Читать книгу South Texas Tangle - T.K. O'Neill - Страница 7

Jimmy still didn’t have a clue. Should he wait for Sam to find him or take flight and hope for another chance at catching lightning in a bottle? He’d been in tight situations before but never with the concept of death and killing hovering around the outcome. Always seemed like an answer came along about the same time you thought you were totally fucked. As if the gods liked to string you out and beat you down, testing your mettle before they rescued your sorry ass.

Jimmy was hoping this would again be the case. Time would be the deciding factor. Would he have time to wait for the answer or would some mind-warped gun monkey punch his ticket before the intel arrived? Images of insane Irishman, tight assed state troopers and meth-crazed Mexican maniacs swirled on the periphery of Jimmy’s thoughts like a swarm of killer bees.

And for a moment he wondered what happened to the killer bees. Weren’t they supposed to have taken over the southwestern U.S. by now? Was this one more thing he should worry about? But then, as is often the case, physical needs came along to focus his thinking. He was hungry. Really hungry. Hadn’t eaten since sometime yesterday before he was pulled over. The realization hit him and his stomach commenced on eating itself, twisting up inside him like a live octopus’d crawled down his throat last night while he was sleeping, if you could call that sleeping.

Probably just the damn tequila. Tekillya, right?

Jimmy was remembering a small café he’d seen yesterday, a little place across the street from the motel where he’d left the stolen truck. What the hell was the name of that hotel? Bay View? Wayside? Oceanside? Ocean Way? He searched through the fog in his brain and couldn’t find the answer. But believing his instincts would lead him to the place, he kept on walking, hoping his remembrance wasn’t just a fabrication based on need. They’d discussed this kind of thing in his freshman psych course in junior college; the prof insisting that a woman’s vagina might start looking like an apple to an extremely famished observer. More like a cut-in-half coconut, Jimmy was thinking as he moved down the lush green boulevard. And you’d have to have world-class hunger going on for that to happen.

The sidewalk was heating up now and Jimmy felt grime on his skin, the swirling wind kicking up particles of sand. He was moving away from the tall and breezy glass-and-steel moderns into an area of older, smaller structures and soon the surroundings were familiar. And then there it was, angling off to his left, the street he was on last night.

Bayside Motel.

That was it. The café he wanted was across the street from the Bayside Motel. And the motel was a block removed from being truly bayside. Evidently close enough for horseshoes and Texans. Moving slowly, checking out oncoming foot traffic like he was running a fast break in slow motion, Jimmy saw the Bayside Motel sign up ahead of him.

Cyn hadn’t slept very well but the room wasn’t the problem. Accommodations at the Bayside Motel were decent, regardless of the parking lot view from her window. Stopping her mind from flying every which way but where she wanted was the problem. She was still torn up from calling home last night, Danny sounding cute and cuddly and unsuspecting while she lied and told him she’d be home soon, not really knowing if she would or not. Big Dan, however, couldn’t hide his anger and frustration, snapping off clipped words in Danny’s presence and then getting down to it when the boy ran off to play, telling Cyn she was insane, neurotic and delusional and commanding her to return home immediately.

Well, that kind of stuff wasn’t going to work on her anymore. A couple hours alone with his kid and the man was already stressed out. Big dummy could handle the lowlifes and the scofflaws but panicked handling a five-year-old kid. John Wayne’s legacy coming home to roost.

Standing in a beige bra and panties in front of the mirror, Cyn looked at herself and fluffed her blond hair. Should she get it cut or let it grow? The fitness efforts were starting to pay dividends. Seeing stress lines in her face, she resolved to be strong. She’d only been gone one night. Her boy was with his father. Why was she so worried? Had she become so dependent on routine that even the thought of change caused panic? Seemed so. Needed to be worked on. Time to find her pioneering spirit. Think positive and meet the world face-on and try to make things work. Wasn’t that the message in all the magazine articles about women’s empowerment? Cyn knew she was beautiful. Knew she was powerful. Knew she was strong. And, most of all, knew she was lovable.

She just had to prove it to everyone else.

Come on, Cyn, one step at a time and first things first.

Get in the shower and then have breakfast. She’d seen a cute diner across the street, the Sand Dollar Café. Nerves were eroding her appetite but you had to have something in your stomach. New beginnings needed fuel and firmness and resolve.

Should she call her parents and have them pick up Danny or was it too soon for that? Maybe she should call and reassure them. Or first call Jean and explain things so Jean could tell the parents. But you could never predict how Jean might spin it, her sister often too caught up with herself to listen properly, so that was a potential problem.

Cyn’s stomach did a few somersaults as she went into the bathroom, slipped out of her underwear and turned on the water in the shower stall.