Shaunessy Goes West in Winter. by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 2

Shaunessy’s plane landed at the Albuquerque Sunport at 2PM

and as soon as he stepped outside, he was greeted by a stiff breeze, making him wish he was carrying his heaviest coat to fend off the winter chill caused by the wind and the weak sun filtering through a uniform blue gray sky. He quickly walked five hundred feet to the rent-a-car emporium and was relieved to be hit in the face by the heat when he entered.

He approached the elongated desk where a young Spanish man was looking down at something. Shaunessy said; “I’ll need a car for a few days, nothing fancy.”

The clerk kept his eyes glued to whatever he was reading, held up an index finger and said; “I’ll be right with you.”

Thinking of his silly expectation that a desert was a hot place, Shaunessy nervously added; “And make sure the heater works. Damn, it’s cold here.”

The clerk smirked and calmly said; “It’s winter........

Okay, what is it you need? We got Chevy’s, Chryslers, Nissans, you name it.”

“How about a small deep blue Chevy?”

Shaunessy ran the engine a while, at times gunning the gas pedal, shivering. When the temperature gauge passed into the

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red zone he gingerly turned on the heater and, feeling the warm air emitted, he turned it up full blast. He left the rental agency parking lot and followed the signs out of the airport.

The roads were being used by only a few other cars and he happily found the travelling extremely easy by New York standards, as he watched for signs that would lead him to the interstate north.

After passing by the hotels and more car rental places adjacent to the airport, the road became somewhat strange to him in its diversity; small houses, car repair shops, a cemetery, open lots, convenience store gas stations, Fed Ex/Kinko’s copy places and the University of New Mexico at the end of the road.

Being forced to make a turn, he made a left onto “Route 66,”

which didn’t look like any “Route” he had previously encountered, with the possible exception of his vaguely recalled short “vacation” here a few years prior. Its hodge-podge restaurants, clothing stores, furniture stores, jewelry shops and American Indian retailers of sundry “native” merchandise, made him think a name like “Broadway” would be more appropriate.

Its twenty-five mile per hour speed limit, traffic lights and single lane with on-street parking reminded him of the shopping districts that existed back east before the malls put them out of business. He would later discover that Route 66 was also known as Central Avenue, at least the part where he had been.

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At any rate, his first thirty minute impression of his new home was three-quarters favorable; quaint, eclectic and easy to traverse, but he could easily stand a twenty or more degree increase in temperature.

After about ten blocks he saw the signs for the interstate and proceeded north as the meager sun displayed its last few filtered glows of the day to his left, possibly retiring in the cradle of thick black clouds. Shaunessy hoped it would get some much needed rest, so it could better perform its duties tomorrow.

Now on a three-lane-in-each-direction highway, travelling at seventy miles per hour, he concentrated on the road, keeping an indirect watch on the coming and going headlights necessitated by the poor light. Interested in hearing what the previous auto renter was into, he turned on the radio and didn’t change the station, hearing be-bop jazz, though not that of Charlie Parker. This was a little softer and a little slower.

He thought it was an interesting choice and was curious to hear the names of the performers, as he wasn’t a Parker fan, preferring Coltrane’s style by far. His strongest dislike of Parker was his usual fast and hard approach, which always reminded him of the aspect of New York he most disliked. The music kept coming without verbal interruption when he saw his destination, the “Vista de la Feria” exit.

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It put him on the little town’s main drag, Vista de la Feria Road. Making a left he saw a few commercial establishments mixed in with what he would come to know as Southwestern style houses; flat-roofed one and two story structures, with varying shades of mostly brown stucco exteriors and a few with pitched roofs of tin. With little traffic, he was able to crane his neck around and view the side streets while watching for a Moongate Road sign. He saw areas of new development which mimicked the old, some still under construction, but standing out as different due to their seeming regularity. Their lack of yard junk and the newly planted small ornamental trees gave the incorrect feeling that no one lived in them as lit windows were not required by the sedentary. He previously read that the town had become a mecca for retirees, who relocated from elsewhere, half of them New Yorkers. The town probably tolerated the newcomers because many came with some money, for one large reason the houses they vacated in

“metropolitan” areas were sold for double and sometimes triple the local going rate. Based on his shadowy recollection Shaunessy thought that the growing 15,000 population of Vista de la Feria contained a mixture of cultures tolerant of one another; small town whites and Spanish, “rural” whites and Spanish, big city suburbanites of white, yellow and brown hue and the “old hippies” who moved here when it was cheap and chose

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to stay. He wasn’t particularly worried about the accuracy of the impression garnered from the short opaquely remembered vacation. He realized many years ago that things always looked wonderful during a short stay, as it took time to discover where all the garbage was dumped. At his advanced age of 54 years he was finally in a financial position where he could always move again if it didn’t meet his liking, just as easily as he left New York.

He came upon a garishly lit strip mall and instinctively knew that he should have made a right off the interstate, as he took this as a sign he had reached one edge of town or possibly had passed over into another. He made the best of the situation and since the strip mall had a convenience store, he decided to stop and pick up some supplies.

Shaunessy parked and entered the “Frontier Country Market,”

glad that someone apparently had a sense of humor, as the houses clustered on one acre lots made him think that the last time the place could truly be called a “frontier” was before at least three quarters of them were built. He loaded a four wheel cart with items he hoped would last him a few days and noticed that the other three shoppers only took one or two things and seemed more interested in making conversation with the chubby, blond, thirty-five year old woman at the cash register. The fascination eluded him, as she wasn’t very attractive, had her

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hair sprayed into a helmet and had a surly look on her face, as if to say, “What are you bothering me for, cretin?”

When he was thoroughly loaded he wheeled the cart to the register and took his turn. The counter was merely a two foot by two foot non-revolving precipice between Shaunessy and the Helmet. He started to put some things on it, but stopped when he ran out of room. She didn’t move. He looked at her, thinking; “It’s your job to ring these things up, isn’t it?”

Helmet sternly said; “New around here?”

He said; “Matter of fact, brand new. Have I already violated some local custom?”

“Well, most people only come here for a few items in an emergency. The prices are much higher than the discount stores at the mall.”

“I’ll pay them. I’m a bit strapped for time. I’ve been travelling all day.”

Her thoughts were that here might be a person with money to burn and her tone became cordial, saying; “Are you going to be living in Vista de la Feria?”

“Yes.”

“Did you buy one of those big new expensive houses?”

Surprised at the aggressive question directed at a stranger, Shaunessy decided to both attempt evasion and to make her disinterested by implying poverty. He said; “No, I’d call

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it more of a little old fixer upper and I rent it with an option to buy if I can ever find the money.”

She derisively said; “Oh,” and commenced ringing up the items.

He was happy to end the inquisition and as he unloaded more, Shaunessy said; “I think I made a wrong turn. Do you know where Moongate Road is?”

Helmet gave him a look that outdid her “Oh” and said; “You came off the interstate, right?”

“Yes.”

“You should have made a right. It’s back the other way and it has a very small street sign.”

“Can you give me any landmarks to watch for? It’s pretty dark.”

She made her first smile of the encounter, though far from a jovial one and said; “Go back past the interstate entrance about two miles and on your right you’ll see a very nice new development with an adobe wall entrance.” She smirked and added; Moongate is the dirt road right after it.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you from New York?”

He was surprised and showed it when he voiced; “Yes, how did you know?”

“Your accent.”

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Shaunessy didn’t previously realize he had one. He thought the rest of the country did. He was surprised and got a bit self-conscious.

His satisfaction at igniting disinterest was squelched when Helmet continued her investigative/judgmental repartee with; “I thought New Yorkers had a lot of money.”

Shaunessy understood why some people liked to talk to Helmet; she asked them about themselves, everyone’s favorite topic. However, he knew the game from being on the other end and had no interest in trying to impress her with his financial prowess. He gave her a faint smile, raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

She broke from her ringing and packing, gave him another stern look and had the audacity to say; “Well?”

He was now annoyed. He thought; “For God’s sake, I just want to get my groceries and get the hell out of here.” He decided not to say what he would have liked to, instead attempted to appear friendly and stupid and said; “Well, what?”

“Don’t New Yorkers have a lot of money?”

Shaunessy was hoping that Helmet wouldn’t have the audacity to repeat the question another time, but wasn’t the least bit surprised that she did. He took a more aggressive stance and said; “Why ask me when you can get the precise answer on your computer? You do have one, I imagine. No doubt some can pay

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cash for a chain of small shops like this. Why the interest?

Are you the owner and want to sell this place?” He gave her his first smile.

She said; “Everybody has a computer and no, I’m not the owner.”

Shaunessy derisively said; “Oh, didn’t think so.”

As he drove his cache back the other way, he reflected on his first encounter. He hoped that Helmet was not representative of the area, as a brief meeting with her already necessitated him using the mental energy to fend off pushy nosiness. He had read of the area’s friendliness, but didn’t find what he expected if this was the form it took. On the positive side he found solace in the fact that at least he didn’t meet any crazy killer crack-heads. Thank God for small favors. He made a mental note that the next time he saw Helmet, he’d ask her if she lived in Vista de la Feria, or just worked there. On second thought; bad idea, as it could provide an entrée to a conversation he had no use for. He knew Vista de la Feria was considered the status place in the area, but now gleaned that apparently the section he would inhabit was de classe, at least in some eyes.

Prior to her death, Shaunessy and his wife had half-seriously talked about relocating and visited some prospects on his vacations. They left each one with a feeling of; “It’s

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nice, but..........” and did nothing but periodically resurrect the conversation. But after Margaret’s death, Shaunessy found that their five room condo in Queens felt empty and everything about it and in it reminded him of her. For every piece of furniture or picture there he’d recall the ages Margaret and he had been when they bought it, what things were like back then, what they had expected for the future and why they liked that item. It was an intolerable inescapability.

He couldn’t stand the memories any more and before his trip to Vista de la Feria he sold it all in bulk to an “antique dealer,” keeping only his clothing and the photographs. The pictures could easily be tucked away and pulled out at special times. The gruesomeness of being a cop in Manhattan added accelerant to the fire under his ass to get away. He and Margaret had visited New Mexico a few times and found out that Vista de la Feria was full of New Yorkers, so he thought that he wouldn’t be the only oddball in the “heartland” and would have a few to speak the same language to.

He found this place, for rent with an option to buy and bolted before he could talk himself out of it. The house was a five room single story adobe “casita” with a flat roof. It sat on a “private acre” in the company of others much like it on Moongate Road and was a tad different than the development houses bordering one side, which were larger, newer and more

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manicured. He was anxious to see the heralded Sangre de Cristo views, explained to him as encompassing their entirety, from foothills to peaks. He was certain that, under any circumstances, he would not be going back to the Northeast.

Besides, Vista de la Feria was desperate for a cop with New York experience to keep an eye on all the “unruly newcomers of the geriatric set.”

He saw the adobe walls lining the entrance to the new development and made the next right onto dirt paved Moongate and softly said; “Margaret, we’re almost home. What do you think of this place?”

Imagined non-committal response.

“I guess you want to reserve judgment a bit.”

Imagined response.

“Not what you expected?”

Imagined negative response.

“Me, either.”

Imagined response.

“Ah, let’s give it some time. We just got to the Land of Enchantment. Maybe it takes a while to get that way. Look at that big one. It looks like it’s got the shape of a “T”, like a phony cross with no head.”

Imagined disinterested response.

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“Well, you know I’m not particularly religious, either.

It’s just an odd shape for a house.”

Imagined response.

“I can see you’re not impressed.” He laughed and added;

“Sorry, we don’t have to stay. It’s only a rental.”

Silent pause.

“I know it’s nothing like New York, but that was the point, right? Ah, number 28. Look at the mountain view.”

Imagined surly response.

“Just a little joke. We’ll see it better in the morning.

We’ve been in worse places.”

Imagined questioning response.

“No, I don’t recall where. Give me time to think about that one. Where do I park? This one is weird. Must have been designed for access by horse.”

Imagined jocular, off-color response.

“You laughed, I heard it. Maybe if I circle around the walls I’ll find a driveway in the back ....... There we go.”

He drove slowly through the opening and down a fifteen foot dirt driveway and stopped facing a portal that ran the entire back of the adobe structure. Visibility was provided only by the full moon, so he took a flashlight from the glove compartment and used it’s assistance to open the faded blue back door. He reached around the door sill and found a light switch

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and then walked slowly inside noting the brick floor. The interior walls retained the original adobe contour and were all painted white. He took a quick look at the five rooms and not seeing any varmints, went back to the car to get his groceries, duffel bag and rolled-up airplane tripping cot. When they were in place he returned to the car again and mock-gallantly said;

“Is my blushing bride ready? Let me carry you across the threshold. If I still can. It’s good that you don’t weigh much anymore.”

Imagined dreamy response.

“You know I love you and here we........”

He heard a surprised male raised voice say; “You talking to me?”

Shaunessy stopped startled and considered what to reply as he put down his outstretched arms, dropping his invisible bride.

He instinctively whispered; “Sorry,” and pictured Margaret’s face looking up at him with the same expression she had when, while painting the condo walls, he accidentally hit her in the face with a brush, saturated with wet scarlet paint. He again heard the male voice. This time it increased volume and said;

“What?” His quick thinking mind told him that he would either have to say that he loved the stocky 5’8” bearded Spanish gentleman standing ten feet away with his hands in his baggy pants pockets and that he was sorry about it or say that he was

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talking to himself. There had to be a third option. His speedy processing system came up with something that somewhat addressed what was likely heard and provided an adequate defense. He decided to lie and said; “Jesus, you scared me. I love this place, at least up until now. I hope the hell you’re the owner.”

The Spanish man approached, extended his hand and said;

“Yes, I’m Ramon Gutierrez. That’s pronounced ‘Gut-tare-ez,’ not

‘Goot-tea-air-ez.’ I think we spoke on the phone once. You’re Thomas Shaunessy?”

Thankful for the avoidance of a possible faux pas, Shaunessy shook his hand and said; “People call me Shaunessy.”

“Why not Thomas? It’s a good Christian name.”

“I don't know. It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

“No brothers?”

“No, as a matter of fact. One sister.”

“I got three brothers and three sisters. They all live around here.” He waved his hand, perhaps indicating anywhere from the neighborhood to the entire Rio Grande Valley.

“What made you guess about my lack of brothers?”

“You couldn’t both be called ‘Shaunessy.’ That would be confusing.”

Shaunessy thought that was funny, though it really didn’t make much sense. He dismissed a few possible responses, smiled

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and said; “I guess I can call you Ramon.” He paused and got a nod, then continued; “How did you get in here, Ramon?”

“Through the front door. I live in the big casa; the one shaped like a “T”. When I saw a car enter here, I thought it might be you.”

Shaunessy was less than happy to hear that his new landlord would be in such close proximity, especially after having unpleasant experiences in the same situation years prior, so, with a sarcasm he said; “Oh, that’s great. Someone can keep an eye on the place while I’m gone.” As soon as the words came out, he hoped the sarcastic edge wouldn’t be detected.

It was, mercifully either not detected or ignored, as Ramon said; “That’s one of the good things about Vista de la Feria.

People know each other and watch out for any garbage.” He paused, then added; “That is, at least until all the New Yorkers moved here.” Shaunessy grinned and at that point he assumed that the sarcasm was well understood and effectively disposed of.

Shaunessy felt strange. Here he was a grown male, with preferences which have been common to people he had known throughout his life and yet he seemed to be in the position of explaining his big town standardized “oddities” to someone who was more of a minority group than he was. Tolerance had been the surface and sometime sub-surface rule of the road regarding

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them throughout his lifetime, but now he felt he was in their position and, perhaps not tolerated. He decided that the role reversal was an interesting game and somewhat mock-defensively replied; “We’re much more congested back east. So, privacy becomes the prize. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Indicating that he probably could “understand” that, but didn’t necessarily “agree” with it, Ramon countered with; “Maybe that’s why you have so much crime.”

Shaunessy waved his hands in front of his stomach in half surrender and laughed when he said; “Don’t put me in the position of defending New York. If I liked it so much, I’d still be there. But, I have to add that Albuquerque is the per capita murder capital of the nation.”

“Albuquerque’s a whole other story. There haven’t been any murders in Vista de la Feria in my lifetime.”

“Then, why do you need more cops?”

Ramon chuckled; “More traffic, more speeding tickets.”

Shaunessy thought that that was really one of the jobs he came here to do, preferring it to ugly murder investigations, but he was irked at the sneering tone he thought Ramon conveyed.

He said; “I hope that’s all I have to do. At my age, I don’t need a hard job.”

Ramon seemed pleased with the commentary and changed the subject back to traditional business and said; “The heat’s on,

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water’s running, electric’s obviously on. Anything else I can do for you?”

With no sarcasm in mind Shaunessy said; “No, thanks, that’s great.”

“When is the rest of your stuff being delivered?”

“This is the rest. I sold everything else. I’ll be getting new stuff here.”

“A friend of mine owns a furniture store and I can get you a really good deal on.........”

Shaunessy cut in on the paused statement, saying; “We’ll talk about that some other time. It’s been a long day and right now I just want to eat and sleep.”

Ramon said; “Sorry, I should have realized that.” He again extended his right hand, which Shaunessy vigorously shook. Both parties nodded approval or pleasant pretend approval. As Ramon exited, he looked back for a second and said; “You can talk to your bride again, but keep it low. I do that sometimes too. I don’t get any argument that way and she’s not even dead yet.”

Shaunessy trailed Ramon out from a distance of ten feet behind and watched him walk toward his “T” casa until he disappeared into the darkness. Shaunessy whispered; “Oh, Margaret, it sure is going to be a change of scene here.” He was sure that his resolute and questioning tone was answered with; “He’s funny. I like him.”

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Shaunessy whispered; “Margaret!” picked her up again and added; “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

After they strolled their new imperfect hideaway, Shaunessy put Margaret back on her feet and while he attempted to get his own on the ground, he noticed a small package lying in a corner.

It was wrapped in soft blue velvety Christmas paper with red and yellow ribbons prominently on top.

“Should I open it?”

Imagined shrugging response.

“If it’s not I can always re-wrap it.........Maybe it’s for us.”

Imagined cautionary response.

“I’ll be very careful. Promise.”

Shaunessy carefully undid the beautifully textured covering and found a box full of walnuts. He laughed out loud and said;

“How very appropriate.”

He heard no other opinion from Margaret.

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