by Matt Minor
“Stoner!” Keith bellows back from his wheelchair, “I’ll fuckin’ show you…you arrogant ass!” He grips the rails of his chair, he hoists himself up. He’s wobbling, struggling to stand.
“Arrogant ass,” I snipe, feeling reproached by his ungratefulness.
Keith starts walking towards me. He does not have his walker and I’m getting nervous. “Dude, you don’t have to do this. I’ll buy you some more goddamn dope!”
“Do you really think I’d be able to do this if I was hooked on those fucking drugs the doctors prescribed to me? NO! I’d be drooling on myself in the corner. A cripple for life!” He starts to sway a little too much for comfort…but before I can get to him, he loses balance and falls to the floor. “Please get me some more marijuana, Mason, please.”
“I will Keith.” We struggle to get him off the floor and into his wheelchair. “I’ll get you some more weed, man…I promise.”
What a horrible morning, I think, as I leave for work.
The way to work is brutal. There’s tons of traffic. I’m so hungover I can’t believe I’m actually going in. But that’s why I got this gig and…probably why I keep it: I work. Truth is, the boss just texted…needs to talk at his office.
I detour to the Whataburger drive-in. This has become part of my morning routine. I eat out of the paper bag on my drive to the office. By the time I pull into my parking space, the food is gone.
I move sluggishly to the office.
“So I have great news!” The boss says as he swivels around in his chair to face me. As usual, his office looks like a bomb went off. Shit everywhere. This still astounds me as his outward appearance is always so clean cut.
“Oh,” I reply.
“Jesus, Mason…you look awful. What did you do last night?”
“I drank a little too much.”
“You’ve got to take better care of yourself,” he comments, shaking his head.
But his disapproval and concern for my lifestyle can’t compete with the good news he has. “That Jack Clark is one money raising son-of-a-bitch!” he declares as he waves a check.
“How much is that for?” I ask him.
He continues to wave it with a shit eating grin. “Guess,” he says like a child.
“Fuck, I don’t know.”
“Ten thousand dollars!”
“What? Ten thousand?” I’m impressed.
“That’s right! And I have three more with the same amount from different organizations. Clark says he’ll double it by next week! You know what this means?”
“Congress?” I ask him both rhetorically and sarcastically.
“You’re goddamned right, Congress!” He slams the yellow rectangular slip on his cluttered desk. “Hell, maybe even the United States Senate!”
“Oh boy,” I say sarcastically and…ill-advisedly.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he demands.
“I don’t know…I’m sorry, I just see this as a lot of work.”
“It will be. But if I can keep getting checks like this, they’ll be plenty for campaign staff. And Jesus Christ, Mason…do you know how much more money you’d make managing a congressional as opposed to a state house district? This is a winner for both of us!”
Haliburton Crane may have many flaws, but he has always looked out after me. I can’t help but be grateful, and curious. “So where did that check come from, I mean…who donated? And what about the others?”
“Not sure, this one just came as a donation…from a school scholarship PAC called…‘Youth for Tomorrow.’ As for the others, they’re similar.”
“Well, that’s sufficiently cheesy.”
“Who cares if its ‘cheesy,’ Mason? It’s forty grand! You got to get your head in the game, man. If I’m going to win this, I’m going to need you firing on all pistons!”
“I understand, sir. I’m sorry I’m being so shitty. It’s just that I feel like shit.”
“Look, I know this situation with Ann is terrible…and I’m sorry that you didn’t get anything on the criminal side. Any news on the civil end?”
So, he interprets my post-drunken state to this? “Doesn’t look good, but we’ll see.”
“I’m sorry, Mason. I should give that bastard attorney a call. He still owes me favors.”
“I think he’s doing everything he can. It’s just hard to sue the government. Really you’ve done everything you can. I mean, you paid for Ann’s funeral, which I know wasn’t cheap.”
“Funeral homes are thieves, no doubt. But it’s the least I could do.”
“Well, sir, I really appreciate it.”
“Why don’t you take a vacation?” he asks.
Did he just pull this out of his ass? “A vacation, sir?” I ask, confused.
“Yes, a vacation.”
“Where? Who’s gonna pay for it?” This just comes out. I’m not fishing for anything.
“Hell, I will.”
“Where would I go?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know. I’m really uncomfortable asking for anything from anyone. I’ve been on my own most of my life. It’s not necessary for you to do anything. If I take time off, then I’d just take time off…not go anywhere. Just relax.”
“You’ve earned it. But, I still think you should think about getting away. I mean, when you’re at home all you can do…at least this is how I operate…is think about all the shit that needs to be done around the house and yard.”
“But I live in an apartment now.”
“Right, I forgot. Look, just take a few days off. If you decide you’d like to get away, then let me know.”
“Why are you so suddenly worried about me?” I ask, genuinely charmed.
“This!” He joyfully shouts as he waves the yellow check. “Congress, I understand.”
“I need you tip-top. It’s that simple,” the boss’ eyes start to glaze over a bit. He continues, “and…Mason, you’ve earned it. When’s the last time you even took any time off?”
“I took two days at Christmas.”
“Two days,” he repeats as he shakes his head empathetically.
“I’m okay, sir. I promise.”
“Do what you want,” he concludes.
I decline the time off. Too much work.
I’m sitting in the Expedition tapping my fingers on the worn steering wheel. It’s time to call Brenna. The engine is chugging as I stare at my cell phone. Why am I so nervous? Okay, I didn’t walk her to the door. But we had a good time, even if it was a bit awkward at the beginning. I wish it wasn’t so early or I’d go get a drink before embarking on this. But it has waited long enough.
I hit her contact. It rings…
“My mom can’t talk right now she’s taking me to the museum,” the voice of what can only be Will, answers from the other end. I’m thrown.
“Oh, okay…is this Will?” I don’t know what else to say.
“Is this Mr. Mason?” he asks, suspiciously.
“Well yes, Will, this is Mason. I’m glad you remember me.” Is this a good sign? I’m wondering.
“My mom is mad at you…” Before he can illuminate he is interrupted.
It’s Brenna. “Will, give me that phone. How many times have I told you not to answer Mommy’s phone unless I instruct you.”
I can hear her in the background as she’s not yet speaking into the receiver.
“Hello, who is this?” Brenna asks. Her tone is not enthusiastic.
Was this a mistake? “Brenna, this is Mason. If this is a bad time I’ll let you go, really.”
“Mason, oh…no, it’s fine. We’re just in Baskin Robins getting some ice cream. I went to the bathroom and left the phone sitting in my purse. I need to program your number so I’ll recognize it next time….” There is a pause.
Does she assume there will be a next time? Has early dating protocol been breached? Does the hesitation mean something else entirely? Why hasn’t she programmed my number? I’ve programmed hers. I fin
ally say, “Uh…yeah, no biggie, really. So Will told me you were taking him to the museum.”
“Yeah, I took the day off—what the hell? He’s never been to the Museum of Natural Science, so I figured I’d indulge him.”
“Never been? I would have thought his school would have taken him on a field trip by now. I know I’d been by his age. That was quite the spot—that and the planetarium.”
“Yeah right, I know…we went at my elementary too. I don’t know, they kind of suck, his school. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder why I pay so much in property taxes for such shit– oh, excuse me…I didn’t mean to cuss, it’s just that it all gets pretty ridiculous.”
“Naw, that’s cool, don’t worry. I understand. That was one of the good things about living in the country. I had an ag exemption so the taxes were really low.”
“Well, it’s against the deed restrictions to drop a few pigs and chickens in my yard, I’m pretty sure,” she remarks, a slight laugh evident.
“Pretty much.”
Again, there is a sort of uncomfortable silence, like both of us are waiting for the other to come up with something to say. I can’t take it. Should I apologize for not calling her back? It was only our first date. She doesn’t even have my number in her phone yet. But I’m sensing I need to acknowledge that – or maybe not… “Look…I’m sorry I didn’t call you back last night, but I was really indisposed all night.”
“Oh…no, don’t worry about it, really. I know you have a kind of odd job, strange hours and all of that. I’m in politics too, Mason. Maybe not on the level you are, but I understand working nights. Anyway, you’re calling me now,” Brenna says, the last two syllables rise with excitement.
I’m feeling good about this now. “Okay, I just wanted you to know that I got your message and wanted to call but was tied up….” I’m done explaining, but I’m feeling adventurous. “Also, since I haven’t talked to you in days, I wanted to let you know how much fun I had the other night. I really enjoyed your company.”
“Yeah, me too!” she answers me back with the perfect combination of words and tone. I sense the door is open wide.
“I was curious if you’d like to go out again?” I’m hanging on by the ends of my fingers here.
“Mason, I’d love to do it again. When and what are you thinking?” The soft quilted voice is unfolding over the phone. Problem is, I have no idea what to ask her out to do. Dumb ass. I’m panicking. I need an escape…
The other line on my phone kicks in. It’s the boss. I’m saved from my own stupidity.
“Brenna, I’ve got to grab this. Let me call you right back. Is that cool?”
“Go. Just let me know, I’m booked this weekend—stuff for Will—but the next one, Will’s at his dad’s for the whole weekend.”
I agree before clicking over to the boss’ call. All he has to say is that he forgot to tell me that he needs a speech for some forum coming up.
I finish the call with him and sit in the Expedition, thinking. Where to take Brenna?
I know!
It’s been less than two minutes when I call her back. “Brenna, Mason again.”
“I know. I just programmed your number. What’s up?” The soft quilt has not yet folded.
“Sorry about that, The Rep. drives me crazy.”
“I understand that, believe me. My boss is like a needy child.”
“Right,” I say rhetorically as I take a deep breath, “How about a week from this Saturday at the Grotto. You like Italian, right?”
“Of course; the Grotto sounds great, and a bit classy. Hmmm, darn it Mason, now you’re going to make me worry about what to wear,” she teases.
“You and me both. Although I must say that in this heat my options are limited.”
“I understand, I don’t know how you men wear jackets in this kind of heat, let alone a tie.”
“So I’ll call you next week and we’ll get the time and everything straight?”
“It’s a date. Call me next week. Or sooner…”
Something’s happening to me, it’s like my instincts are becoming sharper. Since last night, even with the hangover, I feel more alive. My instincts are telling me this is the time to let her go.
“Sure, we’ll see. Have fun with Will at the museum, and I’ll give you a shout.”
“Alright, call me.”
If there’s anything more worrisome than going on one’s virgin drug deal, it’s the follow up. Keith has put in a call to his connection, who knows the real connection, so it’s all set. Only thing is, I’m at a crossroads in my mind. One way leads back to my daily routine and forgets all that has happened heretofore. This road is specked with the humdrum of sunshine and responsibility. The other leads further into darkness. In fact, it is saturated with it.
The deal is tomorrow night and I’m set to pick up what is known as a ‘half bag.’ This is half of an ounce.
“No big deal, really,” Keith assures me.
No big deal, then why am I consumed with so much anxiety?
I want to contact Rusty. I want to contact him really badly. So much so that I have a pang in my gut. I keep thinking about Spider Monkey and all he offered me. This deal is tomorrow night…it could be big. Not in-in-of-itself, but it’s obvious that this is all connected somehow: one big crime ring—it has to be.
Fuck it…I’m calling.
“Rusty…?”
At first he chastises me for bothering him. He’s at the hospital in Houston. He doesn’t say much—and I don’t ask—but what I can gather, I don’t think Mrs. Reynolds is doing well. Poor lady, how awful all this has to be for her.
After a brief conversation, he agrees to meet me.
Rusty and I meet at the same sports bar we were at only a week ago.
“So what’s so important?” he asks me.
We’re drinking water. Again, bad country radio is bouncing about us. It’s so horrible I wonder why we both wanted to come back here again. I guess it’s a known commodity. The only one.
“I have something to confess.”
“Confess? I’m not the police or a priest,” he remarks with a snicker, his gumbo accent thick.
“I understand. But what I’m going to confess has something to do, I think, with this whole situation surrounding the dogs and the disappearance of Jules.”
“What the hell are talking about?” he asks as he leans over the table towards me.
“I have a drug deal tomorrow night,” I almost whisper as I lean towards him.
“That’s against the law, Mason Dixon. I could report you to the local sheriff ’s department.”
“I understand,” I retort, falling backward on my side of the booth.
We stare at each other for a few moments. We order beer.
“Okay,” Rusty says. I think he just remembered he’s a private eye now and not a cop. “Tell me what’s going on here.”
I proceed to tell him the whole story from beginning to end. I include Keith and everything.
“Now I understand a little more clearly why you invaded that goddamn adobe the other night.” He takes a swig of his beer.
“Right, but the question is…how do I handle this thing tomorrow? I mean, I think I need to up the ante a bit.”
“You mean get in on more than just this petty dope deal?”
“Precisely.”
“It’s dangerous, Mason. But I must confess your instincts are good, real good.”
“Thanks.”
Rusty and I spend the rest of the evening going over every detail. Obviously he can’t just show up with me, although that would be best. He’s a pro and I’m, well…I’m a beginner.
Nothing is overlooked. Rusty coaches me on not just what to say, but how to say it— down to the syllable.
We finish our beers. This time I pay the tab.
As I leave, I’m amazed that my anxiety about tomorrow night is at bay. I feel relieved, like I’m well studied for a major exam.
How long can that last?
>
CHAPTER TWELVE
DARKNESS SEALS THE DEAL
As anticipated, the relief from anxiety that I felt from Rusty’s presence was short-lived.
The wasps in my gut are swarming like mad. My stomach has been upset all day and my bowels continue their state of protest. But I’m committed to this thing now. I’ve drank, chewed, or swallowed a whole menu of gastrointestinal products, which I hope keep me from having to make any emergency stops.
I get ready for the deal.
I leave the D.O. early and head out to Bowers. Traffic is awful, which is only adding to my sense of panic. A feeling comes over me as I wait for the interstate traffic to filter through the cluster-fuck of construction. It’s the same feeling I had at the power plant back at the beginning of the month: I’m in a vial and a nasty thumb has just corked the stopper. I can see the giant fingerprints that grip the tube of glass. They draw me in like a maze. The further I trace their grooves, the less air I can take in.
I’m suffocating.
We’re at a standstill now.
I’m whipping my head about in desperation, looking for a place to hide.
Pecans line the road on each side of the interstate.
I punch the on/off of the car stereo silencing Skynyrd’s, Street Survivors.
Why aren’t we fucking moving?
I grab my phone and hit Rusty’s name.
“Yeah, kid,” he drawls as if he’s been expecting my call.
“I can’t do this, man…really. I think I’m going to die.”
“Just calm down, kid.”
“It’s Mason! Goddamn it!”
“Then act like it, goddamn it! Either that, or abort mission, kid. I told you that you were in over yer head, but you wanted in—and you’re an asset. But, if you’re gonna freak out like this, then git out! I ain’t tryin’ to hurt yer feelin’s, just lookin’ after ya…”
Something I’ve noticed about Rusty is that the longer he talks, the more redneck he sounds. But, his sermon is working. I’m calming down.
The traffic starts to crawl. I put the car in drive and pat the accelerator.