The Wash

by Cary Christopher

  “Only if you consider mythology nonfiction. All the guy ever reads are books about mythology and religion. It’s just made up stories only older.”

  “You’re kind of right. I always looked at it like J.B. reads about anything that has to do with how people think. That’s a recent development though. When we first met, we read a lot of the same things. We used to get into huge debates. It was like a contest really. Like trying to prove who knew the most. He got off on this psychology/mythology kick about five or six years ago and I didn’t follow him too far down that road.”

  Cindy sat back in her chair, “Why not?”

  Robert shrugged and looked down at the book, “I don’t know. I was getting ready to start my business and things were stressful. Good fiction is a great way to escape.”

  “So you guys have known each other for a long time then.”

  “Yeah, we met when I was still in college.”

  “How long have you known Javier?”

  “I grew up with him,” Robert said and for the first time, he really noticed her looking at him. Her eyes were green and beautiful.

  Cindy smiled back at him, registering the attention, “Let me guess. You’re like brothers from another mother.”

  “Yes, we are,” Robert said and broke his gaze away. “What about you? You grew up here, right?”

  “Born and raised. Went to school in Panguitch and stayed right here afterward.”

  “The story I hear is you’ve been itching to get away for most of your life.”

  Cindy looked shocked for a moment but the kitchen bell saved her.

  “There’s your food,” she said, putting the book on the table and standing up.

  “I didn’t mean to get under your skin,” Robert called after her.

  She returned with his plate and the coffee pot, then took the seat across from him again.

  “You didn’t. It’s just that most people don’t come right out and say it to my face. I know the rumblings. This place is too small to avoid them.”

  Robert cut into his food, chewed a forkful and swallowed.

  “So why don’t you go?” he asked.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure it is. I’ve done it. Javier’s done it. J.B’s done it. Shit, I’m guessing that Wendell did it too. Sometimes, you just have to strike out on a new path, you know?”

  “You heard about Wendell?”

  “Who hasn’t? Word travels fast in The Wash.”

  Cindy nodded.

  “What about you?” she asked. “You plan on staying here forever? Your business seems to be pretty steady.”

  Robert chewed another mouthful of food and washed it down with a sip of coffee.

  “No, I won’t stay forever. Give me a few years, I’ll probably head out somewhere new. I’m not sure where yet. I just think by then the bug to pick up will hit me again.”

  “You really have no idea where?” Cindy asked.

  “Just somewhere new. I mean the last time I did it I never would have guessed I’d end up here,” he smiled and for the first time, Cindy Walker noticed just how handsome Robert Jiminez really was.

  At six o’clock, Jim’s was mostly dead. The only customers in the place were the Thompson brothers occupying their usual spot at the end of the bar. Robert and J.B. were standing by the stereo.

  “Shelby coming by tonight?” J.B. asked.

  “Yeah, Javier said he’s got a pickup to make. I understand it’s a new guy making the drop. Supposed to be here around eight. Shouldn’t be a big deal though. Javier isn’t even coming in.”

  J.B. picked up a glass, threw some ice in it and poured himself some water. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a sandwich bag.

  “Looks like it may be dead then,” he said. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’ll close up.”

  Robert shook his head, “I don’t want to leave you here with the Thompsons as your only company.”

  J.B. shook the bag in front of him, “I won’t be lonely. I’ve got these.”

  “Mushrooms?”

  “Indeed. Just something to make a slow night more interesting.”

  J.B. popped two into his mouth and slowly chewed them while taking sips of water. He offered the bag out to Robert who shook his head.

  “No thanks. I’ve never understood the attraction.”

  “It’ll make you see visions,” J.B. smiled.

  “That’s the last thing I need right now.”

  Robert picked up his beer and wandered over to the two men.

  “How’s it going, guys?”

  “Good,” replied Randall, cradling his drink.

  Derek just nodded.

  “Anything new up in your neck of the woods?”

  “Ghost town’s glowing,” said Randall.

  Derek muttered a confirmation under his breath.

  Robert looked back and forth between them.

  “What ghost town?”

  Randall looked up at him blankly as if he were looking at a bug or a glass of water, “Old Ogden Wash.”

  “Never heard of it,” said Robert.

  “Ask Ruth. She’ll tell you.”

  Robert nodded and waited for more but Randall wasn’t offering.

  “You say it’s glowing?”

  “Yep.”

  “Any idea why?” Robert prodded.

  “Nope,” said Randall.

  Derek muttered again.

  “You all need another drink?”

  “Nope,” Randall replied. “Got to get home before the car comes by.”

  “What car?”

  “The one that red-haired fella drives. Keeps heading toward the ghost town. Ain’t no good can come from it.”

  Robert looked back at J.B. who was watching from his place by the beer cooler.

  “Let me ask you a question,” said Robert. “The red-haired guy… is he the one with the ponytail and the black jacket?”

  “Yep,” replied Randall.

  Robert nodded.

  “Well you all have a good night,” he said.

  “Yep,” replied Randall.

  Robert walked back over to J.B., “You hear that?”

  “Scintillating conversationalists, those two.”

  “No, the part about Reller. They said they'd seen him driving out to some ghost town. You heard of any ghost towns around here?”

  “No.”

  “Reller’s beginning to really worry me,” Robert continued. “He’s been pretty spineless as long as I’ve known him. I wonder what he’s got going on out there.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll bet you Fenton doesn’t know about it. He and Javier go way back. Hell, Fenton’s the one who gave him the idea for this place. I don’t see him double-crossing Javier.”

  Robert nodded, “Which is what scares me. If Reller’s up to something then he’s either grown some balls or has someone new backing him up. Javier needs to get on this and shut it down quick.”

  Robert looked back at the two men as they finished their drinks and headed to the door.

  “I bet life around their place involves a lot of silence,” he said.

  “And a lot of Right Guard,” finished J.B. “A hell of a lot of Right Guard.”

  XII

  J.B. waved Robert on as he once again offered to stay and help clean up.

  “You sure? I mean it won’t take five minutes and you look dog-ass tired.”

  “You’ve got a long ride ahead of you. I can do this.”

  “You’re sober enough to get home?”

  “Two mushrooms and a beer or two? I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  J.B. waved once more and Robert closed the door. The iPod had shuffled over to a Patty Griffin song and the cool vibe of Spanish guitars seemed to wash over J.B. as the mushrooms crept up on him. He began gathering trash bins to empty behind the bar. The truth was, he’d been bored since he’d walked in. Nothing much seemed to be going on (not that anything ever did) and he was hoping a psychedelic tinge to th
e evening would spice things up. Looking back, he probably hadn’t even needed the mushrooms. His curiosity had been piqued. He’d never heard of a ghost town near The Wash and he immediately wanted to know more. Still, even if the Thompsons stayed another hour, he wouldn’t have gotten much more out of them than they’d already told Robert. He was sure he’d be better off asking Ruth, or any of the other locals.

  Carrying the bags in both hands, he pushed through the back door and walked them to the dumpster. The bang of the bottles hitting metal was as loud as a bomb against the still Utah night and he let the metal lid fall with a bang. The psychedelics made him see ripples of sound pulse out over the fields behind Jim’s. As they passed, the crickets started up again and J.B. walked to the propane tank. He leaned up against it and took a deep breath. The air was crisp and clean. It was one of the reasons he loved it here. The worst thing he ever smelled was stale beer from the dumpster in the summer. Otherwise, there were no choking car exhausts or factory fumes for miles.

  He turned his attention in the direction of the Thompsons’ place. The land behind Jim’s was flat for miles and with a good pair of binoculars, he could have easily picked out their house on the horizon. Nothing was glowing from that direction. In fact, he saw nothing glowing at all. The whole town seemed dead. He sighed and watched as the ground far in front of him rippled back toward him. It was like the sound waves from the trash bin had ricocheted. As it approached, it looked less like a ripple now and more like a subtly chaotic carpet roll unfurling, leaving choppy waves on a windblown lake behind it. J.B. smiled as it got closer. He’d seen some great stuff on mushrooms before but never anything like this.

  As it reached his feet, he stuck a foot out as if to stop the ground from unfurling and in an instant, he fell through it. Water surrounded him, starting up his nostrils and into his throat. He snapped his eyes open and felt out for something to grab onto. The water was so dark and cold it made his heart flutter. Pushing through the mushroom haze, he fought back panic, exhaled and kicked. In a moment, he was sputtering on the surface. Jim’s bar was gone. He was in a lake that still seemed to be unrolling, like a red carpet across a ballroom floor. He saw it reach its end and finally lay flat, the surface bouncing with chop. He looked to each side, but there was only water extending back over the road and into the fields beyond. He gulped more air and looked for the nearest shoreline, then began kicking toward it, damning his boots as they slowed him down. The cold seeped into his body as he blinked the water from his eyes and kicked to stay afloat.

  “How long can you keep that up?”

  J.B. whipped around at the sound. There was a figure far to his right in a long duster jacket.

  “Reller?”

  “One and the same.”

  J.B.’s mind was reeling. Where was the bar? Where was the road for that matter? He put his head under water, untied his boots and let them sink into the depths below. When his head broke the surface again he was kicking erratically, panic beginning to creep up on him.

  “You sure are gasping hard for someone who was under water for ten seconds at most. I thought the great J.B. Youngblood was in better shape than that.”

  “Wh-wh-wh-at the f-f-f-f-uck is th-th-this? How did you d-d-d-do this?” J.B.’s lips were going numb. The cold was creeping into the muscles of his arms and legs.

  “How? At this point you really shouldn’t be concerned with the ‘how’ part of the situation. You need to be asking yourself ‘why’. Then again, I bet you know the answer to that.”

  The mushrooms pushed their way back into J.B.’s brain but rage helped him focus through the fog. He began kicking toward the place where Reller stood.

  “Oh, is this the part where you swim over to me and kick my ass?”

  Reller knelt down and putting his fingers under the edge of the water, he lifted it up in front of him as if holding a floor mat.

  J.B. pulled up short, “How are you d-d-d-?”

  “Again with the ‘how’,” Reller said and lifting both hands up, he jerked them violently down again as if fluffing a sheet.

  The resulting wave rolled toward J.B. and pushed him underwater again. He broke the surface, gasping and began stroking hard for Reller.

  “Stop right now or I’ll fucking drown you.”

  J.B. stopped.

  “Things have changed considerably for you in the last few minutes, Youngblood. Do you realize that? Do you realize how quickly you went from powerful to powerless? It happened in an instant and I’m here to tell you this is just a taste of what I’ve got in store for all three of you sons of bitches.”

  Reller fluffed the sheet of water again and another wave rolled toward J.B. This time, he rolled onto his stomach and ducked into the crest. He popped up just as a second one smacked him hard and tumbled him under the curl. He forced himself to relax and roll with it, letting buoyancy bring him up.

  “You’ve all pretty much left me to rot with that fat fuck Fenton,” Reller continued. “Javier knows firsthand what a shit bag that guy is and has he ever reached out to help me? Not once, Youngblood. None of you. All three of you were busy being the big men on the block. None of you would give me the time of day. That’s unfortunate.”

  He sent another wave at J.B. and waited for the man to surface again.

  “I’m a man of vision. I’m a man who doesn’t just look outside the box, I look FAR outside the box,” Reller grinned. “In fact, I think you’d agree that I’m not even looking in the same set of boxes you are.”

  “You’re not allowed to kill him,” said a voice beside Reller. J.B. squinted to get a better look and thought he saw someone or something sitting on the ground next to the man.

  “It would be so easy though,” Reller replied.

  “Easy or not, until we know for sure who’s playing the game we can’t kill him.”

  Reller fluffed the lake again and another icy wave pushed J.B. under. His hands and face were completely numb. There was no way he could talk at this point.

  “Youngblood you’re going to get off light this time. Turn around and swim. In two minutes, I start sending more waves your way.”

  J.B. turned, put his head down and swam hard. He could feel a current seem to move against him as he stroked and he wondered whether he was making any progress at all. He pulled his head up in time to see the bar slowly materialize in front of him as the water receded. He kicked hard and after a few moments, the water was gone and his cold, wet body lay on bone dry ground. He rolled over and looked back the way he’d come. The figure on the other side was slowly rolling the lake up, as if rolling up a long mat. He watched for what seemed like minutes until the figure tucked it under his arm. Then J.B. passed out.

  On the far shore, Jason Reller looked down at the coyote as he made his way toward the road.

  “He’s not the one you really want anyway is he?” asked the animal.

  “Nah,” he repositioned the tube over his shoulder and grinned at the thought.

  “I’m really looking forward to Quintana,”

  A mile away, in his small brick home, Javier Quintana kicked back on his sofa. There was a small lamp in the corner throwing a soft light across him. Otherwise the room was dark and quiet. There was no music on, no television and no one else in the house. The fragrant mixture of pot smoke and incense would have overpowered almost anyone who walked in, but to Javier, it was one of the most calming and important parts of his otherwise stressful week. Sunday night was the night when business took a back seat while Javier recharged his batteries and after this past week of gambling losses and trying to get a handle on what that damn fool Reller was up to, he was desperately looking forward to some “Javier-time”.

  He slouched in the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and his eyes closed to half-slits. He pulled the pipe up in front of his face, dropped the lighter down and pulled in a lungful of smoke. This was the quality stuff. He’d started to relax moments after his first toke. Then, for a little added kick, he’d sp
rinkled a little something special on top and taken another pull on the pipe. Now, the colors and trails were starting to creep into his vision. It was going to be a good night.

  Directly across from him on the entertainment cabinet, sat a small replica of one of the stepped pyramids he’d visited on a trip to Mexico years ago. At the time, he’d been working for Fenton, running his errands and being his dog. Fenton had sent him down to talk directly with a potential supplier, mostly because he was too fat and lazy to consider going that distance himself.

  At first, Javier had been pissed about going, but the supplier ended up being a farmer instead of some slick-haired, wannabe outlaw-type. Despite Javier’s best attempts, the guy had refused to discuss the deal unless they visited the pyramid first. Finally, Javier gave in and as he’d set foot on the monument’s first step something in him changed. He felt vibrant, alive, powerful. The farmer sensed it also. He’d clapped Javier on the back and said, “You belong here. You’re one of us.” Later, after they’d negotiated the deal the farmer gave Javier the carving of the pyramid. It was whittled out of one solid piece of wood and even had small designs carved around each layer.

  As Javier looked at it now, it became more than a piece of wood. It was alive, pulsing in shades of undulating browns and beiges. When it pulsed, Javier felt it pull at him, like the undertow at a beach sweeping around his ankles, pulling the soil from beneath his feet. A smile crept across his lips.

  This was indeed some seriously good shit.

  “Dream time,” he said and closed his eyes.

  He stood in a marketplace. It was vibrant and busy. People crossed in front of him and behind him, surrounding him with the sounds of bartering, the neighing of goats, birds chirping in wooden cages, and the sizzle of food cooking. Javier barely noticed it. He was looking down the pathway toward the grand pyramids, the teocallis. They stood in the distance, rising up in a semicircle, each one built in honor of a different deity but one towering high above all others. That was the one he walked toward, the crowd splitting before him, the pungent smell of the marketplace giving way to the loamy smell of rainforest.