Death in a Suburban Home Part 4

“What is in the package?”

“It’s a surprise”

“Why do you have a gun?”

The car started to speed up, passing by mailboxes at a blur. The blue finish on the hood glittered with the tinkle of the newly placed Christmas lights in the trees of the backwoods neighborhood. The seats were genuine fine leather, black and almost as glossy as the hood. He felt himself slide and squeak across the seat.

“Why do you have a gun?”

Pete reached down and turned the dial on the radio. It looked like an old transistor radio, but was actually quite sophisticated. Satellite radio, 5 disc CD changer, and a newly installed mp3 player, all operated via remote that Pete had extracted from the a small compartment in the ceiling.

He didn’t bother asking again, because all he did was smile and say it was a “surprise”. Large and in charge, always.

The car lurched around a corner and cruised into the next lane at steady speed of 65 mph. He settled on a song and torched the speakers as the car continued its mad-dash to wherever it was going.

Pete kept smiling. What were they doing? He just looked out the window. The driving wasn’t bothering him, although he knew that’s why Pete was driving like this, to see if he can piss him off. He just looked out into the pitch black of the evergreens. Suddenly the car found itself going uphill and forcing him to bounce and squeak into the back of his seat. The cushion was new, the stuffing the stitches.

He fondled the barstool under him. While everything around him was well maintained, the only genuine patina was the stools. The padding was well worn and malible. The vinyl stretched and tired. The bar surface was marred with ashes and water trails leftover from the bar rag. The former well lit sedate atmosphere was commandeered by twenty something urban professionals and gorgeous low cut women.

The room was full of what felt like zebras, moving in and out… He felt the gin leave him, the high was over. He tried to flag down the bartender but he was running around like he wasn’t there.

He stopped asking after a while and kept frozen in his seat. The high was gone, and his fear of being caught had returned.

As hard as this band played, there never was an edge. The drummer rode the toms as often as he could, giving his rhythm a billowy bouncy feeling. The bassist plucked the strings like they were cheap rubber bands, and the piano never stopped sliding the scale. If the music wasn’t competent he could have sworn it was shit.

“A fosters and a green dream.”

The voice came over his shoulder, actually over his head. Looking up the ceiling mirror didn’t tell much other than there was an excess of gel in the hair of a man directly behind. The Bartender, using some sort of black magic caught this order in the midst scooping ice, managed to snag 5 liquor bottles one at a time/ at once/ in under a second. There was a mixture in a shaker, neat. The beer de-capped, shaker filled with ice in one hand shaking, in a blur. The drink poured tall into a martini glass, glowing bright green dashed with fire red cherry.

A silver card came over his shoulder, swiped and returned. The man scooted into Ted’s right. He was younger looking man with a freshly tailored suit, he could tell from its rigid stitching that hadn’t yet formed to the shoulders. With drinks in hand he smiled thanks and disappeared into the room.

And the car found the peak of the hill and for that second all the noise and strain was shoved forward and gravity switched directions. The lights had all been snuffed out ahead and the road felt new, dashed with dirt and rubble.

“Slow down!”

“Come on don’t be a pussy”

“Dude, seriously slow down!”

He smiled and let off the accelerator. The car slowed to a halt and he unbuckled his seatbelt. Opening the door, he cranked the music and stepped out.

He muttered something that was not discernable under the loud growling of the music, but he knew he was taking a leak. He left the door ajar and walked to the other side of the road.

There was no plan, there was nothing to do. Even in a deep blue fully restored 1969 Shelby Mustang. And even more worrisome was the fact that this definitely was not Pete’s car. This was not Pete’s gun. And this brown package…

They were out on the outskirts of town, right around the Haylene’s property. Steep hillsides and pine trees. Judging from the road this was where they were going put in more houses; miles of newly formed destination-less roads that curved up and down the countryside.

They certainly couldn’t get into any trouble, at least with the law.

“Hungry?”

“Pete what the fuck are we doing?”

“Lets get some burgers and bitches.”

“No dude, what the fuck are we doing…”

Pete snatched Clarence’s arm with his meaty hand and squeezed. Clarence struggled to get out of his grasp. But he only squeezed harder.

“Don’t be a pussy”

There wasn’t a single legible clock in the bar. He tried looking at his cell phone, but he couldn’t make it out in the odd little dead zone of light that he was seated in. So he relied on the sports channel which seemed to play the scrolling text on the bottom of the screen every fifteen minutes. Or so he could figure because the band played thirty minute sets and took breaks. The highlights always came on after the start of each set. But their breaks were sometimes short sometimes long so he found it very difficult to gauge exactly how long he had been sitting there.

The truth was it didn’t matter, because even if the information had been displayed for him it wouldn’t change the fact that he has gotten nowhere tonight.

“Another Fosters, a Glenlivets, and another one of these”

He looked up into the mirror, it was hair gel again. In no time at all the bartender had produced a bottle of beer and a delicately poured scotch. The pounding of a shaker then a bright green liquid strained into a tall glass. Finally, the fire red cherry splashed in. It seemed bioluminescent when set on the bar. Then a silver card came over his shoulder, swiped, and returned. He watched the three drinks disappear behind him, but he could not follow them in the mirror. The phrase “standing room only” had become an understatement.

He fondled his arm, they was a big purple finger marks in his bicep. The car exploded down the dark road towards the distant lights of the next town.

“…”

“… (smirk)”

He could see the football stadium lit up. Younger kids were milling around the movie theater. The parking lots were full. The whole town was alive with activity. They pulled into the drive-in burger place and parked.