The Nightcrawler (5 page)

They were beyond turning back as he rose up to meet her, their bodies slick with sweat in the hot humid air. They moved with a rhythm that quickened as they drove each other closer to climax.

They did it right there on the car. It was exciting, fast animal lust and it was exactly what they both wanted. When they finished, he collapsed on her, both gasping for air.

Scott didn’t get back into the Charger until Sarah was out of sight. When he did, he was in no mood to go back to his room. He left the garage and began driving. By twelve-fifty, he found himself on the 696 heading east. The throaty drone of the Charger, and the wind coming in the open window were the only sounds. Ninety-five miles per hour and she has lots more. One hundred, one ten.
 

Very nice he thought.

Chapter Six

Roger woke to a loud banging noise on the side of Pete’s rig. He cried out at the suddenness of the thumping. His clothes were damp with perspiration and he could feel his heart pounding inside his chest. The absolute dark inside the sleeper had the boy a bit confused at first.

The familiar sound of Pete’s voice cleared that up, “Damn, Rog, you gonna sleep all day?”

In spite of the smell of sweat, stale air and his damp clothes, Roger felt recharged by a good nights sleep. He scrambled around in the dark for a way out of the truck. The early morning light struck him in the face with the force of a camera flash and he winced while holding his hands up to shield his eyes. The passenger door of the truck hung open and he climbed down to see Pete grinning like a dad waiting to take his boy to his first NHL game.
 

“Like I said last night, I hate sleepin’ in that thing. Don’t seem to bother you none though, do it? Anyway, I dropped in on a friend last night and slept in the house there. She got some breakfast started if you’re hungry.” Pete’s endearing Kentucky twang came across with added enthusiasm.
 

“What time is it?” Roger asked rubbing the sleep from his eyes and still squinting from the harshness of the sunshine.

“’Bout six, maybe a little after. You been sleepin’ since nine or so.” Pete studied Roger and added, “You look like crap, boy. Ya feelin’ okay?”

Roger ran his fingers through his hair then brought his hands down across his face. “I’m good. I was just dreaming.”
 

A look of fear seemed to seep into his expression. “There was a car. It was big and old but new too. A red noisy car. A guy standing over me. He seemed pissed. Pissed at me.”
 

Roger stopped and looked at Pete. There was a genuine look of concern in Pete’s eyes.

“He was mad at me but I was hurt, lying on the ground bleeding and bent into weird contorted angles. It seemed so real.”

“Sometimes dreams don’t make sense but they feel like real life. Funny huh?” Pete put his hand on Roger’s shoulder and guided him toward the front steps.
 

It was a small white frame cottage with green shutters and a white picket fence. The paint on the house and fence needed some attention but the yard was well-kept and the flowerbed in front was full of color reminding Roger of his mother. The front porch spanned the full width of the house. Potted geraniums bloomed bright red on both sides of each step. A two-seat swing sat empty in the shade of the porch overhang, swaying slightly in the early morning breeze. The only sounds were their foot falls on the wooden stairs and the birds enthusiastically welcoming the day.

The screen door creaked when Pete pulled it open and he nudged Roger inside. Roger looked around the front room with adoration. It was just like his Gran’s. The furniture looked old but clean and solid. The dark wood end tables were covered with framed snapshots and bric-a-brac. Everything on them sat on lace doilies. A large coffee table in the center of the room was adorned with a big purple molded glass bowl filled with pink and yellow M&M’s. Roger thought they had probably been there since Easter. Maybe not even this past Easter.
 

Pete stepped around him and headed through a door in the back right corner of the room. “Come on, Rog, Jenny ain’t gonna bite cha.”

Roger followed Pete into the kitchen, surprisingly modern compared to the room he just left. Ceramic tile covered the counter and backsplash, and perfectly matched the floor. Stainless steel appliances glistened as the morning sun streamed through the bow window. The plants on the window shelf cast oddly shaped shadows across the floor. A small round oak table with three mismatched place settings on frilly floral print placemats filled the room.
 

Without realizing it, Roger inhaled deeply. The smell of bacon invaded his sinuses. Jenny stood at the counter next to the stove cracking eggs into a bowl. She turned to Roger and smiled. She had the kind of smile that could make anyone feel welcome. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt covered by an apron that could be from Minnie Pearl’s own clothing line, Roger thought she looked like a cast member from
Hee Haw
, another of Millie’s favorite forms of syndicated entertainment when he was little.
 

“Roger, I make the best cheese omelet in these parts. Can I interest you in tryin’ one?”

“Sounds awesome, Miss …”

“Just call me Jenny. Okay, Roger?”

“Okay, Jenny it is.”

Pete had made his way to the table and sat with his back to the wall. He motioned to Roger who followed suit and sat in the next chair, both watching Jenny as she poured some of the whipped eggs into a skillet, filling the room with a loud sizzle.
 

“Don’t cha just love that sound, Rog?” Pete said. “Nothing sounds better than a batch of eggs hittin’ a hot griddle.” He began rubbing his hands together as if in anxious anticipation of something phenomenal.

“Here’s the secret to a great cheese omelet, Roger. After you fold it put it on a plate and put it in a warm oven.” Jenny slid one plate into the oven and removed two others. One was piled high with what looked like a whole loaf of toasted bread. The other was covered with cooked bacon.
 

Continuing she said, “Just for a minute or so to give the cheese a chance to melt into the eggs.” Putting the bacon and toast on the table she winked at Roger and added, “But don’t go telling everyone my secrets you hear.”
 

“No ma’am,” Roger replied, grinning back at her.

“Rog is plannin’ to hike the Grand Canyon,” Pete said as if trying to find a way into the conversation.

“That so, Roger? Well you be careful when you get down to the canyon floor, it’s terrible hot down there this time of year.” Jenny’s face took on a look of mild concern. “And you make sure you get a guide and if you can’t find a guide you make sure you let someone know what part of the canyon your gonna be in, okay? That is one place you don’t wanna get lost. By the time the rangers see the buzzards circlin’ it’s too late.” She took the plate with the eggs out of the oven and shoveled them onto the three plates. Roger and Pete started on their omelets and Jenny poured them each a glass of OJ and sat down.

“Now Jenny, don’t go scarin’ the boy. He’ll be just fine, eh Rog?” Pete said through a mouthful of eggs.

Roger was nibbling on a piece of toast and didn’t answer. He just nodded and with a warm grin did his best to ease Jenny’s mind. The dream that Pete woke him out of had slipped away until Jenny’s advice brought it right back.

“So listen, Rog, I don’t know if yer in a hurry to get to the canyon but Jenny tells me there’s a rodeo at the Buffalo Bill State Park nearby if yer interested.”

“Sounds cool. Either of you going?”

“Not me,” Pete answered clearing off his plate. “I gotta get this load into Salt Lake City.” He wiped his hands with a red and white checkered napkin, and then began rubbing his belly with great satisfaction.
 

“I’m takin’ the Greyhound to visit my sister in Lincoln,” Jenny said. “She ain’t been feelin’ too good these days. You should go though, Roger. It is a nice place to visit. You can camp there for a while too.”
 

Jenny finished her omelet, took a strip of bacon in her fingers and nibbled at it. She looked across at Roger. He smiled at her in a way he hoped said thanks for the breakfast.
 

Returning his smile she said, “I put out a fresh towel in the bathroom if you wanna take a shower. Old Pete there used up most of my hot water but I bet by now the tank should be back up to temp. I could wash your clothes for you if you like. I bet it would feel good after bein’ on the road for a while.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” This time, his smile emanated from pure joy. Roger couldn’t remember ever going this long between showers.

“The bathroom’s just at the end of the hall, hon,” Jenny said, patting him on the hand.

Roger got up and began to pick up his dishes.
 

“You just leave them, dear. I’ll take care of it later.”
 

Jenny had also got up and reached for Roger’s plate. Pete remained seated, sipped his juice, and chuckled quietly at the sight of Jenny exercising her mother instincts. Her boy had left town for college eight years ago and she only saw him a few times a year now. She was relishing the feeling of youth in the house again.

Two hours later Roger had showered, shaved and dressed in freshly laundered clothes. Pete left while he was in the shower. Jenny told him that Pete hated goodbyes. She also said that Pete had really formed an attachment to him and wished him all the best in the future. Roger was disappointed that he didn’t get to say goodbye to Pete but he hoped they would meet again.

“Well dear,” Jenny said as Roger stood at the front window looking out at the glorious day. “Have you got a plan for the next part of your journey?”

“I think I’m going to check out that rodeo.”
 

“Good for you, hon. When you get there try to get back and meet some of the competitors. They really are a colorful bunch.”
 

“I’ll do that. I should get out of your way so you can pack for your trip. I hope your sister is doing better.”
 

It wasn’t until that moment that Roger noticed Jenny was holding his backpack. Hugging it would be a better description. He stepped toward her and she handed it to him. As he took it she held out her arms to draw him in.
 

“I put lunch and some treats in your pack. Pete left his card for you. It has his cell number on it. He said to call him anytime, I wrote my number on the back. I hope you will call once in a while. You know, just to say hi.”
 

With Jenny still clinging to him, Roger asked for directions to the rodeo. She released him and explained in detail how to get to Buffalo Bill Park.

Chapter Seven

Scott rolled over and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed 8:17 am.
 

“Shit,” he said in a half whisper. His plane was somewhere over the Dakotas, give or take. He flipped the covers off his naked body and sat up on the edge of the bed. His feet rested on the pile of clothes he had worn the previous night. He turned on the radio and the sultry voice of a woman said, “Hello boys, it’s eight-eighteen and you’re listening to Classic Rock on WCSX. This one is going out to all of our boys overseas. They’re putting theirs on the line for us.” Bob Seger began to sing.

Scott sat, wondering what to do with his day. It was too early to phone anyone back home. Max wouldn’t be rousing Tina to take her morning walk for another hour at least.

He walked over to the window, slid the curtain over just far enough to look down onto the street. The sunlight came crashing through the gap like a passenger train through a dark tunnel. Scott stood his ground squinting down at the carpet until his eyes had adjusted. The bustle of rush hour was well underway.
 

It looked like the start of a beautiful day. The sun’s glow was brilliant, the sky was clear and blue, a few thin white clouds barely noticeable high up in the atmosphere floated along adding just the right amount of contrast to be beautiful. He looked over his shoulder at his new golf clubs and smiled. Maybe he could do nine somewhere on the road.

At nine fifteen, he picked up the phone, dialed C.S. and T.’s main line. After two rings, “C.S. and T., Sarah speaking. How may I help you?”
 

“Good morning. And how are you today?”
 

“Are you back in LA already?” Her tone became hushed. Scott thought she sounded much the same as his assistant when she was talking to her boyfriend during working hours.

“No. I missed the plane. I’m still in the hotel. Is Thomas in yet?” His voice carried no hint of having been intimate with her just hours ago.
 

“One moment and I’ll transfer you,” and with a sharp click he was listening to a weak instrumental rendition of “Me and Bobby McGee”.

Scott could picture Thomas at his large L-shaped desk, with the cherry wood top. There’d be no clutter on it, just an in-tray, a picture of his wife and a flat screen computer monitor.

Scott heard one ring then, “Thomas Andrews.”
 

“Good morning, Thomas, it’s Scott.”

“Are you calling from the plane?”

“Still in the hotel. Slept in.”