Off the Road - 26

a jazz novel on a typewriter

6

The minutes in the offing turned the distant curves black. We were on California 1 and the lights had just diminished from the roads which people lived on. The map said that Route 27 had been the dividing point where the houses grew dark. We were alone with the car and the wheels that could not quite stay stable being our only companions. There was nothing so clear about our predicament than the May sea as the clouds rolled in taking the wisps of nighttime clouds blotting out the stars. On the beach, we heard very small ripples breaking on the shore with the unpleasant cast of seaweed carrying through the air in a repetition. It was perhaps the decay of the angel that had sent us on this mission turning on the sand.

“I don’t think that Alice is going to survive this encounter because I think that even if we get the hookars, someone else will follow and take them back.”

“I thought you weren’t going to speculate on why.”

“I just want to know that we are going to be paid in full or at least enough to fix the things that are wrong with this car without keeping a blot on the car fax report.”

I looked over at Dean and curled my brow. In all be days that I had known him, he was truly concerned for the outcome and that was extraordinarily unusual. So as I gently pulled the car, waiting for the breaks to give out at any moment I replied:

“That’s the first time you’ve ever worried about whether someone will see a check in the box on any form.”

“You made the deal and I am just along for the ride. But I do need to know how long the ride will be good for. Because at this moment for this second, the ride is everything to us and this exchange doesn’t change that in the slightest way of chance.”

There was something wretched about how he put it but there was no denying that the truth was out there. In the back of my mind, the giant steps echoed in the tilt things of the wheel. I did not know what it was about the Coltrane Changes but I felt that they were lashing me forward in the swerves along the highway looking towards the hills and the ocean on the Pacific Coast Highway.

But it was Malibu which we were intent upon that raw slice of destiny which was all that we cared about for the moment. We wanted to see the two-story commercial sounds that populated the grass and the occasional tree promising a warmer meal and glistening with the words eatery on the side of a hill. Then suddenly it was two lanes and a curve middle which created our eyes with the trees becoming more numerous they missed the yellow weeds. And we knew that we had reached the edge. The edge of life and light we’re the sea was on holding in the night. I looked over at Dean and for him, the signs of decay held new fear.

“Which road do we go on to?” his eye turned up and waited as the liquor store was still open and he jingled some dollars in his pocket but did not ask to stop.

“It is labeled Sarah Road and it is twisting until you get deep inside and see Palm Canyon Lane on the left.” Neither he nor I knew this area but the iPhone did. At least I hoped that this would be the case if not then we were kucf thou in the grass.

We drove up and there was a white with orange tiled roof gateway with a man who was doing something close to nothing but different than the day before cruising the road for drivers. And so we stopped a missed the spruce trees and brush.

I waited for the guard to start the conversation it took him a few minutes and I realized that there was a beret on his seat that wasn’t quite in the uniform that he was wearing.

“Who are you here to see.”

I pronounced the name as if it were a friend from days gone by.

The guard checked the list of approved visitors and of course, did not find one for that name. at that point, Dean pushed a bag into my hand, and with an easy motion, I switched and just held it out there for the guard to see. So I had both a carrot and a stick so the guard took the bag and waved me through as if nothing was unusual in the practice.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Just giving to the poor a sample of the best.”

In hell rock is free but a pipe cannot be found. But that is not my concern because the rock got me into restricted access without a care in the world.

 Slowly up be winding road we went and when we changed to Palm Canyon Lane we checked each number until the jackpot had been hit fortunately there was enough space in the driveway and we got out and reached the white metal door and knocked as if this was nothing. We had business. And we knew it.

 But a human being walked up to the door with a casual since and gradually opened it but only to the point where the chain bar opened. And in the space, we could see a man with a portion of his lips. And he spoke:

“I am not waiting for anyone why are you here?”

Then Dean from behind me said exactly this:

“We came for some business and we would rather make this polite and formal but we can do this impolite and informal if you want.” I need to tell you that there was a growl that formed his words.

And slowly the chain was pulled along the slot and we could see the man dressed in jeans and a button-down short-sleeved shirt as if this was his uniform. His face was all crinkled and held a scowling lip. He knew that someone was coming and he obviously had some alibi to get him to keep at least some of his haul.

The noontide moon of summer flowed over the flowers.