Rod (7 page)

This is the kind of place where everyone
seems to know each other and I silently hope that I don’t stick out like a sore
thumb.
 
I take a seat and look
indifferent to it all.

The jukebox is blaring a Conway
Twitty
song and I gather that its usual customer base is
probably older.
 
I whip out a twenty
dollar bill and slap it on the counter.

An older lady appears before me and asks,
“What can I get you to drink honey?”

Her hair is bright red and she’s wearing a
black shiny halter top and I gather from her age that maybe she should’ve opted
for something more age appropriate.
 
Her
skin is weathered and her makeup caked on her face.
 

“A Jack and Coke, please.”

“That’ll be all?”

I nod in the affirmative.
 

I scan the place and gather that this is
not the type of place to go questioning people.
 

The barmaid slides a rocks glass in front
of me and it looks as if she only used enough Coke to color the liquid
inside.
 
I sip it slowly and prove myself
right.
 

A man in his forties walks in and looks me
over.
 

“Hey there, little girl,” he says.
 
He looks creepy with loose light colored
jeans and an oversized red and black plaid flannel.
 
His hair is nearly black and his sideburns
say that he’s still living in the seventies.
 
His cheeks are red and his hands are as black as coal.

I nod in acknowledgement.
 

“You here with anyone, sweetheart?”

“No, now get the fuck away from me so I can
enjoy my whiskey.”

“A fireball,” he surmises.
 
“I like a little spunk in my ladies.”

He waltzes to the other end of the bar,
keeping his eyes fixated on me.
 
I shoot
daggers in his general direction.

Between Mr. Wonderful and myself are two
older women in their forties giving me dirty looks as if I’ve stolen their
action.
 
Next to them on the far side are
two guys talking among themselves.

I gather that this whole thing is a bust
and I should probably move on.
 
My
bladder thinks otherwise, so I walk past the row of stools and their occupants
to the ladies’ room.

Before I end up at the door, I overhear
one man talking quietly to the guy next to him.

“Yeah, she’s only twelve, too.
 
A cutie pie,” guy number one dictates to the
other as if he’s bragging.

“Beautiful,” guy number two says.

“She’s got this long blonde hair,” guy
number one confides.

Guy number two is pleased at the
thought.
 
I resist the urge to punch the
guy’s face in, mostly because I am completely out of my element.
 
If I started a ruckus in this shithole, it
would take my club brothers and sisters at least a half hour to find this
place.

I sigh deeply and decide to stick around
longer.
 
This guy could turn out to be
nothing, or this could be a lead.
 
I
stuffed a dollar into the jukebox and selected some random, upbeat songs.
 
It’s time to play the drunk chick.

“Wild Child” by Kenny Chesney permeates
the room and I throw my hands in the air.

“This is my song! Woo!”

I walk back over to my seat and order up
another drink; it’s going to be a long night.

“Another Jack and Coke, honey?” Mrs. Red
Hair asks.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” I say.

Another drink is placed in front of me and
guy number two walks on over.

“This seat taken?” He asks, patting the
stool twice.

“I guess it is now.”

I trace the lip of the rocks glass with my
finger and lick my lips, even though the thought of this guy being anywhere
near me grosses me out.

“Frank,” he says, extending his hand to
mine.

“Alyssa,” I lie.
 

He looks down at his hands and says,
“Sorry, my hand is dirty, I’ve been working on cars all day.”

“Think
nothin
’
of it,” I punctuate with a bite of my lower lip.
 
He smiles and I realize my plan is working.

“Who’s your friend, Frank?”

“Oh, that’s Les.”

“Does Les think I bite or is he just not
friendly?”

He looks amused.
 
He pokes his head down to his friend and
waves him over.

“Hi Les, I’m Alyssa,” I state feigning
intoxication.
 
“These drinks sure are
strong!”

They both chuckle and I realize they’re
putty in my hands.

“So, do you guys like to party?”

“Party?” Frank asks, intrigued by the
suggestion.

“We don’t do drugs if that’s what you’re
askin
’,” Les interjects.

Les is the one who was talking about the
twelve-year-old girl and my thoughts wander to if he’s holding Sasha at his
place.
 
I need more information.

“I didn’t mean drugs, silly.
 
I’m just really lonely since my boyfriend
broke up with me.”

I sense their relief.
 

I bat my eyelashes at them and say,
“Where’s a girl to find any fun around these parts?”

“You’ve come to the right place,
sweetheart,” Frank says without hesitation.

“We can go back to my place,” Les
suggests.

I throw back my drink and stand.
 
They follow suit.

“What’s your address for this little get
together,
y’know
, just in case I get lost on these
back roads?”

Les scrambles to get a napkin and dirties
it up with his filthy hands.
 

“109
Bober
Street,” he scribbles before passing the napkin to me.

“I’m just going to freshen up in the
ladies’ room before we go, okay honey?” I ask them.

“Sure,” Les says.

I walk slowly to the bathroom and turn
back to see Les rubbing his hands together with a less than toothy smile.
 
I push the bathroom door open and see a
window over the toilet stall.
 
The
bathroom looks like it hasn’t seen a clean day in years.
 

I hear the sound of the men getting closer
to the door as they talk among themselves.
 
They’re certainly eager.

“I’ll be out in just a minute, gentlemen!”
I say through the door.

“Sure thing,
darlin
’,”
one of them says.

I kick the toilet seat down and perch
myself on top of it.
 
I push the window
open quietly, but it creaks and I fidget.
 
Moving slowly, I pull myself through the opening and hang-drop from the
window to the dirt road outside.
 

I move quickly to get to my bike, stuffing
the note in my pocket.
 
That was close.

I rev up the motor and take off, leaving
this little
jukejoint
in my back mirror.

A trail of dust follows me and I realize
that it’s probably all over my motorcycle, too.

Speeding through
Hayleyville
,
I stop at another place ten blocks away from Rose’s.
 
I pull out my phone and dial up my old high
school best friend, Teresa.
 

“Hey girl,” I say, hoping that I didn’t
catch her sleeping.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Are you out and about?
 
I’m in your neck of the woods,” I tell her.

“Yeah, where are
ya
?”

“I’m at this little bar called
Carl’s.
 
It’s right off of South Street.”

“Oh yeah, I know the place.
 
I can be there in ten.”

“Awesome, see you soon.”

I saunter inside after removing the key
from my bike’s ignition.
 
Carl’s is a
step up from Rose’s in that it also contains two pool tables and a dart board
in the back.
 
It’s all dark wooden
accented bar furniture with the exception of a red velour couch propped next to
the jukebox.

A Reba
McEntire
song is playing, but I can’t gather which one it is.
 
I listen intently, but my drinks from Rose’s
make me a little hazy.

“What can I get you?” a strong, younger
guy says.
 
He’s got blonde hair and light
green eyes.

“Jack and Coke,” I tell him, slightly
slurring my words.

“
Gonna
need to
see your ID,” he says proudly.

“Sec,” I say as I fish it from my jeans
pocket.
 
I brandish it to the guy puffing
out his chest.
 

“See, I’m legal.”

He smiles.

Turning his back to me, I check out his
assets.
 
His tight little ass reminds me
of Rodney’s firm butt and how I want to squeeze it.
 

The bartender slides my drink in front of
me and says, “Four-fifty.”

I place a ten dollar bill on the counter
and slide it to him.
 
I stir my drink
with the tiny red straw as I look around the place.
 

“Hey, Carl,” says a familiar voice to the
man behind the bar.

I turn and find Teresa taking the open
spot next to me.

“It’s about time you got here,” I tell
her.

I look to Carl and say, “Whatever she’s
having.”

“The usual?” he asks her.

“Sure,” Teresa says.

I draw closer and ask, “What’s the usual?”

“It’s a Gin and tonic,” she says
matter-of-factly.

I nod.
 
By the look of her, she has already been gallivanting all over
Hayleyville
tonight.

“So, what brings you out to our little
neck of the woods?” she presses.

“I
dunno
, I just
had to get
outta
Hinton for a bit and thought of you,
so I figured I’d call
ya
.”

“Yeah,
me
and
Chester broke things off,” she rambles.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say
sympathetically.

“I’m not; he was fucking that Heidi chick
from down the way.”

“Wow.”

“So, you know what I did to get back at
that cheating bastard?”

I search myself for an answer, but before
I respond, she goes on.
 
“I fucked that
sweet piece of ass behind the bar.”

Teresa has never been one to hold her
tongue.

“Very nice,” I tell her.
 
“How was he?”

“Good enough to take home to mama,” she
says loud enough for Carl to hear.

She comes across as a little overbearing
to those who don’t know her, but she’s sweet to me.
 
Carl beams a smile in her direction.

“I guess I just need someone to talk to,”
I tell her as things take a more serious turn.

“What’s wrong, Trish?”

“My sister Sasha has gone missing.
 
No one has any idea what happened to her.”

A tear escapes my eye.
 

“I am so sorry to hear that.”

“I just hate not knowing.”

She pats me on the shoulder.

“I know, honey, keep your head up, she’s
bound to turn up somewhere.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say honestly.

“She will, I know it.
 
Are the cops involved?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Hell, has it even been forty-eight
hours?” she groans.

“No, not yet.”

“Damn.
 
I’ll keep my eyes peeled for you.
 
What a fucking shame.
 
I will pray
for your family.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“Well, I didn’t mean to tear you away from
anything, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“You didn’t tear me away from
anything.
 
I’m glad you called.”

“Me too.
 
But I really
gotta
run.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t!” I tell her.

I scrunch the pocketed napkin in my grubby
little hands as a reminder that I’m here to investigate my sister’s
disappearance.
 
Teresa is a good
broadcaster in that she gossips.
 
Hopefully,
she will be able to get the word out.