Drug Run: Chapter 11 – Hot Shower

Editor’s note: for the frst ten chapters of Drug Run, look over at the side bar, or copy and paste: http://gonzotoday.com/2017/11/15/drug-run-chapters-1-7-2/

by Dr. Rocket with Ms. Gonzo

Rob stared at his Olds as if he could materialize a mounted spare into the trunk by sheer force of will. The sight of his car soothed him as he contemplated it, a cherry 1967 Delta 88 that had a fine dark green paint job and only a few scratches. He particularly liked the lines around the rear wheel wells, where the body styling swelled up to accent them. Rob also liked the trunk, which was big enough for his bass amplifier placed on its back.

Ladies enjoyed his sedan too, he mused. Like Suze. But where the hell was the junkyard attendant? All he needed was a yes or no answer to the question he had asked about having the wheel he needed. The greasy character had vanished out the back, telling him to wait by his car.

His mind drifted to Suze. She had hired him to play bass for her band a few months ago, and he’d slowly decided he wouldn’t mind if she fell for him. She had shown no signs of doing so, though she never hesitated to say how much she admired his playing on the Ampeg Fretless that was his pride and joy. He knew Suze was fairly recently divorced, and the band’s drummer had confided that it was a messy one. “She needs some space,” the percussionist had added. Rob felt like he was being warned off.

As for the offer he’d made to Suze to help drive the load, it only became necessary when his regular female driver, Betsy, had dropped out of contact a few days before. Since he knew Suze was headed to the coast, he had offered to drive Suze to the airport with the intention of asking her after the gig if she wanted to make easy cash. That way, if Betsy showed up at the last minute, it would all work out. Betsy hadn’t appeared, and he’d been able to convince Suze with a chunk of cash to take the illicit job. Fine.

Except so far, this trip was really pissing him off, and it was only the second day. He imagined Billy and Suze lounging by some motel pool, with Billy’s tongue lolling out at the sight of the luscious blonde.

He was tempted to call out, or perhaps just drive away. The thought of entering the fenced junkyard compound occurred to him, but he was quickly dissuaded by the the sight of a particularly ugly junkyard dog. The thing was missing half an ear and chunks of skin. It malevolently bared its teeth at Rob in a perfunctory way. Rob rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it all. “Come on, come on,” he grumbled under his breath.

Many miles away to the northwest, Imants had been watching the Triple D Motel with his fathers’ binoculars. They brought the motel door and window into sharp focus, but the sight told him nothing besides the room number. He felt ever-increasing concern at Suze’s inexplicable behavior, growing deeply apprehensive on the drive to the motel as he’d followed the white van. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing, except that he wanted to save Suze.

But was that even possible? She married that horrible loser, even though he’d pleaded with her not to. She’d been offended, and even when he’d been proved right, she still wouldn’t admit to her mistake. He briefly had to wonder if she was worth the bother, but that thought seemed so unfaithful to his ideals of Suze as his perfect mate that he instantly felt self-loathing.

What compounded his emotion was the fact that Imants was still a virgin. He had pledged years ago to himself to remain pure for her, but there were times when he wondered if he wasn’t being foolish. He had even tried a date with Mona Haskins from the church group. What a disaster. He shook his head and groaned. No. No. What to do. He absently rummaged through the Gladstone bag that belonged to his father. He stopped short at the discovery of a Special Agents badge. A plan started to form in his tortured brain.

In the motel bathroom, Suze toked deeply on her first hit of the weed. Used to the usual weak pressed Mexican pot, her eyes widened in surprise at the expansive smoke in her lungs. She held it a few seconds but started coughing deeply, bent over. “Damn, Billy, what is this shit?” she gasped, laughing a bit. Billy took a big hit off the joint, his second. His eyes seemed to twinkle.

“Best reefer in town, is what it is. Here.” He handed it back as she straightened up. She eyed the fuming joint dubiously. The smoke wafted upwards to the whirring fan in elaborate curls. As she inhaled the second time, Billy pulled a hip flask out of his back pocket. It took a moment for her to realize what it was, and when she did she burst out laughing on the exhale. This made her cough more, and she rubbed her eyes, which were starting to water. He traded her the joint for the flask, and she brandished the shiny metal at him.

“Well, you’re the naughtiest boy in town, that much I know. What is this?”


She shook her head and laughed deeply. “You better hope we don’t have to drive any more today.” Suze took a swig, feeling that despite the strength of the liquid that she needed beverage to soothe her throat. The flask felt cool on her lips as the tequila blazed a trail downwards. She was aware of Billy’s nearness suddenly, and his scent again, despite the smoke. Then she noticed she was getting a lot higher than she thought two hits would render her. But could that be right? Perhaps it was the tequila.

“Here,” she croaked, handing the flask back in exchange for the joint, which she examined critically. She sniffed at it and Billy barked with laughter.

“Toke, don’t smell!” She looked at him with reddening eyes, but went ahead. This time she held it without coughing too much. But on exhaling, she realized she was good and high. And, good and high with a much too cute young man. She stared at him in sudden fascination. Those blue eyes, way too deep, and that Roman nose, and the curly dark hair.

Suddenly she remembered with a jolt that he’d seen her nude, just a few hours earlier. He and Rob really got an eyeful, didn’t they? And now here she was, stoned… Wow. Really stoned. With a lusty young stud. Who is making me hotter and hotter, damn it.

She struggled to speak. “Brother, I’m spaced.”

“Yeah, I was surprised by this stuff too, first time. Here, the tequila will help balance it out.

She swigged, not questioning the statement until the fiery drink was going down. That really isn’t likely is it, wondered. She smacked her lips together, from the taste in her mouth, then looked up at his face. Must be at least six foot one. I do like ’em tall.

Billy looked into her eyes, nodded, and started unbuttoning his cowboy shirt. She watched, her hypnosis growing. She fought the urge to help him take the garment off. What’s happening, Billy? What are you doing to me? Unconsciously she moistened her lips at the sight of his abs. Must work out a lot. She wanted to reach out and caress his naked skin. The idea of a nap was fading. Mr. Mose Motorcycle, you were right.

He tossed his shirt onto the toilet tank, and began unbuttoning her blouse. She stood frozen but his hands felt hot on her skin where they touched her naked breasts. He tossed her blouse atop his shirt, his mouth open, almost forgetting to breathe. “Damn,” he whispered with reverence.

“Well,” she murmured, so softly he had to bend closer. “Nothin’ you haven’t already seen.” Their lips met as he lightly traced the line around her right nipple with his index finger. Their tongues explored each others’ mouth as arms entwined. There was no space between them, and his hardness made her wet. Suze felt her body light up like a Christmas tree. Gawd, I’m so horny. Slow down a sec. “Into the shower, Billy Boy.” They disrobed quickly, shorts, boots, underwear, socks flying.

Billy reached into the shower and turned it on, as his face turned red at how big his dick had gotten so quickly. The sound of the water hissing joined the whirr of the bathroom fan along with the ahhhh that came out of Suze’s mouth when she saw it. This kid is really hung. Suze could barely get her hand around it as she playfully pulled him into the delightfully hot shower with her.


It was the Bible that decided him. He worked his memory to recall Psalm 16:8, “I have set the LORD always before me. Because he is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.” Yes. I will walk with him.

He picked up the gleaming badge. Somehow it gave him more strength. He started the car and drove about a block past the Triple D Motel. Taking his father’s Gladstone bag with him, he locked the car and swiftly walked back to the stifling empty motel office, where he impatiently rang the bell. A TV blared somewhere in a back room, the rear door opened, and a wizened body shuffled into the room. Imants held up the badge before the old man could speak.

The sight caused the clerk a visible shudder, and Imants felt a surge of triumph. This would be easy. But, a name. How could he have forgotten to choose a phony? He paused a second as the ancient gaped at him in dismay. For some reason all he could think of was a childhood cartoon character. “Special Agent Casper, FBI,” he said with sudden conviction. The man in front of him blanched at his voice and statement, and his eyes rolled.

“How can I help you?” The oldster was guilty about some crime from long ago, Imants suddenly deduced. Or perhaps something current going on here; no matter.

“I need the key to room 24. Conducting an investigation,” he added unnecessarily, as the trembling clerk almost at once shoved the room key across the counter at him. Imants stared down gravely at the item, as if it was of the greatest possible importance, and indeed, a clue of some kind itself. He realized he was still holding out the badge and put it in his pocket hastily. The clerk’s eyes followed the movement.

“Always happy to help the law,” he said hoarsely. “That room is empty.” The clerk smiled wanly in a manner he hoped was ingratiating.

Imants frowned at him. “Show me your register,” he ordered, and again the statement produced instant results. Imants scowled at the writing.

“I can’t make this out. Mr. and Mrs…. Bizquick? Is that the name given?”

“I thought it was a bit odd, so I asked,” came the wheezing reply. “He said it was Albanian.” Imants sighed, as the man resumed an expression of near terror, adding “He paid cash and some extra for the early check-in, so…”

Imants held up his hand, and cleared his throat. He felt like asking a few pointed and sarcastic questions regarding the name, as to whether he thought his guests were baking in the oven, but held them in.

“Very well, thank you.” He snatched up the key, pocketed it, then lifted the leather bag and strode out into the sunlight, headed down the row of rooms. His shoes sounded loud in his ears on the concrete sidewalk.

The room was unremarkable, the silence near total. He put his ear to the adjoining wall. Nothing. The sound of a TV perhaps, and as he listened for a few minutes he began to think he was hearing muffled voices. Suze? He wasn’t at all sure. He sat on the bed looking around aimlessly.

Suddenly the doubts returned. What was he doing, sitting in this empty motel room?

His mind shifted to Suze’s father, one of the few people in Garland that had ever shown him kindness. The preacher had always been very impressed with his knowledge of the Bible, and Imants in turn had always been gratified by his praise. They had sometimes discussed the meanings of the verses. But always, the fact that this was Suze’s father had intimidated him and inhibited his easy discourse, as he looked at his features that partly resembled hers. Still, they were happy moments, usually, sometimes the best of the week.

And then a bad memory surfaced, of Suze’s girlfriend, Lynn, accosting him as he had walked away from the church on a cold grey day. “You creep, stop sucking up to Suze’s dad. Why are you so weird?” She had hurried away, mouth wrinkled in distaste. He had stood there, crushed, unable to stop from feeling Suze had put her up to it. He had never discovered the truth. But afterwards he had even more trouble talking to the kindly pastor, and gradually stopped. The pastor’s abrupt serious illness and rapid death had disturbed him greatly. His mind swerved away. No. All wrong, wrong.

And then there was a loud shriek of female laughter, unmistakably Suze. He remembered his Psalm. I will be strong. I can do this. But deep down, the numbing doubt remained, gnawing at his guts.

Tune in next time for Drug Run: Chapter 12 – Getting to the Good Part

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About Kyle K. Mann 85 Articles
Kyle K. Mann is the pen name of a contributor to, and publisher of, Gonzo Today. He lives high atop Topanga, California, where owls hoot and coyotes howl. A recording musician since the 70s and radio broadcaster in multiple fields in the '80s and '90s, Kyle sometimes supports himself part time as a Union film crew member in Hollywood. His articles and interviews first appeared in Gonzo Today in early 2015, and some of them are fairly good.