VenCo(59)

She ordered a Miller Genuine Draft from the mute bartender, who seemed to resent having to heft his weight off his stool to get her a bottle from the fridge.

“Two dollars.”

“Two bucks?”

“Two bucks.”

She gave him three, and he looked confused. “I said two, lady. Two.”

“One’s for you. You know, a tip.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then he grabbed up the ones in his giant hand and sauntered back to his stool.

“Alrighty then,” Lucky said under her breath. Lucky walked carefully in the dim light, avoiding broken glass that hadn’t been swept up and a round table with a particularly nasty-looking man who leered as she passed. She took her bottle towards the table closest to the front window so she could keep an eye on the red door with the backward 3 hanging loose on its single screw. As long as that door stayed closed, Stella was safe inside and, she hoped, still sleeping.

Music was coming from somewhere, but the speaker had obviously burst, and the strains of guitar and whine that together made country music were filtered through what sounded like a tin cup.

“Shit.” She hadn’t noticed that the table by the window was already taken. A small man sat in one of the wooden chairs. Inexplicably, there was a bottle of merlot on the table being drunk out of a cloudy pint glass.

Without looking up, they spoke as if Lucky had mused aloud. “I rent the glass. Chuck keeps my bottles behind the bar for me. That way I get what I want, and he gets some cash.”

“Oh.” Lucky was genuinely shocked. This was no small man; it was a small woman, who looked up at Lucky from under a wide-brimmed hat, a kind of outback-looking fedora with a wide leather band, a blue jay feather tucked in the side. “There’s two seats here if you’re ready to sit after all that exercise.” She tipped her head in the direction of the window and the motel beyond.

“Oh shit.” Lucky was embarrassed that someone had witnessed her frantic pacing.

“It’s okay. We’ve all been there. Movement helps you think, most times.”

“And sometimes it just makes you look like a maniac.”

“Well, it helped you get over here. I’ve been waiting”—she lifted the bottle and looked at the contents in the light from outside—“almost half a bottle. I was starting to worry.”

Lucky looked at her more closely. She was wearing what her mom used to call a “court outfit,” a man’s suit that didn’t quite fit right, baggy around the shoulders, held to her thin body with suspenders and a belt. And there, dangling from a silver watch chain across her midsection, was a preserved snake’s rattle. “Are you Rattler Ricky?”

“I am.” She took a small sip of her wine and pointed with the glass across the table. “You gonna sit or did you maybe want to do laps around the lot to talk? I’m pretty sure Chuck wouldn’t give a fuck if I took this alcohol off the premises, but I would. I’m out of shape and would just end up wearing it.”

Lucky sat, and the two women clinked their drinks and sipped, taking each other in.

Ricky had a pleasant face, from what Lucky could see under the shadow of her hat brim. Fair-skinned with vivid freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose that made her seem younger than her hands revealed her to be. She wore a dress shirt under her wrinkled blazer, the collar stiff and yellowed, the top buttons undone to reveal old tattoo lines, blown out and blurry. She wore several bracelets on each wrist, each of them thin and delicate, with charms dangling. Her nails were short and clean, but her fingers were long and dirt-stained.

“I have a small farm up the road,” she said, catching Lucky’s eyes on her hands. “Some mud just never makes it all the way off.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lucky shook her head. “I don’t mean to be rude. I spent the day on the road. Guess I forgot my manners somewhere around hour six.”

“It’s okay. I had plenty of time to scope you out already. It’s only fair.”

“And what did you decide?”

Ricky sighed and sat back in her chair. “I decided you don’t have parents. You move like a person with no net. I decided you are on the fence about this whole mission. A low fence, but, still, a fence. You are confused. It takes longer than a day or two to come to terms with a whole other layer to life, and you’ve only had a day or two, I’m guessing. You’re skittish like that. Like someone who checks for the exits before they get fully into the room. Though I suspect you’ve had powerful women around you, because you hold that influence well.”

“I do?”

Ricky finished her glass and nodded with her mouth full. “Mm-hmmm. In your shoulders, top of your spine.” She pointed at those areas on Lucky. “Good places to hold power. Like a rifle sling.”

Lucky sat up a little straighter.

“How did you know who I was?”

Ricky chuckled, pouring herself more wine. “Lucille told me to expect a young woman and an old lady, and I saw you guys go into your room. Not exactly magic. Also, I knew whoever they were sending on this damned journey would be in need of a drink.” She opened her hand. “And here you are.”

“So what exactly are we supposed to do?”

“Well, this, I suppose. We spend some hours together, and we piece together what it is you need to do to get to the final spoon. Hopefully, it’ll become clear. If not, at least we get you to the next step.”