by Ian Jones
John stood up.
‘Right, well, I’ll be off then,’ he said brightly.
Carter got up out the chair and waddled into the reception area.
‘So you got friends in high places. Well I’m the law down here, and I’ll be seeing you again, you have my word on that.’
John walked over to him, and looked up at the clock on the wall.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ he announced.
‘What?’ Carter looked confused.
‘That’s how much of my time you have wasted. Fifteen minutes since you stopped me at the motel.’
He moved closer, so he was a couple of inches away and leaned in.
‘Yeah, you will be seeing me again,’ he said quietly.
Carter involuntarily took a step back.
John walked out, and over to the cruiser. It wasn’t locked, so he recovered his bag and then crossed back over the road and on up to the motel. He waved at the woman when he got there. She just stared out at him, and he walked around and up some metal stairs at the end to his room.
It was facing backward on the end of the L. There was a metal walkway all around which ended just past his door. He turned and looked around. The change in the town was incredible, when he had last stayed here the northern area of the town had been pretty empty; just a few houses and the airfield in the distance. Now it was built up, with lines and lines of houses and some bigger buildings that were possibly schools further out. There was even some kind of stadium he could see. Looking across toward the horizon he saw that on the north-western edge there were some very big, grand houses that curled away up the steep hill. Immediately in front of him was a high wall with some kind of loading bay on the other side, he guessed that there were shops there, so there was a commercial district too.
All this done in eleven years?
Incredible.
It was full dark now, close to seven o’clock.
His phone rang, it was Patrick. John told him he was out again, no harm done and Patrick apologised down the phone, promising to keep Carter off his back if possible. John told him it wasn’t a problem.
He unlocked and walked into the room, snapping the light on as he closed the door behind him. It was a standard motel room, which was all that could be said about it. Decorated in light brown with a dull orange carpet and curtains to match. The double bed was on the right, and a set of drawers with an elderly TV on top to the left. At the back of the room was a bathroom, with a wardrobe against the wall close to the doorway. Exactly the same as every motel room he had ever stayed in, he wondered if there was a motel designer somewhere who was now a very rich man.
He dropped the bag on the floor and sat on the bed. He was tired, but was wise to the fact that the trick to travelling to the USA was always the same. Stay awake as long as you can. It was two in the morning for him UK time plus he had been travelling and driving for hours but if he went to sleep now he would be awake at three and it would just fuel the jetlag.
He knew there was a roadhouse a couple of miles outside of the town to the west, and wondered if it was still there.
Probably he thought.
He considered walking, it was a nice night and maybe do him good but decided that if he did then all that would do would be to make even more tired when he got there. He stripped and had a shower, which was very feeble and dried himself with a threadbare towel, then cleaned his teeth and got dressed again.
He left the room and walked down the stairs and rounded the corner. There was nobody else about here, but at the front the lights were on in a couple of the motel windows. The woman was still sitting at the counter so he knocked on the window and waved, just to be annoying, and then got in the car and pulled out.
He went down to the crossroads and turned right, headed west.
He remembered that when he had first visited he had briefly wondered the name of the town and then promptly forgotten all about it until he had taken a look around; then he had immediately realised why it was called what it was, for there was a huge grey rock which sprouted up out of the earth. Previously, the town had grown out to the south of it, with a couple of lines of houses and hardly anything other than the airfield in the north. Now, it was in the centre, the north side had grown so much. The rock was roughly square, about four metres a side and a bit higher. It was surrounded by an egg-shaped patch of smaller rocks and scrub grass, with the town hall on its eastern side. As he made the turn he saw the rock, and could see that money had been spent here too. Now, in the space between the town hall and the rock a large paved square had been built, circled by flowerbeds and seats. In the centre of the square was a war memorial. It then led to a narrow strip of grass up to the rock, as he passed by there had been no change on the other side, and he could see the southern part, or the original town as he thought of it sloping away to his left. He would visit it tomorrow morning, have a look around. He was due at the prison at 3 pm, so he would have enough time, he just needed to make sure he got going before twelve.
To his right on the north side, he could see a couple of new roads leading away with a bar and family restaurant looking out to the rock and then to his great surprise there was now a Radisson hotel. A shiny new six-storey building. He carried on down the western road which he remembered was narrow, not a great road. If he followed it eventually he would hit the 67 and he could go south to the border, or north back toward Fort Stockton. As he cleared the town he saw a neon glow ahead and soon realised it was the roadhouse, still up and running, maybe some things weren’t that different.
Chapter Four
It was still called Big Lil’s and didn’t seem to have changed at all looking at it from the outside. Still a mixture of concrete block and heavy wooden sidings, with wide shallow pitched sloping roofs on either side that raised to a peak in the middle. There were a few vehicles scattered around in the massive car park. He parked up and walked in, inside it had altered a bit, it had been updated. There were now TV screens everywhere all showing different sports, NFL, Basketball and other American Football matches being the most popular. There was a huge Lone Star Flag on the back wall, and a smaller Stars and Stripes fixed to the ceiling. Pool tables in the back and to the right, and a stage to the left. The bar was a wide rectangle right in the middle, with two young barmen behind it and another couple of pretty girls walking around taking orders. The menu was fixed to the walls in several places around the room, and John realised he was hungry. He walked across and sat down at the bar in the corner, which had a big wooden pillar from floor to ceiling on all four locations. To his right on the other side were a couple of young guys sitting next to each other, early twenties John thought. They were both big guys, in good shape, and covered in dirt. Probably builders at a guess. They were drinking Budweiser out the bottle and watching the football in front of them. John ordered a Miller and ribs, no coleslaw. He turned around and surveyed the room.
There were probably about thirty people there, mostly men, dotted around the room in ones and twos, chatting to the waitresses who were smiling and doing well at being the perfect hostesses. It was a typical roadhouse, and this is what they were all like in John’s experience. On the occasions there was a band on the place would come alive, they would be good nights, worth coming to.
John sat there comfortably, just passing the time. He wondered what all the fuss was about earlier with that fat idiot of a sheriff, what the hell was the point? It did ask who was talking though, so far the only person that knew he would even be in Gray Rock was Patrick, and he would go to his grave before he said anything. So that just left the prison, somebody must be talking. It wasn’t that much of a surprise, Texas is a huge state, bigger than the whole of the UK but West Texas is practically another state altogether. They had their own way of doing things out here that was for sure.
His food arrived, and he saw that the two young men had ordered chicken wings and they got theirs at the same time. He started eating, none of it was healthy, but it was very good. The rib
s were coated in thick barbecue sauce and the chips were big and golden. He loved every morsel. As he ate he caught the eye of the nearest of the two young guys, who nodded to him.
‘Should have had the ribs,’ the guy said ruefully.
‘Yeah, you should have,’ John agreed cheerfully.
Both men looked at him, and the other one said:
‘What accent is that? Australian?’
John laughed.
‘No, much worse. British. From London, so yeah I’m speaking English but that means nobody else can understand me.’
The man chuckled.
‘Nope, I can understand you speaking, but I sure as hell can’t understand why you’d be sitting in here when you could be back home.’
John shrugged and carried on eating.
‘Well, it’s work. You know, I go where I get asked to go.’
He had given some thought about a cover story if he was ever put on the spot, and decided to try it out on these two. It couldn’t do any harm, and he would be gone in a couple of days anyway.
‘Oh yeah? What job is that then?’ The guys were interested.
‘Journalist. Just covering life down near the border. Nothing exciting.’
The one nearest looked at him carefully.
‘Border is over thirty miles south you know.’
‘Yeah, I do know, it’s just a simple piece. Not particularly ground-breaking.’
The two men looked at him, measuring him up, then the further one wiped his hands on a napkin and reached over.
‘Well, we don’t get a whole lot of tourists down here. Good to meet you, I’m Danny, and this is Art.’
John carefully wiped and shook both their hands.
‘I’m John.’
‘So what do you think of our town then John?’ Art asked as they carried on eating.
‘I was here before, more than ten years ago. It’s changed a lot.’
The two men looked at each other.
‘Oh yeah,’ Danny commented. ‘It’s changed a lot alright.’
John looked at them again. They were both big men, with thick arms under dirty t-shirts.
‘So you two football players?’ he asked.
Again the look.
‘Back in high school,’ Art told him. ‘But Danny here played college ball. He could have gone all the way in my opinion.’
John didn’t know much about American football, but he knew that not many players made it through to the NFL. No different from the football league at home. Soccer, to these two.
Danny looked embarrassed.
‘He got injured,’ Art explained.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ John replied. ‘High school football is big round here right? Texas is famous for it I think.’
Art laughed.
‘Oh yeah. It’s a big deal.’
‘Not in this town,’ added Danny ruefully.
‘Why’s that? I thought you said you played?’
‘Yeah, we did. But for the old high school.’
‘There’s two high schools here?’
Danny looked confused.
‘Yeah of course. Gray Rock High is still there. But they opened the Gray Academy, what three, four years ago? And they get all the money. So, that’s the team now, but me and Art used to play for the high school. It was all different back then.’
Art nodded.
‘It sure was. We were a good side. Headed for State. Never made it of course, but we had a real good go.’
He held his hand up and Danny gave him a high five.
‘You still gonna be here on Friday?’ he asked John.
‘Not sure. Maybe.’
‘Get up to the game, see for yourself.’
‘Watch them get beat,’ Art said sullenly.
‘No good then?’
‘No, they are terrible. Like I got told in here once that I should be saying ‘we’, instead of ‘they’, but the truth is they aren’t our football team. Me and Danny, we were the town, and every Friday in season everyone would come out to watch. That don’t happen no more.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they lose. Week in, week out,’ Danny replied. ‘So every season it’s like there’s a new coach or they got the best quarterback or whatever bullshit they can think of to get people in the stadium. But it’s always the same. The other teams are always better.’
John finished eating and took a drink. He liked these two.
‘So go on then, you guys know much more than me, why are they losing so much.’
Art looked away. Danny leaned forward.
‘Well that’s real simple to answer John. Take a look around.’
John looked around the bar, it hadn’t changed at all while he was talking, just men and he could count maybe two women sitting around drinking. He looked back at Danny, confused.
‘What, I don’t see anything.’
‘Right. See any black faces? You see any colours at all apart from white?’
John sat upright and stared at him, and then carefully looked around. Everyone there was white. All the customers, the waitresses, the two guys behind the bar.
‘I didn’t notice,’ he admitted.
‘Well, that’s how it is. And it’s the same at the school. In the whole of the north side. Trust me,’ Art told him defiantly, anger visible in his eyes.
John shook his head.
‘That can’t be right. It’s not possible. This is America, there’s no way it can happen.’
‘It happened, and it happened right here. You said it yourself, the town has changed.’
‘Well yeah, but I didn’t mean …’
‘Be a good story for you,’ interrupted Art.
It would be an amazing story thought John. If I was really a journalist.
‘So there you are. You see, all over the state there are high school football teams, and they have white, black, Hispanic, whatever. They field the best players that go to the school, that’s how it works and how it has always worked. It’s how it should be, of course it is. And a lot of these boys can really play. But the Academy they just put out a team in their shiny new uniforms made up of whoever is the right age that feels like playing and they get hammered. All white boys, every one. It’s bullshit.’
Art was obviously upset. He drained his beer and got off the stool.
‘I gotta go. I gotta work tomorrow.’
‘Where do you work?’ asked John.
‘Up at the quarry. We both do.’
‘Quarry? I don’t remember a quarry, where’s that?’
‘Just follow the road past here about three miles. You’ll see the concrete works, and it’s right next to that.’
Concrete works made sense with all the construction, and he supposed the quarry did too.
Danny also slid of his stool.
At that point another man entered, and walked across the room to sit on a stool at the bar a couple down from John. It was the big man who had been riding the Harley earlier, John recognised the jacket. As he got comfortable he glanced over at the two young men and nodded.
‘Hey Gilbey,’ Danny said as a greeting.
The man nodded again.
Danny and Art walked around the bar and shook John’s hand again.
‘Gilbey, this is John. He’s visiting the town. We were just explaining that things are different here.’
The man turned slowly and looked at John carefully.
He was a big man, in good shape but a lot older, maybe even in his seventies. He had flyaway grey hair and a craggy face, with bright blue eyes.
‘Things are different here alright,’ he replied.
‘Yeah, we were just saying. He was here before, he’s noticed the changes,’ Art told him.
‘Oh yeah? That could be a long list,’ he commented. He had a deep and gravelly voice, which was perfect for him.
Danny slapped him on the back and told him he would see him later then the two young men walked out. A barman put a bottle of Budweiser on the bar in front of Gilbey
without asking.
Gilbey took a drink gratefully, then set the bottle down carefully on the bar in front of him.
John also took a drink. He saw in the clock behind the bar it was nearly nine, he could safely go to bed soon. He was aware of Gilbey looking at him, so he turned to face him.
‘So what brings you here?’ Gilbey asked.
‘Oh I’m a journalist, just writing about life near the border.’
‘Journalist, are you? Lot to write about in this town, if you care to take a look. A close look.’
‘Really? Well, ok. So, where should I start?’ John asked him curiously.
‘Go and see the three wise men, that’s as good a place as any.’
‘The three wise men?’
‘Yeah. It’s not difficult to find them.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Just the three wise men.’
‘So why would they be worth talking to?’
Gilbey’s eyes narrowed, and John guessed he had said the wrong thing.
‘There’s a cancer in this town. It needs cutting out. Talk to them, see for yourself. You’re the journalist, so you say.’
Gilbey said nothing else, just turned to face the bar. End of conversation. John finished his drink and with a muted goodbye and a nod to the barman dropped some dollars on the bar and walked out.
Abel hung up the call on his mobile with a shake of his head. What the hell were they paying for? It wasn’t the first time he had wondered about this. It was a good job there was always a Plan B. He called Barlow, who answered quickly. Abel walked over to the window and looked out into the dark, the lights of the town spread out in front and below of him.
Barlow spoke first.
‘Don’t tell me. There has been a screw-up.’
Abel was just glad it was nothing to do with him.
‘Yeah. That fat asshole Carter dropped the ball. As usual I might add. He gave the guy his phone call! Believe that?’
There was a loud exhale of air from the other end. Abel smiled, he could picture Barlow stalking around his living room, head swivelling from side to side on his long neck.
