Ride to the Rat Hole
Page 3
punched the gas. “Party time!” he howled. Labelle looked at me with her fierce blue eyes, her lips red, moistened by the tip of her tongue, her hand on my thigh. She leaned and kissed me, pushing her hot, sticky body into mine. Tryg whooped and cheered.
A car horn honked.
“Ferris, get out of the street. Let’s go,” Earl called, down the block, facing me on the sidewalk.
I looked over at him and back to the Chevy, still idling, waiting for the light to change. Labelle and Tryg sat looking forward. With the green light, they drove off, down the street. I watched their taillights shrink and disappear in the dusty night air.
I caught up with Earl, and we walked side by side on the wide sidewalk. I saw a time/temperature sign that read 7:49, 97°.
“Why do people go on and on about Vegas,” Earl said. “This place is a rat hole. There’s nothing but cement and dead dirt.” It looks like the moon.
“It works if you have money,” I said.
“How much money do you have?”
“About fifty bucks.”
“Me, too. I think we’re going to have to pull a two-for-one.”
“Where?” I said.
“See that sign up there, `King of the Road Motel?’ That looks skanky enough.”
“Who’s paying?”
“You go in and pay.” Earl stuffed his hand in his front pants pocket, pulled out his bills, and handed them to me. “I’ll duck in after I boost us some dinner from the Shop Rite across the street.”
I shuffled my feet and got in step with him. The hot, breezy night made my tired body feel light and loose. It would be nice to have a bed and a shower on our last night on the road. I glanced at the strip mall to my right and saw a small yellow sign above a storefront picture window with neon letters that read Rat Hole. The small parking lot was empty except for three chopped Harleys, angled in front of the door.
“There it is,” I said, pointing. “Trygve’s party palace.”
Earl, in full stride, pack bouncing on his back, didn’t hear me. He didn't turn his head. "Oh, well," I said, and hurried to catch up with him.