Off the Road - 19

a jazz novel on a typewriter

4

I had a dream with pillars of stone rising up from the muddy River which had eaten its way down the sides for as long as it had been there. From orange to yellow the shafts of tincture cast the high staffs in a wane to peculiar tinge. But then I took my face because it was just a dream, and I was still driving. And I wanted to still stay driving so my hands gripped the wheel even tighter than before. The pleats grabbed onto my fingers as if there were no tomorrow or even the sunset on the strip.

We moved at 100 mph as if it was a nightmare reflected in the mirrors. The sun was still in front of us because we had stopped in Flagstaff for the Motel 6 experience. Are you experienced foxey lady? You may die at the Red House. If you can just get your sight to the bottom of the sea. (Cue the marching drums in your mind.) We fly over the mountains with the women’s voices like an old-time soundtrack in my mind. The cooling part of the car was just barely working.

Dean spoke up: “Can we go along the top of the dam rather than on the view bridge?”

Charity chirped up with agreement, so it seemed that the bridge was for people getting to Las Vegas as quickly as possible which wasn’t us. Somehow, we did not want to say good night to Arizona just yet, even though it had done nothing for us that we had not paid for with lucre out of Charity’s pocket. Then we donned the top of the hillside and slalom down to the ache of the bridge. On our right, we saw the blue water piled up behind the sandy dam growling as it did so because the water wished to be free and at liberty to wash away the aching connections that men in their misery had made up when the life of the country seemed tenuous at best. It was as if the Dawn Street passed over the turbines and gave us its blessing. A blessing to find someone else responsible for driving off from Albuquerque and reaching Las Vegas for the purpose of pleasure. All of us help that we could win even the Maltese falcon if given a throw of the dice or a turn of the cards even if the odds were rigged and the dice were loaded to the pip. Remember every dealer loads the dice for the people he wants to leave or wants to have playing until they bust. But then we were off the bridge propped up by the turbines and on the way up we saw how far down the precipice fell and we wondered how long it would take to reach the bottom and split our heads open to the sun. many gamblers stripped clean by the casino had ended their trip to the adult version of Disneyland that way. Call it the Hard 2: one step from the top and you find yourself falling to the other step in the fire of the gully waters in a manic depression. It was as old as the Vietnam War and further back before that. We drove the last few miles and at charities diktat we parked our car at the Luxor and slept a while on the cavernous bed that she had wanted. Then we went down to the tables and watched her clean up at the blackjack even with the odds stacked against us from the beginning. Then I thought I saw Joel, but did not remember his last name though I thought he was from Cairo. I tried to say hello, but the milling crowd would not part for me on that day. Then Charity whispered to Dean and left.

He came over to me with a downward-sloping frown and said: “I think we have been dismissed but let us wait for a while in case she surprised me.”

“What’s happened? I thought everything was going to go fine.”

“It is but not for us.” So, I played the minimum on the blackjack table and only managed to lose some of the money that I shouldn’t have played in the first place.

Then half an hour had elapsed and our soon there afterward and there was no charity either in person or at the blackjack table. So, we searched and we searched but nothing came of it until we passed the reception area. The young woman said to wait for an older gentleman who would help us.

 A tall man who was once a football player, or so it seemed, came up to us and asked what our names were. He disappeared. Then in five minutes, he had two bags which were the two that we had taken along with us.

“the lady said that you weren’t to be let in.” I was almost ready to make a fuss, but Dean placed his hand on my shoulder and thus I quieted down to a two to dejection and objection.

We took our bags and slotted into the cheapest hotel that was livable. Then we entered into our room where Dean pronounced:

“She just needed a ride to Las Vegas, and she had another arrangement once here. I don’t think it’s going to go well for us, and I know it’s not going to go well for her.”

I looked at my bag then up at Dean and then down at my bag. Then I disassembled what I brought and found a little money missing courtesy of charity.

Then a day later we saw the news that Joel from Cairo was in the custody of the Paradise police with the suspicion that he had murdered a woman who was here to gamble.

 I guess it should not have been a surprise and on some level, it wasn’t. but it still gripped me by the cryptic heart and left a beat hanging.