‘I need a car, Earl.’
‘Today?’
‘I thought I would.’
‘Has the mutt eaten?’
‘Just a bit this morning.’
‘I got a bag of food from when I bring in my old dog,’ Earl said and turned and disappeared into the back and came out with a bowl of food and a bowl of water. As he set each bowl down ash from his cigarette fell into the water.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘A little ash ain’t gonna kill him.’
‘I like your attitude, kid, I always have,’ Earl said and smiled. He was dressed in tan pants and dark leather cowboy boots. He wore a long sleeve white western shirt with pearl buttons. His gray hair was combed back; he wore wire glasses, bifocals. He was old, maybe sixty-five or so, but he looked good.
He moved back to his desk and sat down. He turned off the TV.
‘It’s colder than fuck out there, snowing, the fucking wind’s blowing. Seems like a strange day to be buying a car.’
I didn’t say anything. The dog was eating, I had my back to the wood stove. It was running hot and felt good. I began to warm, my frozen feet started to tingle, and my Levi’s had steam coming off them.
‘I wish Barry was here; he’d like to see you, I’m sure. I sent him and Javier to the movies. No use hanging around on a day like today. I can’t remember what they went to see, but they went to that new theater downtown.’
‘It’s a nice theater,’ I said.
‘That’s what I hear. How’s your brother?’
‘He’s all right,’ I said.
‘Barry told me about what happened. He’s in Saint Mary’s, ain’t he?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He tried to shoot the rest of his leg off.’
‘Jesus, that’s rough,’ Earl said and took a drink from a coffee cup. ‘He drew a hell of a picture of the Elbow Room. They got it hanging on the wall over there. He’s good at that. You want any coffee? I made a pot not too long ago.’
‘I’ll get it,’ I said.
‘It’s in the kitchen, you’ll see it all set up, should be some clean mugs too.’
I walked to the back, found the coffee, and made myself a cup, then went back out to the main room and the wood stove.
‘Where you working these days?’ Earl said.
‘Kind of in between jobs.’
‘Coffee’s good, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ I said.
‘Barry went through a phase where that’s all he’d talk about, coffee. The shit that runs through his mind, it’s not right.’
‘He’s like you, Earl,’ I said.
‘I should kick the shit out of you for that,’ he said and laughed. ‘But maybe you’re right. He’s my goddamn grandson, ain’t no two ways about it. More like me than Marvin.’
‘I’ve never met Marvin.’
‘Marvin’s my only kid, lives in Mexico, has for years. Barry bought me a house down there last year. On the beach next door to Marvin. So I been going more. Has everything I need, a satellite dish, a queen-sized bed, an A/C unit. The front room’s got a couple pictures of Nevada, even a large picture of the Reno sign at night from the thirties. The son of a bitch even put in a video poker machine so I’d feel more comfortable. Before that I’d go down, but Jesus, I have a hard time leaving the state, and I hate leaving the fucking country. I really do, even for a goddamn week. It’s like pulling my own teeth out, but Marvin’s my son, so what are you going to do? Anyway, Barry and I fly down there last year, and it’s the same old thing, I hate leaving the country and Barry worries about the lot. We end up in some little bar outside of Lareto drinking tequila and beer. All night long we’re there, complaining, losing our fucking minds. During this whole time Barry doesn’t say anything about anything. We always stay at Marvin’s place, and so when we’re done we take one of those goddamn Mexican cabs the rest of the way, and when we get there Barry hands me a key. He points to the house next to Marvin’s and says, “Earl, I picked you up something the last time I was here.” He hands me the key and then passes out on the goddamn road. Just falls down and that was it. Christ, I walked inside and it was like I’d never left my house in Reno. The only thing missing was my dog and my old horse Lloyd, but they say you can’t have everything, can you?’
‘What happened to Barry? Did you leave him out on the road?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t think you would.’
‘You’re a good kid,’ Earl said. ‘You should have been a salesman for me.’
‘I’m no good at selling.’
‘That’s the kind of attitude that can make a great salesman. The key to sales, kid, is making the customer think that you’re not trying to sell him something. That you’re honest, that you could be friends with them. That’s why Barry’s so damn good. He’ll spend a half-hour talking about women or gardening or sports with someone, then slowly he eases into the car and then they seem like friends and he gets the sell. You could have a future, kid.’
‘I don’t know, Earl.’
‘Well hell, kid, what kind of car you want to buy?’
‘I have $1,500 to spend. I don’t want to set up a payment plan or anything. I think I just want to pay cash on it. You got anything in that ballpark?’
Earl stood up. He took the glasses off his face, set them on his desk, rubbed his eyes. With his hands he combed back his thin gray hair and put his glasses back on and stared out into the yard.
‘Look at that snow. It hasn’t snowed this much in a long time. Been like this on and off for past a week.’
‘I ain’t never seen it like this.’
‘Me neither, and I’ve lived here most of my life. You sure you don’t want to postpone until it clears up?’
‘I sorta need the car today, Earl.’
Earl looked at me but didn’t say anything for a while.
‘I have a couple that might do you,’ he said finally. ‘A 1985 Honda Civic. It’s a good little car, but it’s a Civic, small. You looking for an around-town car?’
‘Maybe something bigger, Earl. Maybe something that you might be able to sleep in.’
‘Jesus, that’s a fucking horrible thought. I hate sleeping in cars, always have, moving or not. I have a Cadillac. Mid-eighties, but it’s a real piece of shit. That whole line is. We got it on a trade. What are you gonna do? I have a couple of Dodge Darts that Barry picked up.’
‘Like the kind on the walls?’
‘Not that nice, but yeah, same car. Barry’s got a real hard-on for them. Picks them up when he can. We have a two-door and a four- door. If I remember right, they both run pretty well. Old lady trades. Barry wouldn’t take them if they weren’t good.’
‘I’d like to take a look at one of those. Maybe the four-door.’
‘Two-door would be easier to get rid of, Frank. Kids like those.’
‘I think I might need the room.’
‘Well,’ Earl said, still looking out the window, ‘she’s out there somewhere covered in snow.’ He took a pack of Old Golds from his shirt pocket. ‘What do you say we get a quick drink before we go out there and brave the elements?’
I nodded and Earl went back to the refrigerator and came out with two tall cans of Budweiser.
‘Look, kid, I’ll knock a couple hundred off the four-door if you go out there and start it up. Might need a jump. There’s a cart in the shop we use for jumps. You remember it?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Earl said. ‘It’s gold, the Dart, I think it is anyway. It’s in the back somewhere. Look on the rack for the keys. I’d get my boots on, but I’m too old to be shoveling snow off a goddamn seventies beater.’
‘I don’t mind, I’ll do it right now.’
‘Take your time, kid, there’s nothing going on here but the snow.’
It took me a while to find it, it was stuck in the back behind the trucks and cargo vans. It was gold like Earl said, and once I took the snow off, I saw that it had a black vinyl top.
The lock was frozen and I went back to the office and Earl gave me his lighter to heat the key.
The door opened pretty easy then and I tried to start it, but there was nothing. I went to the shop and dragged out the cart and jumped it with their battery. As it warmed up I sat inside it, and once it settled, it ran easy and smooth. I turned the heater on full, and after a few minutes I could feel it begin to work.
The upholstery was in good enough shape, and none of the windows were cracked or missing, and when I took it for a test ride it ran well. Everything on the instrument panel worked, and even though I never took it over thirty, it seemed like it would ride nice on the highway.
Earl had a bottle of whiskey on the table by the time I parked in front of the office. As I went inside he poured two glasses. The TV was on to a soap opera and the dog had moved to the couch and was asleep.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. He was staring at the TV.
‘Young and Restless?’
‘Days of our Lives.’
‘I’ll take the Dart.’
‘It’s old, Frank. Old cars break down. If I remember right, you don’t even know what a wrench is. You want another beer?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
‘Will you get me one while you’re there?’ he said and smiled.
I went to the refrigerator and took out two.
‘What I’d recommend is you buy a Civic, maybe a Toyota. Personally, I hate foreign cars, but Jesus if you need a beater that won’t break on you, pick up one of those.’
‘I like the Dart.’
‘The slant-six is a good engine, but it sucks the gas, Frank.’
‘You ain’t being much of a salesman today, Earl.’
‘I don’t know what you’re doing, kid, but the last thing I want to do is make life any rougher on you. I’ll sell you the Dart, but I’ll only take $800.’
‘That’s a good deal, Earl.’
‘We’ll see,’ Earl said and went to doing the paperwork. I began watching the TV.
‘You still any good at shuffle board?’
‘I was the last time I played.’
‘After we finish up here, I’m closing shop. How’s about I buy you a drink?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Me too, kid,’ Earl said and then lit another Old Gold and went back to it.
26
IT WAS LATE WHEN WE LEFT the Elbow Room. It was still snowing and so cold the snow was sticking to the pavement. We walked back to the lot and Earl gave me twenty dollars to jump an early nineties Wagoneer so he could make the trip home in a four- wheel drive. I got both cars running and left them idling outside the office to warm then went back inside where Earl and I drank whiskey and listened to the radio.
‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘I’m trying not to,’ I said.
‘I don’t mean to give you advice, kid, but I like you. It’s your mind set, your whole way of thinking, what’s bothering me. You’re thinking like a beaten man. You have since your mother died. Now I ain’t seen you in maybe five years. So for all I know you’re smoking cocaine or shooting heroin, but my guess is that you ain’t. My guess is you’re still an all right kid, my guess is that you’re stuck in the same rut as you were when you quit working for me. Drinking with your brother and your friends, fucking around and wasting time. You ain’t a piece of shit. You were a good baseball player, you worked hard. Have you had a girlfriend?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then you’re capable of love. Some broad thinks you’re all right. You’re not a loser, kid, but if you keep acting like one, then I don’t know. All I’m saying is don’t make decisions thinking that you’re a low life, make decisions thinking you’re a great man, at least a good man. And don’t be a goddamn pussy. There’s a world out there. If you don’t open your eyes you ain’t ever gonna see it. All right, kid, that’s it. That’s all I have for you. I got to get home before I get stuck in this shit box. The roads out my way are probably getting bad.’
Earl lived east of town. He had a ranch, a place near Mustang, near the whorehouses. He had a horse and a few acres. He had a porch and a barbecue and a couple dogs. Cottonwood trees and the river. Once in a while, when I worked there, he’d invite us over. My brother and me. He’d let us drink beer and ride around on this old half-blind horse he had named Lloyd. Sometimes he’d even let us stay the night.
We stood up and shook hands. He told me to tell Jerry Lee hello, and wished me luck. The dog was still on the couch and I had to make him get up and leave.
As I sat in the new car I watched Earl as he slowly drove down B Street. The Wagoneer coughing and sputtering, but still moving steadily, and finally fading into the snow and the darkness.
27
BY THEN I WAS DRUNK, drunk enough that I drove back to my room and packed up my things. I took all the clothes I thought I might need, and I took all the blankets and pillows I had and made a bed in the back seat for Jerry Lee. I don’t remember what time it was, but it was late.
I parked out front, in the loading zone, and walked into the old hospital entrance. I made it to the elevator and up to his room unnoticed.
He was awake, watching TV, when I got there.
In his room there were two other guys. Both old, and both sleeping.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said when he saw me, ‘are we going to do it?’
‘I’m drunk. Me and Earl went over to the Elbow Room.’
‘What were you drinking?’
‘Jim Beam and beer.’
‘Damn, I wish I was there. What kind of car did you get?’
‘Dodge Dart.’
‘No shit.’
‘It runs good. Earl gave it to me for $800.’
‘I’m glad you’re getting me out of here. I hate it here more than anything.’
‘I don’t know if we should.’
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Elko.’
‘Jesus, what’s in Elko?’
‘I don’t know, but if we go that’s where we’re going.’
‘I don’t give a shit, I just want to get out of here.’ He moved his legs until they were hanging off the side of the bed, but he was in pain just doing that. Sweat was coming down his forehead, his breathing strained. We took his hospital gown off. He told me to give him the pair of sweats that hung on the chair by his bed. I found them and helped him put on the bottoms. I took his shoe and put it on his foot.
The two old men were now awake. They were staring at us. One guy had tubes running in his nose, the other didn’t have anything in him but an IV.
‘Those two guys are up,’ I said.
Jerry Lee looked over at them and smiled. ‘They don’t give a shit, they haven’t said anything to me since they got here.’
Jerry Lee pulled off the tape covering the IV in his arm and took the needle out. I handed him a crutch, and helped him off the bed, and although shaky, he stood. Together we slowly headed towards the hall.
There was no one around, just the bright fluorescent lights and the hall itself. I found a wheelchair and sat Jerry Lee in it. He put the crutch on his lap. I rolled him to the elevator, and we got lucky, as no one stopped us.
The elevator bell went off, and the doors opened and I rolled Jerry Lee in. When the door opened to the first floor I pushed him to the main entrance and then outside to the car. No one said anything at all. It was almost like we were invisible. I put him in the back seat, opened the trunk, and folded the wheelchair in it. Then I took us out of the parking lot and on to the street.
At a stop light I introduced him to the dog.
‘Hello, amigo,’ Jerry Lee said and coughed. He reached forward and petted the dog.
I pulled us onto Virginia Street.
‘It’s snowing like a fucker, ain’t it, Frank?’
‘It’s a mess.’
‘Seems like it’s been on and off since that night.’
I nodded.
‘You know what sounds good? Tacos, you mind picking
up a couple tacos before we leave? Jim Boys. Maybe some Mexican fries too.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Did you get any of the antibiotics, or the names of anything you’re taking?’
‘Shit,’ he said and coughed again, ‘I left it on the bed stand.’
‘That ain’t good. We should go back.’
‘I don’t want to go back. I fucking hate it there. We’ll figure it out. We’ll call them from the road. They’ll tell us.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘They have that oath.’
‘They don’t give a shit about that.’
‘I think they have to.’
28
I DROVE ALL NIGHT and listened to the radio. We were lucky because the roads cleared outside Fernley, and soon I had the Dart at seventy and it handled pretty easy for such an old car. By dawn we were near Elko, maybe thirty miles out. I was beginning to fall asleep and pulled over at the only rest stop I came across. Jerry Lee was out in the back seat, and when I parked I got out and took two sleeping bags from the trunk. I let the dog run around on the frozen grass, and got back in the car, put a sleeping bag over Jerry Lee, got in mine, and closed my eyes.
I woke up three or four hours later with the dog scratching at the car door. It was snowing lightly, the wind blowing. I opened the door and let him in. I fed him the last of the tacos and fell back asleep.
It was dusk when I finally woke for good. Jerry Lee was up, staring out the window. When I looked back at him he didn’t seem well, just pale and thin and sick. He told me he had to use the can. I started up the car and drove us as close as I could to the rest-stop bathroom and helped him get out. I took the wheelchair from the trunk and sat him in it and pushed him up the sidewalk.
‘I ain’t feeling right.’
‘How so?’ I asked as I got him into the bathroom.
‘I ain’t sure,’ he said. ‘My leg, it doesn’t hurt really. I’m just so damn tired. Feel sorta sick to my stomach.’
I helped him into a stall and waited until he was done. Then I took him back to the car and laid him in the back seat. I put the wheelchair in the trunk and started the engine.
The Motel Life Page 12