The Nightcrawler (2 page)

Roger just smiled. “Well, I was just about to leave anyway. I’ll never get to the Grand Canyon sitting here daydreaming.”

“You figure to walk to the canyon from here, kid?”

“Sometimes I walk, sometimes I hitch.”

“Well, yer welcome to ride along with me a ways if ya like. I’m gonna stretch my legs a bit but if ya wanna ride, I could use some conversation.”
 

“Sounds good,” Roger replied, and then he looked out to the road and watched a red Grand Prix zip by while the trucker urinated behind the bush.

“Name’s Pete,” the man said emerging from behind the bush holding out a hand to Roger. He faced Roger with his arm extended and offered a smile that was both friendly and disarming.

Roger didn’t want to be rude but shaking Pete’s hand after what he had just shaken was out of the question. While reaching down for his pack he told Pete his name and thanked him for the ride.

Pete laughed a bit looking at his outstretched hand. In a southern drawl he said, “Can’t say as I blame ya there. I wouldn’t shake my hand right now either.” He reached into his pocket, took out a small plastic bottle and squeezed some waterless hand cleanser into his palm. He rubbed his hands together vigorously, as if he were standing at the sink of the men’s room. “Great invention these,” he added, holding up the bottle for Roger to see. “Ya never know, with all them stories on the news about SARS and swine flu and bird flu, I always got one of these.” He put the small container back in his pocket, “Birds and pigs, damn and shit, eh kid? Who’da thought we’d be catching flu-bugs from critters?”

Pete motioned toward his truck. “Been sittin’ in that thing for six hours. My ass is about to go numb.”

They both laughed and Roger extended his hand, “Roger Morris. Where are you headed?”

“Salt Lake City. Gotta load of Pringles on board.”

Roger looked over at the truck. The dust cloud had moved out over the field. The man with the mustache that adorned every can of Pringles looked back at him. Only this Mr. Pringle was bigger than a horse.

Pete wandered around in the grass, “This heat is something eh, Rog?”

“Sure is.”

“I tell ya, son, when this run’s over I am gonna take a few days and sit in my chair with the AC blowin’ right on me.” Pete looked at his new companion, staring at the western horizon with a forlorn expression. “That canyon ain’t goin’ no place, Rog. You’ll be there soon enough.”

“It’s not that. I like to look at the land. It’s so different from Vermont. Have you been to Vermont, Pete?”

“I’ve been to every state in the nation. Except Hawaii. If I can’t drive somewhere, then I ain’t goin’. You never catch me in one of those planes, no sir.”

The older man talked constantly. When he wasn’t talking about himself he pumped Roger for personal information. Roger tried not to be too forthcoming. He had spent enough time in chat rooms on his computer to be cautious about giving too much detail, but Pete had a way of putting him at ease.

Chapter Three

Outside, the din of the city came as a welcome change to the numbing silence of the office tower. The heat however was stifling. Scott struggled with his computer and briefcase while trying to remove his jacket. He slung the garment over his shoulder. His mood soared. He took a deep breath of the stale, Motor City air. Not even the midday Detroit smog could diminish his euphoria. His accomplishment would be unparalleled at Cobra Exotics. Add to that, he could finally take a week or two to relax. Relax and bask in the pleasure of that knowledge.

His eyes followed a blonde wearing tight shorts until she disappeared from sight, then he turned and walked directly into someone. He gave a halfhearted apology, not bothering to see whom he had bumped into, not until the odor registered in his brain. It was the scent of decay, of mold or old newspapers decomposing in a wet basement. It was stink, to an infinite degree.
 

He looked at the dirtiest human he had ever seen. The man wore soiled jeans that were more charcoal gray than blue, and a gray overcoat. The overcoat in the heat of midsummer looked out of place. His greasy hair hung over his ears and had definitely not seen a comb in ages. His unshaven face had deep creases, hollow cheeks and jaundiced looking eyes.
 

The bum held out his grimy hand, “Spare some change?”

Scott sidestepped the vagrant without acknowledging him and made to stride by. His progress halted when a hand firmly grasped his arm just above the elbow. His anger boiled over as he spun around and met the piercing stare of the panhandler.

“You were there, I saw you run,” the hobo said.
 

“Get the fuck away from me,” Scott muttered jerking his arm free. His anger had abated, replaced by fear. He didn’t know why he feared this man. He had no idea what the man meant by his accusation. Nevertheless, Scott saw something in those eyes that scared him.

“You didn’t see her face,” the bum said, his wide-eyed gaze drilling through the younger man standing before him. “I still see her face.”

“Just fuck off,” Scott croaked.

“Okie-dokie,” the bum replied. He cocked his finger like a gun and clicked his tongue while pulling an imaginary trigger. Without another word or even a second look, the bum walked away and in moments faded into the pedestrian throng.

Scott brushed the sleeve of his shirt where the filthy hand had been as though he could simply whisk the whole encounter away. The man’s face, those eyes were burned into the backs of Scott’s eyes and he squeezed them shut in an attempt to banish the image. He couldn’t fathom a soul beneath that repulsive exterior. He didn’t really consider him a person. It was a thing, just street vermin. They should exterminate it with the rest of the creatures prowling the streets and alleys. A few steps along the sidewalk in the opposite direction, he stopped to look back over his shoulder. Scott felt the need to make sure the bum was gone.

He resumed his walk and put the incident out of his mind. This was the beginning of his vacation and he wasn’t going to let one unpleasant altercation ruin his day. The only thing he needed to concern himself with was what to do next.

It was much too early in the day to go sit in a hotel room. He couldn’t imagine himself watching Oprah, or Ellen, or Jerry Springer. He had no idea what people watched at this time of day. If he were in LA, he would be in the office, or meeting with a client. He wouldn’t be watching TV. Before he got to the end of the block his shirt clung to his skin, damp with perspiration. Sweat beaded his face and stung his eyes. He needed to get out of the suit.

In his room, Scott immediately set up his laptop, then changed into shorts and a golf shirt while his computer booted. He sent emails to the office indicating the deal went much better than expected. After checking his voice-mail messages, he hit the street again.
 

He had lunch on the patio of Antonio’s Pasta House, a place plucked right out of a World War II movie. It had small circular tables with red and white checkered tablecloths on the sidewalk in front. The waitress wore a knee-length skirt and a white apron, her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She wasn’t pretty, but with the right makeup and lighting he thought she could look okay.
 

Relaxing with a glass of iced tea after lunch, he recognized the same foul smelling bum he’d bumped into earlier, now standing across the street. When the man saw Scott look at him, a yellow smile riddled with gaps noticeable across the fifty-yard separation added to his unsightly appearance. The bum again pointed his finger like a gun, winked, then trundled up the sidewalk and out of sight.

Nevada Bob’s was Scott’s next stop. He hadn’t planned to shop for golf equipment, but his eyes lit up when he walked by and he couldn’t resist going in. To reward himself for finalizing the deal of the decade for Cobra Exotics and to cap off the whole trip, he decided to treat himself to a new set of golf clubs. He spent about an hour hitting balls into a net. He tried every brand of clubs in the store. In the end, he went with the King Cobras of course.

He had been in his room just long enough to shower and dress, when the phone rang. The clock radio by the bed showed five fifty-one. He couldn’t help being amused by Thomas’ punctuality.
 

He picked up after the second ring. “Hello!”
 

A woman replied, “Mr. Randall, this is the front desk, you have a visitor in the lobby.”
 

“Tell him I’ll be right down.”

He made one last check in the mirror. He pulled a loose thread from his pressed taupe Dockers and brushed the sleeves of his navy-blue golf shirt as if to remove lint. Satisfied with his appearance he left the room.

In the lobby, he immediately spotted Sarah.

“Hi Scott.”

She still wore the pinstriped suit she had on at the office. The way he ogled her it was obvious he noticed the camisole she wore under the jacket earlier was no longer there. Her heels made her about the same height as Scott. Not that he noticed. He focused on the fabric of the jacket. The way it formed to her breasts.
 

“Well this is a pleasant surprise. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Holding her purse to her bosom, Sarah smiled politely, reached into the bag and handed him an envelope. “Thomas asked me to bring this over for you.”

When he tore it open two keys fell onto the floor. He picked them up recognizing the Pentastar engraved on them. They were Chrysler keys and had to be for the Charger.
 

There was also a note in the envelope.

Scott,

Sorry I can’t make dinner. Emergency came up. Enjoy the Charger tonight, it’s in the hotel parking garage. Call me on my cell if you are interested. If not leave the keys with the hotel front desk. The documentation for the entire restoration is in the glove box. There is a reservation in my name at Pierre’s on the Avenue for six-thirty. The desk clerk at the Hotel can give you directions. Have a great meal; the bill is taken care of. If I don’t hear from you tonight I’ll talk to you next week.

Thomas.

p.s. Sarah volunteered to deliver this. I’m sure she’d be happy to join you for dinner.

Scott folded the letter and put it in his back pocket. He looked at Sarah and said, “So I guess we can get an early start on those drinks.”
 

Frowning, she said “I really can’t. Something came up just as I was leaving the office to come here and I have to get home. Enjoy the rest of your stay.” She turned and began to walk toward the revolving doors that opened on Woodward Avenue.
 

More on reflex than actual thought Scott called out, “Sarah.” She stopped, turned, but she didn’t walk back to him. Scott ate her up with his eyes as he made his way to her, hoping she wouldn’t see the eagerness in his gaze.
 

When he drew near, he saw her demeanor change. A defensive stare replaced her warm smile. She stood with her arms folded in front of her. She clearly wanted to leave.

“Listen,” Scott said. “I was supposed to go to dinner with Thomas tonight.”
 

Sarah shifted her weight back on her heels, her eyes not quite meeting his. She had the look of a woman resisting a sales pitch for a used car.
 

He softened his voice, “He’s made reservations at a place called Pierre’s on the Avenue. Do you know it?”

“Yes, we have a lot of client dinner meetings there. It’s very nice, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” She answered with confident proficiency. Arranging for client dinners must be right in her wheelhouse. She seemed to relax, as though she were back at the office dealing with a mundane task to assist a client.

Scott studied her for a moment trying to get a read. They had an enjoyable lunch yesterday and this morning she seemed open to a late drink. Now she was acting distant.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s very nice but it would be infinitely nicer if you would join me.”
 

“I really can’t,” she said.
 

Her words left no room for interpretation, but her eyes responded to his compliment. Sensing victory Scott put on his best lost-puppy expression and threw another pitch.
 

“Listen, I’ve been eating alone in my room the past two nights. I would really appreciate some company. Besides that, you would get a great dinner on the company’s dime. Then if you’re not sick of me after we finish dessert we can go out in Thomas’ Charger and drive the shit out of it. That’ll teach the prick for standing me up. Come on, what do you say?”
 

“Okay, I guess I could have dinner.” Her eyes warmed a bit at hearing the way he referred to Thomas, but it was no more than a glance shared between strangers passing on the street. He could see that her mind was definitely somewhere else.

“Excellent!” Scott said. “Do I need a jacket at Pierre’s?”
 

She nodded.
 

“Shit, do you want to wait here while I go up and get one?” To his surprise, she started toward the elevator.
 

They said nothing on the ride up to the seventeenth floor. Just stood there like strangers, Scott thinking things were looking quite good for some after dinner frolics. Sarah stepped out first and he followed, watching her ass while she walked down the hall.