wilted streets: a novella & stories

by Steve Shadow

  WILTED STREETS

  A NOVELLA AND STORIES

  BY STEVE SHADOW © Steve Shadow 2014

  Cover by Vince Larue

  (www.vincelarue.blogspot.fr)

  Book designed by Ariel Amsden (aamsden42@gmail.com)

  Published by Shadow Press

  All Rights Reserved

  DEDICATION TO BOTH THE VALLEY OF THE SUN AND PORTLAND; THANKS FOR EVERYTHING.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS Wilted streets: A novella Dickie

  Moira

  The Hand

  Chego

  Lulu

  Surfs Up

  Injun Blues

  Oh So Scottsdale

  Wilted Streets:

  a novella

  Chapter one Phoenix in the summer; so damn hot that the buildings seemed to be melting. My swollen eyes can barely open. I am staggering down the street. I am all alone. I stop and check my pockets; no money, no bus tokens. Should I try and hitch? There is no shade. I shake my head back and forth in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. The sidewalk feels soft. I stagger across Mc Dowell and it seems as if my rubber soled shoes are sinking into the melting tar. I sense the heat burning through the bottoms of my feet. Moisture is leaving my body at a rate that will soon send me into a coma. My throat is closing; I need liquid. I pass a window and I see my reflection. I look like shit. My eyes are starting to swell shut again. How did I get here? What am I doing? I need help; I’ve got to think. My skin feels as if it is starting to crack. I lurch my way into a coffee bar and begin drinking water from a pitcher on a shelf. I am starting to wake up. I look at a clock on the wall. It is 11 in the morning and already so hot outside that it is painful.

  “Yo, Bubba,” I hear a voice yelling at me. “You buying or just wetting your whistle?”

  I turn towards the voice and come face to face with a huge unshaven man in an apron. His mouth is turned down at one side and he speaks with a guttural drawl.

  “Just thirsty, man, I only needed some water. It don’t cost you anything.”

  “Really: Who you think pays the water bill and the rent? You ain’t buying then get out. You stink.”

  I shake my head and walk out the door, back into the inferno. I stand in a tiny bit of shade offered by a buildings corner. My head is pounding and my vision blurs. What happened to me? I check my pockets again; they are still empty. What happened to my stuff? I bend over and take some deep breaths. My lungs feel seared by the hot air. I press my hands to my head and force myself to remember. Things are slowly coming back to me. I remember being at Rosie’s last night. I know I met some people and shared some drinks and sang along with the Irish house band. All of the faces are a blur but for some odd reason I do remember an obnoxious drunk who obviously hated the music. In a thick Scottish accent, he kept yelling at the band, “Less, less”, while we yelled, “More, more.” I remember that the red headed lady I was trying to pull found this very funny but I could not see her face in my mind. I kept shaking my head and it was beginning to clear but I could no longer stand and slid to the sidewalk.

  How did I get from Rosie’s on Camelback to where I was now? I must have gone somewhere after the bar closed. I squeezed my temples harder; think, think, I told myself. It was no use. Maybe I was drugged. I have had some bad nights, including memory loss but this felt different. I needed to get home. Shit, how was I going to get in my place? My keys were gone. My head felt so heavy that I could barely hold it up. With the aid of the buildings wall I managed to stand. I brushed myself off as best as I could. I had to get out of the heat.

  Three ladies came out of the store I was in front of. “Ladies, excuse me, I think I’ve been robbed. Does one of you have a cell phone I can use to call a friend, please?”

  They looked at me with disgust. “Please, you can make the call for me. I have to get home, please help me out.”

  One of them pulled out a phone and I gave her my pal Ron’s number. She would not hand me the phone so I told her to tell him it was an emergency and to come pick me up. She told him where I was and added that I had been robbed and did not look well. I thanked her profusely as she rapidly turned and walked away. I sunk once more to the sidewalk; praying that Ron would arrive before I dried up and blew away.

  Jesus, I needed sleep and a bath and more water. I began to nod off. I opened my heavy eyes at the sound of screeching brakes. Ron came out of his car and stood in front of me. I wondered how long I had been passed out.

  “Shit, man, what the fuck? What’s the deal?”

  He helped me to my feet. “Get in the car. You look half dead. You really got into the shit this time. Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”

  “No, man, I’m just tired and a little fuzzy. Things are coming back but I need a bath and some sleep. You got that extra key to my place? I lost everything; must of been rolled or something.”

  Ron kept turning to look at me as we drove east to the edge of Scottsdale. I could tell by the look on his face he was both worried and disgusted. He was not much of a drinker and frowned upon my beer filled nights. I had an apartment tucked in behind the Valley Ho hotel. When we pulled up in front Ron had to help me get out of the car. I was weak and still dizzy.

  Ron guided me into the elevator and got me into my apartment. The blast of cool air felt good on my skin. I thanked him profusely. He said he had to go to work and couldn’t stick around. He said he would come back tonight and see if I was all right. I staggered to the kitchen and drank 3 glasses of water. I crawled to the bathroom. I struggled to peel off my sweaty clothes. I got into the shower and stood there with the tepid water raining down on me until I began to pucker. Barely dry, I crawled to my bed and fell into a sweaty, troubled sleep. I don’t know how long I was out when I was awoken by the sound of my door being pounded on. I tried to ignore it but the pounding would not stop. I staggered to the door and looked through the peephole. It was my neighbor Annie, who lived down the hall. She stood outside my door in a sweat shirt and jeans. She had big brown eyes and wore her hair in a modified crew cut. She was no beauty but had handsome and strong features. She was almost as tall as I was and in much better shape. When I first met her I thought she was a lesbian but her interest in me changed my mind. I opened the door.

  “Come on in” I said as I turned back to the bedroom.

  “Hey, Billy, you’re naked. Much as I enjoy the view would you please put something on, you’re freaking me out; unless you have something in mind.”

  I turned and looked down. I laughed while pretending to ignore her last remark. “Sorry, Annie, I’m all fucked up today.”

  I threw on a ratty robe that I retrieved from the back of the bathroom door and wandered to the kitchen to make some coffee. Annie came and sat at my little table. “Ron called me and asked me to check on you.” She said. “He sounded worried. He said you were robbed or something.”

  “Shit, I don’t know what happened. I was out last night at Rosie’s and then I found myself wandering on McDowell this morning. I need some caffeine and maybe I can remember what the hell happened. I guess I should call the police and, shit, I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure if I was rolled, robbed or just got so messed up that I forgot my wallet and keys somewhere.”

  “Well, let’s try and figure this stuff out. Put some clothes on and let’s go to Daily Dose; you need more than coffee. Let’s get some protein into you and maybe it will get your brain functioning again.”

  She was right. My stomach started growling and I realized I was starving and had no food in the house. I threw some water on my face and got dressed in old jeans and a Tony Joe White tshirt. We got into her Honda CRV and drove over to the restaurant. Luckily we made it before they closed for th
e day. After orange juice, an omelet and a gallon of coffee I began to feel semi- human again.

  While I ate Annie sipped on some herbal concoction. I knew she liked me but why that was I have no idea. Having friends like Annie made life in Scottsdale all the sweeter. She was a kind and giving person despite what I perceived as some very butch elements in her character. She had a warm face and if I wasn’t such a self centered pussy hound, she would probably make a great girl friend. I knew that she had a thing for me but I acted as if I was unaware of this and deflected any of her subtle come-on’s. I really wouldn’t wish me on anyone. I was surprised she could tolerate me let alone be a friend. She had all these great qualities but to me, in my shallowness, they didn’t mean much. She was only a little shorter than me which put her at about 5 feet 10 inches. She was solidly built and carried herself like an athlete. Being the superficial shit that I am that pretty much disqualified her as anything but a friendly neighbor. I met her when I first moved in the building. She was some kind of analyst, I think, but I never asked many questions. We only saw each other occasionally but she was always nice to me and even brought me over food once in a while. I graciously accepted her offerings but did little or nothing in return. I figured that one of these days, when I was drunk or stoned enough, I would do her a favor and get it on with her. Even I found that a little harsh but that’s the way my brain works.

  I sat back, deep in tangled thought, and belched loudly. A few heads turned and Annie began to chuckle. OK, I thought to myself, time to try and reconstruct just what the hell had happened last night. I motioned to Annie to lean in closer to me. I told her everything that I remembered about yesterday. Very slowly some things started to fall into place. I recalled leaving the bar with the redhead I was after and some other people. We got into someone’s van, at least I think it was a van, and went to a house somewhere. I thought hard but could not remember where the place was. Under Annie’s prompting I recalled loud music, doing some lines, but everything else was a blur.

  “Sorry, Annie, that’s it. I must have been drugged. It’s all black until I woke up on the street this morning. I need more sleep. Can we go back to the apartment? I’m still dragging.”

  I paid our bill and she drove us home. Annie dropped me off. She said she had to do some shopping and would check on me later when Ron came by. I wondered if she and Ron were doing the horizontal bop but that was their business. As I approached my door I was met by 2 policemen.

  A black officer with a bald head and huge bulging arms stopped me. “Are you William Wilewski?”

  What the fuck was this? “Yes I am. What’s the problem.”

  While the other cop, an older man, stood to my side with his hand on his weapon, the black cop told me they had to take me to the station for questioning.

  “Questions about what?” I asked. “I ain’t going anywhere. What is this shit?”

  “Either you come peacefully or we will handcuff you and you will be charged with resisting. Do you understand?”

  “Fuck you, I don’t understand anything. I haven’t done anything; what is this all about.”

  “Look, Mr. Wilewski, you want to make this difficult or you want to cooperate?”

  “No, I want to know what the hell this is all about. What do you want to question me for? I told you I haven’t done anything.”

  “Once again, please come with us and the detectives will explain.”

  His hand began to reach for the cuffs on his belt and I could see this was going nowhere good so I went with them to the South Scottsdale police station. I was put in a room with three chairs and a metal table. This was starting to feel like an episode of the TV show Homicide. I expected Pemberton to stroll in any moment and begin to sweat me in the box. After I sat twiddling my thumbs for 20 minutes and nearly dozing off two men walked in.

  A tall blonde man in a cheap looking brown suit said, “I’m detective Reynolds and this is detective Haley. Haley, a huge hulking presence, took up a position in the corner. Reynolds sat down across from me with a large envelope in his hands. He turned it upside down and out spilled my wallet, keys and a small pocket knife. I reached for them but he grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t touch. Are these items yours?”

  I nodded. “Yes they are. Where did you find them?”

  He looked at me in a skeptical way. “How did you lose them?”

  I once again repeated the same story I had told Ron and Annie. He questioned me relentlessly while I went over the same ground time and time again. Finally I got angry and demanded they tell me what this was all about or let me call a lawyer or let me go.”

  The hulk spoke up from his corner perch. He had on slacks that were too short and a checked sport coat that he would never be able to button. He had a slight southern accent that made me think of Rod Steiger when he played that southern sheriff. “These items were found at a house in North Scottsdale along with a shitload of drugs and a dead girl. The house is owned by a family from Canada. They knew of no one who should have been there. The only link we have to the body is you. Your stuff was found in one of the bedrooms. And you say you have only a slight recollection of being there and everything else is a blank. Is that right?”

  I sat there with my mouth hanging open. “Holy shit, this is awful. Who was the girl? Did she have red hair?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  I was in disbelief. “Christ, I didn’t even know her name or if I did I can’t remember it. All I wanted was to get laid. I told you I met all these people at Rosie’s.”

  After another long wait they let me call my lawyer buddy Ridley. He is a local defense attorney that I had met through our softball league. We had become good friends and he had helped me with a lot of legal questions I had pertaining to copyright issues related to the western novels that I write. I filled him in and he told me to keep my mouth shut until he got there. I once again had to go through the whole story with him when he arrived 2 hours later. He had learned that the girl was found naked, with both of her hands tied to a bedpost. My stuff was found in another bedroom downstairs.

  The cops declined to charge me with anything at this point so they let me go but told me not to leave town as they would probably want to talk to me again. Once we left the station Ridley yelled at me for talking to them and told me to never say anything ever again to the police without calling him. He dropped me off at my place after advising me to try and remember everything I could and write it all down. He cautioned me once again about saying anything to anyone. I went back to bed and managed to fall asleep hoping that this was all just a nightmare and that when I awoke it would all be over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I was roused from my sleep by the sound of my clunky air conditioner chugging like a runaway freight train. It was another blistering summer day in Phoenix. I turned on the radio to catch the weather; why, I don’t know as it was just going to be hot. Once the temperature hits 110 degrees it really doesn’t matter anymore. Many people do not realize that the Phoenix area has five seasons. Aside from the usual three that other places have, we get two summers. Our early summer is hot but very dry. This is semi tolerable. In July the monsoons arrive, which means humidity, dust storms and sudden drenching rains that flood the streets in seconds. Every year we have scenes on TV of cars being swept away in the washes and people needing helicopter rescues as they stand waving from the roofs their vehicles. It never fails to amaze me that people drive blindly into flooded washes. But then again this is Arizona which by and large is an overgrown trailer park filled with the dregs of humanity that have oozed to the Southwest. I, however, live in Scottsdale which is home to golf

  21 crazed zillionaires, trophy wives and retired sports stars. Although geographically they are next to each other, Scottsdale is a far cry from Phoenix in its relentless yuppie hipsters and surgically enhanced female skeletons in fuck-me heels. Me, I like it here for the lack of cold weather and the small but vibrant and supportive writing and artistic colony. I make my living
writing western novels, short stories and the occasional screenplay. This gives me plenty of time to haunt Scottsdale’s over abundance of happy hour bars in search of females looking for quick hook-ups with no expectations of anything more than just a hot roll in the hay. I have been burned too many times by woman who proved to be both more and often less than I thought. Love is for fools and I was not getting fooled again.

  I was taking a leak when I heard the radio giving the news about the murder. I learned that the redheaded girl’s name was Beverly O’Hara. She was local party girl who did some magazine modeling and was a member in good standing with the local club scene. They gave no other details but I was sure the media bloodhounds soon would be all over a story like this. I just hoped that my name would not come up as part of the investigation. As I had not been charged I could only pray that the police would not give out my name.

  I made some coffee and sat down to write. Instead of 1880 Wyoming, where my latest book was taking place, I began to write down everything I could remember about last night. I was trying to jog my memory. As hard as I tried I could not remember any more. The faces of those who were there at the house remained a blur including that of Beverly O’Hara. I googled her and saw some of her magazine shots. It was no wonder I was attracted to her; she was beautiful. Her red hair was set off by her pale white skin and green eyes. She had a spectacular figure with long legs and perfect proportions. I felt bad about her death but glad that I was still around and thinking that maybe I was better off not remembering anything. Naive fool that I am I did not stop to think that whoever killed her did not know I had no memory of what took place. For all I know I may have just wandered away from the place after not getting anywhere with Miss O’Hara. But if that were the case, how did I get from where she was found?

  I decided it was not my concern. I had my property back and just wanted to forget about the whole thing. I was on a deadline and still needed 10,000 more words by the end of the week. I forced myself to reread the opening chapters of my latest sage brush saga in the hope of regaining my rhythm. I was in the middle of a gunfight scene when my doorbell rang.