Blacktop Wasteland(27)

Beyond the vanities of his own ego, he could see that his wife was also right about memories. He thought about his father all the time and yet his Daddy’s voice seemed to grow more and more faint. Did he sound the way Beauregard remembered or was there more vibrato in his speech? Did he have a scar on his right hand or left hand? His father’s face was becoming blurred around the edges in his mind. Unless he was sitting in the Duster, Anthony Montage was a shade who spoke in whispers. Sitting in the car brought everything back into crystalline clarity. If he went through with this job, would his sons have to sit in the Duster to recall his face? Would they even want to?

“I promise you. We will be fine,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her on her mouth. At first her lips were set in a hard line but slowly they opened, and her tongue slipped into his. His hand slid up her thigh until he touched her in the center of her body. She shuddered and pulled away from him.

“You better keep your promises,” she moaned. He crushed his lips against hers again, and they fell against each other in a tangle of arms and legs and groans and sighs.





EIGHT



Jenny awoke to a series of horns and trumpets going off like Judgment Day. Her text message tone echoed through her tiny apartment. The horns reached a crescendo then started at the top of the melody again.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand. The contact name on the screen said Rock and Roll. Her first text message of the day was from Ronnie “Rock and Roll” Sessions.

Need the alarm codes, the message said.

Jenny stared at her phone and blinked her eyes. Hard.

I don’t know what you are talking about. Call me. She typed. She hit send then grabbed her cigarettes and a lighter out of the nightstand. After her third drag off the smoke a set of bird chirps began to emanate from her phone. This was her ringtone. She touched the screen and answered the phone.

“Don’t text me shit like that. Jesus.”

“Well, good morning to you too,” Ronnie said.

“I’m serious, Ronnie. Who do you think the police gonna be looking at with all the eyes they have if we pull this off? I don’t need shit like that in my phone records.”

“Damn, you woke on the wrong side of the crypt this morning. Sound like you need a good tuning up,” Ronnie said.

“You know, your dick ain’t the answer to everything,” Jenny said.

“If my dick ain’t the answer you ain’t asking the right questions. But never mind all that. Can you get it?”

“Get what?” Jenny asked.

“The alarm code,” Ronnie said. Jenny took a long drag off her cigarette.

“I already know it. Lou Ellen told me what it was the other day.”

“How is your girlfriend doing? She get that call from the Cowboys yet about that starting offensive lineman position?” Ronnie asked.

“Not funny, Ronnie. She’s nice.”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for her. She can’t be that good at eating pussy.”

“You so damn nasty. She’s just nice to me. I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want anybody to get hurt. Not Lou Ellen, not you, not me. I just want to get out of here. Get out of Cutter County. Out of Virginia. I want to go somewhere and answer to a new name for the rest of my life. Try to start over. Maybe try not to make so many mistakes this time,” Jenny said.

“And we will. All you got to do is exactly what I tell you to do. And before you know it we will be fucking on a bed full of hundred-dollar bills,” Ronnie said. Jenny exhaled. A plume of smoke billowed from her nostrils.

“I just don’t want to get fucked up behind this,” Jenny said.

“Baby girl, you won’t. All you got to do is trust me. Is that so hard? Now stop worrying about all that and let’s get back to talking about more important things. What you getting into today? Maybe I can come over. I got some Percocets and a case of beer with your name all over them.”

“Down, boy. I gotta go into work. You know, that thing people do instead of stealing.”

“Well shit. Hey, tell your sugar mama I said hi.”

“Bye, Ronnie.”

“Wait, what time you get off?”

“About fifteen minutes after you roll off me and go to sleep,” Jenny said and hung up the phone.





NINE



Beauregard got up at first light. Kia was curled up next to him like a cat. He slipped out of bed and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He grabbed a baseball cap out of the dresser drawer and pulled it down over his eyes. Then he kissed Kia on her cheek.

“You leaving early,” she said without opening her eyes.

“Gotta get to the shop,” he lied. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m gonna need you to pick the boys up tonight. I’m going with Lakisha Berry to clean up some offices near the courthouse,” Kia said.

Beauregard kissed her again. “That’s good, boo. I’ll get ’em when we close tonight. Love you,” he said.

“Love you too,” she said. The last part of the sentence disintegrated into a sigh. Beauregard left the house and got into his truck. He turned on the radio and scrolled through the stations until he hit one playing some old-school R&B. Rev. Al Green’s trembling falsetto drifted out of the speakers like a cool mist. He headed out of Red Hill and onto Route 60 toward the interstate. Just before hitting the on-ramp he passed the abandoned Tastee Freez. The white aluminum carport that had covered the pick-up window had collapsed but the rest of the building appeared solid. A crowd of thistles and kudzu covered the eastern side of the building. Verdant green weeds had forced their way up between the seams of the pavement in the parking lot. Ellery and Emma Sheridan had run the Tastee Freez for fifty years before Ellery died in 2001. Emma had tried to soldier on without her husband, but Alzheimer’s had snatched the remnants of her mind and tossed them to the four winds. The county had stepped in after some customers had pulled up and found Emma making milkshakes and burgers in her birthday suit.