by Dr. Rocket with Ms. Gonzo
(Wanna start at the beginning? Just click!)
Imants, swaying on his feet in fatigue and pain, cradled the pay phone receiver between his shoulder and ear. With his right hand, he put quarters into the slot; with his left, he held a bloodied handkerchief to his aching broken nose. Imants craned his head, looking anxiously for Billy, who had soundly punched his face earlier, or Mose, who had caught him spying on Suze at the motel. Imants was using the phone booth outside of the Last Chance Roadhouse, and felt exposed and vulnerable.
“Haselberger.” His father’s dry, crisp FBI-man tone almost never varied. Imants cleared his throat, and choked. He managed a fitful squawk in his attempt to speak. His father added, “Imants, I assume that’s you. Where are you?”
Imants managed to get his voice back. “Wichita Falls, sir.”
“I see,” came the voice, then followed one of his father’s terrible pauses. Imants always wished he would yell or do almost anything other than fall silent this way. Finally the senior Haselberger again spoke. “I imagine you think you have a very good reason for being there.”
“Yessir.” As often happened under stress, Imants’ mind went blank. The sharp pain from his broken nose didn’t help matters.
“Well? Spit it out.”
“It’s Suze, I think she’s in, uh… terrible danger.”
The pause, ominous and ugly. Then: “Suze the preacher’s daughter, again. Imants, you fool.” Imants sniffled, and tried to speak but his father went on with chilling intensity “So. My government car, and work bag…”
“Here. Yes.” He mumbled a few incoherent sounds, deeply stunned as usual by his father’s emphatic disapproval. But this was beyond that.
This, he abruptly recalled, was the tone of voice he heard his father use just before his mother went away forever.
*****
Inside, the band had finished up their tune. Suze waved and grinned at Zeke from in front of the stage, pointed at Billy and mimed playing a harmonica. Zeke got it at once, nodded assent, and pointed to his right to indicate the stage stairway. He knew Suze had good taste in musicians. Harp player, huh? Probably decent, not just some talentless geek that just blew in and out.
“Come on,” she told Billy, and they made their way through the crowd in front to the stairs at the side of the stage while Zeke spoke into the microphone, thanking the audience. Suze felt energized by Art’s couple snorts of cocaine. Drugs work, she thought. Hmm. But I’m stayin’ far away from this shit from now on. Heavy stuff, I already want more.
Zeke looked over and beamed as he saw her in the wings. He turned back, as his big grin got even bigger, to face the crowd. “Folks, we are in for a real treat this evening. Now I say again, a real treat. One of the finest singers in my experience is going to join us on stage right now, so would you puh-leeze give a warm round of applause to… Suze Benson!”
She stepped confidently into the spotlight, and Zeke respectfully handed her the microphone with a bow. Even before she said a word, she knew the whole thing would be perfect, even more perfect than her last gig. “Thanks Zeke,” she said into the mike in her friendly professional stage voice over the claps and admiring hoots. Within seconds the audience and band knew they were in the hands of a veteran entertainer.
“We’re gonna do something a little different for y’all this evening.” Despite the bright lights, she noticed Mose walk back in, but kept on going. “This is a tune that was a hit a while back, and it’s been a pretty popular number over the years, “Turn on Your Love Light!” And… we have a hot young harmonica player named Billy to do some honkin’ if the band won’t mind.” Billy walked on stage, bowing gracefully to the musicians and then the audience.
The seated steel guitar player, a wiry older type with tanned creased skin and a big smile, spoke to Suze into his microphone. “No ma’am, we love guests, and I’ll play the tune’s horn parts, gonna be fun. Mixer, blues harp on my mike.”
He handed Billy the microphone off the stand in front of him, saying “In G, right?” Billy nodded vigorously as Suze continued working the crowd, praising the room. Billy quickly tried a single Hohner Marine Band harmonica note through his now hand-held microphone to gauge the volume and see if there was feedback, but it was fine. In fact, it was just right, with a nice bit of echo. Wow, Billy thought. Great sound mixer.
Suze glanced over at him, smiling confidently, then turned back and faced front. “Now people, this tune has a drum break, so you can clap along. Ready to help me out?” Voices yelled “yeah, alright,” in reply.
She nodded at the band, winked at Billy, and yelled slightly off the microphone “One, two, one-two-three-four!”
Off the drummer’s badop-bop came the steel player with the horn riff bwah-da-da-dip, and she gave him a grin of gratitude, doing a dance in rhythm. Suze faced the audience as the introductory groove was established, nodding at the acoustic guitarist who played a familiar um-chuckka um-chuckka, and then Suze sang the opening lines.
“Without a warning, you broke my heart… “
Her voice was warm, powerful, evocative and had a slight Texas twang. The audience liked it.
”You took it darlin’, and you tore it apart..”
Billy held back at first as she built the song up, smiling and moving with the beat. He chimed in perfectly on his harmonica the first time she started the refrain, with a soulful wail that was more blues than country. No matter, by this point the audience was dancing and loving it. In the crowd, Art’s eyebrows went up when he heard Suze singing his favorite Bobby Bland song. “Damn!”
“Turn on your love light!” she belted, using the gravel she had at the extreme range of her volume. The crowd let out a roar.
Outside, Imants could hear Suze’s voice in the distance as his father dressed him down on the phone. He felt like electricity was shooting through him. She was singing something, and people were shouting. He gasped, causing his father to stop talking, and after the obligatory pause his father asked angrily “Are you even listening to me?”
At the drum break the crowd was completely cooperative as Suze clapped over her head. Many of the audience began clapping and a few just howled like maddened wolves at the moon. Suze milked it, turning and dancing in front of the burly drummer’s kit. He pounded out the rhythm solo as she gyrated, sweat breaking out on the percussionist’s forehead. She turned back to the crowd, everyone still clapping vigorously in time.
The room rocked with shouts and the hand claps. At the bar, Rob stared in astonishment. He’d played bass in her band for numerous gigs, but had never seen her do lead singing quite like this. She was on fire! Everyone around him was clapping along, even the bartender. Rob looked back to the stage now with mingled jealousy and admiration, and an undercurrent of angry paranoia. They were transporting a load of weed to California, not playing on stage! And yet, damn… this was kicking ass…
Suze, laughing a bit for sheer joy, approached her microphone stand and grabbed it with both hands. She started belting out vocals again, just her and the drummer’s accompaniment.
“I get a little lonely, in the middle of the night…”
Shouts in reply as she hugged her bare midriff and twisted her body, with a playful grin.
“I need you darlin’, to make things alright…”
More shouts, even louder.
“Turn on the light! Let it shine on me.”
Now came the part where, on the original Bobby Bland recording, he shouted with total gravel in his voice, “Turn on your love light!” Suze used her loudest raspiest tone, pulled it off, and it supercharged the room.
Near to pandemonium in the dancing audience now as she called out the classic lyrics, still just her and and the pounding drums. She looked over at Billy, to see if he was ready for his harp solo. “A little bit higher…” she sang. Billy gave a short honk in rhythm as a reply. Oh yeah, she thought.
As the band came back in and Billy tore into his solo, she turned to him fully and looked into his eyes in amazement. Billy winked back. The kid knew the sax solo on the original recording, and played it perfectly for the first half, with the potent repetitive backing of the steel guitar player. Next Billy began improvising virtuoso runs and trills, his body bent over, the high notes filling the room and electrifying the audience. Different stuff, and fun!
Billy was playing to the crowd, the musicians on stage, and especially Suze. He performed on the blues harp with an exuberant skill she found shocking. Indeed, their first-time ever sexual consummation, only a few hours previously, fueled a crazy energy between them, linking them in an energy flux that somehow actually matched their earlier ecstatic union in the motel. Billy was playing in a trance state, wailing skillfully like mad like his harmonica heroes Paul Butterfield and Little Walter.
Luke, the generous band leader, recognized that something unique was happening. He twirled his finger and nodded at Billy to keep playing. When ya got it going, keep it going, and indeed Billy kept the momentum building, blasting out sonic brilliance as the band kicked strongly under him. It was as if God had taken Billy to a place few mortals could attain.
Suze danced next to Billy, clapping in time and laughing with joy at his extended display of improvisational blues harp wizardry. He ended up with a slurring blast of notes as he looked in her direction, buh-loo-ya buh-loo-ya, then topped it with an even wilder riff, bwee-loo-yahhh bwee-looooo-yaaa. “Oh yeah!” Suze yelled, and turned back to her mike stand. “How ‘bout it folks, give him a hand…” The crowd went went nuts, roaring with approval. Suze looked over at Zeke and waved him over to her.
Zeke approached Suze and sang harmony with her in the last verse, Billy contributing short fills. The pandemonium in the crowd continued. She counted out a closing one, two, three, four and the band stopped on a dime. Wild applause and utter mania followed.
Rob, already overwhelmed earlier by Suze’s on-stage persona and chops, was freaked out by his brother’s outstanding musicality. It shocked him deeply. Kid musta been woodshedding for a while. Man, that kicked ass. Rob shook his head at the obvious chemistry Billy and Suze displayed openly on stage. Almost a little too openly. Rob felt a surge of jealousy.
Mose stood in the crowd near Rob, his lips curved up slightly. His eyebrows raised as the crowd began shouting for more. A tall black man in a black outfit and cowboy hat pushed past him, working towards the stage. “Scuse me, sir,” he said. Behind Art followed the man in the cowboy shirt, his face twisted with rage.
*****
Suze let the rabid applause play out and then exclaimed “Thank you, everyone, and let’s hear it again for my harp playin’ buddy (Suze paused a moment) …Mighty Billy, and, of course, Zeke and this amazing band, the Waggin’ Wheels! Thanks so much!” She held her hand out to the musicians, thinking to herself that she was glad to have remembered their band name from Zeke’s intro.
Shouts of “More, more!” were starting, and Suze quickly handed her microphone to Zeke, said in his ear “Thanks Zeke, what fun,” kissed his cheek and waved at the crowd. Time to go. Straight for the bar, get Rob, get that friggin’ purse fulla money, and get out! Straight for the bar, now!
As Suze gracefully hopped down off the front of the stage she was greeted by a mass of bodies, many yelling their approval. She shook a number of hands and received the compliments gracefully. Really, what fun, what great fun, if only it was always this easy.
Still on stage, Billy felt concern for a number of reasons. He had come inside the Last Chance Saloon to warn Rob about the vandalism attempt on their pot-filled van. Instead, Suze had hijacked him immediately into the best performance he had ever played on a stage, and his head was spinning with pleasure. But now he had to follow Suze, fast.
Hmm, but first things first. He handed the microphone back to the steel guitar player and thanked him. The steel player give him a big smile and thumbs up. Billy saluted Zeke, who also grinned and nodded, and the rest of the band, many of whom respectfully thanked him back. Billy then followed Suze by going straight off the three-foot stage edge and into the crowd, several of whom complemented him.
Suze, buzzed and laughing, pushed towards the bar and walked straight into the outstretched arms of tall black Art, whose teeth gleamed in the indirect light of the stage. “Damn Suze!” He yelled happily. “You just wailed on that Bobby Bland tune! What a set of pipes ya got there!”
Without thinking Suze hugged him back, instantly reimpressed with his muscular physique, and now his musical knowledge. Except for Zeke and his band, probably few in the room even knew who Bobby Bland was. He crushed the air out of her briefly and let go, chuckling with admiration. Suze was about to thank him when she saw the drunk cowboy shirt dude behind him, fist knotted, about to swing on Art from behind. She instantly gave Art a big shove to push him out of the way. “Look out,” she screeched.
Billy rushed forward, having only seen Suze’s shove, but he realized what the problem was when he saw the sloppy roundhouse swing from the cowboy miss. “Hey man, cool it,” he screamed at the hostile drunk. Suze was shouting too, and Art, quick on the uptake, stepped back and put his massive arms around the drunk, who stood in immobilized surprise. Several people nearby, not understanding, muttered in disapproval, one man growling “Get that niggah outta here.”
A massive bouncer appeared seconds later, grabbed both Art and the cowboy by the arm, and yelled, “Take it outside, gentlemen!” He pulled Art and the agressive drunk skillfully towards the door, aided by the suddenly-appearing bartender. Rob stood, still at the bar, frozen with horror.
Fights at the Last Chance were a were not an uncommon occurrence, although the working class crowd of nearly 300 men and women were mainly out to drink and dance to music, hopefully even hook up for the evening… not get tangled in a fight. As the only black man in the bar, Art’s presence had been duly noted, but mostly ignored by everyone except the drunk cowboy.
Suze pushed her way up to the bouncer. “Wait a minute, he didn’t do anything wrong!” Her objections were lost in the din. The bouncer gaped at her uncomprehendingly.
Billy rushed up from behind and grabbed her arm furiously, shouting, “Suze, we can’t. Think! We have to get out of here.”
Suze looked at him in confusion. “Billy! Why is he, what is….” She spoke unthinkingly as the crowd milled around them, a curious few heading for the front door to watch the byplay. The sounds of shouting outside coincided with Zeke introducing the next tune. She shook her head at Billy, who was trying to lead her away.
“Billy you saw it. That damn cowboy was gonna knock him down. He was just being nice,” she protested. Now Billy shook his head, took her hand, and hustled her through the agitated audience towards the bar. “No, wait,” she said halfheartedly, but she suddenly got his motive. Right. She caught sight of grimacing Rob, arms crossed, ahead. Cops. Questions. Time to go.
Rob wasn’t wasting time. He handed her the purse, and said emphatically to them both, “Whatever that fight’s about, out the back door, now. We gotta go.”
The brothers propelled Suze to the rear of the hall with her still craning her neck towards the front. Zeke, observing this from the stage, waved as he sang, but he could see something was wrong with Suze. His forehead furrowed in puzzlement. He wanted to jump down from the stage to find out, but he knew the show must go on, so he sang his lyrics as she and her companions disappeared into the dark behind stage.
*****
The trio burst out the saloon’s backstage door. Everything seemed a bit exaggerated to Suze. The pressure of Billy and Rob’s hands on her arms, the crunch of the gravel under her feet, even the smell of exhaust from cars nearby. Rob’s voice sounded harsh and grating to her as they strode quickly along the side of the building to the main road and the motel on the other side. He was saying something about driving, leaving, she wasn’t sure. Suze looked up suddenly. The night stars above were cold and distant.
Still three abreast, they crossed the parking lot and the empty two-lane highway and went past the Triple D Motel office. Through the window they could see the old clerk was dozing at the front desk, eliciting an angry snort from Billy. The geezer was supposed to be watching the van after Imants had tried to pour water in the gas tank. Billy grumbled under his breath.
Suze looked back over her shoulder at the Last Chance Roadhouse and observed a crowd of people outside. She couldn’t see clearly what was going on. All she could do was hope Art wasn’t in a fight. Suddenly impatient, she shook free from the brothers’ grip. “All right, I’m all right.”
Billy critically examined the van, then opened the door to the motel room with his key and the three rushed in. Suze felt a bit of a jolt seeing the bed where she and Billy had been thrashing wildly only a few hours before. It felt like years ago. Pack, gotta pack, so we can go. But there was nothing to pack, her suitcase was still in Rob’s trunk. She stared at the brothers and frowned. Could this get any messier?
Rob stood in the middle of the room, furious. “Great music, but let’s go. Get your stuff, let’s get out.” Billy gathered his few possessions: a bag of food, his Castenada book, a light coat; his booze flask, which he guiltily stuffed into the paper bag with the food. Rob glared, then entered the bathroom and emerged with Billy’s boxer shorts. Rob had hung the item disdainfully on the end of his index finger. That triggered Suze’s memories again, and this time she couldn’t help blushing with a giggle. Oh God, he knows from my reaction. Oh no, this is terrible. I’m an idiot. Oh God, oh God.
The three stood silently, looking at each other, momentarily frozen. No one seemed able to speak until Billy grabbed his boxers off his brother’s finger. Rob took a shuddering deep breath. “C’mon. We have gotta get outa here.”
*****
Imants had gaped when Art and the drunk had been ejected from the roadhouse onto the gravel parking lot full of cars and pickup trucks. He watched, holding the phone handset away from his ear as his father began shouting. Two men were skuffling. The drunk stumbled and fell. He struggled up to his feet, ignoring Art’s outstretched hand, and staggered away.
Several patrons of the roadhouse had stepped outside to watch what they hoped would be an interesting fight. They hooted with disappointment and taunted Art.
“Thought you’d pick up on that pretty blonde, didya, boy.”
“You’re in the wrong bar, blackie. Just cuz she sings like an angel don’t mean you can just come on to her.”
Imants suddenly realized the incident was about Suze. “Dad, I’ll call you back,” he gasped, and hung up. He resolved to go inside to see if Suze was hurt and needed his help, but his steps towards the front door halted when he saw Mose exit. The biker, again. Imants lowered his head, hoping not to be seen, and slinked off to the side, feeling even more humiliated.
If Mose saw Imants, he ignored him in favor of the several men taunting Art, all of whom fell silent at his stern look. Art and Mose regarded each other briefly, and each nodded. Art dusted off his cowboy hat, turned and walked away through the parking lot in a dignified saunter. Mose looked back at the would-be tormentors who had resumed mumbling amongst themselves. Mose silenced them again with a lingering glare and then turned to follow Art. Imants stood in the shadows indecisively, trying to make sense of it all.
A battered pickup tore past between the parked cars. There was the thump of impact, a yell of pain, and a skidding sound of tires on gravel. Mose saw Art’s prostrate form on the ground and ran forward as the truck’s reverse light winked on. He grabbed Art’s arm and yanked him out of the way to safety. The backing pickup truck missed Art by a few feet and braked to a halt again.
Frustrated, the drunk cowboy roared out of the parking lot flinging loose gravel and burning rubber once he reached the pavement. His tail lights dwindled in the distance. Someone ran up to help Mose carefully carry Art towards a bright street light at the entrance to the parking lot. Art half-consciously looked up at Mose’s face, grunted a thanks and then closed his eyes.
“Call an ambulance,” Mose said in a powerful voice, but no one moved. Mose pointed a finger at one man. “You! I said, call an ambulance…now!” Mose dug in his pocket and flipped him a dime. The man caught it and nodded, overwhelmed by Mose. He turned and ran towards the pay phone.
*****
Imants, deeply appalled, moved away from the Last Chance Roadhouse building and started walking, stumbling occasionally, towards the motel. He didn’t hear Suze singing any more, so… Had she left the building? She must be going back to the motel. He’d go there and wait. His broken nose throbbed, still dripping a few drops of blood.
Abruptly he stopped. No, wait. Not the motel. He would have to watch events from his father’s car. His father… he’d hung up the pay phone on him. No time to call back now. Oh my Lord. Help me. Help me Lord. Please.
Everything was ugly and getting weirder. He’d failed to sabotage the van Suze was traveling in, had gotten seen and punched, and now again had to focus on the vehicle. He squinted ahead. There it was, that suspicious van, still in the motel parking lot. But wait, wait. Only one thing mattered now. It pounded in his brain like a steam hammer.
Where was Suze?
Tune in next time for another exciting episode of Drug Run: Chapter 16 – Devil Woman
