Apollo Road

by Cliff Roberts

  I was about to put the Chevy in gear when I noticed the visor wasn’t all the way up. I shoved it upwards, but it didn’t move. Pulling down on the visor to examine the problem, an envelope fell into my lap. Plop! It startled me! I must have jumped a foot. For several moments, I just sat staring at the envelope, but I didn’t touch it. I acted as though it was going to bite me.

  While staring at the envelope, I couldn’t remember having placed anything up there. It then occurred to me that it was probably another set of court papers from the bitch. Yeah, that was it. The process server probably came by yesterday when I was on the phone or napping, and I didn’t hear her, so she stuck a copy of the papers in here. Yeah, right. Whoever heard of a process server breaking into a car to serve papers? No, someone else had to have left whatever this was.

  I gingerly picked up the envelope, carefully gauging the weight. It was heavier than I expected. There must be twenty or thirty pages inside. Shit, how bad was this going to get? I thought again of how I might end it all and realized I was too much of a coward to actually do it. Shit. Accepting my fate, I opened the envelope.

  I sat there stunned for several minutes. I just sat there looking at the contents. This was totally nuts! Who in the hell could have put this here? Why would they do this? I slowly counted the money. Five thousand dollars in what appeared to be new twenties and fifties. You know, the kind with the big picture of the president on the front. After counting the money for the fifth or sixth time, I sat there just looking at it. I was absolutely, completely stunned. I couldn’t move. It was like I’d become part of the car.

  I could hear the engine running; I could see the clouds floating by; birds flying over; planes racing across the sky; and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another car suddenly race away from the curb a few houses down. As I turned to look, I realized the guy had been staring at me. Well, at least I thought he had been, and I suddenly felt very exposed.

  I craned my neck, trying to see who else was watching me. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but having someone run up to the car and scream, “You’ve been punked!” came to mind. This had to be fake money and someone was playing a bad practical joke on me. Right? The neighborhood appeared quiet, but they could be peeking through their window blinds. Did they know the money wasn’t mine? Could they tell somehow other than by the look of guilt on my face?

  I tried to tell myself that if asked, I could say I had no idea how the money had got there. But as I continued to sit there, I knew it was him—the wrong number guy. He said he’d left a part of what he owed me in the car. Why would he do this? It was probably stolen. Shit, what else could go wrong? I asked myself as I began letting my mind dredge up the worst case scenarios.

  After another few minutes, I finally broke out of my stupor, turned the car off and went back inside the house. I placed the money on the kitchen table, where I proceeded to stare at it. After several long minutes, it occurred to me I would be completely justified in keeping it. After all, if someone was stupid enough to put the money in my car, it was mine. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, is it not?

  With this money, I could find an apartment. But then, I thought better of that idea, and decided I’d stay right here, in my home, until the cops forced me to leave. This was as much my house as hers. She and her attorney could both kiss my ass if they thought I’d leave without a fight.

  My mood had improved, so I stuffed the money in my pocket. I then had the sudden urge to change out of the tattered shorts and ragged t-shirt that I normally wore to work in the yard for something nicer. I had some money now and thought I should look the part. Hell, maybe I’d go out to lunch.

  Just as I was about to leave, I noticed the sound the phone makes when it’s off the hook. You know, that annoying sort of whiny/beeping sound. It’s hard to describe, but it’s as obnoxious as hell. So, I hung the phone back up. As soon as I did, it rang and rang and rang and rang! I recoiled and stood staring at it, sure it was demonically processed. After a couple dozen rings, I finally answered, and it was The Bitch. I should have let it ring.

  Immediately, she started in on me about getting out of the house and how it wasn’t fair for me to stay there because it hindered her lifestyle. Like sleeping under a bridge would improve mine? She actually said the word ‘hindered.’ She had never used that word before in our lovely, twenty year marriage. I immediately thought of the lawyer she had met through work and knew she had to be having an affair with him. She just wasn’t that creative to have started using a word like hindered on her own. I almost started in on her about her being such a slut, tramp, adulterer or whatever, when I found myself slamming the phone down without ever saying a word. It felt good, really good. Not ten seconds later, however, the phone began ringing again. It kept on ringing and ringing until after the fifteenth ring, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I answered.

  “What now?” I screamed into the phone, ready to fight with her over the tattered pieces of my life, if for no other reason than I had nothing else to do and nowhere else to do it.

  “I see you found the money,” the voice stated. I knew instantly it was the wrong number guy. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was more than tongue-tied. It felt as if I had lost the ability to speak. I didn’t know what to say. He must have sensed that I was in a brain freeze and continued talking.

  “Look, I know it’s only a small amount, but I’ll give you the rest when we meet up. Just meet me at the Apollo Road house. I need to see you face-to-face. Come on, what do you say? You’ve got a good faith deposit.”

  “I…ahhh…I…ahhh…” I stammered. “I don’t know. What money?” Then, feeling courageous, I blurted out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t find any money.” It was my money now, and I really needed it.

  “Don’t play games. We both know I put it there and that you have it. Don’t force me to make a house call. You know exactly how this works, and I can’t stand to play games, so meet me at the Apollo Road house. Tonight would be a good night to meet. There’s going to be a bad moon tonight.

  “Oh, remember I can find you wherever you go, and I will. You always said you didn’t like me when I got mad, and you’re starting to piss me off,” the voice scolded sternly. For a moment, I was actually scared, but then I found some deeply buried bravado and verbally went off on the guy.

  “Look, asshole. It’s like this. I don’t know you. I don’t care to know you. If you put money in my car, it’s mine now and you’re shit out of luck ’cause I ain’t giving it back. Stop wasting my time and yours. Quit calling me, damn it! Oh, yeah, thanks for the money, asshole!” I screamed, hoping he would finally get the point.

  “You really want to play it that way, huh? Well, I tried to be nice. I tried to pay my debt, but no. You’re hanging me out to dry. Okay, I’ll be at the Apollo Road house until the morning, and then I’m gone. It’s your last chance. I’ll leave the balance of what I owe you in the upstairs bedroom, the one on the right. It’ll be under the bed in a canvas bag. I’ll check back tomorrow night to see if you’ve been by to pick it up. If not, it’s mine, and I’m gone. But I will be back, and it won’t be pretty. I don’t take kindly to friends who turn their back on me. I’ll see you soon, one way or the other,” the voice threatened.

  “I’m not your fucking friend, asshole. You’ve got the wrong guy.” It was then I realized that the phone was dead, and I was talking to myself. Just like I had been the whole time the jerk was on the phone. What an asshole. He would be back. Yeah, right.

  The phone rang at least a dozen times that afternoon and I didn’t answer it again, even when it rang three dozen times. I had nothing to say to The Bitch or to the psycho phone caller. To entertain myself, I watched TV, napped, and at the end of the day, I found myself staring at the dog while he licked his balls. I was losing my mind.

  I had to get out of there. I had to get away from the house. I took advantage of my new found wealth and took myself out to eat. I went to an Italian restaurant
that the ex and I had eaten at several times. The food was good, and the prices were easy on the wallet. Pulling into the parking lot, my headlights played across the front windows of the place. There, in the short line for a table, was the ex and another guy. Shit. I was right.

  My stomach fell to the floorboard, and I suddenly wanted to cry, but my inner macho man took over, and instead, I gunned the engine. Horns honked, people screamed and tires squealed as I left a trail of near-miss fender benders as I escaped the parking lot. So much for dinner.

  I stopped at the first liquor store I saw and bought a fifth of Jim Beam and a two liter bottle of Coke. Jim Beam was an old favorite of mine from back in the days when I drank a fair amount. With my old standby in hand, I drove around in circles because in this little south Florida town—actually, anywhere in southwest Florida—that was all there was. Circles. Well, squares really. There are only a few main roads in southwest Florida. The ones that exist tend to go either east and west or north and south. They are also typically nearly straight with few twists or turns, making for extremely boring driving.

  It was nearly a half-hour before I took my first drink. I didn’t have a cup or soda bottle in which to mix my drink, so I did it the lazy way. I’d take a swig of Jim Beam, then I’d take a swig of Coke as a chaser, washing down the burning sensation caused by the whiskey. After several drinks, I forgot about the Coke and just took swigs of Beam.

  After driving in circles for two hours and passing the police station three times, I decided to find a spot to just sit and drink. I found a small pond hidden behind a construction site overlooking a new apartment complex, which was filled with ducks. I wondered if the pond had a gator in it, since the saying around here is, “If there’s a puddle on the side of the road, you’ll find a gator in it.” Or maybe it’s “Check your bathtub before you get in ’cause you’re likely to find a gator in it.” Hell, I don’t know. I was quickly getting drunk. Oh, I know! It’s “Don’t leave your dog’s water dish outside ’cause a gator will move in.” Or maybe not. Maybe it’s “Don’t leave the dog outside unless you want the gator to eat it.” I then wondered if that would work with soon-to-be ex-wives.

  The ducks must have read my thoughts about the gators, because they upped and flew away en masse, suddenly taking my entertainment with them. I cried, I think. Mostly because I was drunk or maybe because I felt sorry for my ass, alone in a strange town, with no friends and no money, (at least as far as my soon-to-be ex-wife was concerned.) She didn’t need any more help screwing me. She had done a pretty good job so far without it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I put the car in gear and drove off. I made several turns before I realized I had no idea where I going and that I didn’t care. I glanced at my watch and discovered it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, so I decided to cut my losses and head toward home. To keep driving around was inviting a DUI, and there had to be something to watch on TV. Along the way, I passed the construction company where I was supposed to start work next week, and I flipped the place the bird. I knew then, I wouldn’t be working there for very long. I’d save my money and move back up north as soon as I could. I hated the heat here anyway. Then I remembered I really only had one friend left up north, and he was busy with his family and his business. Everyone else with whom I had been friends were old friends with my soon-to-be ex. Most had already stopped taking my calls. It then occurred to me they had actually stopped talking to me or writing e-mails months ago. Damn. She’d been banging this guy for months, and I just found out, although it seems everyone else had known for ages. Am I an idiot or what? I tell you, if I’d had a gun, I’d have stuffed it where the sun didn’t shine and blown her brains out her ass. What a bitch!

  “I want to move to Florida.” She had said those words probably a hundred times, but what she was really saying was, “I want to move to Florida without you.” All the warning signs were there, I was just too stupid to pay attention. She’d told me several times while we argued about moving that she saw her future in Florida, and it was up to me to decide if mine was there, as well. “Up to me.” Female code words for, “I don’t care if you come with me or not. If you do, it’ll save me the heavy lifting of moving; if not, I’ll hire someone to do it.”

  Taking another swig of my ol’ buddy, “Jim,” I noticed that I was passing that sign again—the one for Apollo Road. This time, I jammed on the brakes and slid to a stop. Then, I checked to see if anyone was behind me. Luckily, the road behind me was empty. I threw the car in reverse and backed up until I could turn down Apollo Road.

  It was a one lane road with trees and swamp on both sides giving the whole area a very scary quality. I hesitated for a moment, afraid I might get lost or stuck in the swamp, before I worked up the courage and drove down the road.

  The roadside ditches were filled with water, and a couple of times I could have sworn I saw a gator jump off the bank as I approached, its big eyes glowing in the light of my headlamps as I came down the road. Slowly, the road twisted and turned—first left, then right and then back again—but I continued on, heading deeper into the swamp with every minute that passed. More than once I thought, I’d better just turn around and leave before I get in trouble, but I couldn’t find a place where the road was wide enough for me to pull a U-turn, so I kept going.

  After having gone two miles, maybe three, I came across the first road sign. It was planted in the dead center of the road, and it read: DEAD END. It was bright yellow in my headlights, and beyond it was a whole lot of pitch black swamp. Staring into the darkness before me, I could see that there were hundreds of small, twinkling lights. There were so many it seemed like stars, only they were at ground level. It was beautiful, until I realized that the twinkling red lights were the eyes of gators reflecting off my headlamps. Shit.

  I suddenly had to get the hell out of there. I looked around, but all I could see was the pitch blackness of the night. I’d gotten myself stuck, just as I was afraid I would. There wasn’t anywhere to turn around. Damn! I had to be the stupidest person alive. What was I doing here? And then it hit me.

  The road I was on was Apollo Road. The guy on the phone wanted to meet out here. There had to be a house around here somewhere. He said it was the only one on the road. I can use the driveway to turn around, I told myself. I slowly backed up several dozen yards, and there it was. I wouldn’t call it a driveway, though. It was more like a goat path in the woods. There appeared to be just enough room to get my car in there and use it as a turnaround. I pulled in and stopped.

  The trees and bushes were overgrown with their branches hanging low over the driveway. They were so low that getting through them would mean they would scrape across the top and sides of the car, not that I was worried they might scratch the paint or anything. The weeds had grown up in the middle of the tire ruts, reminding me of my adventures as a young teenager walking all through the northern woods, spotting game trails before hunting season. Hunting was past me now. I couldn’t deal with the walking. My back and legs wouldn’t allow me to hike through the woods for more than a few minutes. I’d be lucky to get from the car to the cabin, let alone into the woods. Between the propensity to have blood clots in my legs and the possible diagnosis of MS, I was pretty much bound to a chair, other than for short walks around the house and yard. Now, when I really needed to get active, I couldn’t.

  For the first time in my life, my health had stopped me. I wasn’t a quitter. I’d fought back from adversity several times in my life. I’d had to fight back after breaking most of my bones as a kid. Luckily, they were broken at different times and not all at once. I’d fought back after having my foot run over by a lawn mower. It was an accident involving a co-worker. It had happened while mowing lawns at a country club when I was eighteen. Of course, it was really my own fault. I wasn’t paying any attention. I was too busy watching a couple of girls in bikinis who were real knockouts. Yeah, I was stupid even then. I can’t help it. I like women.

  Breaking away from my mus
ings, I wondered what this house looked like. After all, it was sitting in the middle of a swamp, and this guy didn’t seem like he was the sharpest tool in the shed. Then I wondered if he would be here. He said he would be. Talk about a great place for a murder.

  I remembered he also said I should pick up the rest of the money, or he would be pissed and come looking for me. I decided it wouldn’t cause any harm if I took a quick look around. The alcohol was getting the better of me, but what the hay? Even if the guy killed me, I’d be better off than I was right now. Maybe I had a death wish, and this was my way of trying to commit suicide. I don’t know, but I drove through the low-hanging branches, down the overgrown goat path, until I spotted a large dark apparition that had suddenly sprung from the darkness.

  It was a large house that loomed over me and my car. There were no lights on and no cars in plain sight. The grass was at least three feet high, except for what appeared to be a well-worn path leading to the front door and then a second one that led around to the back of the house, appearing to be circumnavigating the garage on the way.

  If I had been smart, I would have quickly turned around and left as quickly as I could, but I’m not that smart. I reached over to the glove box, opened it, reached in and grabbed the flashlight. I’d always kept a flashlight in the glove box since I was a kid. I’d put this one there the day after I bought the car. I was thinking I would have it for times when I broke down on the road or something similar. I hadn’t ever imagined I would need it to peek in someone’s windows. If I hadn’t been such a boy scout, prepared for any emergency, I wouldn’t have had the light, and I certainly wouldn’t have gotten out of the car. Just my luck, I would do something right and it got me killed. I took another large gulp of Jim Beam.