Midnight in Brussels (3 page)

The phone rang.

She raised her face from the pillow and gulped for air.

Okay. No suicide today.

Her first thought was that it might be Arlie, so she jumped up and raced to the phone in the kitchen. Pushing her long, straight, blond hair back over her ear, she lifted the receiver, hesitated, wondering if she should say anything or not. Arlie’s creditors were on her like crazy. This was probably just another harassing bill collector.

Since Arlie had left, the money had stopped coming in, except for the State assistance checks that had just begun and the money her sister had been sending her each month. She didn’t have the energy or the self-confidence to look for a job and she didn’t know how to drive anyway, didn’t have a driver’s license, didn’t have a car, so what difference did it make. And to top it all off, she’d never worked a day in her life, had no skills, no experience. Nothing.

Amanda was wishing she had an answering machine like everybody else so she could listen to who might be calling, before she answered.

She took a deep breath and listened for office noises on the phone. It was easy to tell if it was a telemarketing or creditor call because there would be a dead silence, then all of a sudden the office noises began. If it was one of those calls, she would hang up before the person on the other end had a chance to speak.

“Amanda?”

“Oh Paula! I’m so glad it’s you.” She let out her breath in a sigh of relief and leaned back against the counter.

“You all right, hon?”

“No, I ain’t all right,” she started crying. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Paula. Arlie ain’t comin’ back. I just know it. He must be dead.”

“You don’t know that for sure. They haven’t found his dad-gummed body yet. I’m sorry, hon, I don’t mean to be blunt, but you know how I am. I say what I think without thinking. Wait a minute, that didn’t sound right. Oh well, you know what I mean. Listen, honey, I wancha to come stay with us. That’s why I’m calling. Our house is all done now, and boy is it a whopper! It’s alongside a river and we have us a great big swimming pool. We’ve got plenty of room and you’ll love it. You can have your own bathroom and even your own sittin’ room if you want, and you can help with the baby when he pops out. What do you say? We can find you a job.”

“But I don’t know how to do anything, Paula. I’m of no use to anybody, not even to myself.” Amanda reached for the roll of toilet paper on the nearby counter to blow her nose.

“You can waitress, honey. Anybody can waitress. I know just the place for you. Now you just pack your stuff and Drake and I will be out there on Saturday. You know how he feels about his gambling. The man is addicted, he’s needin’ his Vegas fix. So we’re coming to get you, baby. Besides, Drake’s always driving truck somewhere else and he’s never home. I’d love to have your company. We Conroy sisters have got to stick together, you know.”

“But what if Arlie comes back and I’m not here?”

“Leave him a fuckin’ note, Amanda! That’s more than he did for you. Now you just get yourself together and I’ll take care of everything. You’ll have a job waitin’ for you. You just mark my words!”

Amanda felt a slight twinge of hope. Maybe she could waitress, and then maybe she could save her money and buy a car. And maybe she’d take some classes and get a GED. And maybe she could learn to take care of herself and not have to depend on anybody else. And then maybe she could save enough money and go to one of those places she saw in the magazines.

The last thought was what tipped the scales.

“All right!” she exclaimed. She straightened up and felt better than she had in months. “I’ll do it! I’ll stay with y’all until I can get my own place.”

“That’s great, hon. You’re gonna love Bakersfield. It’s just a couple hours from everything - L.A. is south, the Pacific Ocean is west and San Francisco’s up north. You can bet we’ll have us a ball. We can close up that dad-gummed trailer and you can bring all your stuff with you. We’ll be driving the pickup so you can bring it all.”

“I don’t have much that I’d want to bring,” Amanda said as she looked around the trailer and thought about how Arlie never let her spend money on clothes and pretty things for their small hovel. She’d asked him when they’d see something in a window in one of the stores in town, but he would always say no. Said they didn’t need it. He only gave her enough money to buy groceries at the convenience store and some extra to spend at Goodwill when they were in town. She had wondered what he did with all his money. She’d heard that electricians in the casinos made good wages, but she’d never seen any of it, except what he gave her.

“Okay, baby, we’ll be there on Saturday. I’ll help you pack your stuff while Drake is off gambling. You okay about this now? You aren’t going to back out at the last minute?”

“I’ll be packed before you get here.”

“Okay, hon. Bye-bye.”

“Bye, Paula. I love you.” She hung up the phone and immediately felt a surge of energy and a return to the living. She poured water in the air conditioner to stay cool while she began gathering up her meager belongings and crammed them into plastic grocery bags—her luggage. It took her two hours to pack everything she was going to take. Saturday was six long days away.

Chapter 3

It had been seven months since Arlie had been blasted off the cliff just west of Miami, Arizona. Only one of the shooter’s shots caught him in the left shoulder but it was enough to knock him off the cliff. The other shots glanced him as he spun and fell, tumbling backwards head-over-heels down the long, steep slope to the rocky canyon below.

There was no way anyone could survive that fall, and no way anyone could climb down to check and see if he was dead or alive. But from the way he landed, the stalkers were convinced he couldn’t be alive, even if the bullets hadn’t killed him, the fall would. So they were satisfied with the hit and drove back to Las Vegas.

When Arlie gained consciousness two days later, he didn’t know where he was, how long he’d lain there, or why he had a gunshot wound through his shoulder. The bleeding had miraculously stopped by itself, leaving a gaping hole caked with dark, dried blood where the wounding bullet had entered in the front and exited out the back.

Signs of infection had set in all over his body’s multiple scrapes and gashes. He knew his left arm was broken in several places. The pain was almost unbearable. And he couldn’t move or feel anything from the waist down. With a bit of awkward effort, still lying on the ground, he was able to one-handedly pull his t-shirt up and over his right shoulder and use it as a sling for his left arm, inserting a stick between his body and the arm, wrapping it with the shirt.

The sound of running water was encouraging; a creek or river meant at least he wouldn’t die of thirst, and he could attempt to sooth his wounds with the coolness of the water.

Next he tried to rise to a sitting position. Agonizing pains shot up his spine into his head, halting movement right off the bat. After a few minutes more, he reached with his right hand and tried to straighten out his legs that were both bent at awkward angles. The legs were definitely broken, but he still couldn’t feel them. He figured his back might be broken also, maybe in the lower extremities, which was why the pain shot through him when he tried to sit up, and why he couldn’t feel his legs. If he kept his head even with his body, it didn’t hurt as much.

He figured he must have fallen from the cliff above, and if so, it was a miracle his head hadn’t been smashed open from the fall, although blood from head scrapes and cuts had run down his face and had dried, too. The gunshot wound through his shoulder was the real puzzler.

Using his right hand and arm, he managed to drag himself between the boulders and rocks down to the water’s edge. It was a slow process, taking more than a couple of hours with rest stops to let the pain subside. He could imagine the damage he was causing to his lower body, but at least he couldn’t feel it. Regardless, he figured he had to do something to try and save himself; he couldn’t just lie where he’d fallen and die.

Arlie finally reached the shallow water’s edge and rolled into the clear, cool water, drenching his wounds and quenching his thirst.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying in the water; he must’ve fallen asleep, when sounds of voices roused him.

 
“Watch out, you nincompoop! You’re going to hit that boulder. Jesus Christ, Jimmy! When will you ever learn how to turn a damn canoe? Drag the right oar! Lift the left!”

“All right, all right. I’m doin’ it. It’s over there, Scott. That’s where I caught that big one, remember?”

Arlie screamed, “Help! Help me! I’m over here. Somebody, please! Help me! Over here. Help!”

The two men instantly responded and paddled towards Arlie’s screams.

Chapter 4

Amanda acclimated swiftly with her sister Paula and brother-in-law Drake in their sprawling home on the banks of the Kern River just outside of Bakersfield in the San Joaquin Valley of California. Life in Nevada seemed far behind her now. But the weather was pretty much the same as it was in the Silver State: hot in the summer, freezing in the winter. And since the San Joaquin Valley was the agricultural center of California there was always the invisible cloud of crop sprays that lingered in the air. Some said it was the cause of lung cancer and other diseases that seemed to permeate the valley in high numbers, but not all were in agreement about that.

The Central Valley, as it is called, is also blessed with the Tule fog season that will often shut down businesses and schools a day or two at a time, because it is impossible to see or drive through it. Auto pile-ups are the norm between November and March when the fog rises up from the Tule grass wetlands. It’s a radiation fog as a result of high humidity after a rain and rapid cooling during the night.

But Amanda had yet to experience the Tule fog. It was still a three-digit degree summertime in the valley.

Her sister Paula lined up a job interview for her at KC’s Steakhouse on her first Friday in California. KC’s was a lunch and dinner house with nightly music entertainment owned and managed by Frenchie - a petite, exotic dynamo who ran her busy restaurant with an iron hand and ran it profitably. KC’s was also a popular watering hole. So Frenchie capitalized on both food and beverage sales. (KC being the acronym for Kansas City in reference to the famous KC steaks.)

Drake spent a lot of time and money entertaining business associates at KC’s Steakhouse, and he and Paula socialized there at least twice a week during the happy hour and dinner hour. The restaurant was known for its attractive female wait-staff and Amanda fit the bill in the looks department - slim, blond, blue-eyed and pretty. Frenchie was immediately impressed with Amanda’s looks and demeanor, and her story, so experience or no experience, she was hired. It was also a special favor to Paula and Drake, her longtime friends.

The shy and timid girl from Arkansas caught on to the way of doing things quicker than most and soon became the highest tipped and showed promise of becoming the best waitress in the place.

When Frenchie handed her the first paycheck, Amanda cried. Frenchie put her arm around Amanda’s waist and thanked her for working so hard; she told Amanda she hoped she’d be happy at KC’s and she was grateful to Paula and Drake for recommending her.

After the display of affection from Frenchie, Amanda felt the need and desire to excel even more at her first job. She worked overtime whenever asked without complaining and became a true loyal employee, feeling appreciated more than at any other time in her young life.

It was near to closing at KC’s, and five months had gone by since she began her career as a waitress. Earlier that morning the sheriff’s department in Clark County of Nevada notified her that they’d found Arlie’s car in Kingman, Arizona, but that was where the trail ended. They assumed he was still alive, not dead. They assumed he left of his own accord, that it wasn’t a criminal matter.

Two months before, Amanda had called Johnny Mace, one of Arlie’s co-workers, to let him know where she could be reached if Arlie showed up. Johnny told her he’d like to buy the trailer; said he’d been living with two other guys and wanted a place to live with his new girlfriend. At first she was reluctant to sell, but she wanted the money. On one hand she felt guilty about selling out from under Arlie, but on the other hand she decided it was his fault for abandoning her. Johnny sent her $1,000 up front and promised to pay the rest in a couple of months. Now that the sheriff had informed her they’d found the car, she didn’t feel guilty about selling the trailer.