The Overnighter's Secrets

by J. L. Salter

  It was the usual process: open tank, swipe card, insert nozzle... pump gas. Wait a long time. Look around occasionally. She didn’t see or hear any other vehicle drive up and didn’t notice anyone nearby. But as Beth watched the pump numbers and listened for the swooshing sound that would signal gasoline approaching the neck of the tank, someone from the shadows called her name.

  She yelped. It was the same voice as before, at the mall.

  Beth wanted to run, but couldn’t. Her hand remained on the pump handle. Could she use it as a weapon? Not sure. She tried to remember something from her self defense class... anything.

  Nothing.

  He stepped closer. Ricks! So he was in Verdeville. Scrawny Sallie had been correct. But what did Ricks want with Beth?

  Ricks gripped the wrist of her hand holding the nozzle.

  She released the lever and the gasoline stopped pumping. Beth froze.

  He spoke her name again. The voice was cold and clammy like it came from an old grave. His breath smelled the same.

  “Ricks, you look... different.” Meth does weird things to people.

  He squeezed her wrist roughly.

  “What the—” Beth winced. “Ow!”

  “Been a long time.” Ricks seemed to enjoy hurting her.

  “What do you want? Why are you following me?”

  Ricks didn’t answer at first. He just studied her, as though he were reading a menu. “You know what I want.”

  That could mean a lot of things. “No I don’t, but you won’t get it from me. Whatever it is.”

  “Shane’s suitcase.” Ricks licked his lips erratically.

  So whatever Ricks wanted was definitely connected to that musty overnighter. “Shane still has it, in Long Beach.”

  Ricks dug his blunt fingertips into her upper arm muscle.

  “Stop! Ow!”

  “Where’s the little suitcase?”

  “I told you! Shane’s always had it.”

  “Wrong answer. I already checked. Holder doesn’t have it anymore, and I know he wouldn’t toss it out. So the only other place is... you.”

  Beth gulped.

  Ricks whipped out a folding knife, flicked it open with one hand, and held it to her neck.

  Then he released her arm and groped her body crudely.

  Hot tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t move with the blade at her throat.

  “Not as easy without a brick in your hand... from behind my back.” Ricks looked into her eyes as he pawed her bosom. “You know, I really wanted to finish things with you that time. You missed a great opportunity.”

  “You were too zonked that night anyway.”

  That angered him. “Look, I’ve got business to tend to, or I’d do you right now.” Bony fingers dug in painfully. “You know... catch up on what I missed.”

  Beth tried to twist out of his rough hands. “You didn’t want me anyway. You had Sallie.”

  “No, Sallie was Mutt’s girl... when he was around, anyway. When he wasn’t, I took over.” Ricks pressed harder with the knife blade. “Anyhow, she was lousy.”

  “She was probably unconscious from all those drugs you had her on.”

  “Whatever.” Ricks peered into her face. “Hey, you’ve got a lot of spunk even with my knife poking you.” He laughed wickedly.

  Where’s all the traffic? Usually there were vehicles all over this gas station. Beth fought her panic. “Look, Ricks... this is all wrong. Everything that happened between you and me was years ago—the other side of the country. I never encouraged you and I only hit you to protect myself.”

  “Maybe you never used encouraging words, but you usually showed a lot of leg in those short shorts.”

  “It was summer! I never knew when you’d show up, or even if you would. I just dressed for comfort. It didn’t mean anything.” When Beth swallowed, she felt the blade press even deeper. “Plus, I never told Shane what you did, because I knew he’d kill you.”

  “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance. But I was in a hurry.”

  “He knows that was you, two weeks ago.” Beth blurted it out before she could think. “And now you’re dead meat.”

  “Shut up!” Ricks pressed the knife tighter into her neck.

  “Ow! Stop!”

  Ricks looked around furtively and licked his lips rapidly.

  Obviously stoned—he always was.

  “The suitcase. Where is it?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you. I don’t have it. Besides, it was dirty, dusty, and full of junk.”

  “It’s not junk after all, apparently. Something in there’s worth a good bit to somebody.” With his free hand, Ricks slapped her face. “And I’m the only other one who knows what the little suitcase looks like.”

  “I don’t have it. I swear!” Hot tears distorted her vision.

  “You’d lie to keep your panties on and you’d lie to get this knife away. But I can’t hang around here.” A late model SUV turned off the highway and approached slowly. “I’ve been watching you and I plan to visit real soon. You’ve got that little suitcase somewhere... and I’ll find it.” He flipped the knife over and eased the back of the blade across her throat. Then he laughed wildly and trotted toward a dark sedan, parked at the edge nearest the highway.

  The newly-arrived SUV reached the pump island. An older man got out and looked toward Beth before leaning back in and saying something to his passenger. Shortly an older woman got out and scurried toward her. Beth’s tears were probably visible from that distance.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” She squinted in the darkness toward the car which had just driven away.

  Beth broke down. “Mugger.”

  The lady hugged her sideways. “You want us to call the police?”

  Beth shook her head. “No. I know him. I’ll go to the station and turn him in.”

  The woman looked relieved and nodded to her husband, who watched as he filled their vehicle. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.” Beth nodded. “I’m okay.”

  “What’s that on your neck?” The woman pointed.

  Beth touched it reflexively. “A little cut. Probably not too bad.”

  “Better tend it. Antiseptic.” She squinted to see better in the shadow from the station’s bright lights.

  “Thanks. I will.” With shaky hands, Beth put up the nozzle and closed her gas tank cap and lid. She’d gotten more than enough fuel to get to the police station and then home. She looked back toward the kind woman, now getting into her own vehicle, and waved once. Beth forgot to get her receipt.

  “Domestic,” the woman announced loudly to her husband, who was apparently hard of hearing.

  Not domestic in the way you mean, thought Beth. Just in the sense that I know the scumbag. She got into her car, muttering to herself. “If Shane had been here, that punk would be lying on the sidewalk with busted ribs and a face like raw meat.”

  Beth drove straight to the police station, about a mile north of her house, at the intersection of Main Street and Dock Road. That facility anchored the west edge of old downtown.

  Though nearly eight o’clock, Desk Sergeant Travis was still on duty.

  Beth didn’t wait for an invitation to speak. “Somebody’s following me all over town, day and night, and just now accosted me at a gas station.”

  Travis looked tired and uninterested. “Need to fill out a report.” He handed her a form.

  She snatched the paper and turned to see where she could sit.

  “You want somebody to look at that?” Travis pointed toward her neck.

  “Sure. You have a first aid kit or something?”

  “You’re in luck. Medic’s here. Just patched up a drunk-and-disorderly brought in from downtown.” The sergeant pointed toward the door where a young man in short sleeved uniform carried a large case by its sturdy handle. “Yo!”

  The medic turned. It was Arnie!

  Beth smiled in spite of herself. It almost felt like she was m
eeting an old friend at a bus station.

  Arnie approached the main desk. He looked quite tired too. “Hope this is quick, Sarge. I’m just about to go off-duty.” Then he noticed Beth. “Oh, hey!”

  He remembered her! What a warm feeling to be recognized by a hunky medic. Even when you’re still rattled by the dumpster-diving creep nearly chopping off your neck. “Hi, Arnie.”

  Arnie’s gaze dropped to her neck. “What happened?” He pointed to a corner and both moved in that direction. “Another break-in?”

  “No, this was a mugger... gas station.”

  He looked puzzled. “You’re sure having a run of back luck.” Arnie lifted her chin and peered at her cut. “You haven’t ticked off any mob guys, have you?”

  Beth frowned. “No, but you’re the second person to mention the mob. I didn’t even know we had mobsters down here in Tennessee.”

  “You kidding?” He looked around and lowered his voice as he squeezed his hands into fresh gloves. “Nashville is full of the mob.” He reached into his case for the needed items: cotton, disinfectant, antibiotic ointment, and a large bandage. “So, who’d you tick off?”

  “Nobody. I mean nobody in the mob. At least I don’t think so.” It was difficult to speak with her neck stretched upward. “Tonight it was somebody I used to know from California. Ow! Not sure why he’s here, though. But he can’t be with the mob. This guy is stoned most of the time.”

  “Well, something brought him all the way here. Must be you.”

  “Ow!” Something stung.

  “And guys like that—if he’s a drug-case—don’t move around much unless somebody else is moving them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe the mob doesn’t employ this drug head. But for him to drag himself this far out of his comfort zone, somebody had to have hired him.” Arnie finished dressing her neck wound—rather slight, judging by how much effort he’d expended—and then suggested she get a tetanus shot unless she’d had one within five years.

  “Don’t remember the last shot.”

  “Then it’s been at least five years. Get another one.” He looked down at her blank report form. “Waste of time, unless this guy has a local record.”

  “He hasn’t been here long enough to do anything but harass me. But I’m pretty sure he was busted for drugs in the L.A. area.” She waved the form. “Would that be enough of a record?”

  “I’m not a cop, but around here, you have a better chance of being arrested with an expired meter than if you commit a crime.” He shrugged. “Department priorities. They need revenue, not more prisoners.”

  Sitting this close to a nice-looking man—single, according to his left hand—stirred something.

  Then Arnie asked how Connie was doing. “You think she’d mind if I called her?”

  Beth struggled to contain the enthusiasm of her reply. “No, I’m sure it would be okay. You two seemed to hit it off.”

  He smiled.

  “You got her number?”

  “Yep. She put it in my phone and gave me a card.” Arnie stood quickly and waved. He was out the door in seconds.

  After Arnie left, Beth texted Connie: hunky medic might call. Then she smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  October 11 (Tuesday morning)

  When Shane Holder woke it was a little after seven o’clock. He was off the frontage road, south of I-40 near Exit 233 but he hadn’t even noted the motel’s name as he rolled in late last night. On the small desk was a black plastic portfolio with the name Envie Motel—sounded French. Maybe it was inspired by a perfume label.

  Shane’s Monday travel had been slowed first by the morning’s heavy rain and then by a complex accident on the loop around Little Rock during late afternoon rush. Consequently, he didn’t hit Verde-town until nearly eleven o’clock... and didn’t figure he should call Bethany that late.

  After a fairly long hot shower, Shane groaned as he dressed. His back hurt, his rump was sore, and his shoulders and neck cramped from holding handlebars for over two thousand miles. If he’d brought the shovel-head, he’d probably need traction. The lower part of his face—which the helmet visor didn’t cover—was raw. He also felt slightly dehydrated.

  From his bag, he retrieved his photo of the three dumpster divers; he’d need a visual of Ricks for people he’d encounter during his search. Shane made his way downstairs, checked outside for his Harley, and then poured a cup of java at the smallish breakfast alcove. In a large thermos instead of a heated pot, the coffee was hardly more than lukewarm... but the tiny microwave was too nasty to apply more heat.

  Shane made a waffle in the flip-over waffle iron, but his first effort stuck to both surfaces. Good grief. Without his glasses, he squinted to read the instructions. Apparently he was expected to spray the inside surfaces with lubricant before pouring the batter.

  After starting his second waffle attempt, Shane tried to call Bethany. It was 7:45, so she might have left for work already. He’d forgotten to get her work address. Shane grumbled; if he’d made better road time, he could have found her at home last night. His call went to voicemail and he left a message saying he would see her sometime that day.

  The second waffle came out more intact, but it tasted rather peculiar: maybe too much vanilla. He ate only half and then switched to a cold toaster pastry. With his second cup of lukewarm coffee, Shane went to the desk and asked the manager for a local map.

  The name tag indicated Clay, which could have been a first or last name. Clay lifted his magazine and pointed to the full-size city map pressed under a thick pane of heavily-scratched glass. Old downtown was laid out on compass headings, twelve blocks north and south and twenty-four blocks east and west. Except for Main Street, which split that area in half, many of the east and west streets had fairly common tree names. Other than Quarry on the east and Dock on the west, many north and south roads were named after the first fifteen U.S. Presidents, beginning with Washington on the far eastern boundary and going through Buchanan, fairly near the town square. The street battle between John Adams and his son John Quincy Adams was settled by naming the second street Adams and the sixth street Quincy. The remaining nine streets west of the square were named after the most famous Southern Civil War generals, beginning with Lee and Stuart. The street for Thomas Stonewall Jackson was called Stonewall, since President Andy Jackson’s street already tied up that surname on the east side of town. Verdeville’s founding fathers had a sense of expediency if nothing else.

  The railroad tracks formed the southern boundary of old downtown.

  Verdeville itself was nearly a perfect rectangle—rare in a city limits. From the map legend, that quadrangle looked about five miles wide and seven miles long. ”Don’t think I’ve ever seen a town so symmetrical.”

  Clay explained: during the Depression the city and county distinctions had blurred and both formerly merged in the 1950s, rather than have the city annex areas along the highways as those areas grew. So the original rectangular boundaries of Verdeville could remain as they were laid out by old man Greene and the other founding fathers of the late 1860s.

  Shane asked for a verbal tour of the major areas and neighborhoods.

  Clay, probably in his fifties, must have been a local historian. “Well, north of old downtown is the original silk stocking neighborhood. All the founders had big mansions along that stretch. To the south of old downtown is the other historical neighborhood... across the tracks. Originally working class folks and laborers in the mills and quarry. Some might have worked on the railroad too. Not sure. That area is a bit run down now. New residential on both sides of Quarry Pike going north out of old downtown.”

  “Why do you call it old downtown?”

  “Lots of businesses and banks have moved down toward the mall or the two Interstate exits. Plus, some of the city and county offices have moved out of the courthouse and further east. New hospital is way out to the west.”

  Shane noticed a sizeable lake perhaps ten miles
northwest of the center of town. Lake Envie. “Is that where your motel gets its name?”

  He nodded. “It’s a loop of the river that the Corps took out of the main channel. Bypassed, you could say. The original settlement in this area was called Greene’s Landing... up around that lower bend of the Cumberland River.” He pointed. “Highway 231 cuts right through the middle of it. But once the river traffic began to die down, that little old settlement didn’t have anything to grow with. So, the big shots shifted south a few miles to the railway line and started a brand new town, Verdeville, with the railroad running right through its length. What later became two state highways are on either end.”

  “Looks like heavy forest all around.” Shane pointed.

  “Quite a bit, ‘specially to the north... but there’s lots of farm land to the south. Cotton and soybeans mostly. Old commercial zones to the southeast of old downtown, along U.S. 70 and State 266. But that died down a little after I-40 came through.”

  “Where do people stay? Travelers...”

  “Tell you the truth, most go on in toward Nashville. Lots of choices as you get closer to the city.”

  “I meant around here.” Shane’s forefinger circled Verdeville.

  “You wanting to change motels?”

  “This one’s okay if the coffee was hot. But I came here to see my ex-girlfriend...”

  “Don’t know if you can stay there yet?”

  It sounded like the manager was prying, but his expression suggested that he understood relationships had complexities. “Yeah, a lot up in the air.” Shane shifted gears. “Anyhow, where’s the other motels?” He needed to know where Ricks might have settled in.

  Clay turned his head sufficiently to see the map from a better perspective. “Well, all the newer motels are down here close to the Interstate where we are... and at the other exit, of course. Only the older places are still inside Verdeville proper, with a few just outside. You know, the old motor courts that were built along the major highways. Most around this town were along U.S. 70. People don’t hardly stay in those anymore... the few that are even still open.”