  There was a palpable anger coming off of the stranger. Ashley wanted to know why it was directed at her.

  "What business?" Ashley tried sounding tough.

  The smile the woman gave was horrifying. Brown stains on her teeth ruined what little beauty she possessed.

  "I don't have to spell it out for you. Just know that you gots to go now."

  "I paid for this room. I'm not going anywhere."

  It was a dangerous answer for Ashley to give, but she gave it anyway.

  "You fuckin' my man?"

  How many crazy people do I have to meet in one day?

  "I haven't done that with any man, ever."

  "I saw him carry your bags over here. Larry isn’t nice to just anybody."

  Larry. So Greaseball had a real name. If he had been nice to her, it was because she was the rare twelve-year-old to check-in at Coach Inn. Then again, she could've been the umpteenth child he had done business with.

  "If you were watching us, then you saw him walk away too."

  "He did that 'cause he knew I'd be watching. After we went to sleep, I woke up and he was gone."

  Ashley wasn’t following the lady’s logic. Her voice was laced with panic, and her words barely came out in one piece.

  "Okay, well he's not in here."

  "Do you think I'm stupid?" The woman stepped even closer to Ashley. "He slipped into the room next door." She nodded to the entrance of the adjacent room.

  "If you’re so smart, why didn't you knock over there first?"

  Ashley woulda thought she slapped the woman for the response her words got her.

  "Fucking whore! Where is he?" She flashed a shit-stained grimace.

  "He's not here." Ashley repeated.

  She sounded calm. Inside, her nerves were like spaghetti and she was ready to collapse. The anxiety felt better than fear all on its own.

  "You're lying to me."

  "Not at all."

  "Prissy little cunt." Grease-ball's girlfriend drew her hand back and hit Ashley so that she saw white.

  It took her a second to recover, and her brain scrambled. The gun! the paranoia within her screamed. Ashley took the gun out. Pointed just right, she knew she could get the lady to back off like she had made the boy back off earlier.

  "Point a gun at me?" The woman kicked Ashley in the stomach.

  Ashley managed to hold on to the gun as she doubled over in pain.

  "That's what I think of your gun." Warm wetness flew on to Ashley's face.

  Holy hell. The crazy lady spit on me.

  The last thought exploded when Greaseball's girl kneed her in the face. On her way down to the ground, the gun slid away.

  "You come here, do my man, and mouth off to me? Learn some goddamn respect, kid!"

  In the next instant, Ashley expected another blow to the face. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the blow never came.

  "Jolie, what the fuck you beatin' up a kid for?"

  Ashley opened her eyes. The third voice belonged to a pretty teenager in a tight tube dress and heels. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Her face would have been flawlessly beautiful had she not had a strawberry birthmark by the corner of one eye.

  Jolie looked down at the ground, mumbling.

  "She’s been fuckin’ my man and she won't tell me where he gone."

  The girl gave her friend a patronizing look. "Larry is out scoring some coke, dummy. He came to my room and when I told him I was dry, he said he was gonna go to Leemo's house."

  "Really?" Jolie was backing out of the room.

  "Yes really. Now leave this poor girl alone." Sounded more like grr than girl.

  "She pulled a gun on me," Jolie said, as if the fact made her own actions justifiable.

  "I don't see a gun, Jolie."

  Ashley was grateful it had slid under the bed. Jolie made up her mind, speechifying about Leemo's house on her way out. When she was gone, Ashley was left with the good Samaritan. A good Samaritan who resembled like a stripper.

  Instead of leaving, the girl closed the door. She stood next to Ashley, who shrank back.

  “I only wanna help you up.” An outstretched hand proved the girl’s point.

  Ashley took the hand, never forgetting the gun under the bed. Both girls took a seat on the bed.

  Awkward silence happened before anything else.

  Finally, the girl said, “I don’t really do coke, you know.”

  It was an odd lead-in to a conversation. It was also a conversation Ashley felt way too young to have. She had no choice but to listen, or leave the room. Since she couldn't leave the room without running into Jolie, she listened.

  “I just do it when I can’t get away with faking it, usually when a customer is watching me.” Ashley wanted to ask what the girl had to fake, but she didn't want to interrupt. Obviously, the girl felt the need to explain her modest drug-use. “Makes them feel less guilty if they think I fuck to get money for coke, as opposed to me actually needing the money to survive.”

  “Okay.” Ashley said. She still didn't understand a word of what the girl said.

  “I didn’t want us to start off on the wrong foot, you thinking I’m a run-of-the-mill coke whore. I am a whore though.” A brilliant smile followed the affirmation.

  Ashley noticed something different about the girl. The inflection of her voice had changed. While she spoke to Jolie, her voice had lilted, a slight twang in it. Now, she had a flat tone. It was as if she had been faking a persona, and alone with Ashley, she dropped it.

  Ashley was thinking about the change in the girl’s attitude because she didn’t know how to respond to her last sentence. She found her voice after a while.

  “That’s…nice.” She was thinking the off-chance of meeting Jolie outside would be preferable to her recent encounter with a self-proclaimed prostitute.

  “I can see you have qualms about being friends with a whore like me, but a friend is what you need right now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I know Jolie, and she is a coke whore. She’s all messed up right now, convinced Larry’s hiding under the bed in here. S
he’ll be back and probably not alone. Considering how old you look, I’m not letting you go anywhere alone. It’s not safe.”

  “Me? You look about sixteen yourself. What sort of protection can you give me?”

  Another smile. “I’m twenty-five. My baby face keeps me rollin’ in the dough.” Once again, Ashley thought she missed the punch line to a very adult joke. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

  Ashley didn't move. Strawberry-Face put her hands on her hips and waited by the door. After a minute of indecision, Ashley grabbed her bag.

  “Don’t forget your gun.” The woman said.

  Somehow, Strawberry-Face had grabbed it without Ashley noticing. She held it out for Ashley to take.

  With a thank you, she took her gun back.

  “Where are we going?”

  They were in the parking lot next to a pickup truck. The woman climbed into the driver’s side.

  “I’ll drive, and you can tell me where you need to go.”

  ****

  8

  August 9th

  I feel odd writing about today’s little highlights, but I might was well put it down like I have everything else.

  Louise and The Man were in the kill room earlier; nothin’ special about that. Their grunts and cries ceased, and Louise came out of the room. Excuse me: she got kicked out. Literally. The Man booted her out with His foot up her ass (sorry again, Mom.).

  While Louise tripped over herself, He was rantin’ and hollerin’. It was hard to hear Him above Louise’s cries. The Man hadn’t even allowed her to get dressed. Michael took his blanket and rushed to cover his wife, whose crying subsided to sad, wet whimpers. I could see why she was in such pain. She had a bloody lip, scratches on her back, and a few bruises on her face.

  “Bitch.” He zipped up His pants. “My name is Peter, not Ryan. Fucking puta.”

  Michael’s concern for his wife faded into something else, especially when Louise didn’t deny His accusations. She shivered under her army blanket.

  The Man was on His way upstairs, but He wasn’t finished. Before He left us, He went to Michael’s side.

  In a loud stage-whisper, He said, “Tell your whore wife when I want her to moan my name, I want to hear my goddamn name, not some jerk-off she let come inside her way back when.” He paused. “Say, you’re name’s not Ryan, is it?”

  As He walked up the stairs, He snapped his fingers as if remembering something.

  “Michael! That’s it. You’re name is Michael.”

  The Man’s laugh echoed as He closed the basement door, sliding the bolt home.

  * * * *

  The car was surprisingly clean inside. Outside, it was dented, paint fading, spots on the hood rusting. On the inside, the suede seat covers were as spotless as the gleaming dashboard. It was a modest truck, but it was nicer than the inside of Ashley’s motel room had been. From the outside of the Coach Inn, she had known her room was going to look bad, but she hadn’t been prepared for how greasy everything would be. It was the only word she had for it; everything she touched or looked at in her hotel room had been greasy. She felt comfortable in her new friend’s car.

  No one said anything for the first two minutes of the ride. It wasn’t because Ashley didn’t like the driver. She had liked Strawberry as soon as she had heard her voice. She liked her even more when she had ditched her tough-girl act and started speaking to Ashley like a human being. No more twang or dropping her g's in conversation. Just normal sounding words coming from a normal sounding voice. Nothing's really normal anymore, Ashley reminded herself.

  It was silly, but her age inspired Ashley’s confidence in her abilities. Gloria was twenty-four, an issue Ashley hadn’t been able to get past. And while she may have been a bitch, Gloria had at least seemed like a capable bitch. Yes, twenty-five was oceans apart from twelve, and therefore Ashley felt safe with her new friend. She wished to name a destination, but had no idea where to go. The Coach Inn was her one and only idea.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Ashley admitted.

  “Most twelve-year olds don’t.”

  Strawberry was wise. Ashley didn’t know any friends with future plans beyond what to wear to school the next morning.

  “There’s nowhere for me to go.”

  “I’m guessing you weren’t planning a permanent stay at the Coach Inn. Where were you headed after that?”

  “The airport.”

  “Are you meeting someone there?”

  “Nope.”

  Strawberry reminded her how alone she was, and she didn't like it.

  “How do you expect to get past the check-in counter?”

  Strawberry poked a hole in her plan, and she really didn't like it.

  Ashley gave her a blank look.

  “You’re only twelve. They won’t let you get far without adult consent.” She paused and Ashley became aware of a tingling sensation passing over her. “And no, I can’t do it for you. I would, but I can’t.”

  Somehow, Strawberry knew what she was going to ask. Ashley’s thoughts had followed the logical course, a predictable course. A genius didn't need to figure into it. Still, the tingling sensation had freaked her out. It was like being searched, and she didn't know what it wanted.

  Strawberry is right again, a voice said. Ashley would need an adult to get her past security at the airport. Her first plan was a bust.

  Her life ahead looked bleak. Moving from hotel to hotel, using up her money until it was gone. Eventually, she would have to make money of her own. Maybe she would have to choose the same career path as her new friend. No. Ashley shook her head. No.

  “You might as well stop the car right now. I have nowhere I can go. Another motel isn't going to work. I can’t live in a motel. But if I can’t check in at the airport, that’s exactly what I’ll have to do.”

  Strawberry voiced a solution to Ashley's problem.

  “I’m in no position to ask you why you’re on the run, but I think I can help you stay on the run.”

  Her mysterious savior was more mysterious by the minute.

  “How?”

  “I know someone who can help you get past airport check-in.”

  Flashing red and blue lights behind them stalled the conversation.

  Strawberry looked in her rearview mirror.

  “Goddamnit. I wasn’t even speeding.”

  She scanned the narrow road, looking for a suitable place on the shoulder to park on. Ashley felt a lead ball in her stomach, pulling her down. Her lips were dry, and she found it hard to form words. She forced them out of her mouth anyway.

  “Please, don’t stop.”

  They were looking for her. They had to be. Cops were smart, and knew how to find people. Now they had found her. They’ll take me to a foster home. She remembered the boy from the alley, the one who’s face had changed in the water. I can’t stay.

  “Please, don’t stop.” She repeated her request because the first time, it had been spoken too softly to be heard. Strawberry heard her the second time.

  “Don’t stop?” Her eyebrow arched. “What did you do, little girl?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Through her desperation, she sounded like she was lying. “Please believe me!” She hoped Strawberry would take the three words as gospel.

  Sirens came from the police car. It drove a few feet closer behind them, insisting compelling them to pull over.

  Over the sound of the sirens, Ashley heard a faint buzzing. Then, she felt the buzzing. It didn’t brush over her head as it had before; it invaded her head. Twisting, turning, a foreign thing inside of her. It was horrifying, but the physical feelings it evoked weren’t unpleasant. The unknown aspect made it most uncomfortable.

  Get it out, get it out! Ashley wanted to claw at her head, but as soon as she thought it, the buzzing stopped.

  Strawberry pulled the car onto the side of the road.

  “Why won’t you believe me?” Ashley wanted to bawl.

  Her life was over. The cop would approa
ch the car and take her away to live with strangers. When the city finally crumbled, she would die with strangers.

  “I do believe you.” Strawberry reached into her glove compartment, and Ashley saw three sets of wallets. Underneath the one the woman retrieved, she saw a large gun. “But this car has passed the age when it could outrun cop cars.”

  She scrubbed make-up from her face as she spoke, pulling on a jacket over her skin-tight dress. From a pocket in the jacket, she took out black-rimmed glasses. With the glasses on and the make-up off, Strawberry looked older, but not by much.

  “Why do you have a gun?”

  “It’s a just-in-case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  Strawberry smiled. “Just-in-case-I-wanna-shoot-someone.”

  Ashley pictured herself running from the cab of the truck and into the trees that lined the road, but she wouldn’t get far. A cop walked up to the truck, and she was trapped inside with a psychotic hooker.

  Another time, she would’ve categorized her evening as an epic adventure of Frodo-like proportions, encountering odd and horrible things on her journey. The odd and horrible things were trees in her path, meant to slow her down, make her turn back. She would not slow down, and she would not turn back. There was no back. Ashley saw herself climbing over the fallen trees, scraping her hands and knees until she reached the end of her journey. Dad would want me to keep going, but how many more crazy things am I gonna have to go through?

  “License and registration, please.”

  The police officer was a woman. Ashley didn’t know why it made her feel better, but it did.

  Strawberry seemed relaxed, too.

  She handed over the necessary papers and ID. Ashley leaned over to read the name next to the picture: Grace something or other.

  “Grace Holden.” The officer read aloud. “Well, Ms. Holden, you have a tail-light out.”

  “Oh no.” Strawberry clucked her tongue. “I have a spare bulb-kit at home. I’ll change it as soon as I get there.”

  The officer squinted at Strawberry. “And where exactly is home?”

  She calmly recited an address. The cop read the ID, nodding along with the words. After, she grunted as if in approval.

  “I’ll let you get home, then. Although, I am recording this stop as a formal warning. Fix that light, and get your daughter home.”