A Fight by the Dashboard Lights
The search party's Fairlane
Somewhere we can hear voices... and music, like from a portable radio. It sounds like Bob Dylan... How does it feel? How does it feel? To be on your own with no direction home?
How appropriate.
We are on top of this monolith. Some volcanic spire that is totally out of place out here. I have no idea how I climbed up here, or how Lou did for that matter. It is akin to climbing a power pole, except with sharp pointy rock. Where we sit is fairly comfortable, but when it is time to climb down I have a feeling first aid will be needed.
My stomach is wound as tight as my nerves. The heady trip we were on is now wound down to an amped-up feeling, and at the same time a feeling of total relief and relaxation. I know... it sounds weird. What is left of my hallucinations is just the color spectrum and total focus for all the good it does me out here in the dark.
Lou points to a spot in the blackness where a dim light can be seen. It is off about a quarter mile in the distance and there seems to be several voices in the mix.
"Do you hear that?" I am not sure I hear it myself.
"Yes."
"Do you hear voices and Bob Dylan on a car radio?"
"Yes."
Talkative motherfucker.
"Well, either we are both crazy or there is a car with people right over there."
Lou stands, and I carefully stand with him, totally aware that we are at least thirty feet in the air from what I had to climb up to get here.
"Must be a road."
"You think?"
"They could be in a four wheel drive, asswipe."
"There's our little Miss Sunshine... welcome back."
"Shhh."
Headlights turn on and they illuminate four figures walking out ahead of the beams. They start to call out. A couple of flashlight beams reflect through the choke of dust at their feet as they make there way. One of them calls out an all too familiar name, the voice thick with a French accent.
"Oh crap, Lou turns to me. "They're looking for Justin. He must have made some kind of arrangement for them to meet him here."
I look off into the blackness toward where I thought we had seen the white clothing earlier in our vision quest. I can't tell if there is something there or not, and don't know for sure if I saw it earlier either.
As I am pondering what we did or did not see, Lou leaps off of the spire into the darkness.
"Holy Shit... " I look over the side only to see that it is just a ten foot drop on this side. I scoot off and drop the distance, impacting the sand next to him.
"You let me climb that fucking thing from the other side. That was like straight up, man."
"You whine like a mule."
"What?"
Lou waves me behind him, moving quickly toward where we hoped we had seen the hostage earlier.
"Stay down and stay quiet. If these guys find him first they get the stones. We lost too many friends and worked to fucking hard to let that happen."
Lou moves through the scrub and catcus, over rocks and through washes like he lives there. I just follow, completely trusting the fact that he knows where he is going. To our right and off in the distance, the four men scour the brush with flashlights, now too far ahead of the headlights for them to matter. They are now just a guide back to the vehicle.
They call out his name every dozen steps or so, first one, then another. They all seem to have French accents, all but one that is distinctively Mexican.
Just as we tack through the brush to the right Lou stops dead in his tracks... I nearly run into the back of him.
"There," he whispers.
I strain my eyes to see... and there it is, the white clothing straight ahead. I turn and see the four members of the search party about five minutes behind us. There certainly isn't much time.
Lou comes up on him first. He is laying face down in the sand.
"Is he dead?"
Lou gives him a kick... nothing. He reaches down and grabs his wrist, clocking his fingers around until he finds what he is looking for.
"He has a pulse."
Immediately he starts to search him; pockets, cuffs, in his hair, in all parts of his clothing. Nothing.
"Motherfucker." Lou stands, both hands on his hips. "Man... I hope he didn't hide them where I hid them."
I look at Justin, then at Lou, "Hey, I'm not touching him."
Lou just shakes his head.
Behind us the voices get louder as they approach us. We don't have time to play games.
"Just leave the fucking things and lets get out of here."
"NO." He says it just a little too loud and the men with the flashlights freeze in their steps. There is a little foreign muttering and then one of them call out his name, but this time it is different.
"Shhhh." I try to quiet Lou, who is now on his knees in front of the body. He is just about to yank the clothing down to go diving when I notice something.
"Hey, aren't those shoes a little big?
Lou stops and lets go of the cotton pants. "He was wearing sandles the other day."
He reaches down and pulls one of them off, reaching in all the way to the toe. Even in the dark I can see that he has found something.
"Check the other one." He tells me.
Sure enough, in a wad of fabric is the other half of the stones.
"They're all here." I dump mine in Lou's hand and he counts them just to be sure.
The men, they are just about on us now. They have stopped calling Justin's name and are now just moving toward us, sweeping the flashlights through the darkness.
Lou motions for me to follow and we break out and around Justin's position, swinging a wide arc back to the glowing headlights about an eighth of a mile behind us. As we approach the vehicle, we can see only one man... a big one, like a wrestler, standing beside the vehicle smoking what looks like a joint. Once we are down wind, we can smell it... local shit.
I don't even pretend that I am going to take this guy. After all, this is what Lou does. We sneak up on the back of the car, but just as we get to the trunk and Lou is prepared to move on him, the rest of the search party can be heard yelling. They have found him.
Lou bolts from the back of the car... the wrestler hears him coming. Instead of some neck snapping, karate chopping, ninja style shit.... Lou just leaps on his back and tries to get his hands around the guy's neck. I watch for a milli-second, just enough to see Lou hurled off of this guy's back and over the top. Now, with him on the ground, it looks like the wrestler is going to put him in a Boston Crab Lock or something.
"Hey." I yell to him. Off in the distance the flashlights cast their beams back in our direction at the commotion, not that they will see a thing.
I throw the handful of sand in his eyes and temporarily blind him. That was it for my contribution.
"Get up." I grab Lou by the arm and pull him to his feet. He is heaving, trying to catch the wind that was knocked out of him. Haystack Calhoun is digging at his eyes when Lou kicks his left knee from the side. The sound of it giving way beneath him is that of someone deboning a chicken. He starts to scream out in pain, but a quick punch to the throat... even through the twenty inches of neck, silences him. He goes down. He may or may not be able to breath, but we don't give a fuck.
In the car, we turn the key and the battery rolls hard, dimming the lights. Ahead we can see the beams of light dancing all over as the men run back toward the car.
"The lights."
"No shit."
He punches the light switch in and now we are in blackness. He tries it again and it barely rolls over. Lou turns the key on, gives it four or five pumps and tries it again. It rolls over twice, the men can be heard running at us, the chatter between them of an urgent nature. Finally the engine catches and Lou floors it as he slams it into gear. We throw a huge cloud of dust as the old '59 Ford Fairlane is turned nose to tail in a rather slick Hollywood move on Lou's part. He drops it into drive and we follow the tire tracks out of the desert.
Gunfire errupts, one firearm and not well aimed. We put considerable distance between us and them before Lou slows a bit and re-claims the tracks that led them here.
We have the stones once more and have managed to escape. My heart is pounding. Lou rolls his window down and rests his arm on the opening. He reaches down to the radio and checks the presets... all Mexican music, except one. Jackson Browne... not my first choice for an escape, but it puts us on the boulevard on a Saturday night... back in the day. I roll my window down and we let the cool desert breeze blow through us as I settle in to the red and white imitation leather. Ahead the sun is rising, my cousin is in mortal danger, we are in a stolen car that was probably in that condition when we got in it, and we now have the diamonds.
What was once our is ours again
How appropriate.
We are on top of this monolith. Some volcanic spire that is totally out of place out here. I have no idea how I climbed up here, or how Lou did for that matter. It is akin to climbing a power pole, except with sharp pointy rock. Where we sit is fairly comfortable, but when it is time to climb down I have a feeling first aid will be needed.
My stomach is wound as tight as my nerves. The heady trip we were on is now wound down to an amped-up feeling, and at the same time a feeling of total relief and relaxation. I know... it sounds weird. What is left of my hallucinations is just the color spectrum and total focus for all the good it does me out here in the dark.
Lou points to a spot in the blackness where a dim light can be seen. It is off about a quarter mile in the distance and there seems to be several voices in the mix.
"Do you hear that?" I am not sure I hear it myself.
"Yes."
"Do you hear voices and Bob Dylan on a car radio?"
"Yes."
Talkative motherfucker.
"Well, either we are both crazy or there is a car with people right over there."
Lou stands, and I carefully stand with him, totally aware that we are at least thirty feet in the air from what I had to climb up to get here.
"Must be a road."
"You think?"
"They could be in a four wheel drive, asswipe."
"There's our little Miss Sunshine... welcome back."
"Shhh."
Headlights turn on and they illuminate four figures walking out ahead of the beams. They start to call out. A couple of flashlight beams reflect through the choke of dust at their feet as they make there way. One of them calls out an all too familiar name, the voice thick with a French accent.
"Oh crap, Lou turns to me. "They're looking for Justin. He must have made some kind of arrangement for them to meet him here."
I look off into the blackness toward where I thought we had seen the white clothing earlier in our vision quest. I can't tell if there is something there or not, and don't know for sure if I saw it earlier either.
As I am pondering what we did or did not see, Lou leaps off of the spire into the darkness.
"Holy Shit... " I look over the side only to see that it is just a ten foot drop on this side. I scoot off and drop the distance, impacting the sand next to him.
"You let me climb that fucking thing from the other side. That was like straight up, man."
"You whine like a mule."
"What?"
Lou waves me behind him, moving quickly toward where we hoped we had seen the hostage earlier.
"Stay down and stay quiet. If these guys find him first they get the stones. We lost too many friends and worked to fucking hard to let that happen."
Lou moves through the scrub and catcus, over rocks and through washes like he lives there. I just follow, completely trusting the fact that he knows where he is going. To our right and off in the distance, the four men scour the brush with flashlights, now too far ahead of the headlights for them to matter. They are now just a guide back to the vehicle.
They call out his name every dozen steps or so, first one, then another. They all seem to have French accents, all but one that is distinctively Mexican.
Just as we tack through the brush to the right Lou stops dead in his tracks... I nearly run into the back of him.
"There," he whispers.
I strain my eyes to see... and there it is, the white clothing straight ahead. I turn and see the four members of the search party about five minutes behind us. There certainly isn't much time.
Lou comes up on him first. He is laying face down in the sand.
"Is he dead?"
Lou gives him a kick... nothing. He reaches down and grabs his wrist, clocking his fingers around until he finds what he is looking for.
"He has a pulse."
Immediately he starts to search him; pockets, cuffs, in his hair, in all parts of his clothing. Nothing.
"Motherfucker." Lou stands, both hands on his hips. "Man... I hope he didn't hide them where I hid them."
I look at Justin, then at Lou, "Hey, I'm not touching him."
Lou just shakes his head.
Behind us the voices get louder as they approach us. We don't have time to play games.
"Just leave the fucking things and lets get out of here."
"NO." He says it just a little too loud and the men with the flashlights freeze in their steps. There is a little foreign muttering and then one of them call out his name, but this time it is different.
"Shhhh." I try to quiet Lou, who is now on his knees in front of the body. He is just about to yank the clothing down to go diving when I notice something.
"Hey, aren't those shoes a little big?
Lou stops and lets go of the cotton pants. "He was wearing sandles the other day."
He reaches down and pulls one of them off, reaching in all the way to the toe. Even in the dark I can see that he has found something.
"Check the other one." He tells me.
Sure enough, in a wad of fabric is the other half of the stones.
"They're all here." I dump mine in Lou's hand and he counts them just to be sure.
The men, they are just about on us now. They have stopped calling Justin's name and are now just moving toward us, sweeping the flashlights through the darkness.
Lou motions for me to follow and we break out and around Justin's position, swinging a wide arc back to the glowing headlights about an eighth of a mile behind us. As we approach the vehicle, we can see only one man... a big one, like a wrestler, standing beside the vehicle smoking what looks like a joint. Once we are down wind, we can smell it... local shit.
I don't even pretend that I am going to take this guy. After all, this is what Lou does. We sneak up on the back of the car, but just as we get to the trunk and Lou is prepared to move on him, the rest of the search party can be heard yelling. They have found him.
Lou bolts from the back of the car... the wrestler hears him coming. Instead of some neck snapping, karate chopping, ninja style shit.... Lou just leaps on his back and tries to get his hands around the guy's neck. I watch for a milli-second, just enough to see Lou hurled off of this guy's back and over the top. Now, with him on the ground, it looks like the wrestler is going to put him in a Boston Crab Lock or something.
"Hey." I yell to him. Off in the distance the flashlights cast their beams back in our direction at the commotion, not that they will see a thing.
I throw the handful of sand in his eyes and temporarily blind him. That was it for my contribution.
"Get up." I grab Lou by the arm and pull him to his feet. He is heaving, trying to catch the wind that was knocked out of him. Haystack Calhoun is digging at his eyes when Lou kicks his left knee from the side. The sound of it giving way beneath him is that of someone deboning a chicken. He starts to scream out in pain, but a quick punch to the throat... even through the twenty inches of neck, silences him. He goes down. He may or may not be able to breath, but we don't give a fuck.
In the car, we turn the key and the battery rolls hard, dimming the lights. Ahead we can see the beams of light dancing all over as the men run back toward the car.
"The lights."
"No shit."
He punches the light switch in and now we are in blackness. He tries it again and it barely rolls over. Lou turns the key on, gives it four or five pumps and tries it again. It rolls over twice, the men can be heard running at us, the chatter between them of an urgent nature. Finally the engine catches and Lou floors it as he slams it into gear. We throw a huge cloud of dust as the old '59 Ford Fairlane is turned nose to tail in a rather slick Hollywood move on Lou's part. He drops it into drive and we follow the tire tracks out of the desert.
Gunfire errupts, one firearm and not well aimed. We put considerable distance between us and them before Lou slows a bit and re-claims the tracks that led them here.
We have the stones once more and have managed to escape. My heart is pounding. Lou rolls his window down and rests his arm on the opening. He reaches down to the radio and checks the presets... all Mexican music, except one. Jackson Browne... not my first choice for an escape, but it puts us on the boulevard on a Saturday night... back in the day. I roll my window down and we let the cool desert breeze blow through us as I settle in to the red and white imitation leather. Ahead the sun is rising, my cousin is in mortal danger, we are in a stolen car that was probably in that condition when we got in it, and we now have the diamonds.
What was once our is ours again
posted by Jake Allen at 3:17 PM
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