The Road to Hell Ch. 03

ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS.



Hank Johnson knocked on Margo's motel room door, knocked on it again, then a third time. No response. He phoned the room and got the same results. The desk clerk told him she left. Hank wasn't surprised. "Que sera sera," was his attitude about most things. He drove across town to the high school.

There he opened the locker to collect his fee for killing Leroy. The locker was empty. No cash, no package, no note, no nothing. Then he opened the locker designated on the new text. It was empty, too. He went home.

The Airstream was empty, too. Rose was gone along with her stuff. "Something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear: Buffalo Springfield, FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, 1967," the lyrics popped into Hank's mind. He went to bed and awoke later looking up into the eyes of Rose's daughter, Harriet, standing in the doorway looking back at him, and another deputy he didn't recognize.

"Why'd you run momma off?" She asked, as she unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it off, and hung it on the door knob. Hank looked at the other woman to check her reaction to Harriet.

Harriet had long, stringy black hair, black eyes, five-two tall, one-hundred sixty pounds, and wore too much mascara.

"Who the fuck knows, she was here when I went out this morning, and gone when I got back," he replied, watching Harriet remove her holster and shoes. Hank guessed she was octoroon, though her father looked white enough: Harriet looked a lot like Mariah Carey if Carey's hair was black. "Maybe Rose cucked him," Hank wondered.

Harriet removed her pants, stepped out of her panties, climbed on the bed, then crawled over to Hank and straddled him. "You gonna call her?" She asked as she wrapped her fingers around his cock to jack it, and leaned forward to kiss him.

"No," Hank replied.

"Homey don't play that game, huh?" She said.

"Nope," he replied as he cupped her ass with his hands and pulled her bottom to his face. He sniffed her.

"What in hell are you doing?" She snapped.

"Checking to see if anyone filled your bun with jelly already," he said.

"You know, you are such an insensitive asshole!" She said. "I was gonna share a secret with you but now I don't think I will."

"You're pregnant," he said.

"How in hell would you know!" She frowned down at him as she pressed her warm cunt against his face.

He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to say," You look pregnant."

"It's your's," she cooed and turned her head to look at her partner, "you're welcome to play, too." The woman started undressing.

Hank looked at Harriet, "How do you know?"

"Cause I don't let nobody fuck me bareback but you, son of a bitch!" She snarled.

"Is that why your momma left?" He asked.

"You're the first I told, she doesn't know," she sighed. "Are you excited?"

"Horny," he replied. She slapped him hard.

"You take the prize for bastard!" She growled, then squirted when she orgasmed from his tongue. "I don't know why I even fuck with you," she said, wiping him with the sheet. "Now fuck me, and make me like you again." She lay on her back spreading her legs across the mattress. "What you waiting for Sylvia?" Harriet asked her partner.

"I want you when he's done," Sylvia replied.

*****

The next morning Harriet got up, put on Hank's robe, and went outside to get her uniform from her car. She was sore and walked gingerly. Hank was up and making coffee when she returned. He looked outside and stared at the white Crown Vic parked across the street.

"What you looking at?" Harriet asked.

"A whore in a mini skirt walking the street," he said. She looked.

"Must need some crack to be out in the rain," she said. "What did you think of Sylvia? On the way to her house last night she said she wants to come back and fuck you; but you gotta be careful cuz her old man is big and mean as hell. Can I tell her it's OK to come around?"

"Sure," Hank said.

"Mostly she likes women; I bet she gets more pussy than you do, mostly the one's we catch shoplifting, and the one's that get knocked around by their old men," Harriet said. "Why do yuh s'pose women wanna fuck after fights?"

*****

After Harriet left for work Hank cranked up the Willys and went for a ride; the Crown Vic followed. He stopped for coffee at the Quickie Mart where the Crown Vic parked, waiting for him; that's what Hank figured. The Ford's windows were tinted and concealed the occupants.

After he got his coffee, and fueled the Willys, Hank headed east. The Ford followed him far enough back to look inconspicuous. But a plain jane Ford Crown Vic is almost always a geezer, a taxi, or a cop. "Can't be nothing else," he thought. Thirty miles later, at the county line, the Ford was still behind him, and made the turn when Hank headed south on County Line Road to the phosphate mines.

Phosphate ore is mined by huge draglines and hauled to a processing facility where the ore is converted to pure phosphate pellets, then loaded aboard trains, and hauled to the port for shipment to fertilizer plants around the world. Hank was headed to an old mine closed decades ago. Most buildings were covered with Transite, a heavy corrugated acid resistant board made of cement and asbestos. The same toxic shit house shingles were made of in the 1950s.

Hank drove the Willys onto the mine site and followed a trail through the under-brush to the plant. One of the old warehouses was open, so he drove inside, parking as far from the entry as possible. The Crown Vic stopped and parked by the opening in the old fence.

The Ford's occupants got out of the car, looked around, talked and scratched their heads, then walked the trail to the old warehouse. They stood by the door holding pistols and looking in till their eyes adjusted to the dim light. Hank waited till they became confident enough to come inside, each following the walls to the back of the building, to avoid silhouetting themselves with the back-light from the door. When they were close enough he shot them. Later he loaded their bodies in the truck and dismembered them at another location.

Hank was experienced at butchering pigs so the work was fast and easy. During the night he took their remains to the public park beside Alligator Lake and tossed the meat across the fence to the reptiles. The animals splashed and thrashed about, growled and bellowed; the fun didn't last long. On the way home Hank stopped at a car wash and cleaned the truck.

Hank rarely thought about killing or anything else, if someone was a threat he took care of it with his fund of experiences and whatever means he had at hand. He relied on the same process for murder or sex or fixing his car, as new ways came along he simply added them to his tool box.

Hank probably had more awareness of feelings than most people, but feelings didn't push him into paralysis or careless action. So he didn't talk about his feelings, just like most of us don't talk about yellow traffic lights or stinking garbage. Such cues prompted him to take action of some kind, even inaction. Hank was a quiet Mr.Spock.

*****

About dawn his cell phone chirped. He opened the case. He didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" He said.

"I'm at the bus station, come get me," it was Margo.

The bus station was encrusted with winos on the sidewalk outside, Margo looked anxious out there with them. Hank double-parked and loaded the Willys with her stuff.

"I suppose you're surprised to see me," Margo suggested.

"Nothing surprises me," Hank replied.

"Don't you want to know why I came back?" She asked.

"Not particularly," he said. "I wanna know what you want."

"I want to know what you had in mind when you suggested I work for you," she said.

"Did you eat breakfast?" He asked.

"I don't usually eat breakfast," she replied.

Hank looked at her and thought, "a grifter won't give you the right time, even if she's standing beside a clock."

Hank took her to the Night Owl Diner where he ate most of his meals. Judy Rizzo was his regular waitress.

Judy wore her hair colored brown in a shaggy 'mom style' bob with blonde highlights. She was five foot five and one hundred fifty pounds, with a medium size rack that pushed against her uniform like they wanted out. She said she was forty but looked older, her husband was a younger man up at the state prison. She had three kids from as many men. Hank's generous tips were a decent portion of her pay. She'd sleep with him if he asked, but he never asked. Hank pulled a bill from his pocket and stuffed it in Judy's apron. Margo saw it and raised her eyebrows.

*****

Hank took Margo to the old hotel after breakfast. Built of red brick back in the 1920s, it had three floors of rooms and suites, and a ground floor of space created for retail commerce and guest services; that is, boutiques, barbers, cosmetologists, and abortionists.

"There ain't much here. The college opened many years later. Sylvan Abbey is kinda bucolic compared to Bay City, but the hotel seemed to be a magnet for tourists and weekend excursions, a pleasant comfortable place for mom or sis to dump a love child or get one, clean up, and take the train home," he said. "The building has discrete, hidden elevators, to sneak lovers in." He unlocked the door to a vacant ground floor rental space, led her to a concealed elevator, and went to the top floor. The scene looked like the old hotel from THE SHINING movie; most of the incandescent lamps along the long corridor were out. He unlocked the door directly across from the elevator, opened it, and flipped the light switch ON. Nothing happened. But the Sun was up and illuminated the room well enough for her to see the suite clearly.

Immediately inside the door was her living room, to its right was her kitchen and dining room with corner windows, to the right of the living room was her bedroom and bathroom. The whole place looked like hell.

"I doubt this place has been used since World War II. In a week you won't recognize it," he smiled. "That reminds me, you need to see the decorator asap. In the meantime you'll stay in the motel."

"There's no furniture here," she reminded him.

"The decorator will take care of it," he said, "she has a budget and knows how much you can spend for furniture, drapes, cabinets, and the rest of it. Get a good look around, so you'll remember when you pick colors later, cuz the contractor's gonna start work about noon, taking this place apart." He handed her a small digital camera, "Use this."

"You never did say what my job is," she said.

"Oh, for now, you're the recreation director, and this old barn is your rec center," he said.

"So what do I do?" She asked.

"It's gonna take about a year to rehab this place, so what say you get out in the community, mingle, and kinda hint at what your new club has to offer," he replied. "Think Dracula recruiting new vampires."

A blue Crown Vic was parked by the Airstream when Hank came out of the hotel. The tag was registered to the sheriff. The hunk of blubber sitting behind the wheel was the sheriff, who got out of the car as Hank walked by. "Wait up, I wanna talk to you," he said. The sheriff was alone. Hank stopped and waited, then unlocked the trailer's door and held it open for the man.

"Have a seat," Hank suggested. "Got time for coffee?"

"Sure," the sheriff replied. Hank washed the coffee maker, filled it, and flipped the switch.

"It's okay with me if you smoke," Hank said. The sheriff pulled a pack of unfiltered Camels from his blouse pocket, tapped the pack, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"What can I do you for?" Hank asked.

"I'd like it if you stop killing my people, for starters," the sheriff replied. "Don't say you don't, cuz I got reliable sources gave me all the details. But unfortunately I ain't got shit for evidence. I ain't saying some of them don't need killing but it makes me look like shit, so I came by to offer you a deal. I want you on my team."

"I'm listening," Hank said while fetching a bag of Styrofoam cups from the counter.

"We got a problem in this county with goddamned bleeding heart judges kissing ass when they should be kicking ass, and plenty of influential citizens are unhappy about the situation," he said. Hank poured the coffee and handed a cup to the sheriff. "Thank you."

"I'm still listening," Hank said.

"I've been told you have a contact system in place at the high school that's satisfactory. But you won't be getting any cash under the new management," the sheriff said. "The new management is thinking of compensation in kind."

"Such as?" Hank replied.

"Oh, I hear that you're considering opening a club in town, and might benefit from our special services department," the sheriff added. "In fact, I been wanting to talk to you about buying some stock in such an enterprise. Any idea what a share is gonna sell for?"

"A buck," Hank replied.

"How many shares?" The sheriff asked.

"One hundred; fifty-one for me, and forty-nine to share with friends," Hank said.

"I see," the sheriff said, pulling a dollar out of his pocket and dropping it on the table. "What sort of wares you planning to sell?"

"Well, you know we're home to most of America's carnival freaks, so I was thinking of opening a club for all our other freaks," Hank replied.

"You mean folks shy about being out in public. Great idea! One other thing, before I get back to work; if anyone tries to impede the other work we discussed I s'pose a man needs to do what he needs to do to complete the job. Any questions?"

"Nope," Hank replied.

*****

Hank put Margo in a taxi, paid the driver, and sent her off to see the interior decorator. "Call me when you're done," he said. "We'll get you someplace to stay."

"I could stay with you," she hinted.

"We'll talk about it over dinner, I gotta go meet with the contractor," he said.

Less than thirty minutes later the contractor, Cammy Colon, a fat cigar stuck in his mouth, arrived with a work crew. "Que pasa?" He asked Hank.

"Nada, we're gonna replace the roof first, right?" Hank asked.

"Yes sir! But first we're gonna put a new ladder to the roof hatch so no one busts his ass climbing that old rotten shit, bueno?" Cammy said.

"That's fine. You gonna rehab the north end first?" Hank asked.

"That's the plan," Cammy said. The mechanical room is directly under it on the ground floor, so the electricians will start there and run their pipe to the top, then we'll rip out the guts so they can rough wire. Plumbers, too. Once we remove the roof the tin-knockers can set curbs for the air conditioner, fart fan, kitchen exhaust, and skylites. Then we put down the new deck, insulate, and dry it in. Wham bam thank you ma'am."

"Good," Hank replied. "Lemme get out of the way."

"Later!" Cammy said as Hank left for the trailer and a nap.

*****

Hank awoke a few minutes before five o'clock, peed, and checked his cellphone for calls. Nothing. He called the decorator. Margo never showed up. He called the taxi service. She went to the bus station. Hank wondered why she left her stuff behind, and wondered if there was any method to her madness. "The world is fulla folks pushed about by the wind and tides," he thought.

Hank looked over at the hotel, Cammy and the crew were gone but he saw four older youths or young adults wander into the building from the street, one of them toting a red can. "Better check it out," he thought, and followed them in to the building, then followed the trail of gasoline fumes and pot along the corridor till he heard them talking and giggling in one of the rooms.

He stood in the doorway and observed them for a moment, three young adults, one holding a plastic jug of gasoline and a flashlight. Hank guessed maybe a quart or so was left of the gallon. "Put the gas down," Hank said, pointing his Ruger at them.

The kid with the gas can turned around. The girl turned around, took the joint out of her mouth and passed it to one of the boys. She had a gun, too, as did her companions. The kid holding the gas can said,"Looks like you're outnumbered, asshole."

"Maybe," Hank replied.

"Look dude, I know what you thinkin, and I guess you didn't see the Myth Busters show, huh?" the kid with the gas can said.

"I don't watch tv," Hank said.

"That's too bad for you, cuz I know what you're thinkin', you're thinkin' you can shoot the can and cook up some crispy critters, but it don't work," the kid said.

"Then I guess I got it all wrong," Hank answered.

"Looks like you did, fool," the kid smiled as Hank shot the can, burning the kids and singeing himself when it exploded. Hank then shot each kid, in turn, in the fire light. Then he felt his way back outside to crank up the backhoe parked on his lot near the Airstream. It was light enough to dig a trench to bury the bodies during the night. The job had to be done before the crew arrived for work at seven. With the trench dug Hank went home to shower.

He turned on the shower and undressed, tested the water and got in, spreading the spray all over his head and body. He reached for the coconut oil soap and lathered his head. The blade of a stainless steel butcher knife then ripped through the shower curtain, the tip cutting a furrow from Hank's shoulder to his elbow, along the outside of his arm.