The Nightcrawler

by Mick Ridgewell

  He resumed his walk and put the incident out of his mind. This was the beginning of his vacation and he wasn’t going to let one unpleasant altercation ruin his day. The only thing he needed to concern himself with was what to do next.

  It was much too early in the day to go sit in a hotel room. He couldn’t imagine himself watching Oprah, or Ellen, or Jerry Springer. He had no idea what people watched at this time of day. If he were in LA, he would be in the office, or meeting with a client. He wouldn’t be watching TV. Before he got to the end of the block his shirt clung to his skin, damp with perspiration. Sweat beaded his face and stung his eyes. He needed to get out of the suit.

  In his room, Scott immediately set up his laptop, then changed into shorts and a golf shirt while his computer booted. He sent emails to the office indicating the deal went much better than expected. After checking his voice-mail messages, he hit the street again.

  He had lunch on the patio of Antonio’s Pasta House, a place plucked right out of a World War II movie. It had small circular tables with red and white checkered tablecloths on the sidewalk in front. The waitress wore a knee-length skirt and a white apron, her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She wasn’t pretty, but with the right makeup and lighting he thought she could look okay.

  Relaxing with a glass of iced tea after lunch, he recognized the same foul smelling bum he’d bumped into earlier, now standing across the street. When the man saw Scott look at him, a yellow smile riddled with gaps noticeable across the fifty-yard separation added to his unsightly appearance. The bum again pointed his finger like a gun, winked, then trundled up the sidewalk and out of sight.

  Nevada Bob’s was Scott’s next stop. He hadn’t planned to shop for golf equipment, but his eyes lit up when he walked by and he couldn’t resist going in. To reward himself for finalizing the deal of the decade for Cobra Exotics and to cap off the whole trip, he decided to treat himself to a new set of golf clubs. He spent about an hour hitting balls into a net. He tried every brand of clubs in the store. In the end, he went with the King Cobras of course.

  He had been in his room just long enough to shower and dress, when the phone rang. The clock radio by the bed showed five fifty-one. He couldn’t help being amused by Thomas’ punctuality.

  He picked up after the second ring. “Hello!”

  A woman replied, “Mr. Randall, this is the front desk, you have a visitor in the lobby.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

  He made one last check in the mirror. He pulled a loose thread from his pressed taupe Dockers and brushed the sleeves of his navy-blue golf shirt as if to remove lint. Satisfied with his appearance he left the room.

  In the lobby, he immediately spotted Sarah.

  “Hi Scott.”

  She still wore the pinstriped suit she had on at the office. The way he ogled her it was obvious he noticed the camisole she wore under the jacket earlier was no longer there. Her heels made her about the same height as Scott. Not that he noticed. He focused on the fabric of the jacket. The way it formed to her breasts.

  “Well this is a pleasant surprise. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  Holding her purse to her bosom, Sarah smiled politely, reached into the bag and handed him an envelope. “Thomas asked me to bring this over for you.”

  When he tore it open two keys fell onto the floor. He picked them up recognizing the Pentastar engraved on them. They were Chrysler keys and had to be for the Charger.

  There was also a note in the envelope.

  Scott,

  Sorry I can’t make dinner. Emergency came up. Enjoy the Charger tonight, it’s in the hotel parking garage. Call me on my cell if you are interested. If not leave the keys with the hotel front desk. The documentation for the entire restoration is in the glove box. There is a reservation in my name at Pierre’s on the Avenue for six-thirty. The desk clerk at the Hotel can give you directions. Have a great meal; the bill is taken care of. If I don’t hear from you tonight I’ll talk to you next week.

  Thomas.

  p.s. Sarah volunteered to deliver this. I’m sure she’d be happy to join you for dinner.

  Scott folded the letter and put it in his back pocket. He looked at Sarah and said, “So I guess we can get an early start on those drinks.”

  Frowning, she said “I really can’t. Something came up just as I was leaving the office to come here and I have to get home. Enjoy the rest of your stay.” She turned and began to walk toward the revolving doors that opened on Woodward Avenue.

  More on reflex than actual thought Scott called out, “Sarah.” She stopped, turned, but she didn’t walk back to him. Scott ate her up with his eyes as he made his way to her, hoping she wouldn’t see the eagerness in his gaze.

  When he drew near, he saw her demeanor change. A defensive stare replaced her warm smile. She stood with her arms folded in front of her. She clearly wanted to leave.

  “Listen,” Scott said. “I was supposed to go to dinner with Thomas tonight.”

  Sarah shifted her weight back on her heels, her eyes not quite meeting his. She had the look of a woman resisting a sales pitch for a used car.

  He softened his voice, “He’s made reservations at a place called Pierre’s on the Avenue. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, we have a lot of client dinner meetings there. It’s very nice, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” She answered with confident proficiency. Arranging for client dinners must be right in her wheelhouse. She seemed to relax, as though she were back at the office dealing with a mundane task to assist a client.

  Scott studied her for a moment trying to get a read. They had an enjoyable lunch yesterday and this morning she seemed open to a late drink. Now she was acting distant.

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s very nice but it would be infinitely nicer if you would join me.”

  “I really can’t,” she said.

  Her words left no room for interpretation, but her eyes responded to his compliment. Sensing victory Scott put on his best lost-puppy expression and threw another pitch.

  “Listen, I’ve been eating alone in my room the past two nights. I would really appreciate some company. Besides that, you would get a great dinner on the company’s dime. Then if you’re not sick of me after we finish dessert we can go out in Thomas’ Charger and drive the shit out of it. That’ll teach the prick for standing me up. Come on, what do you say?”

  “Okay, I guess I could have dinner.” Her eyes warmed a bit at hearing the way he referred to Thomas, but it was no more than a glance shared between strangers passing on the street. He could see that her mind was definitely somewhere else.

  “Excellent!” Scott said. “Do I need a jacket at Pierre’s?”

  She nodded.

  “Shit, do you want to wait here while I go up and get one?” To his surprise, she started toward the elevator.

  They said nothing on the ride up to the seventeenth floor. Just stood there like strangers, Scott thinking things were looking quite good for some after dinner frolics. Sarah stepped out first and he followed, watching her ass while she walked down the hall.

  “Just there on the right,” he said.

  He pulled a jacket from the closet and swung it over his shoulder, “Okay, let’s go.”

  Chapter Four

  Before the first hour on the road had passed, Pete knew all about that last morning in Millie’s kitchen. Roger told him how Millie tried to talk her son out of this trip. It was too dangerous she kept repeating. Roger had told him about Ed driving him out to the edge of town and Ed giving him the same speech he had heard from Millie.

  “He did a little more than drive me to the edge of town,” Roger said. “He just kept going. I thought he might come to Arizona with me.”

  “Sounds to me like he didn’t want you to go, you’re lucky to have a friend like that.”

  “Ya, I wish he could have come along, but his dad got him a great summer job.

  “He couldn’t turn it down.” Roger’s voice faded, bu
t Pete still managed to pick it up.

  They were both silent for a moment, before Roger continued, “Take care, man. You’re the only brother I have. That’s what Ed told me just before he drove away.”

  At that point, Roger felt his eyes start to well up with a sudden rush of homesick emotion. He looked into the rearview mirror on the passenger door watching the eastern horizon getting farther away with each revolution of the trucks tires.

  Pete turned the radio on and started singing along with Randy Travis.

  Roger sat quietly, happy to listen to Pete’s rendition. He didn’t want to be the topic of conversation, but he was beginning to realize that Pete could give Barbara Walters a run for her money when it came to getting people to talk about personal things.

  “Not your kinda music, is it?” Pete asked.

  Roger just shrugged and his grin faded as he turned to look down the road.

  “Where’s your home, Pete?” Roger asked.

  “You’re sittin’ in it, Rog.”

  Pete must have seen a look of concern in the boy’s eyes, and added, “Not really, I have a little cabin on a lake in Kentucky.”

  “Is there a Mrs. Pete?”

  “Used to be, Rog. Annie passed last year.”

  Uneasy with how to respond to this news, Roger turned his attention forward. There was a harsh glare, as the sun seemed to be resting directly on the highway in the far distance. Someone who didn’t know better might think the rig was on a collision course with the blazing orange orb.

  “You didn’t mention a girl waitin’ for ya back home, Rog.”

  Again, Roger opened up to Pete. He told him about Paige. How they’d been dating since the eleventh grade. How she had been his first kiss. How they lost their virginity to each other. He couldn’t believe he shared that with Pete. Pete just seemed to have a way to keep him talking. He could be a therapist but instead of a couch he had a truck. Roger talked about their breakup. Paige thought he was selfish taking this trip. How she just knew something bad would happen. She claimed she had a dream that he got hurt somewhere in the desert. She said if he wanted to take this stupid trip alone, then he might as well start practicing being alone. She hadn’t called him since, and she wouldn’t take any of his calls. When he went to her house, she wouldn’t come to the door.

  There was still a glow on the horizon as Roger returned his gaze to the rearview. The eastern sky had disappeared into darkness.

  “You love ’er?” Pete asked with a Dr. Phil, “it ain’t over till it’s over” tone.

  “Ya! I guess I do.” Jeez, he thought to himself. I guess I do. That doesn’t sound very “happily ever after”, does it?

  “She love you?”

  Roger didn’t answer that. He shrugged more for himself than for Pete.

  “Well things’ll work out if they’re meant to, Rog.”

  He never liked being called Rog, but it sounded okay coming from Pete.

  Pete turned the radio back on and they both retreated into their own thoughts for about two hours, while a who’s who of country music twanged out of the radio.

  “I got a real hunger brewing, Rog. What say we see if we can’t find us some food?”

  “Sounds great.”

  The radio continued its Nashville parade. Garth Brooks, Trisha Yearwood, LeAnn Rimes, Clint Black. Roger knew most of the songs. Country is the only music his mother ever listened to. The radio in the kitchen played it all the time. That trip they took to Florida when he was a kid, Dad driving the station wagon and pulling the pop-up trailer, Mom playing the same three tapes over and over again. Even then the tapes were so old they crackled like a bowl of Rice Krispies. If he never heard Kenny Rogers sing “Lucille” again it would be too soon.

  Roger woke with a start as Pete jerked the rig to a stop. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked around confused. For a few seconds he had no idea where he was. The glare of neon and flood lamps of the Coyote Truck Stop caused him to shield his eyes as he looked across a huge parking lot at the sea of tractor-trailers. Two more were coming up the access road. Three were slowly trundling out of the lot, heading in the opposite direction.

  “Wasn’t sure if I should wake ya er not,” Pete said.

  “It’s cool. I haven’t eaten a good meal since breakfast. What is this place?”

  “Coyote Truck Stop, kin get gas, diesel and food. There’s places just like it all over the country.”

  “Is the food any good?”

  “Ain’t eaten at this one. But most will fill the gap in yer belly okay.”

  Roger climbed down from the cab saying, “As long as it’s hot, Pete.”

  A blue haze of diesel exhaust floated around the overhead lights. Roger recoiled at the combined smell of the exhaust billowing from the dozens of trucks’ chrome pipes, fumes from the fuel pumps about a hundred yards away, and the fried food aroma coming from the Coyote Grill. The odors all seemed to meld together into some pungent stink that would’ve squelched the appetite from all but the hungriest men. Pete broke into a near trot catching up to Roger, who was so used to being on his own that he had just pointed his body toward the restaurant and put his long legs in motion.

  Once inside they scanned the place and took a seat in a booth next to the window. They both ordered a burger and fries and ate in silence. Roger gawked around the room like he had just landed on Mars and was stunned by the view.

  “What’s up, Rog?”

  “Nothing, I can’t remember ever eating in a place with hardly any women.”

  “That’s life on the road. There’s more women drivers every year but it’s still mostly men.”

  “You look out of uniform,” Roger said through a giggle.

  Pete returned an amused glance and Roger added, “You’re not wearing a cap with a MACK logo on it.”

  Pete returned Roger’s snicker. When they got back to the rig, Pete told Roger to sack out in the sleeper for a while. Having spent the last thirteen nights on the hard ground, Roger jumped at the chance to stretch out on something soft so he climbed through the hatch behind the seats and drifted off before Pete got them back to the highway.

  Chapter Five

  Leaving the elevator, Scott placed his hand lightly on the small of her back. It was hot and damp in the parking garage. The smell of exhaust from dozens of cars that came and went all day hung in the air. A small car squealed around the corner. Startled, Sarah jumped a step back and grabbed Scott’s arm. Seeing his peevish grin, she immediately released him and continued searching for Thomas’ car.

  “Why didn’t Thomas just have you drive the Charger here?”

  “Please. I don’t think he lets his wife drive his precious baby.”

  “He’s one of those, is he?” Scott quipped as they walked, the sound of Sarah’s heels echoing off the walls.

  Parked directly beneath a set of florescent lights and between two compacts, the Charger looked ominous. Bright red with a black vinyl roof, a black R/T stripe starting at the bottom of the back fenders and up over the top of the trunk lid. Rally wheels and raised white letter Uniroyal tires. The only thing about this car that wasn’t perfect was the personalized license plate, CST VP.

  “Thomas has a bit of a big head?” Scott asked.

  Sarah smiled. “You have no idea.”

  He took the keys from his pocket and walked around to the passenger door.

  Almost in one motion, he put the key in, pulled the handle and swung the door open. Sarah glided gracefully in. Seated, her legs seemed much longer, bent slightly at the knee, her pants hiked up enough to expose her ankles. A small tattoo was now visible just below the bottom of her pant cuff, a dragon or maybe some kind of chameleon.

  “You take your lizard for a walk every night?” he asked.

  “Sorry?”

  He pointed to her ankle.

  “Long story,” she replied.

  Sarah had reached across and pushed his door open. She still leaned across the seat when he bent to get in, so the only place he
could look was down the front of her jacket. She noticed his gaze, grinned and quickly sat up, flattened her lapels against her breasts and looked out the passenger window.

  Behind the wheel, he sat a moment, as if trying to feel the soul of the car. He slid his hands up and down the wheel, surveyed the instrument panel, glanced in the backseat, and then rested his right hand on the gearshift.

  “Hmm!”

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s an automatic.”

  She looked puzzled. “And that’s bad?”

  With a tone that bordered on snarky, Scott explained that most guys who are in the market for muscle cars want to drive a stick. He tried to explain the feeling of becoming part of the car. He considered going into more detail but decided not to; if she had to ask she probably wouldn’t understand.

  He revved the engine a few times before driving up the circular ramp to street level. Scott swiped his room key and the gate rose to let them exit. The sun was still bright and Scott’s eyes had not yet adjusted. Squinting, he was just able to make out the silhouette of a man standing motionless directly in front of the car. He had to brake hard. The car came to a jerking stop on the sidewalk.

  Sounding mildly irritated, Sarah asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Didn’t you see that bum on the sidewalk?”

  “What bum?”

  Scott looked back, apprehension taking over. There was nobody there. It was the fourth time he had seen that creep and once was more than enough.

  “Never mind. Which way to Pierre’s?”

  “Turn left at the first light and it’ll be on the right side about ten blocks down,” she answered.

  She sat silent, staring out the window. Scott did not notice her aloof demeanor as he watched shops and restaurants on Woodward disappear behind them. The traffic was still heavy with commuters. The sidewalk was teeming with pedestrians, scurrying between the tall buildings like mice through a maze.