Coin-Operated Machines by Alan Spencer Read Free Book Online Page B

Thursday, I'm off to New Mexico."
    "So I'm going on a trip by myself?”
“I don't understand.  Did "America’s Got Flair" call you up early?”
    “No, Angel wrote me a l etter.  She says she in a small town in Virginia.  I’m going to see what’s up.  I think she’s either wanting to talk to me about how shit went down between us, or it’s the drugs.”
    There was a painfully drawn out silence between them before Hannah filled it in.  “I just hope she’s okay.”  Then after another lengthy moment, “I want you to be careful, Brock.  Don’t get hurt.  I love you.  I don't want to see you get wrapped up in her problems.  You can only do so much, no matter how responsible you feel about her situation."
    Brock imagined the variety of things that could happen.  Angel slitting his throat and stealing his car and wallet and meeting up with her dealer.  Or he would be sleeping in a room, the door would be kicked open, and then Angel’s significant other would blast him one in the back of the head and take all of his money.  No matter how many scenarios he created, it would end with him somehow mugged, jumped, or killed. 
    “I hear you on being careful.  But I owe it to her to give her a chance.”  He lowered his voice, knowing she didn't completely approve. “If she’s still on drugs, I’m taking her home with me and forcing her to kick the habit.”
    “You can’t force her.  You’re not equipped to cure a person of addiction.  We’re survivors barely scraping by, but Angel, she has to overcame it her way, not yours.”
    “I just want my sister back.   The way things used to be.”
    “It’s not your fault what happened.”
    “I’m the older brother, the more responsible one, and I’m the one who has to step up now and see her healthy."
    “If she gets violent or tries to drag you down with her—”
    Brock was clutching the phone hard.  His palms were greasy, and he was blinking sweat out of his eyes.  He stopped talking a moment, staring out at the streets, the sun, and the Spanish woman carrying her groceries in one hand and her infant in the other. 
    Hannah grew impatient.  “I know men, and I know when they clam up, they’re pissed.”
    He lied, though in lying, he'd tricked himself into a better mood.  “No, I’m imagining you in your panties wearing your boots ‘n spurs pointing your six shooters at me.”
    “You’re full of crap.”
    “I’m nervous about the trip.  That's all, honey.” 
    "When are you going?"
    "Tomorrow morning.  It'll be a quick road trip."
    Hannah hummed under her breath .  "How about I go with you?  I have eight days before my flight.  I don't even have to be there when you talk to Angel.  Angel might like talking to me too."
    Brock perked at the idea of her coming along. He still had to say this, "I guess I feel guilty.  I felt like you and Angel are both victims of my bullshit."
    "My decisions were my own, and Angel needs to understand that too.  We have influences, but we also make choices ourselves."
    Brock decided it was a good idea they go together.  " Hey, come by tonight, and we'll plan the trip."
    "I do have one question for you, Brock."
    "Yeah."
    "Can I wear my boots during the trip?"
     
    Maybe nobody can understand this memoir because I don't have a straight stream of consciousness.  Well, here goes another try.
    It was about a year into Angel and I taking over Dad's mansion that I remember this.  We’d long since quit our jobs.  Angel’s job before she signed off was casting for films and being a part-time film agent, and me, I produced movies.  Without that work to keep us busy, we got bored.  You couldn’t throw a party every day, so we had down time.  Sometimes we’d spend that time repairing the walls, the floors, the ceilings, replacing shattered windows, mowing the lawn—and that lawn was huge—or wading in the pool and relaxing, but in the process of cleaning up, we discovered a secret room in the