Daren Dean

Mercury in Retrograde 52

Troy

He sat on the edge of the bed in the motel room drinking a beer from a little Styrofoam cooler full of ice he had picked up at a little grocery store just off the highway. The trees here were different. The plants looked like they were made out of rubber to Troy. There was a sheen to the leaves he assumed had something to do with the humidity. Driving here he had been so lost in thought that it took some time before he noticed the cypress trees growing out of dank swamps, murky bodies of water. A vehicle pulled up out front. Cautiously he looked between the dirty green curtains and he watched as she got out of a Chevy Impala in a woman’s trench coat. He swept the Luger off the nightstand and slid it into his pants at the small of his back.

Jaelyn fumbled for a key. He opened the door for her and caught her in his arms. She sagged against him, crying into the shoulder of his flannel shirt. His hands cupped her face and he wiped at her tears with his thumbs before kissing her.

Troy had only arrived the night before. Finding Glenn’s had been easy. He tried to talk her out of going back but they could use the money. He was a wanted man now for breaking parole. He had called Merle long distance, the cops were after him. Merle’s suspicions leaned toward King Henry as the person who had ratted him out. Merle said he would “take care of” Henry Finkenbinder. Troy pointed out the fact that he had missed his last appointment with the parole officer and when he couldn’t be reached that’s all it would have took.

“My parents,” Jaelyn said. “And Uncle Cyrus showed up at the club tonight.”

“What happened?”

“My uncle caused a big ruckus,” Jaelyn said. “The bouncers thought he was just another drunk trying to cop a feel so they threw him out in the street. It took just about all of them to do it too.”

“Do they know you were coming here?”

“No,” Jaelyn said. “I don’t think so.”

“Is there anything else you need?” Troy asked as he hefted a used suitcase Kelly had given her. Masking taped helped one side of buckles stay shut.

“I think that should do it,” she said. “I can’t wait for us to be together like we used to be. Our own place. I love you.”

“We’d better get out of here,” Troy said.

“Where are we going to go?”

“Anywhere,” he said.

She threw her arms around his neck and began to kiss him. He pushed her away from him and she looked at him in mild surprise.

“We need to get out of here,” Troy said. “I got a feeling.”

“I’ve got a feeling too,” Jaelyn said.

She pressed herself against him. Her hand moved across his chest and down to his crotch. He heard the blood rushing through his veins as she smiled up at him. He set down her suitcase and kicked the door shut. He reached down and yanked the bedspread off the bed so it floated, multi-colored prints of yellow and white daisies, onto the floor. He placed the handgun back on the nightstand. She opened her trenchcoat in a movement that let him see the indian outfit she had danced in earlier in a pose for a moment. Just an hour more won’t hurt, he thought.

Light fell obliquely through a gap in the blinds. Jaelyn slept. He had covered her up with the blankets. She got cold easily. She was always complaining of being cold. He smoked a cigarette wearing only his jeans. A car pulled up out front, but he ignored it. A feeling told him to wake her up and leave now, but they could leave early in the morning before first light. Suddenly a fist pounded at the door. He leapt over the bed to the nightstand, his foot caught on the edge of the mattress and his head hit the corner of the table. He had the Luger in his hands and stood up pointing it at the door. Jaelyn was awaked with the blankets pulled up to her neck. He nodded his head at her and she gathered up her dance clothes and went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

“Jaelyn,” a voice bawled outside. “It’s your Uncle Cyrus, wake up and let me in. I know you’re in there. I heard you already.”

Troy steadied the gun by placing his left hand under the butt, continued to point it at the door. His gorge rose up in his throat and mouth, he swallowed it back down. He purposely sat the gun back down on the stand. He didn’t want to do it again. Never again. It was one thing to run from the law, but he didn’t think it was in him to kill again. For sure, he thought, the Phelps were just as tired of this fued as he was. He made himself turn around to face the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Jaelyn called.

“Open the door now,” Cyrus’s rough country voiced answered back.

Troy went to the door and opened it. Cyrus looked up into his face, his features broke into first a look of surprise and then a mean ironic grin.

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Cyrus said. “I told you I was going to kill someday. You probably didn’t believe me.”

“Now Cyrus,” Troy said. “I know there’s a lot of bad blood between the Phelps and Scofields . . .”

“You got-damn right there is, son,” Cyrus said. “If I hadn’t left my gun out in the car you would be a dead man right this minute.” He reached down in his boot and pulled out what Troy assumed was a knife. It was difficult to see just what he had in his hand. “I’m going to do you like you did Bobby Lee.”

The bathroom door swung open and the harsh florescent light shined a corridor of light on Cyrus. His face was stubbly and he looked pasty in the pale light. His hand held a vicious looking knife in the air between them. Troy backed up until he could feel the nightstand and his hand reached around to find the gun, but he knocked it off in the floor.

“You thought you was going to shoot me?” Cyrus moved to cover the space between them. “Get your shit together, Jaelyn. I’m going to show you how a Phelps deals with a lowlife and a coward.”

Scofield moved to meet Phelps. His knife hand thrust forward and Troy caught the wrist and they began to struggle. The Phelps men were all big and stocky. Cyrus had a mouse under his eye and scrapes across his face. Another form appeared in his peripheral vision. Jaelyn was shouting something at Cyrus, but neither man could hear what she was saying. They were locked together, bound by years of hate. A tiny pistol appeared at Cyrus’s temple and his eyes moved to it before blood splattered Troy’s face. It was hot and thick. A look of surprise spread across his rough Missouri features. A sharp ringing bell in Troy’s left ear and then silence. Jaelyn dropped the little pistol on the green shag carpeting and dropped to her knees covering her mouth and part of her face with both hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jaelyn said.

Cyrus’s legs worked against the floor. His body was half on the bed and his legs held him up as if he were trying to get up on the bed. One hand was covering the angry wound at his temple, blackened and puckered. Abruptly, he stopped moving and he slid with most of the blankets onto the floor. Motionless.

Jesse and Ruby appeared in the doorway. Ruby turned to Jesse in horror. Troy picked up his Luger. Knelt down and stuffed Jaelyn’s pistol in her suitcase. He grabbed his flannel shirt and put it on as Jesse and Ruby sat down in the motel room chairs staring at Cyrus’s body. Ruby looked at Jaelyn once with a wordless accusation over her features, Jesse seemed stricken dumb. Car lights played through the window and across the stained yellowing walls of the motel room. Jaelyn’s parents did not look at Troy once. Troy went to the bathroom, picked up the suitcase, and stood behind Jaelyn. He knelt down and whispered in her ear.

“We’ve got to go now,” Troy said urgently. “Now, honey.”

They stood up together and went out to her Impala. The dawn was breaking. The sky was orange, blue, and white clouds in what made a picture of what heaven must look like, Troy thought. But there was no time for heaven so he took her keys and stuffed the battered suitcase in the trunk. There were a few things of his in his pickup, but he could live without them. The high whine of sirens sounded off in the distance. It was time to go.

May 11, 2010