grin on the big guy was certainly infectious. Heat rose to Cyn’s cheeks. What was that accent? English? Not quite. Aussie? Maybe. Strange how an accent got you going.
Cyn said, “An awning would be perfect here. I’ve been wanting one for years but we could never afford it.” She looked in the redhead’s green eyes and felt uncomfortable. “So, um… what did you say were the terms of the offer?”
“Would the man of the house be at home today, ma’am?”
A silent alarm sounded in the back of Cyn’s head. She was about to say No but caught herself. Crossing her arms on her chest, she said, “I’m expecting him any minute. If you see a highway patrol car coming in, that would be him.” She watched for the redhead’s reaction but the guy seemed indifferent to the possibility of law enforcement arriving.
“Would ya like us to wait for yer man to arrive or do ya have the power to make such decisions yerself, ma’am?”
“Well, I certainly have the power. But I would like to confer with my husband. There might be some restrictions on what a state trooper can do as far as product endorsement, you understand.”
“Certainly, ma’am. My partner and I can surely wait until yer husband arrives.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work, either. I have to leave. I have an appointment in Corpus Christi and I need to leave in five minutes. You’ll have to come back another time, I’m afraid. Do you have a business card?
“Seems I’m fresh out of cards today, ma’am,” the redhead said, his eyes roving quickly up and down her body. “Would there be a better time to call? One where both you and the hubby might likely be home? We could call in advance. I just need your phone number.”
Cyn was getting apprehensive, maybe a little creeped. But she didn’t want to be impolite. “Earlier in the day is better—on a weekday. If you’re in the area, look to see if my husband’s truck and my Toyota are both here,” pointing at the Camry. “That’s a good sign we’re at home.”
“Indeed it is, ma’am. And thank you for your time. You’ll be hearing from us, I can promise ya that. And have a wonderful rest of the day.”
“Okay… thank you,” Cynthia closed the trailer door and slid the bolt across, still nervous but scolding herself for it. She was oddly fascinated by the variety of feelings she was experiencing and told herself to stop being silly. But there was no denying it, her future seemed to be unfolding in front of her like a long dark road to somewhere unknown. A concept she would have found foreign just a few days ago. She felt a touch of excitement sticking to the edge of things. And yes, she was a little afraid, maybe apprehensive was a better word, but still, she felt calm. Apprehensive and calm at the same time—it was neat.
She watched the black SUV driving out of her yard. She waited for the dust clouds to settle before gathering up her things.
11
After hanging up on Sam, Jimmy had considered walking the beach all the way to Port Aransas, morning sun heating his back and warm sand crunching beneath his toes getting him in the mood. But he soon discovered the folly in his thinking: distances always look shorter on travel brochures. So now here he was, sleep deprived, hungover and hitchhiking on an asphalt-two-lane, Highway 358 on the signs, hoping for his second ride of the day, the first one dropping him off at an intersection a mile or so back.
When Jimmy was short on sleep, he got horny. Been that way as long as he could remember. But he never figured out if losing sleep made him horny or being horny made him lose sleep. Nevertheless, now he was fantasizing about a carload of drunken college girls picking him up, believing there was nothing like beautiful drunken women to ease your pain, especially when you were horny and running from guys wanted to cut your nuts off. He could go the boy-toy route if he had to, no problemo, senor.
Yep, he could see it all, knew it would make a great porno:
Four gorgeous chicks in bikinis approaching in a convertible with the top down—had to be a big old American sled, Chevy or Pontiac—slowing to have a look at him on the side of the road with his thumb out. He saw his clothes as a little nicer than the pair of black-and-white-floral-pattern beach shorts he’d bought at the discount beach ware store—cloth so thin he doubted they’d last two months—and the pale blue t-shirt with Corpus Christi Beach scrolled across it beneath a setting sun. Better sunglasses, too, Oakley or Ray-Bans—and a new pair of kicks. And he wouldn’t be carrying his old clothes in a cheesy, sky-blue vinyl drawstring bag with South Padre Island scrolled on it in bold lettering.
Picture it: he’s hitchhiking in the nice clothes and expensive shades and the convertible pulls alongside and the hot chicks in skimpy bikinis are smiling up at him, drinks in their hands, joint smoldering in the ashtray, music blaring from the radio—Zeppelin or Stones—and the ladies invite him in. And without hesitation, Jimmy jumps over the side into the backseat and one of the girls picks up the joint and they all get high. And pretty soon the girls are all over him, touching, getting him going, and the camera follows the convertible to a secluded spot where the four lovelies have their way with him for the rest of the film.
Lord have mercy.
It could happen—you never know—but it needed to happen soon, because he only had sixty dollars and thirty-seven cents left in his pocket. About enough to get through one, maybe two days, depending on where he slept, how much he ate and drank and other mundane shit he could barely stand to think about. And, ridiculous as it seemed, he still held a flicker of hope that old Sam would come around and bail him out of this, dude could be a forgiving old duck sometimes. But the more thought he gave to it, the more doubts he had, because Sam didn’t seem like a duck paid much attention to loyalty. And, y’know, why in hell should Sam be loyal to the guy who let a million greenback dollars get away and then hung up on him?
One thing Jimmy did know was he needed money. As well as some sort of back-up plan should the baying hounds at his heels, be seeking his blood as an interest payment. If he made himself difficult to find, maybe Ryan would only kill Sam and forget about him.
Here’s hoping.
Standing there on the hot pavement Jimmy could feel his skin tightening, was glad he’d used the knock-off Hawaiian tanning oil. Seeing a group of vehicles approaching he stuck out his thumb, adjusted the four-dollar wraparound sunglasses and sucked air into his chest, holding it in as the line of cars came on. Trying to project a clean-cut wholesome image, he sent out friendly vibes and braced himself for the rush of wind, dust and heat.
Nobody slowed down. Actually seemed like they sped up when they saw him. Glistening luxury cars and sparkling SUVs and shiny RVs blowing by and ballooning his t-shirt with the backwash.
Discouraged, with no cars in sight, Jimmy turned and began to walk, wondering what Texas law said about hitchhiking. He walked for a while then turned his head to look behind him, saw a beige car approaching and stuck his thumb out. Staring at the oncoming windshield, he saw a gold T-shirt and perky blond hair behind the wheel. He got a rush.
Gopher Girl.
Jesus, another omen.
He saw the beige Toyota’s front-end dip like Gopher Girl had taken her foot off the gas. But as soon as his hopes rose, the Camry’s front end bucked up and Gopher Girl kept mashing on down the road, Jimmy thinking, Maybe these big shades kept her from recognizing me. For sure she would’ve stopped if she’d known who it was. After all we shared together….
Then another herd of cars was approaching and Jimmy put out his thumb again, standing straight and closing his mouth to keep the sand from blowing in. He saw a faded white Chevy van at the rear of the pack slowing and edging toward the shoulder, rust bucket reminding him of the license-plate-spitting-piece-of-shit cash-laundering van that caused him all this trouble in the first place. Jimmy kept his eye on the white van as it swung onto the extra-wide shoulder, people always driving on the shoulders in Texas. It was coming on slowly. And headed right at him. Wasn’t a convertible of nubile blonds—damn—and he had to step quickly out of the van’s