Gone in a Flash by Susan Rogers Cooper Read Free Book Online

turned to me, smiled, and said, ‘Let me help you with that,’ and picked up
my
suitcase and put it on
my
bed.
    Hum, I thought. This could work out to my advantage. She thinks I’m some ditsy old bat, too weak to lift a suitcase. Maybe she’ll bring me my coffee in bed in the morning. And the newspaper. There are some things about getting ready to turn eighty that might not be all that bad.
    Things had not gone well the night before for Mr Smith and Mr Jones. The cab
did
take them to Merleville and let them out at the service station there, but took off before Mr Smith realized that the service station, a rundown Texaco, was the
only
establishment in Merleville. There were a few buildings, but after a second glance they all appeared to be abandoned. The Texaco seemed to be still functioning, but not at nine o’clock at night. It was closed for business. After an hour of standing around, the taxi cab remained the only vehicle they’d seen in Merleville. Mr Smith assumed there were houses somewhere, probably hidden in the trees, but he didn’t feel up to a walk that could end up being miles long. And besides, he wasn’t sure what he would say to anyone who opened a door. The thought did occur to him that he could use his gun and insist on a bed, but he thought he’d get very little sleep in that case. These country people usually had a lot of weapons. He thought seriously about calling Mr Brown, but decided to keep him out of the loop; he needed to prove he could handle these things himself, in case Mr Brown had any better-paid jobs in the future. Besides, when he tried calling earlier, Merleville appeared to be a dead zone. No cell phone service.
    So he and Mr Jones sat on the cement drive of the gas station, their backs to one of the bay doors, and tried to sleep. Mr Jones appeared to have no problem, and fell asleep quite readily, his head lolling onto Mr Smith’s shoulder. Mr Smith removed it at once and scooted further away.
    Mr Smith finally fell asleep around midnight, but was haunted by unfriendly dreams. He awoke around two a.m. to a voice singing the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’ very nicely.
    There was a man walking down the road singing that song, with gestures and a bottle of something Mr Smith could only assume was alcohol in his right hand. Mr Smith stood up and yelled, ‘Hey!’ to the man.
    The man turned, saw him and stopped, losing his balance for a second, then stood fairly steady, although weaving just a bit. ‘Well, hey, yourself, fella! You know this song?’
    ‘Of course—’
    ‘Well, then, let’s sing it together!’ And the man began again, his voice a beautiful, lilting tenor one could imagine doing a wonderful job on ‘Danny Boy.’
    ‘Can you help us?’ Mr Smith called out.
    ‘Probably not,’ the man said and smiled. He waved at Mr Smith. Mr Smith waved back.
    ‘We need to get to La Grange,’ Mr Smith said.
    The singer shook his head sadly. ‘We all need to get somewhere, don’t we? La Grange would be a nice place to need to get to.’ His face brightened with a big smile. ‘Hey! Ya know they used to have a big ol’ whorehouse there? The Chicken Ranch! Made a Broadway show out of it! “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” was the name of it. Made a movie, too, with Burt Reynolds and Dolly Parton!’ The smile faded and his sad face was again present. ‘She has really beautiful breasts, donja think?’
    ‘Can you take us to La Grange?’ Mr Smith begged.
    ‘Don’t have a car,’ the singer said. ‘If I had a car, I couldn’t drive it. Don’t have a driver’s license. See ya!’ he said, and started his sloppy march up the road, breaking into ‘Do a Little Side Step’ from
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
.
    Mr Smith sat back down and eventually awoke again at four a.m. when it began to rain. This also awakened Mr Jones and the two hustled to the tiny alcove of the front door of the office of the station, with an overhang of less than three feet, and bundled up as