Canada was where I was planning on heading for after the disaster on Wonderland and I almost made it. I had jumped in my old Chevy Citation (I didn’t even give Gus two weeks notice) and had driven non stop, fueled by white cross and shitty truck stop coffee. I didn’t know exactly how long it would take Jon to try to implicate someone to save his ass, so I didn’t want to take any major routes. I tried to stick to secondary roads if at all possible.
By the time I rolled into Montana the transmission in my old beater was starting to act up. Slipping like hell and I could smell the fluid burning. I had poured in four quarts of the shit in three hours and things were only getting worse. By the time I rolled into a little town called Hungry Horse the transmission was shaking so bad I could hardly hold on to the wheel. I rolled into a combination beer joint, grocery store, video rental outlet, gourmet coffee house, and garage.
An old timer came shuffling out of the garage, looking like a cast member out of the movie Deliverance. “What seems to be the problem there, young feller?”
Jesus! “Transmission I suppose. It’s slipping and shaking like hell. And burning transmission fluid as fast as I can pump the crap in.”
“Well, how many miles is on this piece of shit anyway?” Cackling like a old crow.
“Way over a quarter of a million by now.”
He paused to light up a Camel straight. “Quarter of a fucking million?” One eye squinting through the smoke. “My advice to you is junk the piece of shit.”
“Easier said than done. I don’t have the cash to buy another right now.”
“Where the hell you headed for?”
“Canada.”
He peered at the front of the car. “California plates and headed to Canada. Huh!”
He walked over and lifted the hood. “Boy you’re right about burning the fluid. That shit stink or what?”
Slammed the hood down. “Well, you won’t make the border today, that’s for sure. I can’t even look at it today. I’m booked solid. Tell you what. We got three cabins right around the corner. I’ll rent you one for the night for half price. Slow time of the year. Then I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”
When I went to crash I didn’t get up for two solid days. Didn’t matter though. The transmission was totally shot and would cost more to fix than the wreck was worth. The mechanic, Chet, who owned the establishment along with his wife, finally woke me up to give me the bad news by pounding on the door.
“Jesus son. I thought you might be dead.”
“Just been on the road a long time. Needed to catch up on my beauty sleep.”
“It didn’t work. Ha ha.”
I stared at him.
“Sorry, you walked right into that one. Anyway. Your not going any farther in that piece of scrap iron. It’s toast. Unless you consider it a classic and want to waste the money.”
I lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I knew where I had plenty of cash waiting for me. I just couldn’t take the chance of going or even calling there now.
“You got the law after you?” Chet was sitting across from me on the other bed lighting up another smoke off the butt of the previous one.
“Now why would you ask that?”
“You just got the look.” He sat and stared at me. His face wrinkled up in concentration. “Me and the missus run this place. Her name is Betty. We do OK. But on the weekends I rent these cabins out to some local whores and at times things can get a little hairy. Usually I handle things myself, but I am getting up in years and it seems we’re starting to get a lot of white trash coming around. Drugs and all these days. I could use a little help. What say?”
When I didn’t answer immediately, he came back with “This is a good place to lay low. Ain’t but one cop in a hundred square miles.”
I wound up staying there for almost a year.
Chet had an old Airstream trailer that he had taken on a trade in for a pick up truck he had rebuilt and that’s where I lived. It was cramped but cozy
Life was simple and easy. Get up in the morning. Do my roadwork and then work a heavy bag I hung from the rafters in the garage. Other than that, I worked seven days a week. Tended bar. Threw out rowdy drunks and aggressive johns. Learned how to run the espresso machine. Made a mean latte. Did whatever Chet needed. On Saturday night after we shut the place down, Chet would let me have my pick of one of the girls for the night.
Wasn’t too long before it was the same girl every Saturday night. Her name was Sunshine, but that wasn’t her real name. She was a former member of the Rainbow tribe and had stayed in this area after they had passed through here several years back. I guess she got tired of shitting outside and getting hassled by the local cops for going through peoples garbage. Sunshine was her Rainbow name. She never had told me her given name. Didn’t matter to me. What I liked about her was that she could really get down and dirty, was fun to be around, and plus she was covered with tattoos. Dragons, cartoon characters, skulls, sea horses, dolphins, you name it. It was like being able to read a comic book after bone dancing.
She was beautiful. Strawberry red hair with this china white body. Emerald green eyes.
Covered in freckles.
Sunshine’s parents had been original Deadheads. Following the Grateful Dead around the country. Listening to those long drawn out jams. I hate that shit. But they were also smart enough to have gotten in on the ground floor of the just starting to flourish concert T-shirt industry. They made a fortune selling them out of their Volkswagen van. They now were retired comfortably in the Northern California area. A town by the name of Weed. Old deadheads who now had a daughter rebelling against them. Talk about ironic.
We were laying in bed one lazy Sunday morning, watching the only channel that the TV antenna would pick up. The news was on and one of the featured stories was about a once famous porno actor who had just died of cancer or AIDS or a combination of both. He had been a suspect in some murders in Los Angeles but the police could never get him to talk. There were a lot of rumors surrounding the deaths, mainly that it was a retaliation for a drug deal gone wrong, but now that’s all it was. Just rumors.
The police finally thought that they had the evidence to pin the murders on him but he had foiled them by dying. The once great lover had taken the secret to the grave and now his videos were flying off the shelves. He was gonna wind up being a legend. More popular in death than in life. His wife Annesha had even written a book about him. Well, I’ll be damned. Good for him.
He hadn’t talked. The L. A. cops and a cocaine king weren’t looking for me. Just the government was. It was time to make a break and head for Minnesota for one last visit.
I had a shitload of money waiting for me. If my sister hadn’t gotten into those envelopes that is. But more importantly, I wanted to get my hands on those rolls of film, get them developed and figure out how I could use them for leverage. I couldn’t stand the thought of hiding out here in the north woods for another winter. Freezing my ass off.
I had Sunshine drive me down to Kalispell to the Greyhound station.
“Why can’t you tell me what’s so fucking important that you have to drop everything and run off to Minnesota? If it’s money you’re worried about, forget it. My parents will give me cash anytime I ask for it.”
Leaning down to kiss her I said “It’s just better that you don’t know. When I get everything straightened out I’ll come back and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“Fuck you.” She spat out. “You’re never coming back. You’re just like every other swinging dick that’s walked through my life. You’re all full of bullshit.”
She started up the car and roared out of the parking lot. So much for the mellow Rainbow spirit.
She was right about one thing. I guess I am full of bullshit.