It was a long, hard, wet walk for a hungry man whose blood sugar was in the basement, but I kept at it. The rain grew in intensity and made things darker, so the flashlight wasn’t doing me a lot of good. I was glad for the ax handle to support me and give me a mild sense of security.
Most likely, though, way I felt, if the duo came back, I’d be easy as cake. They’d take the ax handle from me, shove it up my ass, and leave me gathering flies and ants in the bushes.
I watched carefully for headlights and listened for sounds of thugs coming out of the bushes or leaping from trees, because by that time I was paranoid to the max.
The rain thinned a little but not before I was soaked to the bone and had covered a few miles with water squeaking like Winston’s rats in my shoes.
Then it was like someone exploded a silent strawberry bomb. There were streaks of red light against the dark sky. The light widened and the dark shrank, and abruptly it was morning. In short time, the strawberry sky began to turn the color of a lemon. Birds began to sing. I felt like I was in a Disney movie.
The rain continued to wane. The air was beginning to toast, and little clouds of steam rose up from the ground. When I arrived at the edge of town, Buck Rogers and his tow truck came by, stopped, and waited on me. When I caught up to it, he reached over and rolled the window down on the passenger side.
“You look like you been run over by a truck, then maybe mistreated by wildlife.”
“I feel like it. I think I can give you some business, by the way.”
“Well, hop in.”
“I’m soaking.”
“Plastic seat covers. You’re fine. That’s an ax handle you have there, is it not?”
“Observant. May it ride too?”
“I got nothing against ax handles.”
“You’re out early,” I said.
“Towed a car this morning. Someone ran into a tree last night. On my way to colored town for breakfast.”
I told him where I needed to go; did he mind taking me? He didn’t. I told him where my car was; could he tow it? He could. I asked about tires. He said he most likely had some that would fit at his garage.
“I’ll pay you when you’re done,” I said.
“No troubles. I was wondering, I mean, I know the black/white thing would probably mean it isn’t happening, you know, the stigma, but I’m thinking you and Ronnie looked pretty cozy out there the other day.”
“She told me you used to date her.”
“Yeah, and I’d like to again.”
“She told me you liked the women pretty good.”
“Don’t you?”
“Not more than one at a time, and I mean only one relationship at a time.”
“You are evolved.”
“You sound like you might have gone somewhere other than high school.”
“College up north for a while. They call us Negroes up there when they know we’re listening. At least here, I know where I stand.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Jim Crow rides in the back now, but he still gets plenty of trips around town and rests his forearms on the back of the driver’s seat. I can see his very white face in the rearview mirror.”
“You got that car imagery going,” I said.
“Deal with cars day in and day out, it’s easy to have that connection. They call it a metaphor, Danny.”
“Do they now?”
“Twice today and four times on Sunday.”
“What do you know about New Long Lincoln’s city council?”
“Curious question.”
“I’m a curious guy.”
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You thinking of running for mayor or any other city-big-ass position, you’re not getting out of the chute on that one. Way they get voted in is they don’t. Unless you count three votes between them, for each other, and that means one vote for themselves.”
“I know that much. I’m just looking for certainty.”
“They’re self-appointed assholes so old you’d think they’d have died by now, but they’re like fucking Boris Karloff in The Mummy. They’re sturdy. Have the constitutions of cockroaches. Back to what matters to me more than the city council. About Ronnie?”
“I like her.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
“How does she feel about you?”
“I get the impression she likes me too. And about the black/white thing, I don’t give a shit.”
“I was hoping you did.”
“I bet. No hard feelings.”
“Bullshit,” he said and smiled.