Darkest Thoughts

by Gordon Brown

  She fires first time.

  I’m still naked. I know my wardrobe is limited. I saw a sign for Walmart back at the main junction on my way in. Back in the bedroom I dig out a pair of shorts, an old T-shirt and a pair of flip-flops that are lying at the bottom of a drawer. Not exactly de rigueur but it will do until I can get to the store. I hit the remote on the garage door and I’m away.

  The journey isn’t far but it’s a little bumpy. Not down to the lack of road maintenance. More down to me trying to work a stick shift in an unfamiliar car. I kangaroo for the first few turns, stalling at every light. I park a country mile from the front door of the Walmart. Too scared to try and park anywhere near other cars.

  I’m a cheap shopper. Ten-dollar jeans, a pack of three white T-shirts for seven dollars, unbranded trainers for fifteen bucks. The rest of my cash goes on a cheap suit, a shirt and a tie, a look I finish with a pair of leather-look shoes. Along with boxers and a few other essentials it all but cleans me out. I’m taking the car for the job interview. I haven’t the bus fare left.

  On the way back I hang a left rather than a right at the main intersection. I slide down a road bordered on either side by houses backing onto row after row of canals. A boatyard appears and the road circles round on itself to meet the road coming in. A small beach borders the road, with a bar as a full stop. It’s a wooden affair and sits with its face towards the gulf. The sign above the door tells me it’s called Sam’s. They’re advertising meals with a spectacular sunset over the sea.

  Twenty yards from the beach a boat is exiting one of the canals. I eye the bar and wish I had a few more bucks in my pocket. A couple of beers watching the boat people do their business sounds fine. I pull into the parking lot that lines the beach, leaving the engine running to power the A/C. On a whim I root around in the glove box with visions of finding a few dollars squirreled away.

  Nothing.

  I reach into the back and flip down the split seat. The trunk has a black jacket lying on the floor. I pull it out. Rifling the pockets I find Andrew Jackson is crumpled up, hiding in an inside pocket. Andrew is worth a couple of beers of anybody’s money. Well, Sam, let’s see how good the view is.

  I stuff the twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. I rip open the T-shirt packet to remove one. Jeans, T-shirt, boxers, socks and sneakers in tow, I enter Sam’s washroom and emerge as Steve Austin’s poor cousin, the thirty-dollar man.

  The bar opens out to an area corralled by a low fence. Colorful pictures of fish are fixed to it low down, and an outdoor bar sits to the right. I choose one of the cut benches that border the fence. A narrow boardwalk flows from the fence to the water and then it’s liquid all the way to Mexico.

  A boat cuts through the swell to meet the main channel – a series of markers points the way to the sea.

  A waitress bounds up. I ask for a Miller on draft. She smiles, vanishes and re-appears with a glass fresh out of the freezer, froth bubbling from the top. Ice cold and just perfect for a day like today. I lick at the white bubbles, inhaling a few inches of the beer. With a satisfied sigh I lean back to fix my eyes on the departing boat.

  The bar is quiet but I suspect that at night this will change.

  A second boat cuts through the channel and falls in behind the first. A third and there’s a convoy heading for a day of fun. I compose myself at the wheel of the boat in my mind. I take a few minutes to suck in the salt air, to feel the sea spitting in my face. I close my eyes and drift, the sun as my personal heater, the shallow breeze a pre-ordered cooler.

  ‘Craig McIntyre?’

  I snap out of the daydream, twisting round to locate the voice.

  ‘Craig. What on earth are you doing here?’

  Chapter 24

  The girl is small. Five feet max. Short blonde hair. Tight white T-shirt and tighter jeans. She’s rocking on high heels. Maybe a few inches short of five feet. I have no idea who she is. Pretty though.

  She flicks her hair. ‘You don’t remember me?’

  ‘Not really.’

  She laughs. A friendly ‘me I’m likeable’ laugh. She sits down across from me. A little too premature for my liking.

  ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Hatch Roll?’ she says.

  ‘Hatch Roll?’

  ‘Sharon. Sharon Davies. Day nurse?’

  Hatch Roll. Not a great time in my life but I still can’t place her.

  ‘A good few years ago. When I left you were still under observation.’

  ‘You worked there?’

  ‘Yip. Nurse. Do you mind if I sit a while? Huh. I’m supposed to be meeting someone but they’re running late.’

  I wave my hand and she settles in. She flicks her hair again. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘When did you get out?’ She makes it sound like I was in prison.

  ‘A few years back.’

  ‘You look good on it.’

  I know she’s lying. My clothes might be bright and shiny but the person inside is dull and muted. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She doesn’t answer at first, her eye drawn to the departing boats. She looks back at me. ‘I moved down here after I quit at Hatch Roll. You?’

  ‘Taking a break.’

  ‘On your own?’

  I don’t want to go there. She’s a link to a past I want buried. She’s also a connection to a world that the suits know all about.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘No girlfriend?’

  Strange thing to ask. ‘I need to be going.’

  ‘You’ve hardly touched your beer.’

  ‘I’ve been feeling a bit off. Thought this was a good idea. It isn’t.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  I shuffle in my seat. Feel like I’m being interrogated. ‘Hotel up the road. Days Inn. Just for last night. I’m moving on.’

  ‘Where to?’

  Give me a break. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘You have a car?’

  Hells teeth. ‘Yip.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Which one’s yours?’

  ‘What is it with the twenty questions?’

  ‘Just being friendly.’

  She looks put out. Her face screws up. A pretty sort of screw-up.

  ‘And what are you doing these days?’

  ‘Same old, same old. New place though. Not far from here. Straight up the road and across the 19. Huh. You can’t miss it.’

  I’d seen the signs for the hospital on the way to the house. ‘And I take it you stay local?’

  ‘Fairway Oaks.’

  Shit.

  ‘It’s not far from my work. Nice place. My boyfriend owns it. Huh. It backs onto the golf course.’

  I have a sinking feeling as I speak. ‘What street?’

  ‘Twenty questions.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your turn. Twenty questions. It’s Irondale Lane. Why?’

  Double shit. ‘No reason.’

  A sun-filled silence descends. Count to twenty and still no talking.

  ‘I thought you had to go?’

  I can’t. Unless I leave my car and walk. Sharon will see me get in and later on could spot the car when I get back to the house. ‘You’ve cheered me up. Maybe I’ll finish my beer.’

  The waitress appears. Sharon orders an orange juice. ‘So you feel Hatch Roll is in the past? Huh.’

  She fixes her eyes on me as she speaks. There’s a sparkle there that gives her real warmth.

  ‘Yes and no. A lot of the time was a haze but when it was bad it was bad.’

  ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘Three years and then a few more on weekend release.’

  ‘Long time. What are you doing now?’

  ‘This and that. I’m surprised you remember me.’

  ‘When you’ve changed a man’s clothes, cleaned him up and spoon-fed him you’ve done more than most wives ever do. Huh. My boss used to call you the hurricane.’

  ‘Wh
y?’

  ‘You had a way of being at the centre of a storm. Usually when you were out of it on the meds – and you had some heavy meds at times. Fights on the ward, arguments – we even had a couple of stabbings. All in your ward. We moved you around to see what the heck was going on and you just kept being the eye. Calm, serene and nonsense all around.’

  ‘No one ever said.’

  ‘When you were awake and on low dosage it didn’t happen so often. I had a couple of colleagues who wouldn’t work nights on your ward. Thought you were some sort of jinx. Huh.’

  The ‘Huhs’ are a cute habit. Probably something you would grow to ignore or hate – but at the moment they’re cute.

  ‘I never knew.’

  ‘Why should you?’

  Why indeed?

  ‘So are you staying or going?’ she asks.

  My beer is dead. ‘One more.’

  I order up another cold one and she joins me.

  We shoot the breeze for a while. She’s into skateboarding and watercolors. Her boyfriend was into real estate but the recession put paid to that and he’s now an admin clerk with a car rental firm. They’ve been together for a couple of years. There is no talk of marriage and the way she skips over the detail doesn’t make him sound like the love of her life.

  My second beer fades into memory. I switch to soda. Adding DUI to my life might just be a bad idea.

  I get the impression that there’s no friend coming to meet Sharon. She doesn’t make or receive a cell call and seems at ease with being stood up. When I mention it she tells me it happens all the time.

  ‘How did you get here?’ I ask.

  ‘Car. How else? There, next to yours.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘The Corolla.’

  ‘How do you know it’s mine?’

  ‘I saw you drive up.’

  ‘I thought you came in after me?’

  ‘Nope. Huh. I was in the ladies’ washroom. Saw you park up.’

  I decide enough is enough. ‘I really must go.’

  ‘Oh well it was nice to meet you, Craig McIntyre. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I’m too quick to my feet and too quick to the car but if I’d known she had spotted me earlier I would never have spent the time chatting.

  As I complete the loop and get back on the road to the highway, I keep an eye on the rear view mirror. A small blue Chevy zooms into view. It was a blue Chevy that was sitting next to my car in the parking lot. I reach the main junction and indicate right – hoping there’s a Days Inn close by.

  I join the late afternoon traffic, heading south, the blue Chevy six or seven cars behind me. I stop/start down the 19 and, as I cross into the town of Port Richey, I’m relieved to see a Days Inn on my left.

  I indicate to cross over the oncoming lanes and the blue Chevy pulls into the parking lot of the Mattress Giant opposite. I park up and make for the reception. Unfortunately, the hotel is the type where the doors to the rooms open onto an outside balcony or onto the parking lot. As such I can’t walk in and lose myself inside the building.

  The receptionist looks up as I enter. Early twenties. Tight-cropped hair. Tanned. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Do you have rooms that don’t face the road?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Through the large arch and the rooms at the back face the rear.’

  ‘Could I have a look at one? I’m a very light sleeper.’

  His face says what he won’t. ‘Why in the hell would you pick a roadside hotel in the first place then?’

  He hands me a key. I make my way out and round to the back. Slowly. Making sure that Sharon has enough time to see me.

  The room is a carbon copy of every hotel room I have ever been in. I sit on the bed, counting to one thousand. I get up and exit. I stop as I reach the large arch that leads to the front. Drop to my knees, pushing my head round the corner.

  The receptionist is standing in front of me. He looks down and I pretend to tie my shoelaces.

  ‘Is the room to your liking, sir?’’

  ‘No. Too noisy.’

  ‘Can I take the key?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  I step back and force him to walk out of sight of the highway. I hand him the key. He waits for me to leave. With me not moving it gets awkward. I stare at the ground and he stares at me. This is going nowhere.

  ‘Look,’ I say. ‘I need your help. My business partner is being an idiot and he’s having me followed. A blue Chevy parked across the road. I’m trying to lose it. I thought if I stopped here for a while they might leave. You couldn’t check if the car is still there?’

  He wants rid of me, so he walks out into the arch and comes back. ‘There’s a blue Chevy sitting in the Mattress Giant parking lot.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  More awkwardness.

  ‘I’d prefer it if you were to leave, sir.’

  I know he would and so would I but Sharon is giving out all the wrong signals. You don’t trail someone to a hotel unless you have an ulterior motive. I step back a little more. ‘I need to stay here until the car leaves.’

  ‘I can’t let you do that,’ he replies.

  ‘Come on. Ten minutes and I’ll be gone.’

  ‘Sir, I need you to leave or I’ll call the police.’

  Now that isn’t good news.

  ‘There’s no need for the police,’ I say. ‘Look, she might be gone already. Have another look.’

  He steps back and looks through the arch. ‘The car’s still there.’

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘I’m calling the police.’

  ‘John?’ The voice comes from beyond the arch. ‘John, are you OK?’

  ‘No problem, Sam. I’m just asking this man to leave.’

  Sam appears at John’s shoulder. They could be twins. I reckon they are gym buddies. Cropped hair and all.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Sam asks.

  ‘I’ve asked this man to leave and he’s refusing.’ John’s voice is stronger now he has back up.

  ‘I’ll go in five minutes,’ I say.

  ‘Why not leave now?’ asks Sam.

  John turns to his friend. ‘He says the blue Chevy in the Mattress Giant parking lot is following him.’

  Sam turns to look at the Chevy. I start to walk away. I need to pull them out of sight and let Sharon get bored. John isn’t happy at this. ‘Sir, this is my last warning.’

  They both follow me.

  At least they’ve both stepped out of view of the Chevy. The afternoon heat is turning this situation into something quite ugly. Neither John nor Sam look like they have the patience I need at the moment.

  ‘Go phone. I’ll keep an eye on him,’ says Sam to John.

  John nods in agreement.

  ‘Give me a fucking break,’ I spit. The swear-word seems to change the atmosphere.

  ‘Use your cell,’ says Sam.

  John reaches for his pocket.

  I step towards them. They tense. Two on one and I need this like a hole in the eyeball. John pulls out his cell.

  I hold up my hand. ‘Ok, I’ll go.’

  John ignores me and dials. I jump forward, slapping the phone from his hand. Sam tries to block the move but he’s too slow. I step back as the cell bounces off the ground with a crack. John stares at the phone. ‘What the…’

  Sam moves towards me and I back off. John takes a step and I back up some more. The lot ends in a ring of brush. My head is motoring. None of this is good. ‘OK, I’ll go. Just let me get to my car.’

  Sam smiles. ‘A bit late for that, isn’t it?’

  Chapter 25

  Sam has the look of someone who has been here before. His gait has changed. His head is down, eyes to the top of his sockets. His smile is fixed. John starts to circle to my left. I back up another few feet. ‘I said I would go.’

  John matches my move. ‘You had your chance. Maybe we should teach you a little lesson.’

  ‘Is there anyone in the
rooms?’ Sam asks John.

  ‘It’s all clear.’

  ‘Time to dance, darling?’ Sam says.

  ‘Why, I thought you would never ask,’ replies John.

  They’re both grinning. This is not their first time. Good old boys on a mission. Probably Down-and-Out Season. A bit of bum-bashing on a Wednesday night. A few Colt 45s – ‘Works Every Time’ – then take your partner to the head bone dance floor.

  Worse still, they’re both sober. Drunks can be brave but they’re sloppy. Sam moves in. I’m being backed into a corner. I judge the moment and jump to my right, dummy and go left. I was the worst wide receiver in the history of our college but at least I made the team. I scrape along the wall of the hotel as Sam dives for me. His eyes are alight. This is good-time stuff for him.

  I’m almost past him when he grabs at my T-shirt. You would think that a couple of bucks of material would rip easily but it holds just fine. I duck the swinging fist and try to bury one of my own in his stomach. It’s like hitting the Hoover Dam. Serious six-pack going on there. He grunts but doesn’t let go. John moves to grab my arm. I bring my foot up but there’s no room to get a swing on and I do little more than brush his thigh.

  Sam tries another haymaker, taking me high on the shoulder. I stamp on his foot, catching shin bone on the way down. This time he shouts. First blood is mine.

  John is on me and we both fall to the ground.

  I swing my fists and kick like I’m having a fit. Some of my blows connect but so do some of the incoming ones. I’m only going to keep an upper hand because they’re not working together. The beating from the night before has slowed me down. I aim a punch straight up and catch John on the chin. He lurches skyward, giving me a chance to grab him and pin him to the ground. I headbutt him with everything my neck muscles can find. His nose explodes.

  Sam shouts again, tries to stand up. I lash out with my foot. I miss and he lands an elbow on my groin. I fall back on John as my balls detonate under the blow. John wraps his arms around me. I do the only thing open to me and flip my head back, catching his broken nose. He lets go with a howl as Sam falls onto me.