Blacktop Wasteland(21)

Reggie came stumbling out of the bedroom. He tripped, righted himself, then headed for the fridge.

“I gotta take Ann back up to Wonderland. You wanna go with?” Reggie said. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of orange juice and took off the top.

“Don’t drink that. That shit’s rancid. I can smell it from here,” Ronnie said. He took a drag off his cigarette.

“Might as well finish it. My EBT don’t come until next week,” Reggie said.

Ronnie took another hit of the beer. When you grew up poor you got used to waiting. Wait for a welfare check in the mail. Wait in line for the poor box from church. Wait for the parishioners to gaze at you with a sour look of pity on their faces. Wait for your brother to outgrow his no-name sneakers so you could take over gluing them back together. Wait, wait, wait. Wait to die so you can finally get out of debt. He was sick to death of waiting.

“So, you coming?” Reggie asked.

“Nah. I gotta find somebody to help me with this thing,” Ronnie said.

“You gonna call Bug? He said to call him,” Reggie asked.

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Anyway, I didn’t get the burner,” Ronnie said.

“I did. I got it from the 7-Eleven last night when we left Wonderland,” Reggie said. He took a drink from the jug of orange juice.

Ronnie stubbed out his cigarette on the stove top. “When was that?” he asked. He didn’t even remember stopping at a store last night. Maybe he was the one who needed to cut back on the moonshine.

“I just told you. When we left Wonderland. Ann wanted something to eat so I stopped,” Reggie said.

“Well, that ain’t no fucking shock,” Ronnie said. Reggie grimaced.

“Hey, she might hear you,” Reggie said in a hushed tone.

“And? What she gonna do? Sit on me?” Ronnie asked.

“Why you so mean, Ronnie?” Reggie asked. Ronnie finished his beer. He felt his gorge try to rise but he forced it back down through sheer will.

Hair of the dog my white ass, he thought.

“Where’s the phone?”

Reggie jerked his thumb toward the door. “It’s in the car. You gonna have to plug it into the charger,” he said.

“Wow, thanks. I had no idea I’d have to plug a brand-new phone in to charge. I was only gone five years. I ain’t Buck fucking Rogers. You and Big Bertha hang tight for a minute,” Ronnie said. He walked out the door and down the rickety steps.

“Who?” Reggie asked as Ronnie went out the door.



* * *



Ronnie plugged the phone into the charger then called information and got the number for Montage Motors. He started the car and turned on the AC. The AC in the car was cooler than the one in the damn house.

“Montage Motors,” a voice said.

“Hey, Beau? It’s Ronnie.”

“Yeah.”

“So, um … that thing. We good to go or you ain’t…,” Ronnie stammered. He didn’t know how much he should say over a cell phone.

“You mean that car you want me to look at? Yeah, I’m good to go,” Beauregard said. Ronnie had been slouching to his right. He sat up so fast he bumped his head on the roof.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what’s up. So, when you wanna get up and talk about it?” Ronnie said. His skin felt like he had sat too close to a wood stove. This was happening. He was gonna do it. He was going to be able to keep all his toes.

“I can come take a look at it later today. Where you got the car at?” Beauregard asked.

Ronnie didn’t say anything. He was lost. “Um … I uh have it out at my brother’s place. Over on Fox Hill Road,” he said finally.

“Alright. I won’t get done around here till seven. I’ll see you then. If I call you back and can’t get you, just sit tight. I know you been having trouble with that phone. Hope you don’t have to trash it,” Beauregard said.

Ronnie caught that one. He had to trash the phone. “Alright, alright, alright. See you then,” he said. The line went dead. Ronnie got out of the car, threw the phone on the ground and crushed it beneath his black motorcycle boots. He gathered the pieces and carried them back into the trailer. He tossed the remains in the trash. Muffled grunts and groans were coming from Reggie’s room. Ronnie flopped back on the couch and grabbed Reggie’s cell phone off the coffee table. He called Quan.

“What up?” Quan said.

“The guy I was telling you about is in. We bout to do this. Can you get to my brother’s place around seven thirty?” he asked.

“Man, I don’t wanna come down to that country-ass, big-mosquito-having redneck town. Why can’t y’all come up to Richmond?” Quan asked.

“Cuz I’m the one planning it. You in or you out? I mean if you don’t want $80,000 I can always get somebody else,” Ronnie said.

“Hold your horses, white boy, I’ll be there. Shit. Goddamn mosquitoes driving trucks down there,” he said.

“Don’t worry, just put a Dixie flag in your back window, you be fine,” Ronnie said.

“Fuck you, Ronnie,” he said. The line went dead.

He dialed Jenny’s number from memory.

“Yeah, what’s up?” she asked in that honey-coated husky voice that drove him crazy.