Generations in Agony...Texas: Chapter Six

6) On the road to Agony…


Doyle’s man had been driving since sunup, and he was sick and tired of Texas. Mile after endless mile of wide-open country and blinding sun had him blinking constantly. He had pulled off the road and bought sunglasses at a little store that featured a large crowd of Indians sitting on top of several junk cars just outside the establishment. A large sign reading: No Alcohol Sold to Indians gave him the feeling that he was in a very foreign land; at least one far removed from Chicago.

A couple of the Indian fellows had approached him as he walked toward the front of the store. One held out cash. “Can you get us a few bottles?”

Doyle’s man looked at the cash then at the two men. “What’s that?”

“Anything cheap’ll do, sir.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Wine?” The one-who-had-not-spoken-yet said.

Realization finally hit Doyle’s man. “Oh, ah…” He took the cash and counted sixteen dollars. “…yeah, I got yaz covered.”

Inside, he picked up a pair of Polaroid’s and grabbed nine bottles of Thunderbird wine at $1.69 each. At the cash register the owner, a toothless old, grizzled fellow that reminded Doyle’s man of Gabby Haze scowled at the wine. “You ain’t buyin’ that for them Dog-eaters out yonder, is you?”

“What’s that?” Doyle’s man was having a hard time understanding people in Texas. They did not seem to speak English, as he understood it.

“Them Injuns out there…” Gabby said, pointing to the side of the store. “You buy this for them and I’ll end up havin’ to shoot one or two of ‘em.”

Doyle’s man tossed the wad of cash on the counter and added a twenty for his glasses, which he stuck on his Irish-white nose. “Just box up the wine and keep the change.”

The old man did a quick calculation and realized he was being offered a nine-dollar tip. He nodded. “Tell them skins to climb back over the fence and get back on the reservation before they crack open a bottle or I’ll have the sheriff out here.”

“That’s a reservation behind here?”

“You betcha!”

“Huh…” Doyle’s man took the box of bottles the old man had loaded the wine into and backed out of the door. The Indians were smiling as he came toward them. “Guy inside says youse guys should climb back over the fence before you start up wid’da drinking.”

“Thanks, we’ll do that.” One of them said and took the box.

“Ah…how far is it to Agony from here?”

“Not far,” the box-holder said. “An hour to the turn in Sonora.”

“Then what?”

“An hour or so down that road.”

“Any other turns or anything?”

“No, the road only goes to Agony.” Some chuckles followed this statement. Looking around at the rest of the party, Doyle’s man wondered what the joke was.

*

He found the turn easy enough. After six miles he had to screech to a halt when a cow of some sort blocked the road. The thing was huge and when it turned to look at the car, it had the most moronic expression. “Jeeze, what kinna thing is this?”

Laying on the horn, Doyle’s man inched the car forward until finally the beast got the idea and moved off the road. He had to repeat this process six more times before he caught sight of the town. Other than the stupid cows, he had seen no body else, not even another car. The isolation of the place was a little unsettling.

He slowed as he came into the town limits and drove down the only main street available, which was just the same highway with a slower speed limit. Not much to the place, but he saw the medical office where his target was supposed to be and slowed to a crawl, looking hard at the building. There were two cars parked in the lot, one pick up truck along the street. As he drove by, a couple of women walked in off the street with a toddler.

When he reached the end of the town proper, he started looking for a spot to turn around, not finding one until he made it to the Esso station. Ahead of that, he saw that the pavement ended and everything around appeared to exist among scrub brush and dirt roads that ran off into a desert.

Pulling up to the pumps, Doyle’s man cut the engine and rolled down the window as a boy of about twelve came out smiling.

“You want a fill up sir?”

“Ah, yeah…that’d be good.”

The boy paused.

“Something wrong, kid?”

“No, sir, it’s just, you sound like…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re from Chicago. I just came down from there. Haven’t heard anybody talk like that since we got here—other than my mom.”

“Oh, yeah? You from Chicago, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid had the hose off the pump and was already sticking it in the tank. He locked the nozzle and came back to the front. “Want I should get that windshield for you, sir?”

“Sure, kid. G’head.”

“Check your oil?”

“Naw, it’s a rental.”

The kid shrugged.

Doyle’s man decided to take a shot at getting a little information. After all, this kid did not know enough to suspect anything. “Ah…you know the Doctor here in town?”

The kid stopped wiping the windshield. “Maybe, why?”

“Just wondered what his hours might be. I got this pain…”

“My mom works there. She could maybe get you in.”

“Really? Your mom works there, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid continued as he went around and started on the passenger side windshield. “Should I check the air in the tires?”

“Why not.” Doyle’s man smiled. This is gonna be easy.

“That’ll be six fifty three for the gas, sir.”

Doyle’s man handed the kid a ten. “Keep it, kid.”

“Thanks, sir. Happy motoring.”

“Hey, kid, tell me something. You know where the Doc lives?”

“Sure, everybody knows that.”

“Wanna clue me in?”

The kid pointed down to the dirt road. “You go down this road about three miles. Make the second left, then go about a mile further, take the second right. He’s at the end of that road.”

“Way out there, huh?”

The kid nodded. “Yeah, he should be home by four. They close the office at three-thirty today.”

“You’re a nice kid. You’re gonna go places.”

“Thanks mister.”

Doyle’s man drove off making the left back onto the road that became a dirt surface after a couple hundred feet. He was just out of sight of the station when he noticed the steering getting a little sloppy. This, he first figured to be due to the condition of the rutted-out road itself.

He crested the first rise and eased down the next stretch. When he hit the largest pothole yet, he winced as the sound of flapping rubber accompanied a sudden inability to control the vehicle. “Son-of-a-bitch!” He fought to the side of the road, trying hard to keep out of the bar ditch, which looked perilously deep. Finally, the car settled to a dusty stop. “Shit!”

Getting out, he moved around to the front and saw the wheel at the edge of the ditch with an utterly flat tire half off of the rim. He looked back the way he had come and saw the top of the dusty ridgeline. The dark suit and Italian leather shoes he wore felt suddenly very uncomfortable. Heat, like a giant hand, encased him as a hot wind whipped up the dust on the road and tossed it violently into his eyes. He turned his head away, blinded.

*

Charlie saw Solo’s Buick coming down the road from town. He waved the dark car into the station’s lot and ran to the window. “A guy! I just saw him, Solo. He’s from Chicago! He was asking about Doc and—”

“I saw him already, Charlie. Calm down and tell me where he went.”

“What are you gonna do, Solo?”

“I’m gonna make sure the guy goes away.”

Charlie gulped.

“Don’t worry about it, Charlie. I’m not gonna let anybody hurt your mom or the Doc.”

The very idea of somebody hurting mom made Charlie’s stomach crawl. “You gotta get this guy outta here, Solo.”

“I’ll take care of it. You just go back to work and stop worrying, okay?”

Charlie hesitated. “Okay…”

“I mean it, Charlie. This is between us, got it?”

Charlie nodded, feeling very unsure of things. A few weeks before, Solo had told Charlie that he was a hit man, a killer. He said he was going to change his ways. Being from Chicago, Charlie was not so unenlightened that he did not understand what men like Solo did and why. Still, this was the Doc. This was his mom! She liked the Doc, something Charlie had not come to terms with.

Still, what should he feel about Solo’s way of handling something like this?

Solo waited for Charlie to answer him. “Okay, I got it.” Charlie finally said.

“It’s going to be alright, Charlie.” Solo said as he rolled away, turning left and heading toward the end of the pavement.
*


Doyle’s man had his suit jacket off and his tie loosened. He lit a smoke and looked at the ditch, wishing he had worn some jeans and boots instead. That ditch looked to be four or five feet down. There was all manner of weeds and paper-trash strewn around. When he stepped to the edge, his shoe slipped and it was all he could do to keep from sliding down into it completely. As it was, he ended up on his butt with his legs hanging down. A sharp rattling sound erupted as soon as he caught himself and stopped his slide. Just below him, practically invisible in the grass, a coiled snake threatened the bottom of his expensive shoes.

“Holy fuck!” He scrambled, shredding his hands as he used them to walk himself back up the crown of the road. Once he got to his feet, relief washed over him when he heard the sound of an approaching car. Turning, he spotted a dark Buick roll over the ridge and slow as it pulled close. It came to a stop and the driver called through the window.

“Having a little trouble, sir?” A Mexican-looking man in a floppy straw hat leaned over the seat.

“Yeah…” Doyle’s man pointed at his rental. “Gotta flat.”

“Where ya headed? I’ll give you a lift.”

“Well, I was gonna change it.”

“Want some help?”

“Yeah, ah, I’m sorta close to the ditch’dere, and it’s fulla snakes.”

The man in Buick nodded. “Yeah, this whole area is full of snakes. You got a spare?”

Doyle’s man shrugged. “I guess so.”

The man in the Buick got out and came around and looked at the rental. He scanned the ditch-bound side and shook his head. “Well…you got yourself two flats, my friend.”

“Huh?” Doyle’s man came around to the rear with the stranger and looked for himself. Sure enough, the back tire was just as flat as the front. “Ah, Christ. Just what I need.”

“C’mon…” The stranger told him. “Let’s get you back to the Esso. They got tires there and a wrecker service to pull it outta here.”

“Hey, that’d be great. I owe ya.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Inside the Buick, the stranger put the car in gear and continued on down the dirt road.

“Hey, ain’t the station back that way?”

The stranger nodded. “Can’t turn around on this bit of road—too narrow. We’ll be in the ditch if I try it. There’s a place I can turn around up ahead.”

Doyle’s man relaxed.

It was just as Solo Rivera wanted him.
*