The Motel Life (16 page)

Frank Flannigan

P.S. I brought you by some ice cream. Would have left it but didn’t want it to melt. I left you two cookies sitting on the table. I’ll bring by lunch tomorrow. You want Jim Boys or an Awful Awful burger? I’ll call you around 11
.

I put the note on his chest and left the hospital. As I walked down Fourth Street, I could see snow beginning to fall. I turned on Virginia to walk past the glowing lights of the strip, and I was at the Fitzgerald when I heard a lounge band inside play the song ‘Boy Named Sue’ by Johnny Cash. The song is a favorite of mine and I decided to go in.

I went past the statue of the Irish leprechaun, Mr. O’Lucky, and past the rows of slot machines and the people playing them, and then I saw, sitting at a twenty-one table, Tommy Locowane. I stopped when I saw him, and my heart sank. Almost like someone hit me in the stomach and took my wind. I felt sick. I stood there unnoticed and watched him, watched as they took the chips from him, and when I left he was almost broke. He was almost done.

24

WHEN I GOT HOME
I opened the door to my place and saw the dog on my bed wagging his tail. He yawned and looked at me, and I felt better that he was there. I took two bowls and set them on the table and dished out two portions of ice cream, one for me, one for the dog. I turned on the radio, and as the music softly played we ate.

The next morning I called Jerry Lee and he told me to buy any car I wished, Cadillac or Toyota, Honda or Ford. The only kind he didn’t want was a mini-van or a station wagon.

‘Now that we got some dough, maybe you could find that kid’s folks easier. He’s got to have them somewhere. Maybe they’re good people who are sick or something. If you find them you could give them some of the money.’

‘I don’t think he’s got anyone,’ I told him.

‘Everybody’s got somebody,’ he said.

‘What if I can’t find anyone?’

‘You will,’ Jerry Lee said.

‘I’ll try,’ I told him.

‘Maybe when you find someone we could get them subscriptions to magazines. Like
National Geographic
or
People
or
Sports Illustrated
. Who knows what they like, but most people like magazines.’

‘I’ll try,’ I said.

I got dressed, combed my hair and shaved, put on my coat, and took the dog out the back. We walked quickly down First Street, then over Virginia, then took the alley entrance to the Golden Nugget, and I left him there, waiting outside near a row of trash cans.

The counter was crowded and I stood in line and finally ordered a coffee and two orders of bacon to go. Then me and the dog crossed Virginia Street and headed up Lake towards Seventh and the home of the kid, Wes Denny.

When I made it to the small green house I sat a little way down from it and finished my coffee, gave the dog half the bacon, and waited. The red work van I had seen from the last visit was gone, but the mini-van was parked in the driveway, and there were lights on inside.

It wasn’t too bad sitting on the cold concrete sidewalk. I still had a little of the coffee to warm me. When it was finished my ass began to freeze, so I took the dog across the freeway to the University courtyard to run us both around. The students were coming and going, but no one seemed to notice or care that we were there.

When the dog had worn himself down we headed back over the freeway, and once again sat and waited near the house. Not a lot of time had gone by when the woman came out with her two small daughters. Once she had put the kids in the car, she went back into the house and came out wearing a winter coat and carrying a purse. She locked the front door, started up the car, and drove off.

The dog and I walked across the street and through the small chain-link fence surrounding the front yard. I found a mail slot on the front door and I took from my wallet $1,000 and shoved it through.

Then we went over the freeway for the last time and walked the short distance to the Walgreens they had just built. I left the dog outside and went in to look for magazines. I went through a lot of them, taking subscription flyers from each that I wanted. For the mom I got
National Geographic
and
Cosmopolitan
and
Sunset
, and for the dad I got
Sports Illustrated, Popular Mechanics
, and
Penthouse
. I didn’t know anything about kids, though, so I had to pass them over.

We went down past First Street and over the river to the main post office. I went inside and filled out the subscription forms. I remembered their address and a mail clerk helped find their zip code. I got a money order to pay for each as well as envelopes, and put that and the subscription form inside, sealed the envelope, addressed it, and mailed it out.

When I was done I walked outside into the falling snow. I put on my hat and gloves, and the dog and me made the trip up to Fourth Street and slowly on towards Earl Hurley’s used car lot.

25

I SAW THE ELBOW ROOM’S LIGHTS
in the blurry distance, through the wind and snow, and I knew I was close. Soon I could see the cars and the lot sign and then the office and the shop still standing next to the old bar. I hadn’t been there in five years. I hadn’t seen Earl or his grandson Barry since the last day that I worked there. It was shame more than anything that kept me away, and as I got closer the memories of old Earl Hurley and the lot came sinking back in.

When he found out I’d dropped out of high school he put me on full time and didn’t give me a hard time about it. A year or so later he said if I’d get my G.E.D. he’d help pay for me to go to college. I told him I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Two months later I quit as Jerry Lee and I were gonna move to Montana and live for free with another guy we met whose aunt left him a house up there. But, like they do, the plans fell through and I was too
embarrassed to go back to Hurley’s, especially knowing how much of a bum I felt for not going back to school.

After that I never even went down into the lot’s neighborhood just in case I’d run across them. And the Gold Dust West, where Earl gambled, I haven’t been in there since that day, the last day I worked there …

When I made it up the steps I could see Earl inside watching TV. I knocked on the door and he waved me in. I bent down and gave the dog a quick pet and left him on the porch and went inside.

‘How the hell are you, Frank Flannigan?’ he said and stood. He lit an Old Gold cigarette and walked over to me and we shook hands.

‘Did I see you with a dog out there?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ I replied.

‘It yours?’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Well, let the son of a bitch in. A frozen dog ain’t worth a shit.’

I went back to the front door and brought the dog inside.

The office was a decent size, there were two desks, both facing the TV, a couch, some chairs, and a wood stove burning. The place was warm and I took off my hat and gloves and coat, and moved next to the stove.

Earl bent down and petted the dog as I stared across the room at the walls and the framed pictures of Dodge Darts that hung from each of them.

‘What the hell you doing over here in this weather? I haven’t seen you in a goddamn long time. It’s been years, ain’t it?’

‘I need a car, Earl.’

‘Today?’

‘I thought I would.’

‘Has the mutt eaten?’

‘Just a bit this morning.’

‘I got a bag of food from when I bring in my old dog,’ Earl said and turned and disappeared into the back and came out with a bowl of food and a bowl of water. As he set each bowl down ash from his cigarette fell into the water.

‘Sorry about that.’

‘A little ash ain’t gonna kill him.’

‘I like your attitude, kid, I always have,’ Earl said and smiled. He was dressed in tan pants and dark leather cowboy boots. He wore a long sleeve white western shirt with pearl buttons. His gray hair was combed back; he wore wire glasses, bifocals. He was old, maybe sixty-five or so, but he looked good.

He moved back to his desk and sat down. He turned off the TV.

‘It’s colder than fuck out there, snowing, the fucking wind’s blowing. Seems like a strange day to be buying a car.’

I didn’t say anything. The dog was eating, I had my back to the wood stove. It was running hot and felt good. I began to warm, my frozen feet started to tingle, and my Levi’s had steam coming off them.

‘I wish Barry was here; he’d like to see you, I’m sure. I sent him and Javier to the movies. No use hanging around on a day like today. I can’t remember what they went to see, but they went to that new theater downtown.’

‘It’s a nice theater,’ I said.

‘That’s what I hear. How’s your brother?’

‘He’s all right,’ I said.

‘Barry told me about what happened. He’s in Saint Mary’s, ain’t he?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He tried to shoot the rest of his leg off.’

‘Jesus, that’s rough,’ Earl said and took a drink from a coffee cup. ‘He drew a hell of a picture of the Elbow Room. They got it hanging on the wall over there. He’s good at that. You want any coffee? I made a pot not too long ago.’

‘I’ll get it,’ I said.

‘It’s in the kitchen, you’ll see it all set up, should be some clean mugs too.’

I walked to the back, found the coffee, and made myself a cup, then went back out to the main room and the wood stove.

‘Where you working these days?’ Earl said.

‘Kind of in between jobs.’

‘Coffee’s good, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ I said.

‘Barry went through a phase where that’s all he’d talk about, coffee. The shit that runs through his mind, it’s not right.’

‘He’s like you, Earl,’ I said.

‘I should kick the shit out of you for that,’ he said and laughed. ‘But maybe you’re right. He’s my goddamn grandson, ain’t no two ways about it. More like me than Marvin.’

‘I’ve never met Marvin.’

‘Marvin’s my only kid, lives in Mexico, has for years. Barry bought me a house down there last year. On the beach next door to Marvin. So I been going more. Has everything I need, a satellite dish, a queen-sized bed, an A/C unit. The front room’s got a couple pictures of Nevada, even a large picture of the Reno sign at night from the thirties. The son of a bitch even put in a video
poker machine so I’d feel more comfortable. Before that I’d go down, but Jesus, I have a hard time leaving the state, and I hate leaving the fucking country. I really do, even for a goddamn week. It’s like pulling my own teeth out, but Marvin’s my son, so what are you going to do? Anyway, Barry and I fly down there last year, and it’s the same old thing, I hate leaving the country and Barry worries about the lot. We end up in some little bar outside of Lareto drinking tequila and beer. All night long we’re there, complaining, losing our fucking minds. During this whole time Barry doesn’t say anything about anything. We always stay at Marvin’s place, and so when we’re done we take one of those goddamn Mexican cabs the rest of the way, and when we get there Barry hands me a key. He points to the house next to Marvin’s and says, “Earl, I picked you up something the last time I was here.” He hands me the key and then passes out on the goddamn road. Just falls down and that was it. Christ, I walked inside and it was like I’d never left my house in Reno. The only thing missing was my dog and my old horse Lloyd, but they say you can’t have everything, can you?’

‘What happened to Barry? Did you leave him out on the road?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t think you would.’

‘You’re a good kid,’ Earl said. ‘You should have been a salesman for me.’

‘I’m no good at selling.’

‘That’s the kind of attitude that can make a great salesman. The key to sales, kid, is making the customer think that you’re not trying to sell him something. That you’re honest, that you could be friends with them. That’s why Barry’s so damn good. He’ll spend a
half-hour talking about women or gardening or sports with someone, then slowly he eases into the car and then they seem like friends and he gets the sell. You could have a future, kid.’