Troy on Troy - Epiitaph, a Novel

Troy on Troy - Epitaph, a Novel
Epitaph

Chapter 2

He could see the California / Nevada border about 25 miles ahead. The City of Primm Nevada consists of two truck stops, 4 fast-food restaurants, two rundown hotel casinos, a factory outlet shopping center and the tallest roller coaster in the World. At least it was the tallest at one time. Then another 45 miles ahead of him was Sin City.

There isn’t a lot to look at between Primm and Vegas but there was a small sign indicating gas station at the next turn off. This was his chance. He pulled off the 15 and headed for the filling station, it looked deserted but he thought there looked to be some kind of movement inside the convenience store. He pulled around back to see if he could find a bathroom to rinse away the guilt he was wearing like a crusty coating of hard black tar. There was only an out-house. Off by a shed in the corner of the lot looked to be a hose on a pole sticking out of the dusty ground and he knew this was his “spa de jour.”

The water was ice cold and must have been coming from a very deep well. The briskness of the water was energizing. Walking inside the store dripping wet but clean generated just a bit of a second glance from the clerk for his appearance. The only purchases available and desperately needed were a loud tourist shirt that was too short at the waist, a cheesy hat like somebody’s grandfather might wear fishing, a microwave bean and cheese burrito and a Mountain Dew for the caffeine. Not a bad selection really considering the remoteness of the store’s location. After filling up the tank of the MG, the car sped off and the driver was feeling slightly better about his appearance.

There are over 150,000 hotel / motel rooms in Las Vegas so ones options are far from limited. Driving past the strip and just beyond the other side of old downtown Vegas, there is a string of cheap or “budget” motels as the owners would want them called. A credit card still wasn’t an option so finding a place that would prefer to deal in cash was a key component for lodging for the night. That wasn’t going to be a problem from the outer appearances of these shit holes. The sign on the building said “Cable TV, $29.00 per night.” The run down building was a faded, light green color with white trim. The pool had been filled in with dirt years ago and was growing a variety of weeds that don’t take much water to survive. This was the place.

He went to the desk and rang the bell. It looked like a 1950’s movie set but with a smell of old fast food. An elderly, heavy set man in a wife beater T-shirt that said “Zeppelin,” came out from the back and they negotiated a rate of $200.00 for the week, strictly a cash transaction done with a smile. The registration card was signed “Ron Cey” as he loved the LA Dodgers of the 70’s. Cey played from 1971 to 1982 and was nicknamed the Penguin for his short legs and the way he waddled as he ran. The clerk didn’t care what name was put down; nobody ever gave their real names at his kind of place.

The parking lot was empty and the place may have only had one or two tenants for the night, there looked to be about 15 rooms total in the entire complex. A spot was chosen about 8 spaces down from his assigned door. Parking was available right in front of the room but he was still better off playing it safe. Walking to the room, all of his belongings could be carried in one hand. The cooler was brought, keys and yes, his newest possession, a large, dark brown, leather briefcase with four stubby, brass legs about a half in long on each corner. Looking at the door, he realized his room number was the same Cey had worn on his jersey, 10.

Once inside, the case was stowed under the sagging bed and he striped down naked for a shower. After just a few seconds, the water got hot. Stepping into the shower, the water had to be readjusted so the temperature cooled enough that the flesh wouldn’t burn. A full bottle of hotel shampoo and half a bar of soap later, he stepped out of the bathroom and lay wet on top of the bed to air dry and sleep. Food was needed but the body was demanding a deposit in the old sleep bank.

Screaming, arguing, guns; he was dreaming again. This time, the setting was back at Lucci’s and someone was screaming. This was before the run for safety had started; this was the first moment of confrontation.

Two guys in suits are screaming, pointing guns at him, “Where is it, where is the God damn case?” The smallest of the two, about 6’2”, 240 pounds, is doing the talking and the big guy, 6’5”, 280 pounds at least, has this pissed off look in his face like “I hope you don’t tell us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he screams back. “That’s the best you can do?” He thinks, “they know I’m lying.” Trying to get a clear thought but realizing everything is happening too quickly, he sees the big guy, Eddie, beginning to tear the place apart, starting with the booth where they had been sitting the evening before. Next, Eddie moves with a relaxed intensity that confirms he has some experience at “shaking down” places. Off to the kitchen for more of the same, this time the dishes and pans are the victims.

Everyone has been dream transported into the kitchen; the place has been totaled in just seconds. Eddie heads for an office just off the side of the kitchen. It’s actually not much more than a closet really with a desk, a phone and a miserably slow lap top. Instantly, the entire office is trashed. Eddie has to turn sideways to fit back out the door.

“Maybe one of my guys found it and took it home for safe keeping?” he pleads. This sounds convincing to himself but Eddie and the smaller guy don’t seem to be buying it. Both guys are aiming what looks like 9 millimeter pistols at him but he has no idea. He’s never fired a gun except for a BB gun as a kid. “Let me call them and see.” He sounded more as if he were begging for his life than asking to use the phone. In reality, they were the same thing.

Eddie goes into the large walk-in freezer and starts the same routine. Food is flying and then, silence. What seemed like minutes were really only 4 or 5 seconds. “Hey Kyle, get in here, check this out,” yells Eddie.

He thinks to himself Kyle? The killers name is Kyle? I am not getting killed by a guy named Kyle, no way. The smaller guy hurries towards him and puts the gun to the top of his back, right below his neck and forces their movement towards the freezer in front of them. He sees a butcher knife on the cutting board just to his right but they would have to move 3 feet out of the way of their current path for it to be reached. He just couldn’t take the chance.

In the back of the freezer, some fifteen feet from the door and on the upper shelf is a box of shellfish that had been shipped in a much darker box than the other food goods. The company does this so their products standout and they can charge more money, at least that’s what he’s told himself over the years.

Kyle tilts his head and tells Eddie “get it down,” but it has been there for awhile and even this monster of a man is having trouble breaking it away from its frozen bond with the metal shelf. Kyle is focused on the box which they must think is the case and moves forward to help his comrade. It is then that he makes his move.

The first step was more of a small shuffle but the second and third were picking up pace. By the fifth step he was at the door moving as fast as possible. He disabled the safety that allows you to open the freezer from the inside as the run to freedom has begun. In reality, the safety is just a latch with a pin on a small metal chain. He had always told Ginger he was going to fix it; thank God he wasn’t good at fixing things. Both Eddie and Kyle saw and heard racket just as the freezer door was slamming shut, their yells were muffled and their words were unidentifiable. What they were saying wasn’t important, not anymore. On his way out from the kitchen he grabbed the butcher knife that had been a gift from the staff celebrating five years in business. It was heavy and expensive. He had seen them advertised in the trade supply magazines that came unsolicited every week in the mail. Reaching the front door, a faint gunshot could be heard from inside the heavy metal box, then another and another. They were shooting at the lock, not leaving much time.

“Oh my God, no!” he screamed, he had left his car keys in his office on the desk and in all of the commotion, they had been left there. Panic had officially set in and like the mad bull he had become, he went out onto the quiet street looking to create some separation from the now chilly gunmen. It was still early Sunday morning and not many people were out and about yet. There was one car at a traffic light about 100 yards away. Running in the dream took forever then in an actual flash, he was at the SUV screaming at the driver to open the door or for her do get out, “get the fuck out,” that was it… he thinks.

His subconscious couldn’t handle the murder again, the shower had rinsed away the physical memory of the killing but there wasn’t enough water in the world to get the mental picture of what had happened out of his mind. Willing himself awake, he was out of breath, shaking from fear and soaking wet. Not wet from the shower but from the dream. It took a few minutes to pull himself together. Reaching for the cooler; it was time for a beer but they were warm, there hadn’t been any time to put ice in the damn thing. Nobody likes warm beer.

He went back in the shower, this time turning the temperature down as cold as he could stand it. It was dark outside but warm in the room and he wanted to wake up as fast as possible. A quick glance at his watch told him he had slept for… the watch wasn’t working. He looked at the small alarm clock in his room but it was flashing 12:00. Neither of these things had been noticed when he walked into the room. He had no idea what time it really was.

This time he toweled off and got dressed in the same clothes, “why didn’t I bring any thing to change into?” he said again out loud. He reached under the bed and retrieved the case. Opening it, the green seemed as brilliant as emeralds. It was heavier than he remembered and that was a lot of cash. There were 350 bundles of $10,000.00 in $100.00 bills. He checked the bills again to see if the numbers were in any kind of order but they weren’t. He also checked to see if they were marked but he had no idea what that kind of a mark would look like. Were they really going to put a red X on every corner of every bill? He would have to check into that; more out of curiosity than necessity.

He took the envelope out of the case and held it in his hands. It had markings like tear drops stenciled over the seal but he couldn’t tell for sure. They looked familiar from somewhere but he just couldn’t place it. He turned his attention back to the seam and opened the letter carefully. Looking at the writing, it was obvious that the person who had written this looked as if they had gone to Catholic schools all of their life. The penmanship was perfect.

He had to read this again.

End Chapter 2