by H R Jones
Feeling cold sweat beginning to roll down his chest, he said, “Do you mean Heber?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the place. Heber.” Dillon saw Rory’s face go pale. “Hey, you okay, man? You look a little peculiar.”
“Huh? Uh, no, no, just trying to place the name…”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Huh? No, I, I get these little spells now and again. I must’ve ate something...” He laughed a hollow laugh. “Look, Damian…”
“It’s Dillan…”
“Yeah, Dillan, it’s been great seeing ya. Maybe we’ll run into each other another time.” He tipped his hat. “Well, I better get back to the motel.” He got up, shook Dillon’s hand and left.
Dillon sat for a few minutes wondering what had just happened. It was the most peculiar thing. He was sure it wasn’t the food which made his dinner companion turn pale. It must have been the lady’s name he’d mentioned. “Still, it’s odd…”
~ * ~
Rory’s skin prickled as he felt the blood slowly returning to his face. He drove to the motel as fast as the law would allow, threw his things in the suitcase, paid his bill, started up the big, old Buick and left town in a cloud of the dust from the unpaved streets.
Rory never bothered to ask Dillon if the blonde and her sister still lived in Vegas. What was the sister’s name again?” he struggled to recall. As soon as he’d heard Libbie’s name, he’d zoned out. “I think it was Rose, no it was a guy’s name, like Riley, no…Ronnie. That’s it, Ronnie. He’d have to take his chances. He should have asked the name of the casino where this Ronnie worked.
~ * ~
When Rory reached Vegas, he found a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city, checked in under an assumed name, and took the room for a month. He figured, with any luck, he’d be able to find Libbie by then. He quizzed the motel’s proprietor, asking if he knew any small casinos off the strip. The man was a newcomer to the area himself, and barely had a clue where he was, never mind anything about ‘The Strip.’
~ * ~
That night, as he lay in bed, he began to plan how to locate Libbie. He nodded off, and then like a bolt of lightning, Rory had an idea. He sat up in bed, Libbie was a great little waitress. I’ll check out the little cafes, and mom and pop restaurants around the city. She’d have to work if she was living in this town, and she wouldn’t be one to work in some big, fancy restaurant, She likes the small intimate settings.
After driving around the perimeter of the city, he’d found one little casino which seemed to fit the description of the place Dillon mentioned. He’d looked but hadn’t found any other small casinos on the fringes of the city.
He entered the Roller Derby Casino, sat at the blackjack table, played a little while, all the time keeping one eye on the cocktail girls as they sidled by hawking drinks and chanting, “cigars, cigarettes,” as they weaved their way through the casino. He didn’t see anyone matching Ronnie’s description.
On another evening, he entered the Roller Derby, and while sitting at a slot machine, he noticed a pretty, statuesque blonde. He motioned her over to order a drink, and to get a good look at the lady’s name tag. She was quite the dish, he observed, putting another fifty in the ‘one armed bandit.’ He watched her closely as she wove her way between the tables and slots. She eventually stopped at a nearby table. Her long blonde hair cascaded down over her milky white shoulders and back, as she asked in her low sultry voice, “Cocktails, cigars, cigarettes?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her long shapely legs and ample breasts, as she moved between casino patrons. Eventually, she made her way toward him. As she came closer, he could read her name tag: Ronnie. If she wasn’t Libbie’s sister, he would have made a move on her then and there, but not knowing, he needed to be careful.
“What may I get you, sir?”
“Yeah, honey, a scotch and water, and hold the water,” he flashed his biggest seductive smile and tucked a five dollar bill in her cleavage.
“Sure thing, handsome,” she said with a wink.
Wow, I could really get into her. Funny, she doesn’t look anything like Libbie, if she is her sister.
When Ronnie returned with his drink, he said in a chatty way, “Any more at home like you, sweetheart?” and laughed.
She cocked her head, smiled sweetly, handed him his drink, turned and left.
He finished the drink over the next hour or so, all the time watching Ronnie. It was getting late. He went to his car, hunkered down to wait and see which vehicle was hers.
He drifted off.
The sound of slamming car doors and loud, raucous laughter nearby woke him. Rory wiped his steamed-up window with his elbow and peered out. He saw the beautiful blonde get in a car with a well-dressed gentleman. It was well after two a.m.
Before long, the windows were steamed over and the car was rocking. When nearly an hour passed and there was no sign of Ronnie exiting the vehicle, he gave up, waited until another group of people passed and left.
Over the next week or so, he went to the casino several times to see if he could figure out Ronnie’s schedule, with no success.
During the day, he poked around the mom and pop cafes, coffee shops and diners on the city’s edge.
During his third week in Vegas, he happened upon a little diner located in a residential area. It was odd, but it was just the sort of place Libbie could be anonymous. As he was about to go in for a roll and a cup of coffee, he caught a glimpse, he thought, of someone who resembled Libbie. He didn’t want her to see him, so he backed off. Soon the place was packed with people and Rory didn’t get another opportunity to get any closer. A few days later, he returned and this time was pretty sure it was, indeed, Libbie. She was taking an order, facing the window. At one point she’d glanced up. He thought for sure she may have seen him.
Over the next few days, he drove past several times to see if he could figure out her hours. He finally determined she must work the early shift, which ended mid-afternoon. Next he’d have to find out where she was staying and get rid of her.
~ * ~
On one of the days Rory had driven by the café, at what would be Libbie’s normal quitting time, she happened to see the big old black Buick and knew she was no longer as safe in Vegas as she’d hoped to be. She knew she’d have to move quickly, and would need to find a safe, fast way out of town, and a place to hide, away from Rory forever.
Twenty-three
Rory was sure Libbie had seen him sitting in the car at the café. Knowing he’d have to change tactics, he took his car back to the motel and rented another vehicle. He had to get rid of the Buick if he were to find out where Libbie went after work. He was able to rent a little VW Beetle.
For several days he staked out the café and watched for Libbie. To his dismay, she never appeared again. Throwing caution to the wind, he finally went inside.
The bleached blonde babe, snapping her gum, approached Rory as he sat at the counter, perusing the daily specials.
“What’s looking good to you on the menu today, sweetie?”
“A good friend of mine was in here awhile back said he had a really great waitress, by the name of Libbie. Would that be you?”
“Nah, she skipped out a while back. I’m her replacement.”
“Any idea where she might have gone? I was sure hoping to catch up with her. My friend said she’d show me a really good time,” he said with a wink.
“I could show you a good time, hon, for a price.”
Before Rory could reply, Chuck, the owner came out. “We got more customers than just this pretty boy, Kitty. Take his order or turn in your order book. I swear I never had none of this with Libbie.”
“But Chuckie, this guy was asking ‘bout Libbie, what was I to do?” she asked, batting her long false eye lashes.
“To begin with, Libbie’s old news. And don’t call me Chuckie.” He turned to go back to the kitchen.
“Hold on Chuckie, I was told Libbie was one of the best wa
itresses around. Why would I stop at this hole in the wall restaurant when I could have any number of choices on Fremont Street?”
Chuck came around the counter to where Rory was sitting. “Like I told Kitty, Libbie’s old news around here. She was one hell of a waitress, but one morning she called in saying she quit. I got no reason, no notice, nothing. I was left high and dry except for this one here,” he said jerking his thumb in Kitty’s direction. “Now, would you like to order something or would you prefer to go back down to Fremont Street?”
“I’ll have the special with lots of gravy and coffee, black.”
After finishing his meal, he had to admit it had been pretty good, especially for the price. Before leaving he slapped a fiver on the counter and left the café.
Back at his hotel room, he thought about what Ronnie had told him. He had a general idea of what he was looking for, even if he didn’t know where to look. It was too bad Ronnie had that terrible accident.
Tomorrow morning, he’d call the car rental company and have them pick up the VW at the hotel. He needed to get out of town and out of town quick. If he left right away, he could be in Arizona by sunup and call the rental company from a pay phone. Hell, he’d paid a big enough deposit. They wouldn’t be losing any money. He packed his clothes, left the key on the dresser along with a hundred dollar bill. There was no use in burning any bridges in Vegas.
Once in Arizona, he stopped at a repair shop to have the damage to his car fixed. He told them he’d hit a coyote. No one questioned his explanation. A few hours later he was on the road again. No one would ever associate him with Ronnie’s tragic death.
~ * ~
It took a couple of years, but Rory accidentally caught a glimpse of Libbie in, of all places, a kiosk in a little berg in New Mexico. He was sitting in a restaurant across the street and watched as she left the kiosk and went into a bar.
He figured it must be her quitting time, considering another young lady took her place. Curiosity got the better of him and he went over to the bar. Not seeing her there, he went outside and saw an old man getting into a flashy red convertible. He threw a bag of something into the back seat of the vehicle, got in and peeled out of the parking lot.
By the old man’s gait, Rory knew it had to be Libbie. He’d have to stick around for a while and try to find out just where she went.
It took a couple of weeks, but he was finally able to track Libbie to a cabin off the main roads to the near-by town.
He parked in a grove of trees near a stream, and hid behind the cabin waiting for Libbie to come home. After she parked her car in the shed, he approached her.
“You’re damn hard to find, Libbie. You’ve led me a merry chase.”
“I don’t know what yer talkin’ bout, mister. Ain’t nobody ‘round here by that name. My name is Otis Riesler.”
“Like hell it is, Libbie. I saw you at the kiosk you were working in Snowflake.”
He reached for her, but she was too quick and made a dash for the creek. His luck held, and as she was going down the embankment she tripped. It only took a matter of seconds to overtake her. He could tell she’d hit her head and was unconscious, but he needed to make sure she was dead.
As he drove out of New Mexico and into Texas, he wished he’d at least had a chance to be with Libbie one last time. Instead, he had to leave her at the water’s edge. He wouldn’t be able to take her back to his special place at the farm.
Thinking of Libbie, he started to laugh hysterically. She was going to give the undertaker a real shock when he took off her clothes and figured out Otis was a she.
Twenty-four
About two years after Margo’s extended stay in Riverside, she met a fellow, Harold Dewey, who enjoyed booze and drug-induced ‘highs’ as much as she did. The only way they could shack up was to drive to her place in Buckton. Harold didn’t care. He was living pretty high with Margo, and would go any place where he could still enjoy all the benefits she provided. Hell, he had no mortgage, electric, heat, phone, etc. and didn’t need to pay to be with her anymore; it was a sweet deal.
Margo had let herself go and drifted into an alcoholic fog. She no longer seemed to care, even though there was money to spare, and a guy to keep her happy, Harold wasn’t worth a penny. He did know what she liked or how she liked it. She figured it was a win-win situation. With Harold around, she no longer had to visit ‘Mr. D.’ for her fixes. Harold had his own connections.
The arrangement worked out well for a time, until Margo felt used and abused in a whole other way. She was doing all of the cooking, laundry, cleaning and paying of bills. Harold had nothing and did nothing but watch T.V., eat her food and enjoy the luxuries of having a nice place to live. Because he had no real income, they never did anything or went anywhere, unless Margo footed the bill. After several months of living like that, she’d had it and ‘kicked him to the curb.’
“Well, Harold, I think it’s time we broke up this little party. You need to find yourself another woman to live off. I’m done. I’ll no longer be your cook, cleaning lady or bed partner. Pack your bags. I want you out of here…today. Like now, Harold!”
Harold bustled around trying to grab hold of her and hopefully change her mind. “But, baby, we’re so good together, like pretzels and beer, hot dogs and mustard…you need me.”
“No! I don’t need you, Harold. You are one of the last people on earth I need,” she shouted. “The only reason, and I mean the only reason you’re here at all is because you don’t have to do anything and you don’t have to pay for anything. You’re a freeloader, Harold, and, you know what, I don’t even like you.”
Upset that he knew he was going to lose his meal ticket, he became aggressive; he charged at her, pushing her to the floor. He was about to take liberties with her, when with all the strength she could find, she kneed him in the groin. He rolled off her in pain.
Margo ran to the kitchen drawer and took out the longest serrated kitchen knife she could find. Going back to the bedroom where Harold was still writhing on the floor, she said, “Get up and get out of here, Harold, or I’ll cut the damn thing off,” and she began wielding the knife in a threatening way, close to his privates.
Actually fearing for his life, and holding himself for protection against the mad, knife-wielding woman, he grabbed his clothes, clutching them to his body ran for the bathroom, and locked the door.
“Five minutes, Harold, and I want you out of here. Five minutes, you hear?” She’d raised her voice to double decibels.
She heard him in the bathroom mumbling to himself. After a few minutes she hollered at him, louder than before, “Time for you to leave, Harold. Come out so you can get out of here and out of my sight.” With that she balled up her fist and pounded on the bathroom door, “OUT!”
There was a scuffling sound as he opened the door a crack and blurted, “Don’t swing that knife at me. I’m leaving, I’m leaving, you crazy bitch.”
With that, she turned the knife in the direction of his privates. “Out, Harold!”
“Okay, okay!” He opened the door a little wider and made a mad dash for the front door.
“I don’t ever want to see you or hear from you again.” He was barely out the door, with only his long pants on, and some clothes tucked under his arm, and almost caught his foot in the door as she slammed it shut. As she looked out the window, she saw him running down the road, hell bent for leather. She didn’t know why she’d put up with him for as long as she had.
She began to laugh…a genuine, full on, belly laugh. She suddenly felt free for the first time in a very long while.
Twenty-five
A few nights after Harold’s departure, Margo, a bit high as well as under the influence of alcohol, drove to McNulty’s. She was tired of cooking and craved a good burger. It was a Tuesday night, the little pick-up band was playing some old sentimental tunes, and the place was nearly empty. Margo didn’t know many of the folks in the old place anymore. Even the bartender was new. When she�
��d finished eating, she headed out to try the new bar she’d heard about, down the road. Maybe she’d meet someone there.
As she started across the parking lot, she saw the big black car drive in. All the old stirrings immediately made her heart leap in her chest. Her need for Rory Star was so palatable, it took her breath away.
Margo tried to appear nonchalant as she weaved across the parking lot, pretending she hadn’t noticed him drive in.
“Margo? Margo baby,” he called, as he ran to catch up to her. “What’re doing here?” he said, breathless. “I haven’t seen you since, since, since when? You look great? How about a drink?”
“Oh, Rory,” she demurred, “what a surprise!” She hoped she looked surprised as she giggled and patted her hair.
“Well, what do you say? A quick one for old times?”
“Sure, but just one.”
“Right, just one.” He said just one, but he knew there would be one more, and then just one more, and the rest would be easy.
He laughed that laugh of his and took her by the arm, guiding her past the bar, and steered her directly to the back room. “Do you want the usual, Baby?” he asked with a knowing wink.
Margo nodded. She primped a bit while he was gone, and dabbed a little lipstick on her full, pouty lips.
He returned with their drinks and slid in next to her, his face suddenly before her, his sensuous lips kissing hers, as she felt his fingers caress her cheek. His tongue began to search her mouth and his hand snaked its way to find her weakness.
Margo felt herself flush. The heat radiating from his body as he maneuvered himself closer to her, made her moan. She knew she should never have agreed to have a drink with him, but all she could think about, was how he made her feel. She quickly forgot all the bad times, and there’d been many, too many actually, she’d experienced with Rory, but now they’d become just foggy memories because of the drugs and liquor.
