by G L Rockey
“You're the lawyer, think of something.”
CHAPTER 12
Real Time
8:01:30 P.M. CDT
Peggy’s dinner plans shot, frazzled, sitting at her TV12 weather desk, after two telephone calls to Jack's apartment, pressed her home number. Stella answered. Peggy asked if maybe Jack was doing a special surprise, maybe with his LIVE-EYE truck, going to telecast from the party, a live cut-in. Stella could tell her, she would act surprised.
Stella said, “You lost your mind.” then said she hadn't seen hide nor hair of Jackson but guests were starting to arrive.
Peggy hung up and called Felix The Cat.
CHAPTER 13
Jack’s Time
Shortly after Sago departed, I watched Snakebite and his Houston pal walk toward the stairs that led to The Haute Cuisine restaurant. Before going up, Snakebite stepped over and whispered in my ear, “When I get back from dinner, be gone, prick.”
I raised my glass and smiled. “Be sure to leave a nice tip.”
He hissed, went up the stairs with his pal, and I noticed Angelo at the house phone. Listening, he pointed to me then the phone. I shook my head, no. He talked for a few seconds longer then hung up and walked my way. In my face he said like he was chewing leather, “That was Moore again … you suppose to take her to dinner, some party?”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Stronzo, you better get out of here, now.”
I pushed my glass forward, “Hit me.”
“No way.” Shaking his head, he swaggered to the service bar.
I glanced at Gillian. She smiled demurely and walked my way.
Arrived, she whispered, “Having problems?”
“Me, never. Say, later, let's go someplace.”
She looked at my glass, “You'll never make it.”
A chill traversed my spine like a bucket of crushed ice dumped down the winning coach's neck. I dragged Salem deeply and exhaled, “That sounded like a maybe.”
She did a picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words yes with her eyes, straightened 2A, seemed to be thinking, looking busy.
I didn't know what to say. I never don't know what to say.
She looked in the mirror at me.
I whispered to the mirror, “When?”
“Okay.”
My elbow slipped and I nearly hit my lip on the bar.
She leaned to pick up a spent match from the floor and, back turned to Angelo, said again, “You'll never make it.”
“Bet me.” I said to her image in the mirror, “I'm gonna run home, pack a few things, so we can catch that flight.”
She put the match in my ashtray, and looked like she was going to say something when Angelo popped up and, through pressed lips to Gillian, said, “Are you fucking crazy, get back to work.”
Turning, she brushed my arm as she stepped away.
Watching her sway, Wurlitzer featured Diamond Rio's “Sweet Summer”. I didn't know what to think. I never knew what to think.
Angelo put his hands on the bar and stared at me.
I said, “Angelo, you know how many wives Solomon….”
“Save it, go home, somewhere, anywhere, get out of here, we're all gonna get whacked.”
Nursing my drink, I saw a cockroach scurry across the bar. I looked around. The lounge had become even more crowded. I turned back to the bar and saw a rat scurry in a crack. I let it go. Rats, cockroaches, red frogs just a shadow now … the past was in the past and what future might be just around the corner I didn't believe.
CHAPTER 14
Real Time
10:22:03 P.M. CDT
Two minutes into her weather show, after giving the national weather statistics, Peggy threw her hands up, and bolted off the set.
In the TV control room, producer Janet told the technical director to fade to black, and instructed the audio person to kill all the microphones.
A minute later, Peggy, in her office, the assignment editor called out, “Peggy, line one, Berry Frazer.”
“Up yours and his too!!!”
CHAPTER 15
Jack’s Time
Time mixed up in the smoky red air, din of country music, and the Felix The Cat crowd, absorbed in goo gooing glances to and from Gillian, I noticed Snakebite and his buddy prancing down The Haute Cuisine stairs.
Bottom step, Snakebite paused and, seeming surprised to see me, motioned T-bone to a far booth where a couple goons lounged. Then he signaled Angelo to the service bar and there, whispered something in Angelo’s ear.
I figured, might be buying me another drink. Then there she was, Gillian, back talking to that T-bone dip. She knows him, you can tell by looking. Maybe he's somebody she worked with, a relative.
And I drink Chivas Regal.
I noticed Snakebite join T-bone and Angelo walked my way.
In front of me, Angelo said, “Drink up, Snakebite whans you out, now.”
“Tell him I said he's a testa di merda … his T-bone pal too.”
Angelo put his hand on the bar and whispered. “You're playing with fire, stronzo.”
Over the noise the house phone rang. Angelo shook his head and went to get it. He didn't look happy. He stared at me, hung up then came to me and said. “If I was you I'd get the fuck outta here as soon as yesterday.” He paused, “Oh shit, here comes Snakebite.”
I turned and saw Snakebite coming toward me like a single headlight in a black night. In my face, he pressed the tip of his bony right index finger into my chest. “Out, now.”
I said, “Hi, testa di merda.”
He looked at me like he knew what that meant.
I grinned and in case he didn't I said, “How you like my Italian, shithead?”
He hissed and I could see the tip of his black tongue peeking through his no lips and his finger pressed further into my chest.
I said, “Get your scabby finger off me before I stuff it down your throat.”
Elvis blared from Wurlitzer: “One for the money, two for the show.”
“You're dead.” Snakebite grabbed my shirt.
I jerked his sunglasses off. Yep, pink.
Looking blinded, he stepped back and took a quick swipe at me that missed by a foot. I drove a left to his nose. The blow knocked his cowboy hat to the floor. Blood trickling from his nostrils, he looked surprised. He flicked his tongue out, tasted his blood, took a step back, said. “You prick.”
I stepped on his hat.
Looking at his crushed hat, he seemed in shock.
He stared at me, “You're dead.” His pink eyes turning red, his right fist lashed out, catching me on the chin.
Smiling at the softness of his punch, I drove a left to his jaw followed by a right to his stomach.
He fell back, folding over, holding himself.
I noticed two big boys coming out of the dark recesses toward me and, jumping over the bar like a trained gorilla, Angelo grabbed me from behind and pushed me toward the outside exit, all the while sputtering in my ear. “You crazy stronzo … you're gonna get whacked.”
Passing through a gauntlet of gawking customers, I winked at T-bone. He ducked. Then I saw Gillian standing at the exit, holding the door open. I mouthed “where”. She made a little step that allowed our hips to bump and I felt something being slipped into my jacket side pocket.
Angelo, pushing me up the stairs, yakked all the way something about cojones being removed.
* * *
Winston started up, idling, I fumbled in my jacket pocket for whatever Gillian had deposited there and found my business card I had given her. In the dash lights dim glow, I flipped it over and on the back saw:
Meet me, 3:00, Printer’s Alley sign.
CHAPTER 16
Real Time
11:01:00 P.M. CDT
Peggy, dressed in her Dillards outfit—chartreuse three piece suit, green high heels— pranced down the stairs from The Haute Cuisine into Felix The Cat.
The Wurlitzer featured Martina McBride’s “My Baby Loves Me”.
<
br /> Peggy marched behind the bar. She wanted the truth from Angelo. Had Snakebite done something to Jack.
Angelo knew nothing.
She wanted to know if Snakebite was upstairs.
He had left a half hour ago.
Hissing venom, Peggy shouted “Fuck you” in Angelo's face, threw an ashtray at the back-bar mirror. Cracked it.
Gillian observed everything.
* * *
Peggy, driving to her home in Belle Meade, punched Jack's home number into her cell phone: “Hello, no one is available to take….” she threw the phone at the windshield.
CHAPTER 17
Jack’s Time
Winston's top down, purring south on I-24 toward The Gray Fox, the honeysuckle scents of spring gushing around a warm Tennessee night, my head cleared. Friday had died, so had some fetid part of me. Strange ark building night. I remembered the surprised look on Snakebite's face when I decked him. The shock when I stepped on his hat. I lit a Salem and felt my jaw. Snakebite had a nice gentle punch, like a rock star dressed in ladies’ underwear. I felt myself smiling, feeling an easiness that I had almost forgotten like a stranger traveling through me and it scared me, but only for a second.
Traffic sparse, I flipped the radio on, punched to WPLN, and turned the volume up. Mozart's Violin Concerto Number Three filled the sea of ink that rushed past Winston and me. I pushed back in the seat as bits and pieces of Gillian's face floated in my mind. I knew her, even before tonight, I knew her. I pushed the accelerator gently and the night air tugged my hair. I wondered if maybe … couldn't be.
Then I remembered Gillian smiling at T-Bone and, in the swirling air, I smelled a lie.
Why do you think she came on to you like that? She works the world.
“So have I, but she's there, and I'm going back for her.”
I watched the pavement rushing under Winston's headlights then I noticed the lie more sharp in pungency. You know what happens, every time, don't you.
“End-time.”
That's it baby cakes, built in the human condition, called living.
“How is that?”
The natural order of things. Get in line.
“Okay, so where do we go from here?”
Make you a deal.
I imagined my hand was a pistol but it was as real as Winston's steering wheel. I fumbled with a recurring nightmare in which a marble headstone read: Last of a Species, A Long Time in the Land. I had a thought, Maybe we're moving on to the next level of existence. Maybe it's the natural order of things. Move, adapt, or die.
All in the head.
“Selah.” I dragged Salem and pressed Winston forward.
* * *
Through my apartment walls, before I unlocked the front door, my phone sounded like a ten-alarmer. Entering, the ringing ended and the familiar recorded answer playing, I glanced and saw that there were twelve prior messages. The greeting message concluded and I heard the tail end of an expletive-laden from Peggy. I felt a tinge of guilt for being such a heel, standing Peggy up, but none of this was my idea. I mean, I had no control over time; and chance, go figure, charlatan at best. Gag.
I started playing the messages.
Peggy: “Jack, where are you?
Berry: “Jack, what the fuck happened on tonight's weather! Call me immediately.”
Peggy: “Jack, you there, pick up.”
Galbo: “Carr, call me.”
Berry: “Carr, call me immediately.”
That last sounded ominous and I didn't want to think what had happened.
The remaining messages were simply large clicks and I assumed they were from a collection agency.
I erased them and went to my kitchenette, poured a tall glass of milk, put two tablespoons of honey in (Aunt Jane's Biblical recipe for desert survival) and downed it. The edge off, I stripped, got the shower up to near steam and stepped in.
CHAPTER 18
Real Time
11:30:20 P.M. CDT
Hunkered down, Peggy, chartreuse suit coat dragging on the floor, entered her Belle Meade home and went to the sunken den. The premiere party revelers cheered and pointed to a large red and white banner that proclaimed: TV12 C&Weather with Peggy Moore.
Stella started the video recorder. The giant TV screens, either side of the bar, played back Peggy's 10:00 P.M. weather cast. When the tape showed Peggy walking off the weather set, everybody, including Buddy One Take, fell down laughing.
Peggy screamed and threw a bottle of Jack Daniels through one of the TV screens. She ordered everybody out and went to her bedroom. Stella followed.
CHAPTER 19
Jack’s Time
Shampooed, lathered, rinsed, I allowed the hot water to run over my head for who knows. Then, hot turned to cold, I dried, brushed my teeth, and the phone began ringing. The ring had a pointed shrillness to it that I didn't hear and the message volume had been muted.
I dressed in a tan polo shirt, Wranglers, brown deck shoes, and headed back to downtown Nashville, not sure what I might find hanging around in the murky darkness. Maybe Snakebite with a couple of his goons, worse yet, Peggy. I didn’t care, I was sure I should be going.
CHAPTER 20
Real Time
3:01:30 AM. CDT
Chuck and Snakebite gone to The Pink Poodle, Gillian entered a bathroom stall in the Kitten's dressing room, put a finger down her throat, and gagged loudly.
In a minute she came out and told Neon she couldn't go with her to The Pink Poodle to meet Snakebite and Chuck. She felt woozy, something had gotten to her. She asked Neon to tell Snakebite she was sorry. Maybe one of the other Kittens could go.
Neon said, “You keep doing this and Snakebite is gonna get really pissed.”
“Whaddaya want me ta do, go puke in ‘at Chuck guy's face.”
CHAPTER 21
Jack’s Time
After a quick shave on the way to downtown, I downshifted to second gear and turned the corner of Third Street onto Church. There it was, the Printer's Alley marquee.
I stopped at the curb and, the street quiet, a breaking bottle cut the thick night air. A phlegm-filled laugh echoed from someplace.
Shifting through Winston's gears, I headed east on Church. Cruising in the right lane, 25 mph, impressionist-looking street lights lined down the vacant boulevard stirred loneliness and I was struck by the strange silence of this night. Then, out of nowhere, I noticed a single headlight approaching from the rear. A foot from my rear bumper, the headlight disappeared and I waited for a shotgun blast. In a second I noticed a motorcycle to my left. I glanced: Gillian—no helmet, white T-shirt, jeans—motioned to follow her.
“Hell you say, is this a movie or what?”
Downshifting to second, speeding off, I followed, thinking this might be my last night on the planet … or a second chance.
* * *
Gillian leading the way north on I-24, leaning left then right, long hair trailing in the wind, racing in and out of sparse traffic, at the I-65 split she stayed with I-24. Off the interstate at US-431, White’s Creek Pike, about five miles, then right onto a single lane Macadam road, over railroad tracks, I could only smile.
After another couple miles, her brake light flickered on, off, then stayed on as she slowed and turned right.
I stopped and saw, in her headlight's beam, that a driveway she had pulled into was grass covered. She stopped and shut off her bike.
I pulled beside a rusty mailbox, read Miller Road #26 with a faded K showing through newer paint with stick on letters stuck over the paint—G.P. Heinz. Who’s G. P. Heinz? I turned into the drive and my headlights revealed a small one storey bungalow approximately fifty feet back from the road.
I watched her take something out of a saddlebag then walk toward me. The something was a strap purse which she slung over her left shoulder.
Not sure where I was, what was up, I said, “You always drive that fast?”
“Only when I'm being pursued. Just park on the grass,” she walked
toward the house.
I pulled onto the front yard. Winston's headlights illuminated three steps to a front porch and a swing beside which Gillian waited. I shut Winston down, got out, went to her and said, “This your place?”
Going up the steps, she said, “Long story.”
“Who’s G. P. Heinz?”
“Later.”
* * *
In a small kitchen, she dropped her purse on the table, and flipping lights on and off, took me on a tour. The house, on one floor, had two modest rooms in front—kitchen to the left, living room to the right. Down a short hall, past a small bedroom, a bathroom and, and at the end of the hall a larger bedroom, the tour ended.
Except for a CD player in the kitchen, I hadn't noticed any other 21st century gadgets—phone, TV, computer—so I said, “No television?”
She looked down at me, “Did you want to see something?”
What can you say?
Moving into the larger bedroom, she flipped on a table lamp beside the bed and said, “Get comfortable, I want to freshen up. Be right back.”
I'm not floored easily but the way she looked at me when she told me that floored me. “I, I, I….”
“Be right back.” She flipped off the lamp and in a moment a light from the bathroom revealed a partially closed door and the shower ran. Amazing.
I sat on the bed, took a look around. Except for the light coming from the bathroom, I could make out a few familiar shapes—four poster double bed on which I sat; a small nightstand with a lamp; antique chest of drawers with some kind of insignia decal in the lower right corner of the mirror; hardwood floor; shallow door-less closet; wooden screen in the open window next to the bed. The fresh country air coming from outside, mixed with her peppery incense, filling the room, smelled pretty good.