Blacktop Wasteland(30)

“Where are you going?” Beauregard asked. He already knew, but he wanted to hear his Daddy say it. Until he said where he was going, it wasn’t real.

Anthony cut his eyes at Beauregard. “California. There’s work out there for a man that can drive,” he said. They slid through a curve without downshifting. Anthony pressed on the brake and the clutch with his feet and let the car drift into the turn then hit the gas before it could stall. Neither one of them spoke for a few minutes. The 340 did all the talking for them.

“Why you gotta go away, Daddy?” Beauregard asked.

Anthony didn’t turn his head. He gripped the steering wheel so tight Beauregard could hear it creak. The muscles in Anthony’s neck bulged under his dark obsidian skin. The Duster leaped forward as they descended a slight incline. Beauregard felt his stomach float up near his neck.

“Bug, I want you to listen to me here. Really listen. I’m gonna say two things and I don’t want you to forget them, alright? Shit, what am I saying, you don’t never forget nothing. First thing is I love ya. I done some fucked-up shit in my time but the best thing I ever done was be your Daddy. No matter what nobody ever tells you, including your Mama, don’t ever doubt I love ya,” Anthony said.

A park-and-ride lot came into view about five hundred feet up ahead. As they approached it, Anthony whipped the steering wheel to the right and the Duster skidded across the gravel until it came to a stop in front of a concrete parking bumper.

“Second: When it comes down to it, don’t nobody care about you the way you care about yourself. Don’t ever let nobody make you do for them something they wouldn’t do for you. You hear me, boy?” Anthony asked.

Beauregard nodded. “I hear ya, Daddy,” he said.

“People want you to put up with something for a lifetime they wouldn’t put up with for five minutes. I’ll be damned if I’m doing that. Hey, look, I know your grandma put her foot in them biscuits but I could use a shake. You want to go to the Tastee Freez?” Anthony asked.

Beauregard knew his Daddy didn’t really want a milkshake. He was trying to be nice. He always tried to be nice whenever he did something that hurt him or his Mama.

“Yeah,” Beauregard said.

“Alright then. We gonna get you the biggest strawberry shake they got,” Anthony said. He put the Duster in gear and spun his tires as they sped out of the park-and-ride.

“Chocolate. My favorite is chocolate,” Beauregard whispered.





TEN



Beauregard closed the shop early. He’d let Kelvin go around noon. The morning had been painfully slow. They’d passed the time playing checkers, listening to the radio and shooting the shit.

“You want me to call you tomorrow before I come in?” Kelvin had asked.

“Yeah.”

“Just so you know, I told Jamal Paige I would help him out a few days next week. Driving his tow truck for him while he out of town. Just so you know,” Kelvin had said.

“That’s fine.”

“Told him I might be available a few days a week. Until things pick up around here,” Kelvin said.

“I understand. You gotta do what you gotta do. It’s cool,” Beauregard said.

Kelvin had stood there with his hands in the pockets of his coveralls. “I just don’t want you to think I’m dipping on you.”

“I know you ain’t,” Beauregard said. But he wouldn’t blame Kelvin if he did.

After Kelvin had left, he had sat in his office watching the minute hand on the clock on the wall. It moved languidly. He held on for three more hours, then went over to see Boonie.

The yard was busy. Cars and trucks were moving across the weigh scale at a brisk clip. A cavalcade of rusted iron and crumpled steel was passing through the gates of Red Hill Metals. Beauregard wondered about where some of the items came from. A wrought iron bed frame sat on the back of a lime green pickup sitting in front of him, waiting its turn on the scale. The finials on the headboard were shaped like blackberries. Had children pretended they were real? Had a beautiful woman reached out and grabbed them as she sat astride her lover? Did an old gangster experience the death Boonie said was denied to men like him in that bed?

He got through the gate and went into the office. Boonie was sitting at his desk counting out money to a wide white man wearing a Confederate flag hat. Beauregard stood near the door.

“That’s two-fifty, Howard,” Boonie said after he had finished counting. He handed the wad of bills to the man, who seemed to hesitate before he grabbed them.

“That motor by itself is worth $200. It weighs damn dear a thousand pounds,” the man grumbled.

“Howard, that’s the motor out a Gremlin. Now if you want to try your luck somewhere else, go right ahead. But they gonna ask a lot more questions than I do,” Boonie said.

Howard stood up and put the money in his pocket. He left without saying a word.

“You wanna bet he’s calling me a nigger in his head?” Boonie asked.

Beauregard chuckled. “Hell, he was probably doing that before he sat down,” he said.

Boonie swiveled in his chair and locked the safe that sat behind him. “Long as he don’t say it out loud. You see that hat he was wearing? Them good ol’ boys always telling us to get over slavery, but they can’t get over having their ass handed to them by Sherman,” Boonie said.