Deadly Compromises by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 1
He could see a brilliant yellow sunrise over the white capped jagged purple mountains in his rearview mirror. He only looked at it fleetingly, as it was of paramount importance to keep his eyes fixed ahead. He deemed it inconsequential for a second reason; it was too late in the season to catch a view of the vestiges of summer growth, now almost invisible. Before him he got his first clear picture of the road he was on. It seemed to be perfectly straight and two ways with a broken white line running down the middle. When he turned off the headlights and first used only the natural light, he saw another two lane, two way, perfectly straight road, about one thousand feet in front of him, which formed a cross with the one he happened to be on.
This view was only possible because of the perfectly flat terrain which seemed to go on for miles in all directions. The roadsides were devoid of any living vegetation. The only things complementing the dirt and reminiscent of better weather, were scrubby, dying, tan, fifteen inch long, bent projections, which, obviously no longer had any interest in reaching for the sky.
He assumed that these sad remnants were once unbent green grass, before the below freezing overnight temperatures set in, but
being new to the territory, he knew his instincts might be wrong.
Looking at the clear, crimson tinged, blue sky in front of him, he saw another mountain range. Given only quick, cursory inspection it seemed similar to the one at his rear, though not yet fully illuminated by the sun. He thought that at least he was heading west, his original goal, though he wasn’t sure if he had yet passed his desired destination. So, he didn’t even consider turning when he got to the center of the cross and continued on. After a few more miles, he encountered a large dry gully to his left. It must have once contained water, but there was no noticeable, likely source.
“Pay fucking dirt,” he muttered at the car windshield. He thought he was entering a small town in the middle of New Mexico, maybe Arizona. He found it hard to tell the difference.
For all he knew he might still be in Texas. He thought; “It takes forever to get out of that place.” Whatever the precise location, it was almost nirvana to him, after having driven, what seemed the bulk of his life, in a dark, barren desert, the only sounds the hungry yipping of unseen coyotes.
Shortly after the fall sunrise, the town had a slow, sun bleached brown and green feel. He thought he also detected a
pleasant, laid back, relaxed atmosphere with old barns and farm equipment on five and ten acre lots covered by sparse, uncut grass.
His all night solitary journey necessitated a stop somewhere due to sheer exhaustion. He wasn’t very good at directions, but thought he was somewhere near his destination, his mind somewhat clouded and confused by the joint he had smoked an hour ago. He didn’t notice any sign naming the town, but also may have simply not been paying any attention. He thought; “There’s no need to find out where I am until tomorrow,” not realizing that this tired observation, would later prove to be central to an immediate business problem and maybe more. But, for now, he was content to see an electronic billboard with red bulbs, which indicated October 15, 1989, 7:15
AM. He thought; “Civilization, hopefully with the customary accoutrements.”
“All right,” he said as he passed the town’s gas station, women’s clothing store and hamburger place. He expected to soon see suitable accommodations.
Most of the tightly packed businesses and houses were built of wood forty or more years prior and the peeling faded paint precluded precise information regarding original color. Today
it looked as if they might have been a combination of greens, browns, reds and blues. He thought it odd that nothing reeked of white, prevalent in his home. Despite the bright color departure and bare wood spots showing, he thought the current patina was probably preferable to its supposed original perfection. In contrast, a ten room Motel 16 jumped out of nowhere and was startling in its plasticity. Today it was judicious to enter a professionally run establishment rather than run the risk of
“getting friendly” in a private house’s furnished room. He had already done his best to appear nondescript, a necessity in his profession. He looked 40ish, had uncovered graying light brown hair, was thin, wore blue jeans and a blue button down shirt, open to the third button. He entered the paved lot and diagonally parked his four year old, cream, four door Toyota sedan in front of the office. He exited his car and saw her through the glass front, seemingly oblivious to the world.
She looked around 30, with long, straight, jet black hair, parted on the side, with heavy duty bangs. She was looking down at something on the counter in front of her, he thought a newspaper. Her pretty face showed no makeup and she wore hardly detectable, thin, rimmed wire glasses. The counter precluded a lower view, so the only other visible physical feature were her ample breasts covered by a golden peasant style blouse, open to
the third button, as his shirt. As he entered she didn’t look up.
He said; “Excuse me, do you work here?”
She showed a grimacing smile, indicating that she didn’t like being interrupted, but was somewhat ready to perform her required business obligation and replied; “Yes, yes, I’m sorry.
I was reading a compelling story.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, ‘The Plague,’ by Camus.”
“Have they shut the port down yet?”
She replied indignantly, as if someone had just called her stupid; “No and of course, they’re not going to. The only question is what subterfuges they’ll use to keep it open.”
They looked curiously at each other for a moment, his brown eyes detecting her surprised green ones behind the glasses. He was impressed. He also got his first below the waist glance and saw very bountiful hips covered by the tightest blue jeans imaginable. Overall, she appeared to be about five feet, four inches and 110-120 pounds. His own blue jeans felt a bit tighter.
He said; “Sorry I butted in and sorry that I underestimated you. I hate it when somebody barges in on me, when I’m in the middle of something. I could kill them when they then compound the faux pas by affecting superiority. My weariness sincerely apologizes.” He bowed at the waist in a mock chivalrous manner and she obviously chuckled. Relieved that he had not caused a permanent breach, he continued, in an offhand manner; “But I do need a room for today and tomorrow.” He realized that for no reason in particular, he liked her.
“Sure, I’ll get you squared away in a second. Do you have a favorite room?”
“I’ve never been here before, but eight has always been my lucky number.”
“It’s your lucky day. Eight is right next to the office and is unoccupied. Here are the keys. I’ll need your credit card.”
He handed it to her and attempted to keep the conversation moving, by saying; “Have you read a lot of Camus?”
She seemed more interested in the credit card machine and vaguely answered, “Some.”
Undeterred, he followed up with; “What’s your favorite?”
She looked into his eyes, widened her own, turned her head slightly to one side and said; “The Stranger.”
She continued the gaze and he was at a loss for words, considering the many possible responses. He didn’t want to risk offending her twice in so short a time, so he lamely replied;
“Me, too.”
Business was done. She had trouble returning to her book, her mind now on the new arrival.
He took the keys and walked to number eight. On the way, he thought about how it was imperative to not attract attention, but that she was extremely compelling, in all the important ways. Upon entering his room he was only surprised at one thing. A small, wooden, open box was lying on the bed. When he took a look, he found CDs of Bruce Springsteen, Led Zeppelin, Patti Smith and others. Pleased at the sight, especially still being a little stoned, he looked for the CD player and found none. He decided he was too tired and would continue his search tomorrow. He closed the blinds, put his bag down on the orange, thinly carpeted floor, took off his shoes, pulled down the two blue and white crazy quilts covering the bed and climbed in, thinking about her.