Highway Song: A Smokey's Roadhouse Novel (3 page)

THREE

Rex

B
y the time the cute barmaid shot me down last night, I
’
d already had to break the news to the club in Salt Lake City that we wouldn
’
t make it. We
’
d never play in that city again, if the manager there had anything to do with it. It wasn
’
t much of a loss. Salt Lake City wasn
’
t known for its nightlife. The money we
’
d have earned, though, and the hit to our reputation due to social media, was a loss, and a severe one.

There hadn
’
t been any choice. The mechanic didn
’
t get there from Rawlins for two hours after we called him, and when he did, there wasn
’
t much he could do. His tow truck wasn
’
t up to pulling a bus. Not only that, but he said his shop couldn
’
t handle it, either. He
’
d have to call someone out from Cheyenne, but the best bet was to either send for a new motor or a new bus.  Either one would take at least two days. Days that we didn
’
t have.

We couldn
’
t have picked a worse place to break down, except for the bar being there. At least we had food and some of the things we
’
d need to camp out in the bus for a few days. Not to mention a place to go when the bus got too hot during the day. At night, it was cool enough to sleep once the heat had bled out of the interior, but we
’
d have cooked in the daytime temperatures. Mark had been on the phone with the bus company several times trying to work out the quickest solution.

As far as I could tell, it was a toss-up. They
’
d have to bring a bus out from the East Coast, or they could send a motor and someone to install it, but they
’
d need a place to do it. The way it looked we didn
’
t
have
a place to do it, nor any way of getting to one. The timeline didn
’
t work. I needed to be in Seattle in less than forty-eight hours for the beginning of the competition, preferably with a band. I called the promoter to see what we could do. This chance was too important to just wash our hands of it and let it go.

“
Can
’
t you get here some other way?
”
The promoter had turned me over to his assistant to work it out. I couldn
’
t get it through her head that we were as far from civilization as we would be if we were in the middle of the fucking Sahara. Okay, I exaggerated, but I was frustrated from going around and around with ideas that wouldn
’
t work.

“
Trust me, if we could, I
’
d have found it. We
’
re stuck here if we want our instruments with us. Even if we came without them, one of my crew won
’
t fly, and we
’
d have to hitchhike to an airport even if he would. There isn
’
t a Greyhound due through here for two days.
”
My desperation must have gotten through.

“
Okay, well, we can schedule you to go on last. The event lasts three days. Do you think you can get here before then?
”

Fervently thanking the gods of rock
’
n
’
roll, I assured her we could. When we got there, I was going to get her the biggest bunch of flowers my credit card had room for. At least a single rose. A red one, because I was sure I was in love.

“
Thank you, darlin
’
. Say, are you married?
”
Maybe it would thrill the girl to go out with one of the stars of the event.

“
Yes,
honey
,
”
she said.
“
Married forty years to the same man.
”
I adjusted my mental picture of her. Yep, flowers would have to do.

“
Well, he
’
s a lucky man, to have such a sweet wife.
”
I heard her laughing as she disconnected.

“
Shit,
”
I said, laughing at myself. I strolled back to the table, where the guys were playing poker.

“
I bought us some time,
”
I said, taking the empty seat. The cute barmaid,
Amy
I remembered, was passing by.
“
Hey, doll,
”
I said, grabbing her wrist to slow her down.

“
I could use a beer.
”
She flinched and jerked her arm away from my hand. I held both of them up.
“
Whoa, sorry!
”

“
It
’
s okay,
”
she muttered.
“
Fat Tire Amber, right?
”

That was promising
—
she
’
d remembered from last night what I was drinking. I smiled.
“
Sure, that
’
s fine.
”
Like the guy in the commercial, I don
’
t always drink beer, but when I do, it isn
’
t always the same selection, unlike the guy in the commercial. However, if I was going to make any progress with Amy to pass the time here, it would be good to keep things pleasant. And I
’
d need to remember not to grab her.

I watched her walk away, puzzled over her mixed message. What did she expect, if she dressed like that and flirted like that? It wasn
’
t like I grabbed her tit. She was about my age, I guessed. I doubted the red hair was her natural color and made a mental note to check my guess when I got her naked. She was a little too thin, but had high round tits that would fit nicely in my hands. She also walked like a woman on the prowl. She openly flirted with everyone else in the bar. So what did she have against me?

Axel nudged me.
“
Earth to Rex.
”

“
What?
”
I answered, my eyes still on Amy
’
s ass.

“
I don
’
t think she likes you,
”
he quipped. He made a move like she had when she yanked her arm away from me. It jostled the table, knocking over Ike
’
s neatly stacked chips.

“
Cut it out,
”
Ike grumbled.

“
She will,
”
I answered, ignoring Ike. Groans greeted me from around the table.

“
Don
’
t piss her off, asshole,
”
Kirk said.
“
She might quit liking the rest of us, and then we
’
d have to get our own fucking beer.
”

“
She doesn
’
t like the rest of you, fucktard. She
’
s just playing hard to get with the one she really wants.
”
My claim was met with guffaws and shoves that finished destroying Ike
’
s chip stacks.

“
Are we gonna play, or are we gonna stand around and watch Rex jack off?
”
he complained.
“
Ante up.
”

“
Deal me out,
”
I said.

“
You weren
’
t in,
”
Ike snapped. He was right.

With little else to do, I watched the poker game and Amy alternately, doing my best not to be caught staring whenever she looked at me. When you work with the public like we do, you have to learn to read people. Who in the audience is enjoying the show? Who
’
s drinking too much and may cause trouble later? Most importantly, which of the women on the dance floor strutting their stuff for us is serious and will be up for some fun later? What I read from Amy was fear.

I couldn
’
t see any source for it anywhere in the bar, but her flinch when I grabbed her arm earlier was a clue. I began to watch her reaction more closely, as people arrived and left. I wanted to know who it was if the asshole who
’
d made her that jumpy walked into the bar.

I
’
d seen my mom with that haunted look often enough to know it was probably a boyfriend, or someone she lived with, even though she
’
d said nothing of being involved with someone last night. Wouldn
’
t she have said so, if that had been her reason for turning me down?

When the game broke up and the guys wandered out, I got out my phone and pulled up the note with the lyrics I
’
d been writing last night. This crazy little bar in the middle of nowhere could inspire at least one song, so this interlude wouldn
’
t be a total waste. Maybe I
’
d write about the redheaded barmaid with the haunted eyes and the chip on her shoulder.

Most of the afternoon passed that way, with an occasional visit from Mark, who felt compelled to wait outside for the phone calls from the bus company. Every time he got one, he
’
d come and tell me the latest, which was usually
‘
we
’
re working on it.
’

Amy
 

S
mokey came in around noon to help with the lunch rush, if that
’
s what you could call it. Some of the Devils were always around for lunch and usually stayed until closing. After they ate, Smokey would hang out with them in a back room. I didn
’
t ask what they did back there. If it was illegal, I didn
’
t want to know about it. If not, it probably wasn
’
t interesting anyway. Smokey told me after I
’
d been working there for a week that the guys appreciated me not being nosy. I appreciated the same thing from him.

Today, though, he had his old lady, Sylvie, come in to help out too. It didn
’
t make me happy. There weren
’
t enough patrons to need two servers, and her being here would cut into my tips. But Smokey pulled me aside and told me to let Sylvie handle it for a while because he needed to talk to me. He waved me into his office, as he called the little room with his cluttered desk and two uncomfortable wooden chairs.

“
What
’
s wrong with you?
”
he asked, as soon as the door was closed.

I stiffened.
“
What do you mean?
”

“
Girl, don
’
t give me that. I can tell you
’
re nervous around those band fellas. Why?
”
he demanded.

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. He hadn
’
t ever asked me anything personal before, and I didn
’
t know why he would now.

“
Why?
”
I countered.

“
Because I
’
m your boss. I
’
m responsible for you. If those guys are bothering you, you need to tell me, so I can take care of it.
”