Blue Coyote Motel (16 page)

His mind raced with ideas for other drugs. There would have to be space for the laboratory rats that he planned to use in his tests. Moore Labs had followed all of the governmental rules regarding animals and testing to the letter of the law. In this new environment, Jeffrey knew the only rules he would have to follow would be his own. Without any government oversight or inspection, he could easily speed up the time it took to test his experiments.

He smiled to himself with a sense of satisfaction that he would no longer be under the thumb of government rules and regulations. He could be a real "cowboy" in the industry, free to do whatever he wanted with no one supervising him. The more he thought about it, the more he was beginning to like the idea of moving to such a remote, desolate area. It definitely would make testing his experiments easier.

Maria and Jeffrey arrived at the motel; both intent on taking time to really look at it. They got out of their car, took a deep breath, and entered the office area. Once again, no one was there to greet them. They rang the bell and the old man shuffled in, ever-present cigarette dangling from his mouth, dressed in the same clothes he had worn the night before and earlier that morning.

"Back already? I ain't even made up the room. You gotta give me a few minutes," he said.

"Actually," Jeffrey said, "we're here to look at the motel. You said it was for sale and we'd like to see what you have here. We're kind of tired of the city rat race. Would you show us around?"

Are you kidding,
the old man thought,
you're the first people to even want to look at it. Maybe, just maybe, I can get the hell out of here.
"Sure. Follow me. You got questions, just ask."

The motel was located on a large piece of fenced property, although a lot of the fencing was damaged and needed repair. There were two buildings behind the motel, one that looked like a house and the other that seemed to be a storage building. People who lived this far from civilization always kept "stuff" because someday they might need it, whether it was an auto part or the plug for a bathtub. No landscaping had been planted to break the harshness of the desert. The doors to the rooms looked tired and most were sagging from their hinges at odd angles. The motel sign in the middle of the parking lot was mounted on a pole that was broken and tilted. It looked like someone had backed into the pole with their car.

The drab motel was in the style of the auto court motels, which had been popular in the 50’s. The "L" style motel plan had an office on the left with a door leading to a kitchen, which was in serious need of some updating and tender loving care. Coagulated grease, old appliances, food-specked walls along with dirty and dented pots and pans all cried out for attention. The covered outdoor porch dog-legged to the right, connecting six rooms which were exactly alike, separated by "faux" pillars. Maria thought she would make the last room into a "refreshment room" where the guests could get drinks and food. A couch, refrigerator, microwave, table, and chairs would fit into the room. The parking lot was dirt and gravel with a space in front of each room for a car. Naked light bulbs hung over doors with paint peeling from them. The windows looking out from the rooms were caked with dust and didn't look as if they'd ever been washed.

Threadbare carpeting covered the floors of the rooms, which were badly in need of new furniture, paint, lighting, and bedding. The bathrooms were old and uninviting with linoleum floors stained from years of leaking basins and toilets. New tile floors, showers, basin fixtures, and linens, in addition to the painting and light fixtures, were added to the list Maria was making.

The one-bedroom owner's house, connected to the motel by a breezeway, had a large living/dining room and a kitchen. The bedroom was also surprisingly large. There were windows across the entire back with nothing to see but the vast desert. The bathroom and kitchen were adequate. Everything was in need of repair and updating, but structurally, the motel was in a fairly sound condition. Whoever had originally built it had done a good job. It needed a lot of cosmetic work, but just as Maria had thought on the drive back from Phoenix, the basic bones of the motel were good. Putting time and money into updating the structure would make it a place where people would want to stay.

The list of items to be bought and things to be fixed went on and on. Everywhere they looked, something cried out for attention. The money needed for improvements was definitely going to be far more than the asking price of the motel.

"Oh," the old man said, "there's one more thing. It's the basement. The person who built this place was scared as hell of a nuclear bomb, so he built a bomb shelter. He was sure that the Feds was testing bombs out here in the desert. I just call it the basement, but you probably oughtta take a look at it."

At the far end of the motel the old man opened a door marked “Basement” and led them down steps to a door which opened up to a room that ran the length of the motel. Jeffrey could barely contain his excitement as he entered the room. He had assumed he would have to build a separate, free-standing laboratory for his experiments, but this basement location would be the perfect place. He could partition it into several rooms. One room would be the actual lab where the experiments would take place; a smaller one would be a storeroom for the supplies needed for his experiments; a third would be for the test rats; and he'd also need a very small office. There was even a bathroom, although it, too, was filthy and badly in need of repair.

After completing the inspection tour of the motel premises, Jeffrey asked the old man, "What are you asking for this place? It needs a lot of repairs to make it into a motel where people would want to stay or even revisit. There's a lot of traffic on the highway, but in the two times we've been here, I haven't seen anyone else. Are you open year round?"

The old man remained silent for what seemed like a long time. He debated what number to put out as his asking price. He didn't want to scare them off with a high asking price. They were the first people to ever even ask about the place and he really wanted out. He and his wife had bought the motel when he retired, but cancer took her the second year they were here. He blamed himself for her death because she hadn't wanted to buy the motel in the first place. It had been his idea and now that she was gone he was lonesome. The young couple was right, very few people stopped or stayed at the motel. His son, Josh, kept asking the old man to join him at his place in Montana. Josh had a small ranchette with a trailer where the old man could live. He knew his expenses would be minimal.

"Tell you what. I want to get outta here so I'd be happy with $120,000, cash. You'd get everything but the car. I need that to go to Montana," the old man said. "If you're interested, I'll leave tomorrow and you can get started on them things you need to fix."

"I need to talk to my wife. We'll meet you in the office in a little while," Jeffrey said.

Jeffrey and Maria followed the old man back up the stairs and walked out to their car in the parking lot. Maria took a couple of soft drinks out of the cooler they had brought, handing one to Jeffrey. "Well," Jeffrey said, "what do you think?"

"Yes," Maria said. "Let's do it. The basement is perfect for your lab and I can fix up the motel rooms. The only things we'd need a contractor for would be your lab, the bathrooms, and maybe the kitchens. We can get started as soon as we go back to Irvine, list our condo, get a U-Haul, and bring our belongings out here. Jeffrey, this is a new start. Financially, we'll be fine with the money from Moore Labs, the proceeds from the sale of the condo, and with whatever you can make selling the new drugs you invent. It will be more than enough and who knows? We might even make a little money on this motel. You'll have all the peace and quiet you need for your experiments. I would be happy just doing things around here like cooking and reading. Neither of us would miss the city life. Please!"

Maria's large brown eyes were shining with excitement. When she looked at Jeffrey with those pleading eyes, it was a done deal. Actually, he, too, was excited about this strange turn of events and ready to get on with a new life, knowing there was going to be no turning back. Their earlier lives were over. The future lay in this run-down old motel in a god-forsaken part of the California desert that wasn't even on his radar twenty-four hours ago.
Strange where life takes you,
he thought.
I've always heard there are no coincidences. If I wasn't a believer before, I am now.

He walked over to Maria, putting his arms around her. "Are you very, very sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes, this is the answer. I just know it." She started to cry with joy and excitement. It was an emotional moment for both of them as they each realized that this really was a turning point in their lives. They were exchanging the known for the unknown, preparing to start a new life in the barren California desert. Even as they embarked on their new adventure, blowing tumbleweeds surrounded them as the desert wind picked up. They were in unchartered territory. It was terrifying, yet at the same time, exhilarating.

They walked back into the office and as they rang the bell, the old man walked in. "Well," he said, "made a decision?"

"Yes," Jeffrey said. "We'd like to buy it. Since there's no real estate agent involved, we'll both save on that. I need to have some title documents drawn up and recorded. I'll give you a down payment today and the balance when we close escrow. I'd like to get started in a few days. We'll go back to our home in Irvine and take care of some things there. You probably need to do the same here. We'll be back in three days. Will that work for you?"

The old man felt like saying, "
You kidding me? I never thought I'd unload this dump
," but he kept his mouth shut, trying to hide the smile that threatened to take over his face and just nodded. "Why don't you give me that check and I'll write you up a receipt. I got a lawyer friend in Blythe who can draw up the papers. I'll have 'em for you in three days."

Jeffrey wrote out a check for $25,000 and handed it to the old man. He and Maria spent some time walking the property they had just bought, got back in their car, and headed for Irvine to end one life and begin a new one.

Little did they know their new life would become a living hell.

CHAPTER 15

It was a crisp fall day and Sean had been driving for hours on his way to El Monte, California, from Santa Fe, New Mexico. Currently, he was driving through the desolate desert area west of Blythe. He was unsure what the future held and only knew that the part of his life he treasured, the part of his life he had devoted to God, was no longer to be.

Sean couldn't remember a time when he hadn't wanted to become a priest. He came from a large Irish Catholic family where it had been a tradition for the oldest son to join the priesthood. The Moriarty family brought the old Irish tradition with them when they emigrated from Ireland. As the oldest of the seven Moriarty sons, it had always been assumed that Sean would follow in the tradition. Even if there hadn't been a tradition to follow, Sean would have become a priest.

Whenever Sean entered a Catholic church, he felt like he was coming home. It was a feeling he had experienced since he had been a little boy. For the past twenty-three years, his home had been the church. His vocation was that of a priest. To Sean, it wasn't a profession; it was simply who he was. He loved the devotions, the liturgy, the rites, and he knew he had helped many people during his career as a priest.

The one person Sean couldn't help was himself. And now what? How could he face a future in which he could no longer be a priest? The Bishop had called Sean in early that morning and told him that he was being relieved immediately of all of his priestly duties. From that moment on, he could not take part in any ministry, wear any cleric's clothing and could no longer call himself a priest. The visibly angry Bishop told him that serious allegations of child molestation had been made against him. He revealed that an investigation indicated that the allegations were true. Fortunately for both Sean and the Church, the victims, who were now adults, had agreed not to press charges or go public with the allegations because of a confidential cash settlement the Church's lawyers had worked out with the victims. Under a Church Charter adopted in 2002, the Bishop had no choice but to officially defrock Sean.

There had only been a few unfortunate incidents. Sean had been able stop himself from approaching young boys for a long time. It was only when his dependency on alcohol began to spin out of control that Sean couldn't seem to help himself. He was grateful that his alcoholism seemed to have escaped the Bishop's attention. It was either that or the Bishop didn't feel he needed to raise the issue since child molestation itself was cause for mandatory defrocking. Child molestation trumped alcoholism. Even though the public would forgive an alcoholic they drew the line at child molestation. Sean was glad his alcoholism hadn't been discussed. The memory of being drunk and officiating at a Baptism last week was a memory he'd rather not revisit.

When had he started to depend on beginning the day with the sacred rite of Communion? When had the words "The blood of Christ" started to mean far more to him than the words of the Mass? When had he started to fill the chalice to the brim, knowing that part of the rite consisted of the priest drinking whatever was left in the chalice?

He could still remember when he was seven and how the sip of wine had made him feel when he made his First Communion. His body glowed with the warmth of the wine. A year later, he became a young acolyte, turning the pages of the Bible for the priest. Later, he became a senior acolyte and was always available to help with the ceremonial duties of Mass whenever he was asked. What always made it worthwhile was the sip of wine and, as he got older, more than just a sip.