Friday Flash: No Such Thing As A Sweet Easy Deal

I couldn't figure how or why at the time, but I sure could see that things had taken a turn for the fucked. One day I was a guy climbing the ladder like a pro.  A sweet, easy deal came along from Mr. G, and I grabbed it. How hard could it be to drive a few guys from New York to Los Angeles and keep an eye on them? Then next thing I knew, there I was, in some fleabag hotel in downtown LA, with one guy tied to the bed, one guy off on the lam, and one guy doing a pretty good job of squeezing off my air supply.

I was starting to see those little flittery lights, like minuscule fireflies swarming right in front of my eyes.  I knew if I didn't get Cheddar to let up soon, I'd be in the soup without a ladle.  But Cheddar's hands were strong as hell, once a guy went snowman on you, it was trouble with a capital T, unless you could get enough dope into him, and fast.

I could hear Milky shouting something from the bed where I'd tied him down, but my ears might as well have been filled with jello, all I could make out clearly was my own banging heart.  That Milky, he'd been shouting ever since he woke me up, first pounding on my door, then pleading with me to help him. "Something's wrong, Marty, I took double my dose, but I'm still fading, I think something's wrong with the pills!"

I pulled him in the room and shut the door quick.  I tried to get him to shut the hell up, but he was frantic. He grabbed me by the shoulders with hands that were stronger than they had any right to be and squeezed."You gotta help me, Marty. Don't cut off my head, Marty, I'm not gonna eat you, just don't cut off my head!"

Jesus H., I thought, I sure named this one right, milk toast little coward.  Then I turned on the light.  He looked pale all right, but it was the eyes that told me he wasn't kidding.  Cloudy white film spreading out from the pupils, just like Mr. G's instruction pamphlet said.  He was in stage one withdrawal.

He looked around the room wildly, grabbed one of my ties off the back of a chair and laid down on the bed with his arms up over his head like it was standard procedure, and grabbed the iron bed frame. "Tie me down and give me a shot, I won't try nothing, I promise, just get me a shot, quick!"

I tried to talk him out of being tied up, told him I could see he was still in control and it was good he came to me for help before it got too bad, but he was set on the idea, so I tied his hands and got busy making him an emergency dose out of the watcher case.  Snowflake wasn't meant to be mainlined, it was supposed to be taken in pill form, but every watcher was given a small doctor's kit with syringes and concentrated serum to be used in emergency situations.

He kept on babbling while I got his dose ready, said he'd gone to Ray's room to see if he was having trouble too, but Ray had cleared out.  "Cleared out?" I said, setting the full syringe down and picking up the rubber strap to tie off his arm with.  "What do you mean, cleared out?"

"I mean he's gone, him and his stuff too," he said.

"What about Cheddar?" I said, but I needn't have asked, because that's when Cheddar busted in the door and wrapped his hands around my throat.  He was worse off than Milky, he was stage two.

I'd managed to get two fingers up between my sweaty neck and Cheddar's hands, and I pulled out with all my might making it possible to breath just a little and try to talk the guy down.

"Cheddar, stop it, listen to me!  I got what you need over there on the table!  If you take it outta me raw, it won't do you any good!  Let me help you!" I managed to choke the words out, but I couldn't figure if the guy understood, Cheddar's eyes had gone chalk white, the pupils tiny black dots with no sign of human emotions in them.

The little bit of blood that made it back to my brain allowed me to make out what Milky was yelling, "Move him over here, get him down on the bed!"

It didn't make no sense, him being tied up and all, but I did it anyway, heaving my body sideways and catching Cheddar off balance enough that he went down with me.  He was still squeezing my neck though, and now he was on top of me.  I was fucked.

Next thing I knew, Milky had his legs around Cheddar's head in a scissor lock and I felt the grip on my neck come loose.  Cheddar thrashed and I got out from under him and over to the syringe, weasel fast.  Milky was using the bed frame for leverage and had Cheddar fixed tight.  I don't know how I got that needle in a vein, but I did, and drove the shot home.

The effect wasn't immediate, but Milky held on while I fixed another syringe for him.  As soon as Cheddar's body started to relax, I took care of Milky.  "High school wrestling team," he said, with a dreamy, wistful expression as I untied his hands, "I don't get to use those moves enough anymore..." Then his eyes rolled back and he crashed.

I left the two of them to sleep it off and did some investigating, still coughing from Cheddar's choke hold.  Ray was gone all right, and my car with him, but what was worse was that he'd emptied out Cheddar and Milky's Snowflake capsules and filled them with powdered sugar.  It didn't make no sense, he was fully sponsored, he didn't have to steal.

When I realized how bad it was, the sweat started pouring out of me like rain. Something had gone awful wrong with Ray, he was out on the loose and even with the extra Snowflake from the guys, he'd run out at some point and become a dangerous monster.

I had no choice.  I was gonna have to call Mr. G.

Friday Flash: Act Tough

1941. Crockett County, Texas.

The neon Bella Vista Motel sign had no competition from the moon the night Madge arrived.  It blinked and twinkled in the dark night sky, like the only pretty girl at a party.

Just moments before Madge walked cautiously within view of the motel, the "No" in the No Vacancy sign in the window sizzled and fritzed out.  "Vacancy" glowed brighter, pulsing with energy.

Madge knew the Bella Vista wasn’t an ordinary motel.  The absence of speculation and gossip among the folks in town about what might go on out there, proved that something above average probably went on out there.  People didn’t talk about the gangster motel outside of town with about the same intensity that they didn’t talk about the Klan meetings at the courthouse inside of town.  Everybody just knew what they knew.

What Madge thought she knew about it, was that it was often vacant for months at a time, according to the caretaker.  At least that’s what he'd complained about endlessly when he used to come in for breakfast at the Good Pie.  Madge hadn’t liked Mack.  But after giving him the cold shoulder for the first few months, she'd allowed grudging but polite conversation; then a kind of sympathetic, but wary friendliness.  The guy was just such a sad sack, so painfully lonely, it seemed almost charitable to give in to small talk when she refilled his coffee cup.

She grew to think of him as harmless enough, just not well brought up or very bright.  He held his knife and fork in his fists like a baby, and he never took his hat off when he came inside.  Between his strange New York accent and the way he mumbled sideways into his shoulder while glancing around erratically, she could barely understand what he said half the time.  He'd made it clear that he was interested in more than small talk, however, but she'd made it clear that she’d have none of it.
 
She felt confident that she could hold him off if he let her stay at the motel for a day or so while the bruises on her face healed up.  Not looking her best might be to her advantage in the short term, and she was prepared to act pretty tough, like Barbara Stanwyck, if she had a need to.
 
The biggest gamble with going all the way out there was whether Mack was still in charge of the place or not.  She hadn’t seen him for at least six months.  He'd been coming to breakfast pretty regular, maybe two, three times a week.  They’d come in to open the diner and Mack would be parked out front, sleeping in his car like some kind of nut.  He told her he suffered from insomnia.  He said it like it was a horrible condition he could only find relief from in one of the Good Pie’s parking spaces.  He also told her he wasn't supposed to go to town and definitely shouldn’t have been talking to her.
 
Maybe he got caught and was staying away to keep from getting in more trouble, she reasoned.  Anyway, she wasn’t rich on options.  She'd set out thinking she'd hitch a ride, but not a single car had come by.  It was either try to get a room and hide out, or steal a car and start driving.  She didn’t really know how to drive that well and she was too damn tired and hurt to try.  Where the hell would she even steal a car from, anyway?  The only other option was to walk all the way to San Angelo.  She decided to take her chances with the motel.
 
By the time she made it out there, she was feeling pretty bad again.  The suitcase pulled on her arms like it was full of concrete.  Despite her flat sensible heels, her feet were aching all the way up to her knees.  Her head was pounding.
 
Through the lobby window, she could see a black-haired man standing behind the front desk, talking on the phone.  It was definitely not Mack.  Her will flagged.  She tipped her face up and took a few deep breaths to try and head off the tears before they could start rolling out.

And there was the pretty neon sign.  It made her think of Hollywood somehow, and how long she'd worked and saved to get started on her adventure.  California, warm and sunny, but green and close to water.  Hollywood was right next to the ocean, all the stars had beach houses.  And big beautiful spanish mansions with those red-tiled roofs.  The tears retreated.
 
“You’ve just got to toughen up,” she said in the quiet, private voice she used when she was talking to herself.  “You can get there if you use your head, but you can’t cry every time things get hard.  What do you think it’s going to be like when you get to Hollywood?  You think think they're gonna say, 'Why, hello Miss Carter, thank you so much for coming, please accept a seat right here in the lap of luxury.'”

Her gaze fell on the vacancy sign in the window and then back to the man behind the desk.  He'd been leaning on the counter with his head down when she first walked up, but now he stood up straight and was pacing back and forth as he spoke on the phone.  She could see that he was much younger than Mack had been.  And pretty damn good-looking, too.  The motel didn’t look that bad, in fact, it looked just fine.

She made up her mind.  Pulling her hat down just right and forcing her posture back up she challenged herself fiercely, “You want to be an actress?  Well damn it, go act like a lady who expects to rent a room from that guy.  And to hell with Barbara Stanwyck, you act like Madge Carter.”

Friday Flash: Not According to Plan

The house didn’t aim to impress.  Little more than a shack, its bleached slat wood walls slumped in the middle of a dusty plot of land, surrounded by scrub brush and broken fences.  A rusty pickup truck with a fresh scrape along the driver’s side was parked like a passed out drunk in the front yard.

A big black Packard pulled up next to the truck and sat, engine idling.  The two men inside observed the windows, watching for movement.  The house was dead still in the afternoon heat.  The windows remained blank, the faded curtains, lank.

Jake Anager shifted in the passenger seat impatiently, but knew better than to ask what they were waiting for.  He was a hulking, muscular young man, burdened with a heavy brow and a long jaw.  He glanced over at the man behind the wheel who watched the front of the house like it was a movie screen.  Mr. Bureau ran a finger over his pencil thin mustache and nodded to himself.  His cunning black eyes took in details Jake couldn’t hope to ascertain.  Always calculating, this one was.  Always figuring how best to go about his next treacherous trick.

Jake preferred a more direct approach.  Just beat ‘em till they give in or pass out or die and then get on with your day.  But Jake wasn’t in charge.  Mr. Bureau was in charge.  So they would sit in the driveway with the engine running long enough to make Cain good and nervous before they knocked on his door.  Mr. Bureau wasn't concerned about stealth.  He wanted Cain to know he was coming.  He wanted Cain to be thinking about how much he owed, how much trouble he'd caused and how much Mr. Bureau had a right to take out of his hide.

In Jake’s experience though, there wasn’t much of anything likely to make Cain nervous.

Growing up in Ozona, Jake had seen and heard tales of Cain Carter's exploits his whole life.  Cain was a drunk, sure.  He preferred to spend his time and money out on the flats drinking in that abandoned adobe mission the mexicans had taken over and turned into some kind of a saloon for their kind.  It wasn't a proper place for white men.  It was a way station for mexican criminals, which was why Sheriff Cobb liked to go out there and bust heads, clear the place out every so often.  And that crazy mescal drink the mexicans made out of cactus and who knew what all–– Jake had tried it once on a dare and damned if it didn't taste like vomit on fire––  was known to induce brain rot.

But Cain wasn't just some drunk.  He wasn't even just crazy.  He was deep down cunning and driven by a whole different set of wants and needs from your average man.  You hadn't seen single minded stubbornness until you came up at cross purposes to Cain.

Jake had learned well that Mr. Bureau didn't employ him to give unasked for advice, however, so he kept his mouth shut and waited.  If anybody else had of asked him to go take on Cain, he would have spit in the dirt and said, "No thanks."  But what Cain had pulled on Mr. Bureau was an inexcusable offense, a betrayal and an insult as far as Mr. Bureau was concerned.  And he had every intention of pulling the trigger himself, after he'd cut Cain down to size.

Jake figured the only reason he'd been brought along was to bear witness to Cain's humiliation at Mr. Bureau's hands.  He'd served that purpose before.  Mr. Bureau liked to have another pair of eyes to admire his handy work.  Jake had no doubt that Cain had written the ticket to his own execution earlier that day.

Mr. Bureau turned off the engine.  “Something’s not right here,” he said, as he opened his car door and stepped out.  Jake wondered briefly if that pretty girl was in there, and hoped she wasn't as he followed him up the brittle front porch steps. They both stood to the side as he knocked on the door curtly.  Nothing moved, inside or out.  Mr. Bureau knocked again, listening intently.

“Don’t feel like anybody’s here,” Jake started to say, but he was shushed as Mr. Bureau took hold of the doorknob and slowly opened the door.

They stood in the doorway looking inside with two different kinds of surprise on their faces.  Jake peered to make sure what he saw was correctly registering, and then recoiled from the stench that hit him in the face.  Mr. Bureau disregarded the smell and stepped inside far enough to get a good look at the blood stained bible splayed open on the floor.

He took in the details of the scene with amused shock, the splay legged body half sitting, half lying at the kitchen table, the broken fragments of something, maybe dishes or glass, and the copious amount of blood and muck spread out all over the table and oozing over its edges, still plenty wet, but not fresh.  He turned away abruptly and headed back out with the air of a man who'd been cheated out of some highly anticipated satisfaction.

He shut the door, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and thoroughly wiped the doorknob free of fingerprints.  They got back in the car and drove off, Jake doing his best to continue keeping his mouth shut.  Two things he didn’t think were possible had happened that day.

Cain Carter had dared to double cross Mr. Bureau.  And someone else had managed to beat Cain Carter's brains right out.

Eat Crow

Jake and Skad were drunk, but not so drunk they'd let Arnie get away without paying up, and the cards in his hand were garbage, just like they had been all night.  He hadn't even wanted to play to begin with, but Jake had noticed that queer pack of cards sitting on the edge of the bar, the ones with the laughing crows on the backs, and the three of them had found themselves playing hand after hand like there was no end to the night.  There was an end to Arnie's money all right, and he had come to that end real quick.  The two of them were having a high old time, yucking it up every time Arnie had to push his chips their way, and the sound of their barking laughter, like a couple of hyenas in heat drove him to want to break a chair on their heads.  He rubbed the sweat off of his forehead, looked down and saw a card on the floor, just laying there, bird side up.  He thought just then that he'd really like to have the last laugh –– a real big laugh just like the bird –– and as his hand went for his gun, he thought hey, maybe that's what the bird on the back of the cards had been telling him all along... maybe the bird was saying, "Arnie, sometimes you gotta laugh it up big and let the bullets fly!"

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 12

We like the being of her inside us, little girl Rosa, so dark, so inward looking, so secret wishes keeping.  To the man man Romeo, she is quiet and obedient, to the Romeo girl Madge, she is well behaved, and all the time working and working to make nice our window eyes, our hard white shinies, our tree-skin ground.  She peels off the hiding shrouds from the sleeping places, she lays down fresh hair for the feet, she brings and she takes away.  She touches us all over with quick little hands and they forget to see her eyes, so they are not knowing her.  But we see her pretend woman hips in the mirrorways, and we see her eye sparkles sliding sideways when the boy man Slappy passes near, oh yes, we are all the time seeing little girl Rosa's eyes, so we are knowing her very well.  Sister girl Maria waits for her, lonely in our belly, but we want to roll little girl Rosa around on our tongue, we want to hold her in our mouth, tucked between teeth and wall for slow tasting, happy waiting, sister girl Maria has gone quiet, she will happy wait too.

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 11

Slappy didn't like to admit it, but the new maid seemed to be working out okay and it was a relief to have some help.  As soon as Rosa got to work, he and Madge could see she was a better bargain than her sister had been, so just to be on the safe side, they took care to keep room number 12 locked up and not let her in there.  Madge insisted the girl get to stay in the room right next to the lobby and was very mother hen about her, even going so far as to take her on a shopping trip to San Angelo when she realized the poor kid only had the clothes she'd arrived in.  They had a lot to do to get ready for the guys that were on their way from the city.  From what Slappy could find out, there had been trouble between the Boss' guys and some other gang of Irish bastards from Boston, some of the Micks got nicked in a fairly ugly way and now some guys had to come lay low to avoid an all out war.  Listening to the reports on the radio about Poland falling to the Krauts, Slappy couldn't help thinking the world would be a better place if guys would just stay in their own neighborhoods, and keep their noses out of other guy's business.

Slug

 

Finally, here you are, I been waiting for you for hours.  I only had one or two, though, I know how you feel about me being messy out in public.  When other guys tried to buy me one, or talk me up with those lines of crap, I told them to dry up.  It ain't right to leave a girl sitting in a bar alone for so long, people get wrong ideas.  But you're here now, and it's all over with, so let's just be glad together, okay?  Here baby, have a drink, it'll remind you to love me.

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 10

The surprising thing about Rosa, was how little she had seemed to care about her missing sister once she'd looked around the motel and had her questions answered.  Madge had walked her around the motel courtyard and showed her the rooms, dreading what the girl might see in the room where her sister had disappeared, but when she took her into room number 12, it had just presented itself as a clean, empty room with no sign of any kind of violence, no strange odor, and though Madge held her breath in the silence, no cries coming from inside the walls.  Rosa had been quite impressed with the washing machine, insisting Madge show her how to work it before they continued with their tour, and had stared wide eyed in the lounge at the fancy red pool table, the piano, all the mirrors in their gilt frames on the red walls and the paintings of the matador, the bull and the Spanish dancer.  She'd said she couldn't understand why her sister had run away, because it seemed like a very nice place to work and would she please be allowed to take her place?  Rosa's understanding of English was little better than her ability to speak it, but with Madge's basic Spanish they could communicate well enough and once she got over feeling awkward about the lost Maria and convinced herself there was no need to explain the odd circumstances of her disappearance, Madge found she liked the younger girl.  The motel had been without guests since the last guys to stay had gotten into that terrible fight and shot the hell out of the motel and each other, but there was a whole new gang on the way according to Romeo, so she was really going to need the help.

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 9

Madge had seen women come and go at the motel. They fell into two categories as a rule, whores who tagged along with the men who came to stay, and whores from the Shy Violet in San Angelo who came over to service the men who came to stay. Either way, other women were an infrequent and insignificant presence at the motel and Madge had very little cause to do more than ignore them politely. Madge was the woman of the house who held her own among the ever changing gang of men by doing what she had always done, keeping her guard up and projecting a strong attitude of unavailability... as well as relying on their fear of Romeo to keep them in check. The vulnerability of a young girl in a servant's position hadn't occurred to her when she'd gone out and picked up Maria, but she worried about it now that Maria was missing and hesitated, grasping at the first thing that came to mind to hold Maria's little sister back, "Shouldn't we let your mother know?" she said. The girl whirled around and glared at Madge, her black eyes flashing indignation and contempt as she hissed, "Esa bruja no es mi madre."

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 8

By the time Madge made it out to the flats, the late afternoon sun slanting sideways and brushing the rocky landscape with vivid gold, she nearly had herself convinced that Maria would be there, maybe hiding in the back at first, but then coming out into the cantina at her mother's urging to face Madge with apologies and regrets for having run off. The cantina was closed, and there was an overslept siesta quiet all around, but the youngest sister peeked out of the window when Madge knocked on the door, and opened it right away with a perplexed expression. She was prettier than the middle sister, though they all looked very much alike, waist-length black hair hanging down in a single fat braid, large obsidian eyes and high indian cheekbones in a face as brown as toast, but not a day over fifteen, Madge guessed. Facing the girl, Madge found herself unable to muster the determination that had propelled her out there, and instead, her pulse began to race and her voice came out higher, more alarmed than she would have preferred to sound when she said, "Your sister Maria didn't finish her work at the motel and I can't find her, I thought perhaps she came back here." She wasn't sure how good the girl's English was, but her expression said she understood enough to be worried, and she quickly stepped outside and closed the door, ready to go with the lady who had taken her sister away only that morning and somehow managed to lose her. Madge hadn't intended to just replace the missing girl, she hesitated in front of the cantina staring at the youngest sister and thinking to herself, Oh no, what have I gone and done... what if I lose her too?

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 7

Slappy scratched his unruly mop of dark curly hair, and said, "Humph," in response to Madge's insistence that the cleaning girl had "run off." He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked at her, glanced at the wall, and then walked over to the edge of the clearing to gaze out at the featureless wasteland surrounding the motel grounds. He pulled his pack of Luckys out of his shirt pocket, stuck one in his mouth and turned to look at her again as he struck a match with his thumbnail and lit it. She straightened her shoulders and stuck her chin up, ran a hand over her hair to smooth it unnecessarily and started back toward the courtyard. "You want me to go out to the flats with you?" He asked before she stepped into the walkway. He saw her hesitate briefly before she glanced back over her shoulder and met his eye with that stubborn expression he had come to know so well and assured him, "I got myself out there just fine the first time, thank you all the same."

Madge Makes Up Her Mind - 6

The West side of the Bella Vista motel suffered the full force of the afternoon sun every day, but the last room, number 12, gained a small advantage from the shade of the trees in the grove, and the back wall never saw the sun. Madge felt the improbable coolness of the smooth plaster next to her ear, and on her palm as she steadied herself against the wall. The scent of the plaster came up softly, a clean smell to her nose, its mineral chalkiness, strangely, causing her mouth to water and stirring up a fleeting image of her own small hands squeezing white clay. She swallowed and listened to the sound of nothing happening; a blank wall and her own pulse stretching out the minutes. Slappy stepped out of the walkway into the clearing, stopped, put his hands in his pockets and swung his face around to meet her eye before he said, "All cleaned up in there, any sign of her out here?" She took her hand off of the wall self-consciously and wiped it on the side of her skirt as she turned to look out at the vast open land outside of the clearing and answered, "I think she must have run off back home, and I mean to go and get her back."