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Chapter Five
Static filled the room of the 70s inspired motel room, creating the perfect backdrop to Randy’s life: dull, chaotic and intolerable. It lulled him into a false sense of security, a companion to keep watch over him while he slept. He had learned the necessity of relying on another person while you were at your most vulnerable the hard way, and old habits were hard to break.
He was having a nightmare, transported back to the confines of a small cell, surrounded by hardened criminals and fearing for both his life and his sanity. Despite the state’s proud declaration that this was a state of the art facility, there was nothing artful about it. Bars were bars, criminals were criminals. The food was bad, the security worse, and you couldn’t get privacy unless you killed someone and got sent to solitary.
Fingers gripped the sheets, mimicking his attempt to pry loose his bars and free himself. Feet scissored beneath the blankets, mirroring Randy’s attempts to flee his attacker. An entire year of this and Randy was nearly crawling out of his skin. His days may have been filled with thoughts of survival, but his nights were reserved for something else entirely: payback.
The slamming of a car door jolted Randy out of his sleep, but hung over as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to move without a knife being driven through his skull. He lay there, staring at the dingy ceiling, watching the fan blades rotate lazily overhead. Tiny pale dust particles drifted through the air, caught in a beam of sunlight that sliced the room in half. An odor of onions and sweat permeated the air mixing with a distinct note of decay.
The motel was a hovel built before Randy was even a blip on the radar, and it showed in the tattered orange carpeting, the harvest gold patterned curtains and the olive green woven blankets crumpled on the bed. How the place still managed to do business would have been a mystery to him had he not witnessed the steady traffic of prostitutes and dealers slinking around the property day and night. Located just off the highway, it was a hot spot for less than honest business dealings.
Scratching his fingers through his hair, Randy managed to pull himself up to sitting. He was still a little out of sorts, not fully awake yet and maybe a slight bit in denial about where he stood in life at the moment. So when he called out, “Terri! Get me a beer!” and was met with silence, he wanted to run his fist through the wall.
So he did.
Plaster rained down, coating everything around it in a fine layer of powder. And wasn’t that genius. His head pounded in protest of the sudden movement and the spike of anger, and Randy decided to ram another hole in the wall, because it felt good to let off a little steam.
Only two things could make him feel better right now, and since Terri wasn’t available, he would need a drink to chase away the pulsing pain filling his head and clogging his thought process.
Beer bottles littered every surface of the room. Clusters congregated on top of the ancient console TV, on the fold-out tray beside the bed, and on the floor. Three empty cases sat at the foot of the recliner. He needed to go for a beer run, but he would have to take the itch off now if he hoped to be functional behind the wheel.
The last thing Randy needed was to get the attention of the cops.
Picking up bottles, Randy gave each one a shake. Gathering the few that sloshed, he downed the last of their stale contents and licked his lips with a grimace. Warm and flat had never been his style.
“How the mighty have fallen,” he muttered, tossing the last bottle back on the floor. The green glass shattered, the shards bouncing and finally settling where they glittered cheerily in the muted amber light.
Brilliant. Now he would have to wear shoes twenty-four seven because it wasn’t like a place this classy provided maid service.
Thankfully, there was a liquor store not more than a block away, and Randy had just enough cash left in his wallet to purchase a bottle of Jack.
***
After drinking half the bottle of newly acquired whiskey, he showered then settled into the easy chair to take in a little mindless programming and begin plotting his next course of action.
It had been a few days since he had called Terri at the club. Despite her heightened fear and overly cautious behavior, he had managed to follow her home unnoticed that night.
He was still a little ticked that she had sold their house. He had worked hard for it, after all. Obviously she hadn’t appreciated his efforts if she would just go and sell it the minute he was out of the picture. He wondered what she did with the money from the sale. Women liked to shop, he knew that much, so she probably blew it all on dresses and shoes.
Judging by the house she lived in now, she must have put a small portion of the profit there, as well, but not a lot. It was too small and plain to have cost much.
For just a moment Randy entertained the idea that she might have saved the money, maybe waiting for him to come home, but he squashed that line of thinking immediately. If she had been waiting she would have welcomed him back by now, instead of forcing him to rot away in this dump.
Whatever. He wasn’t worried about whether she was or wasn’t glad he was back. He needed to concentrate on the reunion. And there was going to be a reunion. He just needed to get his head on straight and set a few goals. Finding where she lived had been the first, so he could check that off his to-do list. He had already made contact but that wouldn’t be enough. Tonight he planned to do it again; he just needed to lock down how to go about it. Terri had already gotten her panties into a bunch just from one little phone call, so he knew coming at her too much too fast would be more trouble than it was worth. He couldn’t exactly beat her into submission, not right away anyway. Although he did enjoy seeing her get all riled up.
Nothing tugged at a man’s heartstrings like a pair of mascara-smeared eyes.
No, he wouldn’t use force just yet. Some things in life required finesse, and Randy was a smooth operator when he wanted to be. Romance wasn’t exactly his shtick, but he would manage. Maybe buy her something sparkly, take her to dinner, for a walk around the neighborhood. Show her how it used to be, and how it could be again.
Of course, if Terri decided to be stubborn, she would force his hand. Randy wasn’t the kind of man to take no for an answer, and when it came to his wife, no was like a cold, hard slap in the face. He would allow her some time to get reacquainted with the idea of him being around again, but anything beyond that, and he would have to remind her of who she was dealing with.
Women needed to be put in their place. Too far over the line one way or the other, and things could get out of control fast. She was lucky he put up with her insubordination. Getting him locked up, that was an offense that couldn’t go unpunished, but he was cutting her some slack. People had been killed for less.
Because of her thoughtlessness, he had spent the last year in a jail cell, his freedom snatched away in the blink of an eye. Now he was homeless, wifeless, and penniless. Her actions had cost him everything. Oh yes, she would pay for her role in all of this, and he would start with reclaiming what was rightfully his, starting with that pretty little house. She thought to divorce him, but she would soon realize that not only was that never going to happen, but everything that was hers was also his. They were still married, after all.
***
The lighter went on with a shhhtck, and Randy brought it to the cigarette. Taking a long draw, he let the smoke fill his lungs and breathed it back out slowly. The inside of the truck cab was growing colder the longer he sat in front of the house. Glancing down at his watch, he realized that Terri would be getting off in a few short hours. That meant he didn’t have much time to work with.
