Читать книгу South Texas Tangle - T.K. O'Neill - Страница 9

The flashing of a cop’s light bar across the street drew Jimmy’s attention away from the last bit of egg yolk on his plate. Turning his head, wedge of whole-wheat toast pinched between his fingers, he glanced out the café window at the Bayside Motel parking lot across the street and the swarm of local cops converging on the classic blue Ford pickup truck.

Didn’t take’em long to find it, Jimmy thought. At least the owners would get their truck back, low on gas but no damage done. Bet they didn’t expect that. But y’know, a vehicle like that deserves respect.

Jimmy took a sip of coffee, got up from his spot at the counter and walked over to a rack of tourist pamphlets near the front window where he could get a better look across the street.

Four squad cars for one empty truck. Seems like a waste of taxpayers’ money.

Of course, down here in border country, thing could be rigged with explosives or full of drugs. S’pose you can’t be too careful. Back home you got four squads for a speeding ticket, the right time of day, so things were the same all over, just looked different. For sure the cops have it all over you no matter where you are.

Jimmy lifted out an aqua blue pamphlet from the metal rack, Mustang Island printed on the cover above a photo of a long thin strip of sand and lots of blue water. Smiling at the Mexican lady at the cash register, he opened the pamphlet and pretended to study it as he watched the cops across the way searching through the cab of the pickup, Jimmy thinking, Nothing in there to find, boys. But wait now, what have we here? A vision of loveliness coming out between the cop cars and walking this way, blond in tight white shorts and gold Minnesota Gophers T-shirt strolling across the street.

Were the gods messing with him? Was this, another good omen? Playing for the Gophers had been a childhood dream of Jimmy’s. Derailed by too many beers and too many joints and not enough time on the practice court. The sight of a Gopher T-shirt way down here in cowboy land piqued his interest and got his imagination going. What was moving there underneath Golden Gophers was piquing something, too.

Turning around, Jimmy surveyed the interior of the café. All the counter spots were occupied except his and the spot next to it, the two red-vinyl covered stools looking naked in the bustling cafe. He took a couple steps in the direction of his plate before turning to check out the girl again, liking the way her chest moved, proud things standing up high, telling the truth.

Jimmy got to his spot at the counter just as an aging waitress in a starched black skirt and white short-sleeved blouse began clearing his plate. “Could I get some more coffee, please?” he said, sitting. Waitress nodded and went down the aisle to grab a gold plastic coffee pot from the counter. Jimmy picked up a newspaper off the counter and pretended not to notice the cute new arrival up there searching the room for a place to sit. The waitress topped off his cup. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cute blond shrug and start toward him. Then she was sliding onto the stool next to his followed by a wash of freshness made him think of hotel soap. Jimmy continued gazing at the newspaper, letting his senses fill with the girl. Heard her order the Dieter’s Special Breakfast (one poached egg, two tomato slices, light whole wheat toast, juice and choice of coffee or tea). She chose tea and Jimmy picked up on the lack of regional inflection in her voice. Trace of southern, maybe, but slight, and also sounding like a lot of girls in the Minneapolis bars on a Saturday night.

She was great looking up close but seemed a bit anxious. Girl had a little agitation vibe going on. Trying to get her attention, Jimmy turned toward her but she was busy flicking her hair with her hand and gazing through the call window at the activities inside the spotless kitchen. Jimmy pulled the front section loose from the newspaper and slid it across the counter toward her. “Care for some reading material?” he said.

Turning, she seemed to notice him for the first time. Tilting her head back she eyed him with the edge of suspicion women learn at an early age to give strange men throwing out pick-up lines. “Oh, sure,” she said, “Thank you,” cheeks reddening a little.

So she was a shy one. Jimmy loved her sculpted nose with its tiny freckles. “Have at it. National news is too depressing, anyway,” he said.

Clearing her throat and smiling a little, she picked up the paper and flipped at her hair again, eyes facing front, body slightly tense. She folded the paper in half and set it on the counter. Jimmy watched the waitress put a small stainless-steel pitcher, a tea bag and a white porcelain cup on the counter in front of her.

Going for it now, Jimmy said, “I couldn’t help notice your Gophers t-shirt. You from Minnesota, too?”

Looking at him sideways, neck stiff, she said, “A long time ago. My parents moved here when I was twelve.”

“About ten years ago then.”

She gave him a knowing smirk, said “Yeah, right,” and turned back to lift the tea bag from the cup and drop it in the pitcher of hot water. “A little longer than that,” letting him hear the suspicion in her voice.

That’s when he saw the wedding ring on her left hand. Not a giant one, but big enough to notice. Jimmy also noticed how her eyes were smiling behind the slightly standoffish look. Jimmy held up the Mustang Island pamphlet. “You ever go out here?” he said. “I was thinking about going. Mustang Island sounds kinda cool, y’know? What’s it like out there?”

“Lots of sand and water and some decent bars and restaurants. Usually pretty quiet during the week but weekends can get crowded this time of year.”

Jimmy glanced at the front page of the Corpus Christi Caller-Times to see what day it was. Friday. “I may go out there then. On your recommendation. Us Minnesota Gophers do crave the sea and sun this time of year,”

Eyeing him, still looking suspicious, she said, “You played for the Gophers?”

“Wanted to—gave them the chance to sign the best point guard in the state of Minnesota, but they blew it.”

She smiled, blushing a little.

Jimmy again found it endearing.

“What brings you to Corpus?” she said, warming to him it seemed.

“Work related.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I used to be in the gaming industry, but I’m currently between gigs. Came down here to look for work and do some soul searching. I’m contemplating a change in scenery and thought maybe Corpus Christi would be a good place to start over.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

The girl nodded and went back to the front page of the paper, staying quiet. Then the starched waitress was sliding the Dieter’s Special in front of her and Jimmy was letting his eyes slide down to Gopher Girl’s lovely tan legs, sneaking a peek before turning back to the newsprint in front of him. He was scanning the Local News page when his eyes locked onto a headline in the bottom left corner: Abandoned van found on Gamble Gulch Road. Pulse rising, Jimmy read the blurb, found no mention of cash hidden behind the paneling or fleeing drivers, only that a computer check had turned up St. Paul, Minnesota owners the Highway Patrol was attempting to locate, adding that the van was not on any list of stolen vehicles.

Strange.

Could the article be an elaborate ruse to entice someone into claiming the van? Could be, but why sweat it? Jimmy was out of that part of it now. But he still lacked a coherent plan or direction and nothing was bubbling up from the recesses of his brain except a growing interest in Gopher Girl, currently munching daintily on a slice of lightly toasted bread. Eats like a bird, Jimmy’s dad would have said: delicate fingers holding the toast… taking tiny bites….

Jimmy removed the page with the Gamble Gulch article, folded it three times and stuffed it in the pocket of his wrinkled slacks. And turning to look out the front window saw a wrecker pulling in across the street. Soon the pickup truck would be at police impound and his fingerprints would be rushing along the database and making a run through the National Crime Information Computer.

They’d find nothing. But the shit was still troubling. Pretty girl sitting next to him made him feel better though. He wanted to linger a little longer next to Gopher Girl, maybe find out her name, but the damn chick was taking forever to knock off her diet breakfast and his own food was rumbling inside him like a simmering volcano, aided handily by the excess coffee he’d consumed while stalling.

Aware of his lack of a home base and totally unaware of the availability of public facilities in the area, Jimmy anxiously scanned the interior of the Sand Dollar Café, finally spotting a sign on the back wall with an arrow and the word Restrooms. Rising, feeling stiff, Jimmy glanced down to see if Gopher Girl was watching. She wasn’t. He went to the rear of the building in a hurry, his disappointment at leaving the pretty one’s side overcome by the immediate demands of nature.

Coming out of the men’s room Jimmy saw only the empty stool, the sweetie gone from her place. Then he caught a glimpse of her through the café window, pretty blond crossing the street toward the motel, nice wiggle on her tushy. The Ford truck was gone from the parking lot now but the cops were still lingering over there; some of them checking out Gopher Girl’s cute rear as she jiggled through the motel door.

So much for that, Jimmy thought, feeling let down and anxious. Breakfast would cut his dwindling cash reserves by ten bucks, tip included. Jimmy was always a generous tipper, believing those on the lower rungs of the economic ladder needed all the help they could get, not considering that he was currently languishing somewhere below the bottom rung.

Jimmy picked up his check from the counter, saw the waitress watching him, arms folded across her chest, dude at the register also eyeballing him. Suspicious bastards. Jimmy flashed his best “Minnesota Nice” smile, left three ones next to his plate on a six forty-nine bill, and went up front feeling light and airy. Which seemed odd.

Stepping out into the sunshine Jimmy felt the heat on his chest, caffeine in his bloodstream churning out perspiration and reminding him he hadn’t bathed in a long time. With all the water around here, shouldn’t be a problem, eh? Get a bar of soap at a convenience store and hit the Gulf. Jimmy didn’t know how well soap worked in saltwater, but screw the small stuff. It was only a few years ago he was down here with his junior college basketball team and he remembered seeing outdoor showers at the beachfront condo complexes. Tar balls in the sand—that’s what they got on the beaches down here—and condo owners didn’t want the gunk tracked into the buildings, thus the showers. Manager dudes wouldn’t begrudge him the cleaning off of a little sodium, would they?

Besides the soap he needed some suntan oil to keep from frying like cheap bacon in the South Texas sun. Ain’t it funny how something you’ve been dreaming about for a half a year can turn on you so fast. Jimmy was one of the fools on his juco hoops team that laid out too long on his first day down here and his skin turned the color of a lobster, made him sick with burn. But after working on it with the tanning butter for a few days he got to looking like a local, Mexican even. Same look he was going for now. Get the deep tan and keep quiet and get lost in the crowd, not stand out like a light-skinned northerner on the run from other light-skinned northerners, Sam Arndt being the exception with his olive-toned pelt.

Jimmy watched the last two cop cruisers pull out of the Bayside and roll away, Jimmy thinking they were on the way to the doughnut shop after a hard morning of guarding an empty truck. Jimmy carried a sizable disrespect for authority, going all the way back to eighth grade and the time the principal ordered him to the front of the auditorium, made him stand up there like a douchebag while the former-paratrooper-turned-school-administrator harangued the student body about lunchroom vandalism and rowdiness, even showering the auditorium floor with a box full of bent and broken cafeteria silverware. Real dramatic gesture—bogus, but dramatic—and it put the whole school on edge.

But Jimmy hadn’t bent any forks or done anything like that. Nothing deserving of being put on display in front of the whole school, anyway. He was only guilty of reflecting the auditorium’s ceiling lights off the flat surface of his imitation-silver ring, the glare hitting the principal’s wild eyes as the man stood down there, ranting. Old Miller Ferris blew a gasket, the man raving and spitting, just because the reflection from Jimmy’s ring was flashing in his eyes. Hardly anything for Christ sake. And then the four-eyed prick ordered Jimmy down to the front of the auditorium to stand as an example of what happened when you messed with authority in this school.

Walking out of the auditorium that day pissed off and embarrassed, a rebel was born. From that moment on Jimmy became a pesky irritant toting baggage filled with resentment, bordering on hatred, with a desire to make life more difficult for those who engaged in intimidation and bullyboy behavior. He seldom missed an opportunity to slag off the powers that be.

Smiling to himself Jimmy flashed back to a time umpiring a city-league softball game when a local police officer got in his face disputing a call. Jimmy wasted no time giving the cop the heave-ho and may have smirked a tad as he did it. But, after a summer of numerous parking tickets and several squad-car follows, Jimmy concluded that stealth was the way to go, having seen too many instances of police violence on helpless drunks and those who stood up for their rights in the wrong places. Yeah, a wise mouth can easily lead to a bruised head. And sometimes you just have to walk away and keep the trap shut, hard as it may be.

Jimmy took one last glance at the motel entrance, hoping to see Gopher Girl striding over to invite him for a day at the beach. But the sweat trickling down his ribcage seemed to signal the remoteness of this happening and sent him plodding down the block in the direction of a sign with a giant seahorse on it: Discount Beachware and Accessories.

Going in the store Jimmy was thinking maybe he should call Sam again.