Edward Lee - The Black Train

Jesus. Collier signed with a proffered pen.

“Just send your hundred in anytime you like. Check, money order…or, you can just put twenty-five in my hand right now, you know, if it’s more convenient.”

Collier gave him the cash, head aching from the sun.

“Thanks. Say, is that Ms. Cusher in there?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The sheriff winked. “I won’t ask.” He tore up the ticket. “But I really love your show! Hope ya have a great day. Oh, and move the car, huh? And you might want to get it painted a better color, too. Something more…manly?”

Collier moved the car several yards to another sign that read FREE PARKING ALL DAY. Beside him, Dominique roused.

She blinked around. “What the hell?”

“Good morning.”

Her hands felt around the car as if in disbelief. “What am I doing in this weird-looking car? And—what time is it?”

“Quarter after ten.”

“Damn it!” She brushed a tangle of hair out of her face. “I was supposed to open at ten! How could you let me sleep so late?” A fretful look at the restaurant’s front doors showed several employees grinning at them. “Damn it!”

She smirked down at her shoes. “Where are my socks?” A hand came to her bosom. “Where’s my bra?” Then her eyes bugged when she briefly slipped her hand below her belt line.

She gave him a long, hard look. “Justin. Where’s my pubic hair?”

Collier leaned back and sighed. “You shaved it off last night. In the bath closet. By candlelight. With a very old straight razor.”

He could see her mind churning behind her eyes.

“I…think I…remember,” she said. When she touched the side of her head, she glared. “I also remember you punching me in the head!”

“It wasn’t like you were giving me much choice, Dominique.”

“I was…”

“Smothering me with a pillow?”

Her open stare told him she remembered. “And we didn’t…”

“No, we didn’t have sex. Your celibacy is secure.”

She was rubbing her face. “But…I wanted to, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t want to,” Collier said. “Someone else wanted you to.”

“What do mean?” Then another eye-bugging stare. “Oh my God, did I grab your—”

“Dominique, just forget about it. It’s all over.”

“But what happened? ”

Collier needed a beer. “I believe you were possessed by the spirit of Penelope Gast,” he finally said.

She sat back in her seat, boggled.

“Just forget it. Pretend it never happened. Just go inside now, go to work, and forget about the whole thing.”

She nodded slowly, was about to get out of the car, then paused, her hand to her bosom again. “Give me my underwear.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean? Where is it?”

“Your underwear’s hanging on the bedpost in my room, where you left it.”

“Well then drive back to the inn. Justin, I can’t go change at my apartment ’cos the fumigators are still there.”

Collier dully shook his head. “I’m never going in that house again, Dominique. I’ll be happy to drive you up there if you want to go back in that room and get your stuff, but…not me. Ain’t happening.” He eyed her. “Want me to drive you up?”

“No, on second thought—”

“It won’t kill you to work one day with no undies,” Collier guaranteed her. The image of her breasts swam in his head. “Trust me, a braless Dominique behind the bar will keep the place packed all day.”

She got out of the car and walked to his side in a daze. “Where are you going now?”

“I have to figure out a way to get my luggage and laptop out of that room. You go to work now, but I’ll be back a little later.”

She leaned down to the window. “You’re something, you know that? Last night you really could’ve—”

“But I didn’t.” He grinned at her. More visions of her impeccable nudity swam before him. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

“Are you looking down my blouse, Mr. Collier?”

“Yeah.”

She kissed him and laughed. “See you later,” she said, then rushed embarrassed to unlock the tavern’s doors.

But Collier’s lifted spirits began to sink when he drove back up to the inn. The blazing daylight didn’t offer as much comfort as he wished. He already knew that he could not reenter the house, daylight or not.

He jumped out of the car when he spotted Jiff emptying the ashtrays on the porch.

“Hey, Jiff! I need to talk to you—”

The younger man sat down and slouched on a front bench. “Howdy, Mr. Collier.”

“Jiff, are you all right?” Collier asked when he noticed the man’s bloodshot eyes and sagging posture.

“Had too much to drink last night, Mr. Collier.”

Good. Then maybe you don’t remember watching me in bed with your mother and sister, Collier thought.

“You ever drunk so much you’re still drunk the next day?”

“All the time.”

“Well, that’s how I feel now.”

Maybe this’ll perk him up. Collier took a fifty out of his wallet. “Jiff, I need a big favor. I need you to go up to my room and get my suitcase and laptop. I have to check out now.”

Jiff slumped in the seat. “Shee-it, Mr. Collier, I sure hope you ain’t leavin’ on account’a what happened…” But then the sentence collapsed.

“On account of what happened last night?” Collier said. “In…your mother’s room?”

Jiff thumbed his eyes.

“What did happen, Jiff? Was that really us…or was it the house?”

Jiff’s eyes leveled. “It was the house doin’ stuff to us, I guess is how ya’d put it. Shee-it. And that’s why you don’t wanna go back in, huh?”

“Yeah, Jiff.”

“Oh, it’s okay now. It don’t happen much, just…every now’n then: the dreams and what’cha hear sometimes’n see, or think ya see. And what’cha do. But Ma says it’s the house goin’ through some sort of cycle. Been that way since the war.”

Collier didn’t care.

“Ma also says it’s certain folks who start the cycle, but I ain’t never really figured that one.”

Certain folks, Collier thought.

Again, he didn’t care. “I think I’ll…stay outside anyway.”

“Okay, Mr. Collier.” Jiff dragged himself up and took the fifty. “I’ll be right back down with yer stuff.”

“Oh, and could you tell your mother to get my bill?” Collier asked. “She already ran my card.”

“Sure thing.”

Collier released a long breath.

When he looked at the fat oak tree out front, he smiled. The tree looked just like any other.

A man with longish blond hair—obviously dyed—was walking up the path, carrying a small suitcase. He waved to Collier.

“Damn glad I found you, Justin. Christ, what’s going on?”

Collier couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew that dyed hair and phony tan anywhere. “Sammy?”

The man stepped up in a tacky Hawaiian shirt, blue jeans with starched creases, and gator-skin boots. “Man, I hate those six-hour flights. And driving here? What a pain in the ass.”

What the hell is HE doing here? Collier wondered.

“And congratulations on snagging that third slot from me…fucker.” Savannah Sammy smiled with bleached teeth; they shook hands.

“Sammy, why are you here?”

“’cos you’re here, and for what reason I couldn’t pretend to guess. Prentor told me you left some nutty message on his voice mail, said you’re not coming back to the show. Then he tries to call you back fifty times but says you never answered.”

Shit. The storm last night… And Collier’s phone was upstairs. Probably fifty screaming messages on it.