Blacktop Wasteland: A Novel

by S. A. Cosby

  * * *

  Whenever Beauregard came up to Wonderland, he marveled at how the name had stuck. He couldn’t believe any of the inbred zombie tweakers that hung out up here understood the concept of sarcasm. To them, it really was a Wonderland. Beauregard thought a better name would be “Lost All Hope Land” or “Crabs and Syphilis Land.” Secreted deep in the rolling hills of Caroline County at the end of an oddly scenic drive, Wonderland was an oasis of sorts. A collection of four double-wide trailers connected to form a two-legged T near a picturesque lake. Wonderland’s pastoral location was at odds with the entertainment it provided. You could indulge a wide variety of vices at Wonderland. The ones that were the most popular were the old favorites. Sex and drugs with a splash of white lightning thrown in for good measure. He hadn’t bothered going to Reggie and Ronnie’s place. Ronnie was a lying, double-crossing piece of shit but even he wasn’t that stupid. He might have thought he’d gotten rid of Bug, but he knew he still had Lazy to contend with. There was no way he’d go back to their trailer. He’d want to go somewhere he felt safe. Somewhere he could relax while he tried to unload the platinum. Somewhere he could celebrate outsmarting both Bug and Lazy.

  Wonderland definitely fit the bill.

  A menagerie of cars and jacked-up trucks were parked off to the right near the base of the mountain. Reggie’s car was parked next to a truck with a Dixie flag in the back window. A honky-tonk standard was blasting out of one of the windows of the mobile home monstrosity. Back in the day, a place like this might be called a shot house. Nowadays, shoot-up house was a more apt description. Beauregard tucked his .45 into his waist and stomped over the moss and grass to the foot of the T where someone had fashioned a crude front door.

  A thin man sat on a stool near the door sipping from a flask. He gave Beauregard a long hard look.

  “What’s up, Hoss?” he asked.

  “What up, Skeet,” Beauregard said.

  Skeet sipped from his flask. “Long time, no see. If you looking for Jimmy, you out of luck. He got picked up. Doing two years in Coldwater for possession with intent,” Skeet said.

  “Nah, I’m not looking for Jimmy,” he said.

  A short wide man with a Dixie flag baseball cap and a face like a gravel road ambled over to the door. He was holding a red plastic cup full of liquor. Beauregard took in the scene. The first trailer served as a bar and lounge. A raven-haired beauty named Sam was standing behind a bar made from an old sheet of plywood and some milk crates. Near the bar were five or six ragged beanbag chairs. A few people were splayed across them like dolls. The rest of the denizens were sitting around two different plastic patio tables. A long-haired hipster in khaki shorts and sandals was chatting up Sam near the bar. No one was really paying attention to the naked girl dancing on the stage made from an old high school cafeteria table. A neon Coors sign hung on the wall behind her. It gave her skin a devilish red glow. The rest of the lights were turned down just low enough so that you could still find your crystal meth if you dropped it. A pungent scent filled the air. It was a witch’s brew of weed, whiskey and body odor.

  “Sam running things now?”

  “Might could say that. I mean she is his sister.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  Skeet shrugged. “Alright. Most people just go on like Jimmy still here.”

  “Uh huh. Look, Skeet, where Ronnie and Reggie at? I saw Reggie’s car outside.”

  Skeet’s watery brown eyes flicked left to right. He hesitated before answering. “Well, Ronnie left a while ago. Reggie in the back,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “What you want, boy?” the man in the Dixie hat said. His words came out sideways.

  “Nothing,” Beauregard said. He moved past the man. Dixie Cap reached out and grabbed his arm. Beauregard looked at the hand on his arm then at the hand’s owner.

  “Can’t we have one place without you poking your head in it? Goddamn, y’all done took over the White House,” Dixie Cap said.

  “If you don’t get your hand off me, I’m gonna feed it to you,” Beauregard said.

  “Bobby, get on now,” Skeet said. He hopped off the stool and removed Bobby’s hand from Beauregard’s arm. Bobby mumbled something, but Beauregard ignored him. He threaded through the first trailer until he came to the intersection of the T.

  Left, or right? Beauregard decided it didn’t matter. He had to be in one of the rooms back here. Jimmy Spruill rented rooms at the top of the T an hour at a time. Just in case you wanted to get high in private with your soul mate for the night. Back here Wonderland gave up any pretense of civility. The four trailers attached end-to-end were a smoked-filled Tartarus awash in dying embers and used needles. No one looked up from the belts they were tying off to acknowledge him as he passed. The layout of the bedrooms changed as you moved from one trailer to the next. Sometimes they were on your right, then they were on the left. None of them had doors. Instead they sported beaded curtains or sheets draped over a compression shower rod. When Beauregard peeped in, he wasn’t admonished. A few times he even received an invitation to join the festivities.

  Reggie was in the last room in the last trailer. His pale white ass was pistoning up and down on top of the big girl that had been at his trailer a few weeks ago. His pants were bunched around his ankles. The woman opened her eyes and stared at Beauregard over Reggie’s shoulder.

  “Baby,” she squeaked.

  “So … close,” Reggie panted.

  “Baby, somebody here!” she squealed. Reggie froze in midstroke. Beauregard stepped in the room and grabbed Reggie by the hair. He pulled him off the big girl and slammed him face first into the wall. When he pulled his head back blood was pouring out Reggie’s nose and chin. He slammed his face into the wall again. It left a bloody Jackson Pollock painting on the wall.

  “Hey, Reggie, pull up your pants, we gotta talk,” Beauregard said.

  Reggie pulled up his pants as Beauregard held a wad of his hair. After he had covered his narrow ass Beauregard dragged him out of the room. The large woman was struggling to get out of the bed. Her prodigious breasts spilled across her belly like an avalanche.

  “You let him go!” she screamed. Beauregard ignored her and dragged Reggie down the hallway. Reggie tried to claw at the walls, but he could find no purchase. Ann finally got up and tossed on a T-shirt. She waddled after Beauregard and Reggie as fast as she could. When Beauregard reached the front lounge area, Skeet hopped off his bar stool.

  “Yo Bug, what the hell?” he asked. Bobby jumped up from his beanbag and launched himself at Beauregard and Ronnie. Beauregard figured he’d been spoiling for a fight ever since he’d seen a brown face walk through the door. As Bobby hurtled toward them, Beauregard pulled the .45 out of his waist. He flipped it so that he was holding it by the barrel and slammed the butt into Bobby’s mouth and jaw. His Dixie flag baseball cap flew off as his head snapped back. Beauregard herded Reggie to the side as Bobby fell into one of the patio tables. Drinks went flying as the table collapsed under his weight. Beauregard wheeled around with the .45. He panned across the room with the business end.

  “Get him!” Ann screamed.

  “I’m taking him out of here. Anybody got a problem with that, say something,” Beauregard asked. No one spoke. Beauregard backed out the door with Reggie, shirtless and crying, in tow.

  “Y’all just gonna sit there? Some friends you are!” Ann screeched.

  Sam poured some moonshine out of a large plastic jug into a mason jar and handed it to the hipster. “Can’t argue with a .45,” she said in her throaty voice.

  The men who had been sitting at the demolished table floated over to the bar. Conversations that had been muted returned to their normal volume. The girl onstage stepped down and another skinnier girl took her place. Skeet and a few other guys helped Bobby up and gave him some paper towels for his bloody mouth. After a few minutes, it was like nothing had happened. And for all intents and purposes, nothing had.

  *
* *

  Beauregard turned off of Route 301 and navigated the narrow back roads that led out of Caroline County and back to Red Hill. He hugged the white line as he drove down the single-lane road masquerading as a double-lane highway. Reggie lay in the passenger seat with his face pressed against the glass. Neither he nor Beauregard spoke. There was nothing they needed to say.

  Beauregard turned onto a gravel-covered road. They passed a cell tower surrounded with bright new chain-link fencing that shimmered in the truck’s headlights. Beauregard turned off the gravel road onto a narrow driveway covered in cracked asphalt. The driveway led to a clearing where the remnants of an old factory held court like an ersatz Stonehenge.

  “Get out. Don’t run. I’ll shoot you in the back,” Beauregard said.

  Reggie climbed out of the truck. He took off running as soon as his feet hit the ground. He headed for the woods surrounding the clearing. Beauregard shot up in the air. Reggie dropped to the ground. Blades of grass scratched his chest. He felt a hand grab him by his hair and pull him to his feet. He let himself be dragged back to the truck. Beauregard pushed him against the passenger door. They locked eyes for a moment.

  Beauregard punched him in the stomach. Reggie doubled over, then fell to his knees. He made a wet gagging sound. Beauregard thought Reggie might throw up but he didn’t. He made some more gagging sounds then raised his head. Beauregard dropped to his haunches so that they were eye to eye.

  “I’m only gonna ask you once. Where is Ronnie?”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t know about it. I would have never gone along with it,” Reggie wheezed.

  Beauregard put the .45 in his waistband near the small of his back. He grabbed Reggie’s left hand with his own. Using his right hand, he opened the passenger door on the truck. By the time Reggie realized what he was doing it was too late to struggle.

  Beauregard gripped Reggie’s wrist and forced his hand against the door frame. He slammed the door shut on Reggie’s hand.

  Reggie’s mouth filled with hot stinging bile and this time he did vomit. It dribbled over his loosened teeth and down his shin. He screamed. He kicked his feet. He swallowed some vomit, then threw it up again.

  “Where is he, Reggie?” Beauregard asked. A slight breeze moved the grass in the clearing. The blades undulated like waves in a lagoon.

  “I … don’t … know,” Reggie said.

  Beauregard pulled the door back and slammed it on Reggie’s hand again. Reggie threw his head back and howled. His eyes widened to the size of silver dollars.

  “Don’t … make me tell. He’s my brother. Don’t make me tell. You’re gonna kill him if I tell,” Reggie cried. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting tracks through the blood on his chin.

  “I’m gonna kill you if you don’t. They came to my house, Reggie. They shot my son. All because Ronnie couldn’t stick to the plan. I don’t want to hurt you any more, Reggie. But I will. And I won’t stop until you tell me where he is. You pass out and I’ll wake you up. Once this hand goes numb, we’ll start with the other one. Then we move to your feet. Then your dick. I’ll feed you to this truck piece by piece,” Beauregard said.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what he was gonna do.”

  ‘I know you are, Reggie. I know. Where’s Ronnie?”

  Reggie’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down like a fishing lure.

  Beauregard pulled the door back.

  “Wait!” Reggie begged.

  “I don’t have time to wait, Reggie.”

  “Please. He’s my brother.”

  “And Darren is my son.”

  Neither man said anything. As the seconds ticked by, a dog bayed in the distance.

  Reggie hung his head. “He went over to Curran County. Other side of the hills here. Crashed with some girl named Amber Butler. I think she lives off Durant Road. I don’t know what he did with the van.”

  Beauregard stood.

  “Alright. Alright,” he said. His tone was robotic.

  Reggie looked up at him. His eyes were red and rimmed with tears.

  “I’m scared, Bug.”

  Beauregard pulled out the .45.

  “Nothing to be scared of, Reggie. Just close your eyes.”

  * * *

  Beauregard got back to the salvage yard just before sunrise. A man-sized blue tarp was on the back of the tow truck. The office was locked, but he knew Boonie kept a spare key in an old Pontiac next to the main building. Once he had retrieved the key, he went inside and grabbed another key from the rack to the left of Boonie’s desk. He went back outside and grabbed the man-sized tarp off the back of the truck. Beauregard hoisted it up on his shoulders with a deep groan. He stomped around the back of the office and headed for a dilapidated Chevy Cavalier. He used one hand to unlock the trunk with the key he grabbed from the rack. He dropped the blue tarp into the trunk and slammed it shut. Once that was done he went back inside the office and locked the door behind him. He scooped his phone off Boonie’s desk as he headed for the couch. He had one text message. It was from Jean, not Kia.

  Darren came out of surgery. They got the bullet. Still touch and go.

  Beauregard flopped onto the couch. He pressed the phone against his forehead. Darren was finally out of surgery. Darren, who loved to giggle at the absurdity of curse words. They had pulled a bullet out of his baby boy. Beauregard’s eyes began to burn. He buried his face in his hands. Sadness and guilt hovered around his heart like buzzards. He wiped his eyes and pushed those feelings away.

  They could have his heart when this was over.

  THIRTY

  Ronnie bent over and lit his cigarette on the burner of Amber’s stove. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke fill his lungs. Cancer never tasted so good. He went to the window, pulled the vanes of the blinds down. Nothing. Just darkness. He let the smoke in his lungs billow out of his nostrils. Amber had just left for her shift at the hospital. He’d asked her to cop him a few Percs, but she had blanched at the request.

  “Ronnie, I ain’t into that no more. I got my RN now. Can’t fuck that up.”

  “Hell, get me the extra-strength aspirin then. I need something,” he’d said. He’d take whatever he could get. His nerves were as raw as a bedsore. He’d tried Reggie all day and couldn’t get him. His phone wasn’t even going to voice mail. Just rang a few times and disconnected. He took another drag on the smoke and let the smoke flow from his nostrils and mouth. Lazy had been blowing up the burner phone so much that it finally ran out of minutes.

  Ronnie knocked some ash off his cigarette into the sink. Amber had her own trailer at the end of a long driveway, just like Reggie. The driveway was bordered by a cornfield on one side and a thin grove of walnut trees on the other. Hard for anyone to sneak up on him. Not that anyone should know where he was. Unless they got to Reggie. But Lazy didn’t know anything about Wonderland. At least Ronnie didn’t think he did. Ronnie inhaled again. He might need to ride up to Wonderland. Grab Reggie and make for the West Coast. There was nothing in Virginia for them. Not anymore. He couldn’t even—

  An engine was revving outside in the dark. Ronnie went to the window again. He didn’t see any headlights. He ran to his bag and grabbed his gun. He stubbed out the cigarette on the linoleum and cut off all the lights. Breathing hard, he peeped through the blinds. The engine was close. He could almost feel the vibrations as it revved again and again. Ronnie sucked his teeth. Could he make it to his Mustang? It was at least ten steps from the front door to the car. He licked his lips. The engine stopped revving. Now it was a high metallic whine. Ronnie opened the blinds a crack.

  “Oh fuck!” he yelled. He ran for the back door.

  A wrecker truck was racing toward the trailer with the headlights off. As Ronnie ran through the kitchen, the truck rammed into the trailer. The front wall imploded, showering the interior of the mobile home in glass, metal and wood. The roar of the engine filled the structure. The impact threw Ronnie into the fridge. The door handle caught him in his right side
like a kidney punch. He bounced off the fridge and headed for the back door.

  Ronnie kicked open the back door and took the rickety wood steps two at a time. He was almost on the ground when someone grabbed the door and slammed it into him. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. The gun leaped from his hand and disappeared into the darkness under the trailer. Ronnie rolled on his back and used both his feet to kick the door back toward whoever had grabbed it.

  The door rocketed back into Beauregard’s face. He felt something in his nose give way. Blood and snot poured from his nostrils and down his face. A piece of his incisor tumbled down his throat. He stumbled backwards and landed against the back wall of the mobile home. He pushed off and stepped from around the swinging door with the .45 leading the way. He caught a glimpse of Ronnie’s form running into the cornfield next to the trailer. Beauregard ran back around to the front of the trailer. When he reached the truck, he removed the crowbar he had wedged against the dash and the gas pedal. He hopped in and jammed the truck into reverse. Backing up, he flicked on the headlights and the running lights. There was only one beam of light on the passenger side illuminating the dark. One of the headlights must have been damaged in the crash. One would have to be good enough. He shifted into first and floored the gas pedal.

  Ronnie was leaving a trail in the dry cornstalks a blind man could have followed. The headlight cast animated shadows as the truck bounced over row after row. Ronnie was running straight ahead, leaving broken stalks in his wake. Beauregard shifted into second and closed the gap. Ronnie must have realized the futility of trying to outrun the truck by sticking to a linear route. He slashed to his right. Beauregard figured he was heading back to the main road. Maybe get across the highway into the woods. Or maybe he was just running with no idea where he was going. Terror had a way of making smart men stupid.

  Instead of wrenching the steering wheel to the right, Beauregard stood up on the brakes and wrenched it to the left. The back end of the truck skipped across the rows like a stone across the water. Ronnie saw a wave of dirt and cornstalks flying toward him a second before the back of the truck crashed into him and sent him flying like a softball.