The SUV was on route to the Surf and Sand Hotel in downtown Corpus Christi. Frankie had made the reservations on his goddamn phone. Frankie told Sam that Ryan said Sam should pay for his own room. Sam was surprised Ryan didn’t insist he pay for both rooms. Could still end up that way, never could be sure what Ryan might do. But one thing Sam knew for sure, you better do what Ryan said or you might wake up dead.
Sam pulled out his cell and hit Jimmy’s number, gazing off to his right at a large expanse of blue-gray water rolling gently onto a large curve of smooth sand. The beauty of it made Sam’s gut twist with frustration. Rage simmered deep in his chest as he grappled with the realization that his escape from the winter doldrums was trending toward dismemberment and burial in the barren plains of West Texas. Shit.
Not conducive to relaxation.
The phone rang and rang and Jimmy didn’t pick up and now the biting sand flies beneath Sam’s skin were stirring. Damn little Dago prick was making him need another pill already. Which hastened the need for food in Sam’s stomach. Which opened up another basket of snakes when you had Sam’s digestive problems.
Frankie turned and looked back at Sam from the front seat. “Get a hold of your man yet, Sammy?” Frankie said.
“Not yet, Frankie my friend. I’ll have to try again from the hotel. My battery’s nearly dead.”
“There’ll be a rental car waiting for us at the hotel. Bob said you should put it on your credit card.”
“Of course,” Sam said, swallowing back bile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Frankie, gazing out his window, said, “I’m thinking it wouldn’t be bad to stay down here in Tex-ass a while. Nice to feel the warmth.”
“Warmth is nice,” Sam said as the SUV turned onto a street lined with high rising buildings of glass and steel and brick. The driver was silent as he steered them along the shady thoroughfare past bars and restaurants and hotels.
7
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