EYEHEARTZOMBIES

I woke up the next morning and got dressed quickly. I was ready to get back on the road and get to Las Vegas. Before I could leave the suite, though, Ray called.

“Hello?”

“Hey kid. How’s KC?”

“Oh, it’s alright. Saw Sabrina last night. Good flick. You need me to do something here?”

“No, no.” Ray’s voice was smiling. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous and lying to me or just in an oddly good mood. I opted for the second. He paused for awhile, a good thirty or forty seconds, then said, “We found out some more about that guy in your house. Or rather, the guy that put him there. Turns out you had a mole. Some one on your staff was taking bribes from this guy for awhile - a month or better - and he let in the scumbag that planted the DA. It was one of the yard guards, Bobby. I don’t think you’d had him working there long.”

Bobby. I rememberd Bobby. He had been a good kid. Twenty-two, twenty-three. Brown hair, blue eyes. Seemed like a good Irish kid. Hell, I’d had him in for drinks and cigars a time or two; I had all of them in from time to time for drinks and cigars. A guard that likes you will put a lot more effort into keeping you around than a guard that doesn’t give a shit about your life. And the bastard had sold me out.

“What’d you do to him?” I almost didn’t want to know. But I’m the type of guy that enjoys revenge. It’s never a question of if but a question of when. “You give him a six-gun retirement or just send him packing?”

Ray cleared his throat and then said they’d retired him. So now there were two bodies to make disappear. Well, the DA had already been disappeared, but Bobby would make the second. I didn’t really care. The disappearances were good back then. Too good, really. I mean, hell, look at Jimmy Hoffa.

“You hear anything about St. Louis?” I asked. I was sure Ray had heard about Marcus and the hammer by now, but I wanted to be sure it was all five-by with him. He didn’t answer for a bit, but I wasn’t worried. Ray liked to make sure he said the right thing to you.

“Yeah, kid, actually we did. Seems Marcus had some debts other than ours. Some gang or rival pimp must have taken him out the other day. Police found him in his van, beaten to a bloody pulp with a hammer. Whoever it was left him alive, but he didn’t get very far. They said he managed to crawl into his van and then died. Blood in his lungs, they said. I think he just got the shit knocked out of him, and a guy like him can’t live without his shit.” Ray chuckled. We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then hung up the phone.

I made a last sweep of the suite, checking that the couple of guns I had planted last night were in my bag now. Don’t want to leave behind any odd souveniers. I also swiped the bottles of mouthwash and shampoo. I wasn’t the most home-minded of guys, so I always forgot to bring those with me when I travelled. Thank God hotels look out for us.

I piled the bags into my car and started driving. My next stop of any size was Wichita. I didn’t stay in that city long. Stopped to get some gas, cigarettes, and some road beers. I did grab a sandwich at the filling station and chatted with the attendant. He didn’t see many Plymouths like mine, he said, especially not “duded out” like this one with smoked windows and tire guards. I laid down some line about working for the government and his eyes widened. He gave me the gas and sandwich for free. Sandwich wasn’t worth paying for anyway. Stringy turkey and lumpy mayonaise.

I hit the gas after Wichita and didn’t slow down until Oklahoma City. The town was still pretty much a cattle and oil show, but I wanted to waste a bit of time there. I wish I’d had time to swing through Tulsa, though. I wanted to catch a show at Cain’s Ballroom. Maybe there’d be time for that later, I thought. I was wrong, but it made me keep going.

In Oklahoma City, I stopped for the night. I got a room at a little hotel in downtown and ate at a corner restaurant. It was some Italian hole in the wall, but they had great lasagna. Layers upon layers of pasta and sauce and meat, all covered with parmesan cheese. A mountain of olives on the side, too. I haven’t been that happy with Italian food since?I’m not sure when. It was great.

I thought about catching a movie while I was there. A theater I had passed driving through the city was showing Roman Holiday but I decided I needed to get some more rest. I had been yawning and blinking behind the wheel all day.

I went to my room pretty early in the evening, around five or six o’clock. I had picked up a bottle of Irish Whiskey before coming back and I used one of the little plastic cups from the bathroom and some ice from the machine to pour myself a drink. I sat and sipped on my drink, watching the city drive by out the window. I wasn’t very high up, but I could watch a few blocks worth of traffic. It was a Saturday night and a lot of people were out, celebrating the end of another work week. I imagined all the joes out there, driving around with their sweeties under their arm. They were all thinking about getting her sleepy with food and movie, then finding some secluded spot where they could find out what color of panties she was wearing.

I never had that kind of life. I wish I had.