Drug Run: Chapter 13 – Motel Mess

by Dr. Rocket with Ms. Gonzo

Billy’s state of excited shock was so profound that he was incapable of coherent speech. He lay back on the bed, oblivious to the blaring TV playing the 1952 Gary Cooper movie “High Noon” and the air conditioner sounds or even the noise of his own deep gasps. 

There was only one thing going on in his universe: Suze’s lovely body straddling him, taking charge of of their imminent coupling. His eyes glazed with disbelieving bliss; he stared at her shapely contours with the intensity of a laser beam.

Imants, in the room next door, tried to place his thoughts into order. As usual, he failed at considering Suze dispassionately, and the ineffective effort caused him self-loathing and anger. Was Suze in danger? How could he help her, if so?

He put the glass to the wall again, placed his ear against it, and misinterpreted the sound of the old western movie. Gunshots! Gotta save her, save her now, hurry! But wait, who would shoot Suze, the sweetest being in the entire world?

Puzzled and near panic, Imants turned, grabbed his father’s Gladstone bag, which comforted him somehow, and yanked open the motel room door. He walked quickly to the window of the next-door unit and put down the leather bag. Rejecting caution for haste, he peered through a gap between the curtain and the frame, using his hand to shade his eyes from the glaring reflection of the hot Texas sun. 

What he saw his mind rejected. Not possible, Devil’s trick.

He refocused. No. God, no. He felt a jolt of shame and humiliation deeper than any he had ever before experienced. Pain, as extreme as losing his mother. Worse somehow. Horror beyond his wildest imaginings.

Yet, mixed in was excitement and voyeuristic lust. Undeniable tenting in his pants caused even greater shame. His nude beloved, hideously being ravished out of wedlock by, by….his thoughts stopped registering in words, and he struggled with a desire to pound on the window and break it. To scream deeply and endlessly. To run away as fast and as far as he could manage.

Yet, frozen, Imants was compelled to watch the unholy obscenity of the scene when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He yelped, jumped away and whirled. His mind reset and locked on to the man standing in front of him. It was the long-haired biker, the one he had been passed by on the highway, now wearing an expression of mingled pity and contempt.

“You lose something, buddy?” the character murmured to Imants in a deep, dangerous tone.

“I… I was… was…” Imants stammered. Hearing his own voice, sounding cracked, hapless, hopeless, he stopped, cheeks flushed. I lost everything, everything. He shook his head as the biker crossed his arms.

Imants broke free from the intolerable gaze that looked right through him, and he turned and fled back to his room, forgetting the Gladstone bag. Mose watched him go, briefly glanced at the window that had caused such distress, and then more carefully at the bag Imants had left on the pavement.

Mose stared at the bag for a moment, and rubbed his jaw. A slight frown crossed his features. He looked again, winced, took a step backwards, shook his head, and then ambled towards the motel office and entered.

Behind the motel desk, the crusty old clerk eyed Mose warily. Mose nodded at him and asked, “Who is that guy in the crew cut and plaid shirt?”

The geezer’s furrowed face turned away. He sighed, tired of the mess. His hands fluttered aimlessly. “Who wants to know?”

“Me. Just saw him peekin’ through a window that wasn’t his.”

“Yeah.” The oldster shrugged. “Says he’s FBI. Thought he looked a bit young. Flashed an FBI  badge.”

“Right. You believe that?”

“Hell. I dunno. Maybe not.”

“Maybe not.”

The clerk’s forehead wrinkled up even more than his age had rendered it. “Goddamned punk.” He hissed like a teakettle. “Some kinda day-um weirdo then. Disturbin’ the guests.” He looked at the phone.

“Don’t. Cops won’t help this situation.”

“Hmm. Yeah.” The clerk scowled, then nodded vigorously.

Mose regarded him thoughtfully. “Anyway, I warned him off. Just wanted to see what he said to you.”

The old clerk looked relieved.”Well, OK.”

“Did he park here in the lot?”

“No idea, sir. I only see a couple cars. Might be on the street.”

“OK, thanks.”


Mose strode outside. He looked again the Gladstone bag under the motel room window, and again rubbed his jaw.



Driving slowly through the streets of Wichita Falls, Rob growled out loud, frustrated by his fruitless search for the van. Pangs of hunger assailed him, and he pulled over at a burger joint. Inside, he sat at the counter, ordered and then went to the wall phone in the back, to look at the motel listings in the yellow pages.

Rob was again thinking of his and Billy’s father. Alone in that horrible jail, caged like a dog. Damn them all, those tax cops. Tax evasion, pah. He’d show ‘em, this was the drug run where he could come up with serious dough and put up the money, a solid retainer, to a major lawyer with some juice. His poor dad had been railroaded by that joke of a public defender into pleading guilty. If it took some big money to spring him, so be it.

His dad’s features swam into his view. Dad, his own father, now doing hard time in a Federal pen. Unthinkable. Why, that crook Nixon wasn’t even in jail, so how could his dad be? And how many innocent people had Nixon killed, killed, in Cambodia and Vietnam? His old dad had killed no one. Fuckin’ no one! Just some numbers that his dad had noodled wrong.

Rob shook his head clear, focusing on the yellow pages. All right. Let’s see. Motels. No not that one, or that one. Prolly the Triple D. Musta missed it coming in. Right. Goddamned good old boys in the truck, pissed him off, distracted him. Ok, got it. Rob sat back down at the counter. Where the hell was that waitress? As if in response she appeared, smiling, with a plate of burger and fries. The thick juicy burger tasted as good as it looked, and Rob nodded with surprised enjoyment. Maybe his luck was improving.

A few miles away, in the motel room, Imants’ mind writhed in exquisite torment in a hell he had elaborately constructed and evolved for years. He fought against the flames of madness with all his might, but he knew he hadn’t the strength.

Even when she had been married he still thought of Suze as his girl, but now, not even cloaked in the official sanctity of marriage, she had given herself, given her beautiful body, to the nasty boy in the motel room next door.

The possibility that she was being sexually violated against her wishes was nil: he had seen, had actually seen her. His mind blanked again. He stifled sobs, tears clouded his eyes. 

Imants wanted to run out the door, flee this terrible room of shame and eternal failure, but he feared the motorcycle owner’s incandescent eyes, again seeing into his destroyed soul.

Jesus, please save me. I prostrate myself in prayer to you. Let me be free of this pain. I will serve you forever. Please make it stop. Please. Please.

As if in ironic response, the moaning beyond the wall rose in volume, matching and then surpassing the television sound. 

Suze. Suze. Stop killing me this way. I want to die, even burn in hell with the Devil torturing me. Can’t go on.

His teeth ground together. He had often imagined the day when they would make sweet love together, achieving mutual ecstasy, starting a family of strong healthy children. His brain froze in another, higher octave of horror. Children! What if she were to conceive with this nameless lout?

More chills of horror coursed through his brain and body as a wail of unmistakable carnal pleasure lanced his sensibility. “Ah, ah,” Suze was chanting repeatedly, and now a banging sound of the bed’s headboard slamming into the wall rocked him to the core. Obscene pictures streamed past from his flagellated imagination, and without thinking he began fisting himself in a crazed pain parade of masochistic images so beyond his experience that it was somehow transmuted into ghastly aching delight. He was degraded, doomed. He would burn forever.

The moans, gasps and shrieks, and the loud banging sound of the headboard hitting the wall went on after his own moans left off, and Imants, frantic, heedless of the frightening man who might still be outside, opened the door and looked in all directions. His father’s Gladstone! Imants grabbed the bag, staggered, and then fled to the car, emitting nightmarish gasps he could not control.

Through the window, the wrinkled motel clerk watched him go. Good riddance. Whatever that boy’s problem is, I’m mighty glad it ain’t on me. But dammit, the room. He’d have to get the maid to clean it.

In the end unit, through his open door, Mose watched Imants lurch off beyond the motel parking lot down the street with the bag in his hand to a beige sedan parked near the motel driveway entrance.Mose walked outside as Imants, clearly distraught, fumbled with the keys, threw the Gladstone bag inside, leaped in the vehicle and tore away, rubber squealing.

Mose nodded to himself. Glancing around he noticed a sign across the street that read “Last Chance Roadhouse.”  His lips curved back in an easy smile. But instead of heading towards it, he approached his Indian motorcycle, patted the seat absently, and looked up to the sky.


Hwaaaaaa! Waaa waaa! Hwaaaaa…

Imants became dimly aware of a loud sound. Truck horn, going on and on. He abruptly realized it was an oncoming semi, and that he was halfway into the oncoming lane of the two-lane highway.

He gave a frantic twist of the steering wheel, overshot his lane and scraped a guard rail, sparks flying. The big rig roared past, horn still blaring, its tone suddenly lowering with the Doppler Effect. Imants straightened the car out into his lane and shook his head, gasping. Almost killed! How long had he been driving blind?

He found that his throat was choked up, and that he was crying. How long, and where he was, he didn’t know. Imants contemplated for a bright moment the fact that he had almost been in a fatal accident and was lucky to be alive. Lucky. Was that the word though? He refocused his tear-filled eyes.

Up ahead, a sign… “Leaving Wichita Falls, Come Again Soon!” He shuddered, took a deep breath, and pulled the car over, splashing through several deep muddy roadside puddles. Ahead, a few scattered buildings and beyond the endless prairie that led back to Garland and the rest of a lonely life without Suze, his One and Only. No. That can’t be it. Not my future.

He got out and numbly examined the scrapes and body damage on the passenger side to his father’s new car, and then lurched into imagining his father’s probable reaction. Meaningless, he didn’t care anymore. It all seemed trivial now compared to…. His consciousness shied away from the unthinkable catastrophe he had witnessed and his own obscene reaction to Suze being willingly ravished. Ignore that all. What he had to figure out now was if there was anything he could do to save Suze from those evil men she was with. 

Had they drugged her against her will? Where were they going? What were they going to do with her? What exactly was in that van? His hands clenched into fists. Unthinkable to drive back home to Garland until he knew. Go now. Go confront this ghastly horror.

Shoes splashing through the puddles, he got into the car and turned it around, headed back to the Triple D Motel.


Mose was still by his motorcycle. He stepped back into the shadows as Rob’s Olds pulled into the lot and parked next to the van.

Suze was asleep in the bed next to the window when Rob knocked at the door. “Billy!” Rob’s muffled voice spoke. “Billy, is this your room? C’mon let me in.” Billy was nude, numb and watching the movie but now with the sound off, pulled on his jeans and threw the door open. Rob eased in and shut it quietly.

“Man, where you been?” Billy rumbled. Almost at once Billy giggled inappropriately as it hit him all over again that he, little ole Billy, was now the luckiest man on earth.

“Don’t ask,” Rob growled softly in reply, immediately annoyed with his brother’s clownish demeanor and lack of shoes and shirt. Turning, Rob took note of Suze, still passed out, tousled golden curls spread all over the pillow.

Billy wiped the grin off his face and tried his best to look sober. “Tell me ya got the tire. Need a wheel too?”

Out of respect for Suze sleeping nearby, Rob continued to speak softly. “Yeah, God damn it. What a shitty time I had of it.” He nodded in Suze’s direction. She snored, Rob noticed. “What’s up with her?”

Billy scratched his head. “Said she got no sleep last night, what with the late check-in and the wake up call she had with that thief.”

Haha, Suze and I fucked each other’s brains out, big bro… you sap. For once I win. And she was the all-time best in the sack. What a hot fuck, can’t wait to do that again, and by God, she’s as lovable as they come. Hell, I wanna marry her. Thinking these thoughts, Billy tried, not succeeding very well, to keep an inane grin off his face.

“Only got one room?” Rob said, looking around. Wait now. What’s that smell? Could that be… 

“Yeah, well we thought you might be comin’ right along and we’d go on after a swim.”

“Hmmp,” Rob grunted, sniffing a bit, with dim suspicions growing in his thoughts. Nah. Billy ain’t that stupid.

“Bathroom break.” Rob turned, opened the bathroom door. Light on and fan whirring. Rob’s nose wrinkled. Shit! He was right!

“Billy…” Rob hung his head. “You dumb fuck. You fuckin’ got high in here.”

“Well, yeah.” Useless to deny it. Billy turned away and Rob grabbed his arm.

“Look here, you need to start actin’ like a pro if you’re gonna run with me,” Rob hissed ominously, a bit more loudly. “I’m not gonna wind up like Dad.” Suze stirred, and mumbled something.

Billy wrenched himself free from Rob’s viciously tight grasp with a violent movement. Billy hit the wall with a thump, his flailing arm knocking a table lamp over. Crash! Suze abruptly opened her eyes, knowing something was wrong.

“Hey, hi Rob. Good to see ya.” Her voice was raspy, and she cleared her throat. Well this looks awkward, she thought. Her clothes… bathroom? Shit.

“Suze.” Rob nodded at her, and then noticed her eyes were seriously bloodshot. Rob whirled on his brother, doubly angry and now a bit jealous. “You motherfuckin’ moron,” he growled. “You got her high, too!”

Mose slowly walked past their room, glancing at the Olds now parked next to the van. Raised voices from inside. The door flew open and Suze hurried out. She clutched her purse, looking disheveled as she buttoned up her blouse, turning back to say “Dammit, I’m gonna to go to that place across the road. Ya’ll work it out, and let me know when you do.” She closed the door firmly, saw Mose and gave him a mildly embarrassed grin. “Oh. Hi,” she said.

“Suze. Greetings.”

Suze looked at him in amusement. “How was your nap?”

“Too short.”

“Yeah. Well mine too.” She smoothed down her hair, conscious of looking frazzled. “I did get a bit.” She grinned suddenly. Damn. Got something better than sleep. Oh, baby. Her grin faded. But there might be a price. 

The brothers’ argumentative voices grew louder, and Suze edged away from the door of the room. “Uhh, hmmm.”

Mose looked at her curiously. She sighed and pulled a small bottle of eye wash out of her purse, squeezed a couple drops into each eye, put the bottle back in her purse, then smiled brightly at Mose. She looked around to the street, taking stock of the surroundings, then licked her lips, suddenly aware she was ravenous. She turned back to Mose.

“Think that Last Chance Roadhouse across the street is any good?”

Mose nodded. “I’m told it is, by my sister. Like some company?” 

She considered briefly. Sister. That made him part of a family, she could relate to that. The yelling continued from the motel room, and Suze nodded. “Sure.”

Mose smiled gently and stuck out his elbow at her. She impulsively took his arm.

From his parking spot down the street, Imants recoiled in his seat. Oh Lord no… Now Suze was with… That Biker Guy. A red haze drifted past his eyes. He reached into the Gladstone bag, and pulled out his father’s pistol again, made an exhaling, whooshing sound and then threw it back in the bag. No.

Imants looked at his father’s familiar bag on the passenger seat, as if for the first time seeing it clearly. The bag almost seemed to faintly glow. He stared at it. Impossible. He shook his head violently, as his mind throbbed with freakish thoughts, which he tried to push away.

Imants drearily groaned as he sat and watched them cross the street together and enter the saloon, arm in arm. A loud bass drum was banging in his brain. He felt like he wanted to sob, but his chest was too tight.

It seemed to Imants that his torment would never end.

Tune in next time for Drug Run: Chapter 14 – Last Chance

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