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8/08/2009

Sarah - A place to stay

I was going to summarize the story so far .. but there isn't much published yet so if you haven't read it and you want to catch up - the links are in the upper right sidebar.

Last time, Jake agreed to train Sarah and laid out the conditions under which he would agree to do that training. He told her where she could stay, knowing there was no way for her to go back to Vegas ...

From last time ...
"Yeah. I open a 9. Be here at 6. We'll get an early start."

And now ...

Sarah walked out of the shop and to her car. After the events of two nights ago, she had been lucky to find her car. But she remembered that The Kid had been dropped off three blocks away from the casino that night he was supposed to kill her. She figured he probably parked the car three blocks away from the alley where he was gonna do Sully. The alley where Sully wound up doing him. She walked for almost an hour looking for her car - hiding wherever she could when a car went by, not wanting to chance being seen and recognized by Sully. She found it, three blocks away from the cheese warehouse where The Kid had died, tucked between two buildings, facing out toward the street, but with escape in either direction. She reached up into the rip in the headliner and retrieved the plasticine envelope with the spare key in it, started the car and drove away. She didn't throw up until she was 20 miles north of Vegas. Now she got in her car and headed north, to the Glen Gleason Motel, not sick to her stomach, this time. No, this time she was full of resolve and determination. She knew where she was headed. She knew what she was going to do. And how she was going to do it. Now she just had to learn. Learn, and figure out Jake Bertrett.


The beat up old '41 Chevy pulled off the road in a cloud of choking dust.

Thelma Gleason sat in a chair on the porch of the office of the Glen Gleason Motel, handkerchief in front of her mouth and nose.

"From now on when you pull in here, slow down out on the road and then turn in, slow. I'm gonna be spittin' that shit out for a week."

"Sorry, I'll know better next time."

"If you're gonna live out in the desert, you're gonna hafta learn how to survive out here. Drownin' your neighbors in dust is a good way to piss folks off."

"I said I'm sorry."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Sister. Jake said you were coming and not to cut you any slack. Don't look at me like that, we got phones out here, ya know? I don't pay Jake no mind, nohow. Your name is Sarah, right? C'mon, I'll show ya yer room. You'll be stayin' up here in this buildin'. The cottages get pretty warm and I can't afford air conditioning except up here in the main building. I got two rooms in this building and I don't usually let them out to short-timers - you know, over night guests - I try to keep them for longer term people. 50 bucks a week and you get room service Monday, Wednesday and Friday, first week in advance. There's no smokin' in the rooms and if you need towels I keep them in that closet behind the front desk. The food at the diner is pretty good and it's open 24 hours - so is the gas station across the road. There's a pay phone out there next to the road - the phone in the office is not for guests. You got luggage?"

"Not really. Just a few things I managed to grab the other night in this little bag. I can't go back to my place to get anything else, either. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I've been in these clothes for two days and I need a shower."

"Give me your washing and I'll have the girl do it in the morning when she comes in. That's okay, isn't it? Of course it is. Say, how'd you get all the dried blood on the front of this blouse? No, never mind. Jake said don't ask no questions - and I won't. Now. My daughter was about your size, I've still got some of her stuff she left when she run off with the no good drummer from Salt Lake City, used to come by here about once every couple of months or so, sellin' his shit and stealin' my daughter. C'mon in back, I'll show you my livin' quarters."

"Oh, wait a minute, okay? I got something in the car for you, from Jake. A box of ... .22 longs? And I gotta call my Mom."

"Those are bullets for a .22 rifle. And you go right ahead and call your Momma. Use that phone over there on the desk."

"But you said ..."

"I know what I said. You just go ahead. Where is your Momma, anyway?"

"San Francisco."

"No shit? Sally's gonna pee her pants. She LOVES calling Frisco. There's an operator there she's in love with and every once in a while she gets her on the line and, Christ, those two could talk for hours. What? Oh. No dial system here, dearie. Plain old ordinary operators. Don't even have a long distance operator. Sally does it all. Just pick up the phone and talk to Sally. You tell her what you want and she'll call you back when the connection is ready."

Sarah went out to her car, now getting hot in the sun, and started it up. She put the car in gear and pulled around so she was facing the road. Just in case.

"Here's your bullets, Thelma."

"Listen, sweetie, the last person that called me Thelma was my old man and that salty bastard died before I got him broke in right. Everybody calls me 'Ma', except for that fucker Jake - he calls me Deadeye. Call your Momma."

"Yes ma'am. Ma, sorry. Hello, Sally? Sally, I need to call San Francisco."

6 comments:

Jientje said...

I enjoyed this. I love this story as much as I loved the Kid story.

Heather said...

You're brilliant, Lou. Absolutely brilliant. I am loving this story!
:)

Joyce-Anne said...

You certainly have a way of keeping me intrigued.

Tara R. said...

I just love your characters, you make them all come alive.

LceeL said...

Jientje: Thank you, Jientje.

Heather: Thank you, too, Heather.

Joyce-Anne: Good. I'm trying to.

Tara R: Thank you, Tara. I try.

Loraine said...

I'm definitely hooked.