by Dr. Rocket with Ms. Gonzo
[Publishers note: GT has been on an extended vacation and the only regulars producing anything whatsoever, albeit slowly, are the authors of this tale set a half century ago. We expect to return soon, with any luck.]
(Wanna start at the beginning? Just click!)
Rob, steering his ‘67 Oldsmobile Delta 88 with one hand through the warm Texas night. moodily glanced at the Colt 45 pistol that was dimly visible on the seat beside him. It was the M1911A1 version, he recalled. Strange that he remembered that so clearly. Well, it was written on the side, but still…
His now-incarcerated father had given it to him the day before his dad had gone off to jail for that tax charge. He could still see the pained expression on his dad’s face as he explained why he was giving the weapon to Rob, and a brief history of the weapon and how he had used it to shoot the enemy in Italy back in the 40s during the war. Rob grunted in mild disgust. The Italian people hadn’t deserved being forced to be allies of Nazi Germany. Here in 1975, over 30 years later, that seemed obvious.
Guns, ugh. He stuck the pistol back under his seat and squinted at the road ahead as his mind churned in lugubrious circles. He belched, then grinned faintly at the thought of the excellent steak he’d wolfed down at the roadhouse. At least he’d had a damn good meal. But, now I wanna hit the rack.
Indeed, Rob was bone tired. He, and his brother and Suze in the drug-filled van ahead of him had been on the road less than two hours, but the general lack of sleep, delays, numerous unfortunate incidents and resulting high level of stress were taking a toll. The thought made him yawn, and he let out a groan as he exhaled. It sounded loud in the car, even over the wind sound from his drivers side window where it didn’t quite roll up all the way.
He considered what to do, and concluded they were better safe than sorry. Already he noticed the van ahead was swerving a bit more than was advisable. Damn the kid. Rather than bark out another warning over the CB, it was time to find another cheesy motel. He flicked on his interior light and looked at his map. Next town, Childress. OK, they would gas up and get some sleep. Should be able to drive all the way across the Texas Panhandle and New Mexico into Arizona tomorrow.
He shook his head at the picture stuck in his head of Billy and Suze. Unprofessional and embarrassing behavior, and personally humiliating. All right, just get this run over with, and next time get better people. He rubbed his unshaven jaw several times. Up ahead some lights from structures came into view. Motel? He grunted as the lights got closer. Nope. Just a farm house.
Billy and Suze, both not wanting to get into heavy talk, had spent the last half hour talking music, and had finished off the flask. The tequila had restored some of their feeling of amiability and optimism, though indeed Billy was an indifferent driver and his tendendency to speed was pronounced, so much so that Suze had gently advised him to ease up a couple times.
As the night had progressed the temperature had dropped a bit, and Suze had untied and rebuttoned up her blouse which she’d previously modified for her appearance on stage with Billy. She had felt a bit weary but the alcohol had stimulated her, and she was enjoying the conversation, which distracted her from thinking about the violent strangeness engulfing the three of them, her and the two brothers. The booze-fueled talking had included a discussion of the roots of the blues and their influence on popular music. Their animated chatting was heating up. Suze, nodding thoughtfully thinking of Billy’s excellent performance at the Last Chance, asked Billy who his favorite blues harp player was.
”Paul Butterfield,” Billy stated solidly. “Never saw him live, always wanted to.”
”Well don’t wait. I always wanted to see Janis, and now…”
”Right. Both could sing their buns off.”
”Butterfield ain’t dead though.”
”He might as well be. Seems washed up. Janis didn’t play harp, not many gals…”
”Big Mama Thornton. Sings and plays harmonica, wrote that Hound Dog song.”
Billy nodded respectfully. “Yes ma’am. OK, my other influences, there’s Papa Lightfoot.”
”Who’s that?”
Billy took a deep breath, considering how to explain who one of his musical heroes was. “Well, ahh…”
Rob’s voice crackled over the CB speaker.
“Hey Wheatbread, let’s stop at this Texaco up here, top off, and look at that motel down the road. If it’s not too shabby, we should get some rest.”
“I hear ya.” Billy put the handset back, and looked over at Suze. “If we can, let’s have some more fun.”
“Well, hmm… I dunno, Billy. Things are so screwed up.”
“I could come visit you in the night, heh heh.”
“Maaay-be.” She added quickly, “If the coast is clear, but I seriously doubt it.”
Twenty five minutes later she stood in a cheap, but reasonably clean motel room with her open suitcase beckoning the delights of clean clothes. Billy had his room next door, and Rob had decided he’d sleep in the van to protect the load. Sure, fine. A shower, and donning her comfy flannel nightgown cheered her considerably. Her watch read a bit after midnight. What a day. Art, I hope you’re ok. Mom and Sis, Dad wherever you are, love to you. Blessings to all, and good night. She was asleep not long after she laid her head on the pillow.
At the gas station Imants filled his tank, thinking about his conversation with the attendant, who had noted and expressed concern over Imants’ bloodied nose and general poor appearance. Irate, Imants had curtly told him that he was fine, though his hand trembled as he paid over his money for the gas and a soda.
The attendant, a balding middle aged man who had seen all types of fatigue in his years on the job, gently suggested that he park his car on the gas station apron and get some sleep. Imants suddenly realized he was getting a break, and thanked him. He did in fact look quite bad, with black eyes and rumpled clothes.
Now, as the gasoline flowed into the sedan, he glared balefully at the motel. This situation was intolerable, even though he had seen Suze go into her separate room. He thirstily guzzled the soda. Better, that’s better. It can’t go on like this. Something has got to give, and the Lord is with me. He suddenly resolved to break into her room and confront her. He would convince her by sheer force of will and The Blessing of God to return with him to Garland.
He looked around, remembering the terrifying female demon that he had seen earlier. But… that was a hallucination. Wasn’t it? His eyes rolled. Just his hallucination. He put the gas nozzle back, and staggered a bit. Gotta move the car. Get in, turn the key. You can do this. Help me Lord. Help me do this.
He parked the car where he could watch the motel and the vehicles. Too late to phone dad, he’s asleep. Awful talking to him when he’s awoken, on top of the horrible situation. Sitting behind the wheel with his hands at his side, he felt a wave of tiredness so strong that he closed his eyes. OK, I’ll just rest a minute. In seconds his head lolled back and he was completely passed out.
*****
Suze was dreaming of old-style ballroom dancing, but she wasn’t sure who she was dancing with. He was a big man and led beautifully, but she couldn’t see his facial features. It was mildly frustrating, in the illogical fashion of dreams, but a bit excitingly sexy at the same time. “I want to see you,” she murmured.
“Suze.”
“Wanna see your face.”
“Suze, it’s Billy. You’re dreaming.”
“Billy.” Her eyes fluttered open. “Billy!”
He was standing next to the bed with a Bic lighter ignited. He smiled gently. The flame flickered in his hand.
“I’m sorry, I woke you. You were talking in your sleep.”
She frowned. “Billy, what the hell.”
“I thought I heard some noises and got up to check it out.”
Suze blinked at the flame. A bit of a smile tugged at one side of her lips. “Right, so then you thought you’d check me out.”
“Well, something like that. I did bring the pot.” He lit a substantial joint, and took a big hit as she goggled at him, speechless. He handed it to her, but she sat up in the bed instead.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eye. “What time is it?”
”Here, have a hit.”
”No, what time?”
“Oh, almost dawn. I figured seven hours was enough sleep. Anyway, hard to sleep with you so close…”
“Wait, how’d you get in here?”
”Ya left the door unlocked, thought you did it for me. Let’s party.”
“Billy,” she whispered furiously, “what about your brother and the motel people. You are actin’ way too crazy.”
Billy calmly took another toke and again offered it to her. “Aaaah so what. This is our only chance to have some fun. Rob’s gonna make us drive like fourteen hours today. Let’s take the opportunity while it’s here. Anyway, he’s fast asleep in the van. Mister Sentry.”
In his father’s big FBI sedan, Imants woke with a jolt. His face and his broken, bloody nose started to throb at once, and he reached automatically for the aspirin bottle in his father’s Gladstone bag, washing the tablets down this time with the warm remnants of liquid in the soda can. The bag had given him a mild jolt, reminding him of his father. The bag troubled him for some other reason that he didn’t understand, and he looked away. He noticed the lights were off at the gas station. Suze! The car, the van! Ah, there they were. His watch read 5:30 AM. OK, it’s OK.
His whole head ached with a stabbing pain. He opened the car door and got out. Dizzy, hard to stand straight, but feel better. Suze is there. Dad will be awake soon. I’ll call him. He’ll yell again, I bet. Gotta explain better. No. Talk to Suze first. Reason with her. Yeah. Where’s that lockpick?
Billy’s wild charm had failed to wear down Suze’s resistance. OK, double down. With one magnificent motion he grabbed the back of his shirt collar and pulled the garment off over his head. Suze gasped. He really does have a hot body.
“So now I get my own private strip show. Thanks, but…”
“Not enough time to do it right,” he whispered. “Just a bit of a tease.” He turned his back, then dropped his jeans, leaving him in his jockey shorts, gyrating his ass in her face. Those buns are hot. He’s right, if we’re gonna have any more fun on this trip…
*****
A shot boomed just outside. Billy and Suze both jumped.
Imants had crept up to the door, and was once again horrified to hear the unmistakable sounds of confidential conversation on the other side. His tormentor and his beloved! He could no longer wait for the time to be right. The time for action was here, even if he were to die in the attempt.
His hand was shaking as he inserted the lockpick tool he thought most likely to work, and he dropped the packet with the dozen or so other tools with a mild clatter. The talking inside masked the metallic sound in the room, but woke Rob, who had cracked the windows on the van. Looking up, he noticed Imants’ form hunched over the doorknob. Revolver in hand, he eased the drivers door open and snuck down the length of the boxy vehicle.
Suze’s voice was like a dagger in Imants’ heart as he poked furiously with the metal tool. Simmering rage flowed through his tortured brain, hindering his unskillful attempt to open the door. Suddenly he was afflicted with a new horror; what if the door chain had been attached? No sooner had he begun examining this dismal thought Rob’s low, grating voice sent a jolt of exquisite fear into his guts.
“Freeze motherfucker or I blow your goddamned head off!”
Fight or flight. Dropping the tools again in his haste, Imants turned and made a break for it. One step. Two. Time seemed to slow way down, each step taking a year. Three steps, picking up speed.
The sound of the gun firing and the blossom of hot pain along his arm sent Imants into deep shock. He involuntarily staggered, grunting. He was hit! But, how bad? No time to stop and look, of course. Keep running. Hope to get away yet again, and avoid an unthinkable disaster.
Rob was horrified at the loudness of the gun’s firing, and though he was tempted to fire another, he felt he had better quit. He had winged the guy, he knew that. He’d seen the stagger and heard the reaction. But, he was an idiot for shooting, an idiot, this would bring attention, maybe cops, and cops would be more interested in the van than his story. The van! Perfect!
He ran to the van and turned the ignition key. The engine fired up at once, and he smiled gratefully. He hopped out again, and looked down the row of motel windows and doors. Sure enough, several lights had come on and a few heads were sticking out cautiously.
“Sorry, folks. Van backfired, gonna hafta get it tuned up soon.”
The heads mostly withdrew, though one grizzled character stared at him in disbelief. “Bullshit,” the man said, frowning. “That was a shot.”
“Hey, believe what you want. But I don’t see any bodies.”
The man looked briefly around, then scratched his head and grumbled something Rob couldn’t hear. The door slammed shut. Rob exhaled and reached in his pocket for the spare key to Suze’s room. Though he didn’t believe anyone had phoned the cops, there was still a chance. They had to get back on the road, at once!
Imants staggered to the gas station phone booth, clutching his arm. For no good reason he was upset about the dropped lock pick tool. Gone, lost. He called his father’s home office in Garland collect, watching the motel down the road through the glass. His father, usually up before dawn, accepted the charges calmly. Imants spoke right up. “Dad, I’ve just been shot.”
The pause was much shorter than usual. “How badly?”
“Hit my arm. Bloody.” Imants’ voice shook. “Broke my nose last night, too.”
Axel Hassleburger was not a man given to dithering in an emergency. “Is blood pumping out? Has an artery been hit?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll look.” On examination, the wound wasn’t as bad as it felt. “No, it’s not pumping. More like oozing from a long gouge. I’ll be ok, I think, but dad, I’m pretty sure Suze is being kidnapped by drug smugglers. I tried to tell you last night. It’s not just that I love her. I think she is in danger, serious danger.”
Hassleburger Senior shook his head. For the first time in years, as far as he could recollect, he was surprised beyond words.
*****
Imants’ father had been an FBI Special Agent for over twenty years. In that time he had been privy to a number of sensitive affairs, including the aftermath of the JFK and Martin Luther King assassinations and the COINTELPRO operations, and had contacts with other agencies including the NSA and CIA. He had seen a lot, done a lot, and seldom discussed any of it with anyone. As such, he was one of the most trusted operatives in the Bureau.
Prior to that, Axel Hasselburger had served in both World War Two and Korea, working his way from a Private to a battlefield officer promotion, eventually an honorable discharge as Major. He was a hard-bitten man who was set in his ways, and took no guff from anyone, even his superiors, and was accorded grudging admiration for his toughness and willingness to engage with his fists when necessary.
His marriage had never really worked the way he had hoped, and being a father had been a distinct disappointment. He had felt Imants’ mother had babied the boy while he was away, which was often. While he was grateful that Imants rejected the hippie mannerisms of his peers, and was an active Christian, deeply knowledgeable in the Bible, he thought Imants to be indecisive and weak, and found much to criticize in his son’s demeanor and choices. He doubted his son could muster the rigorous training required of an FBI operative. Imants current dilemma reaffirmed this belief. How could he allow himself to get shot? Idiot!
Imants had never been interested in sports, and seemed to be hopelessly, socially inept. But what had troubled the father more than any other single aspect was his son’s fixation on Suze Benson. The girl was trouble, Hasselburger felt, and had turned away from her father’s Christian beliefs to an alarming degree. Furthermore she was a rock music singer, and performed on stage in questionable venues with marginal people. He and Imants had argued about her for years.
The only thing that gave him hope about the situation was her seeming indifference to Imants. He waited for Imants to lose interest, but it appeared that even her marriage had failed to dampen Imants’ ardor. Her quick divorce sparked Imants into new heights of obsession, and now Hasselburger was about ready to write Imants off as hopeless.
He had listened to Imants haltingly tell his tale with barely-in-control rage. Still, his shooting gave the story a new spin. Whoever shot his son would be made to pay, he decided. He would call the field office in Amarillo. This had gone on long enough. First he needed more information from Imants.
*****
Rob, having just fired his first-ever shot in anger, was numbly astounded when he popped open the door to Suze’s room with the spare key. Billy was hopping across the floor, attempting to put on his jeans, while Suze sat up in bed with the sheet pulled up to her neck. Both were disoriented and disheveled, and the smell of pot was thick in the air.
“Oh, goddamn,” he growled at the sight of his brother’s unfortunate baggie of pot and half smoked joint on the motel table. He grabbed the bag and joint and stuffed them in his pants pocket. “We go, now! I just shot some skinny shorthaired freak at the door, tryin’ to break into the room while you two were going at it. I don’t, we don’t have time, we need to get out right fuckin’ now!”
Billy looked startled at Rob’s words. He sheepishly grabbed his shirt and socks. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide what. Finally, he blurted “Shit, and some asshole was messing with the van’s gas tank last night, and I busted his nose.” Billy paused as Rob stared at him aghast, jaw dropped. “Dude was one ugly weasel, long narrow face, and I reckon I didn’t improve his looks.”
Rob frowned at him. “And you didn’t tell me? What the fuck is happening, what is this shit?” Picking up steam, Rob cursed wildly in all directions.
Billy tried to explain the cascade of events at the Last Chance but his quiet stammering merely exacerbated Rob’s anger. Then Suze, both frustrated and embarrassed by Rob’s rage and her unwitting part in this latest fiasco, and deeply alarmed by the information of the shot and the broken nose, swung her legs over the side, and jumped up from the bed.
She took a deep breath, ignoring Rob’s furious muttered curses. “Hey! Get out, you two,” she said in the clear, decisive voice that she used when leading her bands. “Get out, let me get dressed, and we’ll go.”
They both turned and stared at her. “Out, I said. Get out!”
Rob recovered first. “Keys. Give ’em here,” he said to his sibling. Billy gaped and then fished the van keys out of his jeans pocket. Rob snatched them out of his hand and slapped them down on the table.
“You’re drivin’ the van, Suze,” Rob ordered. “Billy’s riding with me for awhile.” He grabbed Billy’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “Come on, lover boy.” The sound of the door closing shut sounded harsh and accusing to her. She stood unmoving for several seconds and then took a deep, jagged breath.
As she pulled on her jeans, Suze had a terrible feeling suddenly that she knew who was trying to get into the room, and why.
Tune in next time for another exciting episode of Drug Run: Chapter 18 – Random Revelations
