by Dr. Rocket with Ms. Gonzo
(Wanna start at the beginning? Just click!)
Billy walked briskly out the motel room door, trying to hold back a sudden burst of amusement despite the edgy situation he, Suze and his angry brother Rob were in. He sobered at the sight of their drug packed van, filled to the roof with cases of highly illicit substances. He thought about the gas-tank vandalism attempt he’d thwarted only a hour earlier. Damn, I hope that weird-looking guy didn’t mess the vehicle up when we were onstage.
Billy looked around the motel parking lot and rubbed his knuckles, remembering the full-strength impact of his fist into the dude’s nose, and the resulting sickening sound of cartilage snapping. Wow. From finally making it with his longtime fantasy Suze to a crunching punch, and then playing his best blues harp ever live onstage with Suze and a hot band and roaring big crowd. That’s a lotta things, first time ever…
He looked closely at the van.
Man, I’m hungry. Rob forgot my meal he promised me.
Suze came out the door of the room looking flustered and defiant, blouse still tied up for the stage. Billy stared at her admiringly, then shifted his eyes to Rob, who followed Suze. Rob shut the motel room door, left the key in the lock, and scowled at Billy. Gotta tell him about the weird guy trying to pour water in the tank. Billy spoke up hesitantly, “Rob, need to tell ya about this…”
Rob grimaced at him. “Save it. Hear that?”
In the distance, sirens wailed, getting louder.
Rob grimaced even more dramatically. “Cops come over here, we’re toast.”
*****
Standing beside the van, Suze looked across the street but couldn’t see what was going on in the parking lot of the Last Chance Roadhouse. Billy had quickly hopped in the driver’s side and unlocked her door.
Rob, having hastily gotten in his Oldsmobile Delta 88, was already backing out of his space, embarrassed and angry by his seeming discovery of his brother’s sexual adventures with Suze, and now feeling deeply paranoid about encountering police officers.
“I just have to know if Art’s OK,” Suze told Billy as he started the van.
“Who’s Art?” Billy asked, a bit annoyed as he backed up. Man, Rob’s look just now was scary. He knew his brother was deeply upset with him and Suze, even if he had no real right to be. He hadn’t thought Rob was going to be so freaked out. Dude is way over the top. Not sure what to say to him. Still didn’t tell him about that character I socked. Might be just as well.
He noticed Rob was waiting for him to go first so Rob could follow along behind as usual to keep cops off the van’s tail. The geezer in the office had roused himself and was standing at the door, watching them. Billy didn’t feel like talking to him, and they had to get out. Damn bastard. Hope the van didn’t get vandalized anyway. The sirens got louder.
He put the van in drive and looked over at Suze, who was staring at the roadhouse. Suddenly he realized she hadn’t answered his question. Art must be the black guy who she shoved to keep him from getting sucker punched. How’d she know him? Maybe another musician. Ok, fine. “I’m sure he’s all right, Suze,” he said. He winced. Sounded a bit lame. Well, I tried. What’s going on across the street?
They both looked at a knot of people looking at something on the ground. Suddenly one of them, a teenager, ran towards the motel, yelling to the elderly clerk, “Somebody’s hurt, Mister Walford! He’s all bloody and everything.” The sirens coming continued to get louder.
Suze gaped out the front windshield, noticing Mose in the parking lot, holding people back. Mose looked over and saw the van and Oldsmobile pulling out of the motel lot. His expression was grim.
“Oh no, no,” she moaned. She fumbled for the door handle. “Stop, Billy. Stop the van, I mean it.”
Billy however was having none of it and had accelerated as fast as he dared out of the motel lot. By the time Suze had the door open, he was past 35 miles an hour.
“Billy!” Suze yelled. “Stop and let me out!” As if in reply, a wailing ambulance, closely followed by a police car, screeched past in the opposite direction headed for the roadhouse.
Billy stepped on the gas. He held his hand out towards Suze in a wordless appeal and glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. Suze stared at him for a moment, came to her senses, put her hands to her face and began sobbing softly. She knew he was right; it felt so wrong.
Imants followed several cars back. His nose was giving him stabbing pain and even, he realized, his mental condition was dubious. No sleep and now all this. And, he’d hung up on his father, a first. There’d be hell to pay for that. Now he was plunging on further into northwest Texas, headed for the Panhandle. But she needs help, she’s in great danger. Oh Lord, help me in this. Help me, please help me.
Imants looked at the bag on the front seat beside him. The bag was… faintly glowing? He rubbed his eyes, and looked again. No, nothing. He resumed his prayer, practically chanting.
Rob stared at the van tail lights in numb confusion. Did Billy really fuck Suze? The fucking punk. He saw Suze blushing in guilty confusion. He got her high in the bathroom and got her naked. Oh fuck fuck fuck. And now the cops. Do they have a description of the van? Goddamnit. Shit. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. The pain brought a moment of clarity. Of course the cops weren’t on to them. There was nothing to connect the van to the disturbance in the parking lot.
As Mose watched the onlookers turning to see the emergency vehicles pull up, he slowly took several steps back. Nothing more could be done here. He faded into the darkness beyond the streetlamp, crossed the road a couple hundred yards down, and walked back to the motel through the empty lot. No one, including the aged clerk, noticed him slip past the swimming pool gate and into his motel room. He quietly closed the door behind him.
*****
Outside of town on Highway 287, Billy handed Suze a small, clean handkerchief from his front pocket. Having one was a habit he had picked up from his father, who was generally fastidious about his appearance. I gotta write you again soon. Yeah right. Dear ol’ Dad. Having a great time running drugs, playing harmonica and boffing a beautiful blonde singer. Wish you were here, and I bet you do too. Your dutiful son, Billy. P.S. Please advise date of next parole hearing.
Suze took Billy’s handkerchief gratefully. She dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, then remembered her makeup. “I’m afraid I’ve smeared your nice hanky up,” Suze said. She sniffled, then started a brief, shaky laugh, and turned away, looking at the lights of a distant farmhouse out in the darkness.
“‘It’s ok.” He turned over some additional comments in his mind, none of which seemed appropriate. She’ll speak up when she wants to. Let her simmer down. Billy turned his attention to driving.
Ten minutes went by, as Suze stared blankly ahead, and finally with a sigh she said, “I feel like that was all my fault.”
“The fight? Why?”
“I shouldn’t have been so friendly with him in that dumb cowboy bar. He was so brave just being in there, and him huggin’ a blonde singer who was just on stage was askin’ for trouble. And that drunk redneck was trying to coldcock him, and…”
“Yeah, that’s when I walked up. At first I thought he was getting fresh with you, but then I saw that shitfaced fool staggerin’ around. But I think a lotta people did think that….”
“Yeah that’s it. I surely hope he’s not hurt real bad.” She bit her knuckles. “Oh God.”
“I doubt it, Suze. He just got roughed up a bit, I bet. He’s prolly gettin’ patched up and walking away.”
Suze allowed herself to be comforted. “Mebbe. Hope so with all my heart.”
“So buck up. We were having a pretty good time up ’till then, I thought.”
Suze gave a wan smile, and turned towards him in her seat. “We were, weren’t we.” Suze shook her head, attempting to reset her thoughts. “Billy, you should be playing in a professional band; you are that fine of a player. Hell, if you sang you could lead a band.”
Billy chuckled. “Way too hard.”
Suze smiled just a bit more broadly. “Well, it ain’t for the faint of heart.”
Billy fell silent, wondering if he felt challenged by Suze, but went back to thinking about his astounding experience on the roadhouse stage. Wow, what a thrill. And before that, in the room. Unhhh!
Suze had drifted back to brooding over Art. Her mind sorted through layers of the past, and she came to other memories she had repressed. Instead of pushing them aside, she looked at them. Ugh.
Long minutes went by before Billy looked over at her, faintly illuminated in the darkness by the reflected headlights on the road and the dashboard light. She looks so… vulnerable, like a little girl. Suze sniffled again, cleared her throat, and then blew her nose in the handkerchief.
Billy cleared his throat. “Suze, somethin’ else botherin’ you?”
“Oh, I was just thinking. ‘Bout that damned husband of mine. My ex-husband, that is.”
“What was his name?”
She could hardly bring herself to say it. “Dayton. Dayton Glass. Stupid name. I hated being Mrs. Glass. All those jokes about Glass’ ass.” She shook her head. “Anyway. He was jealous about men, but especially black men. I wouldn’t have married him if I’d known how truly crazy he was. Racist bastard. He accused me so much, I felt like doing it since he said I was.”
Billy was startled. “But your band, Suze and the Bruisers…”
“Had a black bass player. Roland was married, with a young kid and another on the way. But Dayton got it in his head that there was something going on when there wasn’t. Hell, he never liked my bein’ on stage anyway. And he got convinced I was hot to trot, oh, the fights we had. We took turns sleeping on the couch a lot. Then he started actually hasslin’ Roland, and Rollie quit the band. That was so fucked up and then Frank, that guitar player you remember, he got weird, and well, it was over.” Suze yawned, and fell silent.
Billy reflected on her story. On the CB radio, one trucker was grumbling with another about losing the Vietnam War because of “hippies protesting in the streets.” He absentmindedly turned the volume down. He wanted her to say he had played as well as Frank had on Turn on Your Love Light. But he knew of no way to change the subject so abruptly without seeming crass.
He looked in the mirror to check on Rob, behind them. Rob, right, there was that mess. Suddenly with a jolt he realized anew that he hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the vandal trying to pour water in the van’s gas tank. He rubbed his barked knuckles, nodding. At least that dude was feeling the pain.
Billy grinned, and his thoughts jumped around. He looked at Suze in her sexy blouse which was still tied up for the stage, stimulating even in the very dim light, her eyes sleepily half closed. Hmm, yeah, what a firecracker! Images flooded his mind, and he wondered with a powerful jolt of lust if he’d get another shot at her soon. Suddenly, everything in the world except her diminished in importance, and the feeling of their bodies joined in primal unison seemed far more real than anything else.
*****
The three vehicles sped through the warm Texas night. Imants hung back, about a quarter mile or so, watching intently, but there were only a few small towns on the road to Amarillo and the first hour went by quickly. There was very little traffic.
Imants realized dimly he was risking his sanity, his father’s remaining goodwill, and possibly his life as he fought to stay awake, but try as he might to give up his quest, he couldn’t force himself to turn his father’s sedan around and head for home. Suze needed him, he kept thinking. He had been put in this position as a test of his faith. He had to keep going.
As he drove he prayed, interspersed with periods of thought. Please Lord, do not forsake me. I am weak Lord and a sinner. Guilty of terrible sins. Satan tempts me. Taunts me with depraved sexual desires. Oh Lord, guide me. Help me to be strong, to save Suze. Please, help….
His nose throbbed badly. Hadn’t he seen a box of aspirin in the Gladstone bag on the front seat next to him? He rummaged with his right hand in the darkness and came up with it. No water, though. Suddenly he became aware of a great thirst. When had he last had anything to eat or drink? No wonder he felt faint. He fumbled with the bottle’s cap, swerving a bit, working to get it off. His mouth was parched, but he managed to choke down two aspirin tablets. Ugh. That taste.
He looked down at the gas gauge. Less than half full now. Thank God it was filled before he left Garland. The tank was huge in this cruiser, too. He wondered how he would gas up and stay on their trail. God. With God on my side I can do all things.
A flash of Jesus came into his mind. He pushed it away. Jesus, looks like a hippie. Forgive me Lord. I don’t know what I am thinking. And I’m so sleepy. And she was giving herself to that boy. Giving avidly. I saw it. I’m lost, she is defiled forever. At least with her husband…
The husband. That jolted him. He had been invited to the wedding, but hadn’t gone, unable to watch her joined to another. And he had suspected that it was Suze’s father that had invited him, not Suze. Pain. Pain. Throbbing in his mind, his face, his groin, his soul.
Up the road Suze had been half dreaming. She had seen Art reaching out to her, holding her firmly. So strong. So manly. Oh what happened? Suze felt the pull of guilt. Suddenly she thought of Imants, his odd narrow skull and face. Guh.
“Got any booze left in that flask?” she asked Billy abruptly. His reply was to grin hugely, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. He reached smoothly behind the driver’s seat and handed it to her. She hefted it questioningly. “Why, it feels full up.”
“Yes’m.” His teeth kept gleaming. “Refilled it.”
“With what?”
“The tequila bottle I got stashed.”
Suze gave a little gasp, then a loud guffaw. “I swear you are the worst influence… Ok, hand it over.” Her first sip was like the first in the motel bathroom with him earlier that day, blazing a trail of liquid fire deep into her being. She cleared her throat a couple times, and handed the flask to him. Billy took a good-sized swig and passed it back again. Though nothing was said, the atmosphere grew friendlier at once.
Suze found herself unburdening herself to Billy about her guilt over Art, describing meeting him and his admiration for the Bobby Bland song, but leaving out the part about his tactful come-on. “He was just bein’ friendly,” she concluded. “Oh Billy. Whatta fucked up world we live in.”
“Well, yeah.” Billy cranked down his window and pushed his light brown hair back from his forehead as he drove. Suze approvingly watched him driving the big van with his right arm straight out from his shoulder, the left propped casually on the open window, and felt the warmth settle deeper into her from the tequila. Cute fella, that was quite a ride you gave me this afternoon. And you played some fine music tonight. Damn. Her mind jumped to Art, laying there on the ground. But Mister Motorcycle was there. Mose, that’s right. Looked like he was in charge. Prolly never see either one ever again. Well, California is waitin’. And Billy probably is too.
“Wheatbread.” Rob’s voice jumped out of the CB radio.
Billy looked over at Suze. “Shit. I forgot his handle.”
She snickered, “Me too.”
Billy laughed. “Fuck it, then.” He quickly rolled up his window, picked up the handset and pushed the switch. “Yessir.”
“Watch the speed. You’re pushing 70.” Rob’s voice sounded tense with repressed anger.
“That’s a big ten-four, buddy.” He let up on the gas a little, looked over at Suze, and shook his head. Her response was to take a drink, hand over the flask, and look out at the moonlit prairie going by. Ahead there were distant lightning flashes again in the direction they were headed, the Texas Panhandle.
The world was too damn big, she mused. And then she thought of the abortion. Awful, but I don’t regret it. I couldn’t have a kid with that damn racist loser. Yeah, I’m free, and it’s better this way. She grinned to herself. Better by a Texas mile.
*****
Imants’ pain from his broken nose was severe, and he managed to swallow another of his father’s aspirins. He was fatigued beyond his experience, having not slept or eaten properly in days. His whole world was the tail lights in the dark on the road ahead. He knew he had to concentrate to not lose the car and van. Nor could he fall asleep, which would result in likely death or injury.
Imants jiggled his left foot to keep from dozing off. Then he tried slapping himself, hard. He stuck his head out the window so that the rushing air made his eyes water. He looked at the moon and began yelling out the window into the dark. “Waaaaaugggghhhh!” He wailed in despair and fear of being a cripple, being pushed around in a wheelchair.
He bit down on his lip. Pain, goodly and severe, sometimes drove away the waking dream. A figure, running alongside the car. Pale, sleek, enigmatic. Dashing away hundreds of feet, then back alongside. A dream, surely. He yelled again out the open window. Gone. He shook his head in his miserable grief. Stay awake. Don’t give in. Don’t die.
Suze. Her name rolled through his mind like a foghorn, deep and profound. Must be kidnapped, and brainwashed. Like Patty Hearst. Only way to explain it. I love you Suze. God help me, I do.
As if in reply the running figure returned. A nude woman, beautiful and voluptuous, sprinting alongside the sedan. Imants stared in distraction. Okay, now I’ve seriously gone over the edge. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Now she was ahead of the car, magnificent long legs working to pull away, almost out of range of the headlights, now back just in front of the bumper. A hallucination.
Imants had never taken drugs. He regarded them with horror, as having destroyed a number of his classmates. They were never the same. Could the aspirins be drugs? His father had perhaps needed them for an investigation. Or they were confiscated. But no, no, it tasted like plain aspirin. He slapped himself, and looked back where the hallucination had been. Gone. OK, you are OK.
The car and van ahead had passed a slower truck. Don’t get too close. Don’t hit the truck. He yawned. Yawned again. Turned and yelled loudly. She was seated next to him, on the front seat, in her naked glory.
“That’s right, Imants. I’m quite real.”
No. You aren’t.
“No? I can read your mind, too.”
Go away. I’m just hallucinating, or dreaming.
She leaned over and blew in his ear. “Could a hallucination do this?” Her breath was warm and fragrant of jasmine and patchouli oil. He felt a jolt of his shameful sexual excitement begin.
Oh God, protect me. The Devil is tempting me.
“Oh God, protect me. The Devil is tempting me,” she mocked contemptuously. “Is that the best you can do, little boy?”
Doomed, I’m doomed. It’s the Book of Revelations. You’re the, you’re the…
“The Whore of Babylon,” she shrieked triumphantly. “You aren’t as dumb as you look.” She looked at him critically. “But watch the truck, dummy.”
Imants swerved just in time to avoid hitting the slow semi. He yelled, this time involuntarily, then let out a long shuddering sigh. I should have crashed.
She shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt me a bit.”
What do you want from me?
The laugh was loud and thunderous, and she scooted over next to him, hand on his thigh. She whispered in his ear, slow and lasciviously. “What do you think?”
No.
She drew back a bit in seeming outrage. “You would deny an angel?”
“You are no angel. You’re the Devil. Get away!”
She hissed, “I am the go-between. Don’t you want to see her, talk to her?”
He paused. Yes, I do.
The whisper again. “You can’t have her without my help.”
Shaking his head, no, I will save her in spite of you.
“Have it your way.” That big hideous laugh again, longer, lasting forever. He reached out to punch, to hit, but there was nothing there. Perhaps a waft of that smell, then it too was gone.
Tune in next time for another exciting episode of Drug Run: Chapter 17 – Uncontrollable Urges
