Truck Stop Jesus

by Storm, Buck

  Doc’s hands shook. “I don’t have time, Hap. You don’t understand. I have to find her.”

  “Kid, you ain’t gonna help her by having a stroke. We’ll get her back. Just relax.”

  Doris brought coffee and a plate of food. Doc looked at it, but didn’t at all feel like eating. “What did you mean by tracker?”

  Hap smiled. “This ain’t our first rodeo, Morales. Big, bad bounty hunters from LA? They just met some bigger, badder ones. Right now, I got guys headed out in every direction. We cast a wide net. Indians in the hills, you might say. They see all. We’ll find Miss Paulette. The electronic tracker’s an old trick. I’m betting they put one on your car. They can follow you with a simple cell phone app. They know where you are all the time. Easy stuff.”

  The biker called Jack came back in and tossed what looked like a large black button on the table. “Stuck to the frame.”

  Hap picked it up and turned it over in his hand. “Good job. ’Preciate it.”

  “Uh huh,” Jack said.

  “So that’s it? That’s how they followed us?” Doc said.

  “Yup. I would’ve done the same if I found your car somewhere,” Hap said.

  “Wait a minute. You called me Morales. How did you know my last name?”

  Hap grinned and unbuttoned his leather vest revealing a blue T-shirt with a faded pair of red socks screened on the front. “You kidding? We had season tickets when I was a kid. Right behind the first base line. Ate, slept and breathed the Sox. Still do. Go out for spring training every year. Saw you play out there a time or two. We had high hopes for you, man. I knew you as soon as you walked in yesterday. Even have your rookie card someplace. By the way, how’s the knee?”

  “Sore.”

  “Well, suck it up. We got us a movie star to find.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Desert, Dust, and Disco

  “Ihave to go to the bathroom,” Paradise said from the back seat of the Crown Victoria.

  Hollister and Crystal—those were their names. Although Crystal seemed to prefer calling Hollister ‘moron’ and Hollister didn’t call Crystal much of anything.

  “Oh, c’mon, old man. Let me slap Barbie around,” Crystal said for what must have been the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes.

  “I told you, no,” he replied.

  “Please, can we stop someplace? I really need to go,” Paradise said.

  “Listen, Miss Jones, one more time—the coins. What did the puzzle say? Where were you going?” Hollister said.

  Paradise leaned forward. “Do you even know what happened? Did you know Burt tried to molest me? That’s why I hit him with the lamp. And crashed the Porsche. Can’t you understand that?”

  Hollister’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. “He didn’t say nothin’ about any lamp.”

  “Couldn’t you just let me go? He’ll put me in jail. Or worse. Please?”

  “I feel for you, kid. I really do. And Lord knows I’m no fan of the good doctor, but the money he’s paying for you is just too good. You’re a big fish, you understand? It’s not personal. Now tell me about the treasure.”

  “I already told you. You stole my coin before I could take it to the museum. I don’t know what else I can tell you. Please, can we stop? I really have to go.”

  “What coin did we steal, Princess?” Crystal said, rolling the Dos Escudos across her knuckles. Paradise reached over the seat for it, but the coin disappeared as fast as it had come.

  “Ooh! Magic!” Crystal said.

  Hollister sighed and pulled off the road onto a rough dirt track. He stopped the Crown Victoria in a cloud of dust, threw the stick into park, and rubbed his temples. Opening the glove compartment, he pulled out half a roll of toilet paper and tossed it back to Paradise. “Fine, find a bush if there is one in this godforsaken moonscape. That’s the best you’re gonna get.” He leaned back against the seat with a groan.

  “Thank you,” Paradise said.

  “And you go with her,” he said to Crystal.

  Crystal hopped out of the car, gave the desert air a roundhouse kick, and sang, “And slap the princess around if she tries anything funny,” to the tune of “Jive Talkin’.”

  Paradise found a scraggly bush and was relieved to see that Hollister turned his back. She managed to accomplish the task successfully even with Crystal watching. Hollister’s phone rang as the women walked back to the car.

  “Yeah?” he said. “Yeah. We have her. Like I told you earlier.”

  Paradise could hear Burt’s unmistakable baritone on the other end of the line, but couldn’t make out what he said. Cold touched her insides.

  “The coin? Yeah. But how …” Hollister turned to Crystal with a glare.

  Crystal shrugged her shoulders, lifted her hands, and mouthed, “What?”

  Hollister shook his head. “Look, I know as much as you do about the coins. Which is pretty much nada. There’s some story about a treasure, but this ain’t the movies, you know? It’s probably bogus. We just want our eighty-thou and we’re done, bueno?”

  Crystal danced up to Hollister. “Do-o-ctor Simmons … what is he saying?” Still to the tune of the Bee Gees. This woman definitely had issues.

  “Why?” Hollister said into the phone, sticking a finger into the opposite ear in an effort to block out Crystal’s disco. “Look, I understand, all right? Just lay off. We got her, and we’ll deliver her as agreed upon. Just have the other forty grand ready … Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever.” He pocketed the phone and pulled out a bottle of pills. He shook a couple out and swallowed them without water.

  “What did the dear doc have to say?” Crystal said.

  Hollister’s face burned red. His voice, though not quite a shout, sounded loud in the still air. “You told him about the coins?”

  “I answered the phone when he called. You were in the john. Who cares? Don’t get your boxers in a knot.”

  “Don’t you get it? Now he wants to know about the treasure. He says anything that the girl has is his.”

  “Well, she don’t have no treasure. So it don’t make any difference, moron. And don’t yell at me or I’ll cave your ribs in.”

  Hollister’s eyes rolled. “Let me talk slow so you understand. If … he … knows … about … the … coins … he’ll … want … the … treasure! That means competition! C’mon, Crystal, use your stinking head.”

  “Know what? You’re cute when you get mad, sweetie cheeks.”

  “Sweetie cheeks? Seriously? I thought you were gonna cave my ribs in.”

  “Hollister and Crystal sitting in a tree … ” Crystal did a passable moonwalk that kicked up dust from the dry ground.

  “What is it with you and ‘Jive Talkin’ today, anyway?” Hollister said.

  Crystal gave a one, two, three punch so close to Paradise’s face, she could feel the wind.

  “Shut up, moron,” Crystal said. Whether directed at Paradise or Hollister, Paradise had no idea.

  “He wants a picture,” Hollister said.

  “Huh?” Crystal replied.

  “Simmons. He wants a picture of the girl. I don’t know why. Maybe just ’cause he’s a perv.”

  “What do you think, sunshine? Why does the good doctor want a picture of you?” Crystal said.

  “Because he’s a fan of wide-leg trousers and monochrome flats?” Paradise said.

  “Maybe he’s a fan of me throwing you into the middle of next week and stepping on your head,” Crystal sang, punctuating the melody with another air punch.

  “Knock it off,” Hollister said. “Just hold her still. Make yourself useful for a change.”

  Crystal did as she was told, grabbing a fistful of Paradise’s white, cotton collar, although Paradise had no thought of trying to escape. Hollister snapped a couple pictures with his phone.

  “Wait a minute,” Crystal said, yanking Paradise’s blouse. “Little Miss Perfect has a tattoo. What d’ya think about that?”

  Paradise felt
the back of her blouse rip, baring her shoulder.

  “Hey, moron, look at this. She’s got the coin tattooed right on her. Right here! She had a picture of it the whole time, the little liar.”

  Hollister studied Paradise. Then walked behind her. She heard the click of his cell phone camera.

  He came back around and met her gaze, his eyes hard. “You know where the treasure is, don’t you? Do you realize how much Crystal would like to beat that little tidbit of info out of you?”

  “Yes, but you won’t let her.”

  His eyebrows rose half an inch. “And why do you say that?”

  “Because I’ve been listening to both of you. I don’t think you’re a bad person. Not like that, anyway. You don’t want to hurt me.”

  Hollister looked out over the desert. “I’m not as nice as you think.”

  “Yes, you are, sweetie pie. You’re a softie old man these days,” Crystal said. “But I’m not. And I’m telling you now, Miss Thing. If you don’t spill, I’ll take you apart a little at a time until you do.”

  “Nobody knows if there even is a treasure. It’s most likely nothing,” Paradise said.

  Crystal grabbed a handful of Paradise’s hair. “You know where the gold is, and I’m gonna pound you till you beg me to let you tell.”

  The unmistakable sound of tires on dirt caused all three of them to turn. Crystal let go of Paradise’s hair. The Olds rolled to a stop not ten feet from them. Doc drove, and Doris sat in the passenger seat.

  Doc opened the door and swung out of the car. “Let go of her. C’mon, Paradise. Time to go.”

  Crystal laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Ken’s here to collect Barbie.”

  “C’mon, Paradise,” Doc repeated.

  “Look, man,” Hollister said, “we got a legal right here. She’s a fugitive, and we’re taking her back to LA. I’ve been very patient with all this and so far it hasn’t gotten violent. Let’s not let that happen. You just drive on down the road, and neither you nor the girl will get hurt. All I want to do is return her to her father. Hopefully in one piece, but that’s up to you.”

  Doc made no move to go. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

  “Why’re you even talking to this guy, moron? I’m finished with this.” Crystal walked to the Crown Vic and reached through the open window. She pulled out a short baseball bat and headed for Doc.

  Doc gave no ground. Not an inch. Paradise held her breath.

  The sound of engines filled the afternoon, and Crystal stopped short. A group of twenty or so rough-looking men on Harleys rumbled in and formed a loose circle around both cars.

  Hap swung a leg over his bike and approached. He grinned. “Paulette Goddard 1940. Where you been? Why don’t you go get in the car?” His tone offered no room for argument.

  Paradise quickly crossed to the Olds and got in. The convertible top was down, and she sat on the top of the back seat for a better view. Doris reached back and squeezed her hand.

  Hollister eyed Hap. “Who are you?” He didn’t look scared, but he made no sudden moves either.

  The biker grinned. “I’m Hap, and you have a busted taillight. That’s illegal.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hollister said.

  Hap grabbed the bat out of Crystal’s hand before she could protest, and walked to the back of the Crown Vic.

  Hollister put up a hand. “Okay, okay. I get it. The girl goes with you. Crystal, get in the car. Let’s go.”

  Crystal didn’t move. “And let eighty grand drive away with Ken and a bunch of wannabe Hell’s Angels? I don’t think so.”

  “Just do what I tell you for once in your life!” Hollister said.

  Crystal shrugged. “Why start now?”

  Paradise was surprised when Doris exited the Olds and walked toward Hollister.

  “You’re bounty hunters?” Doris said.

  “I’m a cop,” Crystal said.

  Hollister shook his head. “Don’t listen to her, she’s not a cop. The girl’s father hired us to bring her back. I’m a P.I.”

  “Licensed in the State of New Mexico?”

  Hollister’s face reddened, and he rubbed his temples again. “No. California.”

  “Can I see your license?”

  “Who are you exactly?” Hollister said.

  Doris pulled out a wallet and showed a badge. “Doris Demarco. Chief of Police.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Hollister said. “This just gets better and better.”

  “Actually, she’s the only police,” Hap said. “And the judge.”

  “Perfect. Of course, she is,” Hollister said.

  “She’s also the minister,” another biker added.

  Doris smiled. “And I sell Mary Kay.”

  “God help me, I’m stuck in a twisted episode of Dukes of Hazzard.” Hollister reached into his wallet and pulled out a card. He handed it to Doris.

  “This is expired,” Doris said. “Not to mention, it looks kinda fake.” She held the card up to the sun. “Either way, this whole deal feels like kidnapping to me.”

  “Kidnapping?” Crystal said. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know you don’t smell good?” Doris said, then turned to Paradise. “Hon, did you leave with these two willingly?”

  “No, ma’am,” Paradise said.

  Doris shrugged. “See? Kidnapping. The judge’ll have to sort it out.”

  “I thought you were the judge,” Hollister said.

  “Not at the moment. Right now, I’m the police. It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet it is,” Hollister said.

  “Why don’t you two come with us? Tell you what, you can even drive your own car. Whoever said New Mexico wasn’t a friendly place?”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” Crystal said.

  Hap still held the bat. “Oh, it’ll happen. In fact, you’re getting an officially deputized police escort.”

  “And where’re we going?” Hollister asked.

  “Jail. You’ll love it. Doris makes great biscuits and gravy,” Hap said.

  Hollister grunted. “Lovely. How long?”

  Doris shrugged. “Day? Couple of days? Could take a while. We’ll see what we can do.”

  “This ain’t over, you know,” Crystal said.

  “Oh, I’m sure of that,” Hap said. “But by the time you two see daylight again, Miss Paulette Goddard 1940 and the Swing King will be long down the road.” He tossed Crystal the bat. “You can even keep this.”

  Crystal started to say something, but Hollister grabbed her arm and pushed her into the Crown Vic. The bikers fired up and formed a tight circle around it.

  Hap walked up to the Olds. “Hey, Paulette 1940, you ever rode on the back of a Harley?”

  “Nope,” Paradise said.

  Hap shrugged out of his leather vest and draped it around Paradise’s torn blouse. “Well, now’s your chance.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Pink Cadillacs and Whitewashed Prayers

  Doc started the Olds and followed the unlikely entourage onto the pavement and back toward the Manhattan Bar. In front of him, Paradise’s hair lifted in the wind as Hap hit the throttle.

  “You’re a minister?” Doc said.

  “I wear a lot of hats. Need any Mary Kay?” Doris replied.

  “Not that I can think of at the moment.”

  “Too bad. I dream about that pink Caddy.”

  Doc pointed to Paradise. “Thanks, Doris. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome, Doc. I hate bullies. Tell you the truth, that’s the reason I came out here in the first place all those years ago. One particular bully. Story for another time. But now I got Hap. How about you? You ever going to play ball again?”

  Doc shook his head. “Even if I was a hundred percent, I don’t think so. My priorities seem to have shifted.”

  “They tend to do that. Looks to me like your priority is about a hundred feet in front of us on the back of a Harley Davidson Panhead
.”

  “I won’t argue. But she’s damaged, you know? I’m not sure I can give her what she needs.”

  “Nah. She may be chipped—a couple of dents, but nothing that can’t be fixed. And something tells me you can give her exactly what she needs. She’ll be good as new.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. Trust me.”

  “And I hope I have the time. She’s dying to get back to Los Angeles.”

  “Amigo, we’re all dying for something. Sometimes for the right thing, sometimes the wrong. I’ve seen her story before. I’ve been her. She doesn’t know what she’s dying for. You be you. She’ll come around.”

  The jail, a tiny block-shaped adobe, stood only a few hundred yards from the Manhattan Bar. Doc watched as the tough-looking Los Angeles couple was ushered inside by a handful of Hap’s crew. What would have happened if Hap and his guys hadn’t found Paradise? Doc considered this. Easy, he would have followed her back to Los Angeles. Man, he was in deep. Paco told him to write his story, but the story was writing him. He’d known this girl only a short time, and already he couldn’t imagine his world without her. He knew she didn’t feel the same, but she felt something; he could see it in her eyes. But then again, she’d told him straight out she wasn’t interested. And why should she be? Who was he, anyway? She was primed to be a star. Destined for fame and fortune. He’d had one at bat in The Show. So what? Thirty seconds in the batter’s box at Fenway constituted the pinnacle of his life. How could he blame her?

  Lunch was served in the bar, and Paradise took a chair next to Doc.

  “How was the ride?” Doc said.

  “A little scary. But I figured if Barbara Stanwyck and Elvis could pull it off, so could I.”

  “Roustabout,” Doc said.

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “You remember who you’re talking to?”

  Doris exited the kitchen, a bottle in hand, and parked herself across from them. Her white hair stuck straight up. “Look what I found. Coke in a bottle for Paulette Goddard.”

  “Barbara Stanwyck,” Paradise said.

  Doris chuckled. “Okay. Babs Stanwyck—whatever. Listen, I figure since we went out and saved your skin, you two are regulars now. You want anything, help yourself, got it? I got things to do. Kitchen’s yours.”