Broken Highway: A Thomas Highway Story (3 page)

“You mean, you’ve—”

“Fucked her?”

I nodded. I wouldn’t have put it so crudely,
but Willis wasn’t one for beating around the bush.

“A couple times,” Willis said.

“What about that girl you were seeing?”

“Who? Heather?”

“Yeah,” I said. “What does Heather think of
you banging Tori over there.”

“Who do you think introduced us?” Willis
said with a smile. “Hell, Heather’s had every girl in this place.
She used to work here.”

I laughed under my breath and shook my head
as another waitress in a cutoff top and a short jean skirt set a
couple of pitchers down on the table. Her nametag identified her as
Amber.

She was just my type, at least, when I still
had a type, back before my depression had robbed me of most of my
sexual urges. Tall, athletic body, long, light brown hair, sharply
lined face, small, firm breasts and long, shapely legs.

“Who gets the real beer?” she asked.

“That would be me,” I said.

She slid the Killian’s over to me. “And this
crap must be for you, right Willis?” she said as she handed him the
other pitcher.

“Hey,” Willis said. “There’s nothing wrong
with Coors Light.”

“Nope,” Amber agreed, “Nothing wrong with it
at all if you’re looking to drink water.”

“Ouch,” Willis said. “That hurts.”

“The truth does sometimes,” she said,
flashing him a quick smile. She sat down on the empty chair between
us and crossed her legs, causing her skirt to ride up almost to her
hip, flashing tons of skin. Deliberately, no doubt. “So, Willis, I
hear that you and Heather are coming over tonight for some
drinks.”

“Really?” Willis said, placing a hand on her
leg just above the knee. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Yep,” Amber replied. She lifted Willis’s
hand off her leg and put it back on the table then turned her
attention to me. Her eyes ran up and down my body as if inspecting
a piece of meat. The tip of her pierced tongue was sticking out of
her mouth and she played with the silver rod by pushing it up and
down with her lips. “You can bring your friend too, if you
like.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” Willis said.
“Highway here is a little shy with the ladies.”

“Oh, I think we can take care of that,” she
said with a smirk, still staring at me. “I like to break ‘em
in.”

I flashed an embarrassed smile that was only
partially fake but didn’t say anything, content to play the role
Willis had set me up in. Amber just looked at me, her smirk turning
into a full-fledged grin. Willis started to laugh and Amber joined
in.

Tori skated over with a large tray of wings
in her hand and set them on the table. “Okay boys, here are your
wings.”

The smell of curry and hot sauce overwhelmed
my nose, nearly causing me to cough from the potency. “Do these
taste as hot as they smell?” I said.

“I know I do,” Amber said with a wicked
grin. She leaned over and set her pinkie on Tori’s exposed midriff
and moved it slowly around her belly button. “Although I can’t
speak for the other girls . . . well, maybe just a few of
them.”

Tori laughed and skated off. Willis just sat
there smiling. I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t have even if I’d
wanted to.

Amber giggled and stood up slowly, staring
intently at me all the while. “I’m looking forward to seeing you
tonight.” She gave me a wink and turned around, leaving me to stare
at her perfectly proportioned backside as she walked away.

“There you go, man,” Willis said. “You’re
going to come tonight, right?”

“Twice, I hope.”

Willis exploded with laughter. “That’s the
Highway I remember,” he said as dove into the wings with both
hands.

Twenty minutes later the scattered remnants
of all thirty Buffalo Wings were strewn about the table in a mess
of bone and gristle. Both Willis and I were finishing off our
second pitcher.

“Damn those wings were hot,” I said, wiping
the sweat off my face with a wet nap.

Willis was sitting back in his chair looking
content and showing absolutely no ill-effects from the wings.

“How can you not be feeling anything?” I
said.

“Oh, I’m feeling it,” Willis said. “I’m just
not showing it.”

“Playing the tough guy, huh?”

“No need for me to play,” Willis said. “It
just comes natural.” He flexed one of his massive biceps. “Like
these.”

“Shit, ain’t nothing natural about those,” I
said. “How long do you spend in the gym every day to keep them
looking like that?”

Willis shrugged. “An hour or two.”

“All for show muscles,” I said. “Doesn’t
seem worth the effort.”

“Come on over here and I’ll show you what
these muscles can do,” Willis said.

“I would if I wasn’t so full,” I said, both
of us knowing full well I wouldn’t dare. We’d gotten into it once
back in college after too many beers. It hadn’t gone well for me.
And it wouldn’t if I tried it again. I could handle my own against
almost anyone but Willis was a freak of nature. Ridiculously
strong, and with the attitude to boot. It was a scary combination
when he lost his cool. Luckily it didn’t happen often.

“So are you going to tell me about this job
or what?” I said.

“Listen to you, always thinking about
work.”

“Hardy-fucking-har.”

Willis smiled and leaned forward, elbows on
the table. “It’s an easy job, really. Well, maybe not easy, but
simple. Uncomplicated.”

“Consisting of what?”

“An extraction,” Willis said. “Although I
guess it’s more of an exfiltration, if you really want to get
technical. Maybe even just simple kidnapping, depending on
how—”

“Quit rambling and just tell me what I need
to do.”

“Help me grab someone off the street.”

“Who?”

“Some scumbag named Pedroza.”

“What for?”

“To make sure he shows up for his
trial.”

I glared at him. “Are you serious?”

Willis nodded sheepishly, which was
completely unlike him. I don’t think I’d ever seen him do anything
sheepishly.

“That doesn’t sound like your kind of
thing,” I said. Willis came from a family of police officers and
generally stayed away from crossing the line to helping
criminals.

“It usually isn’t,” Willis admitted. “But
this is a special case.”

“Why? Do you know this Pedroza or
something?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because his lawyer asked me to,” Willis
said, averting his eyes.

“You’re working for a defense lawyer?”

“Pretty crazy, huh?”

“I’ll say. How the hell did you get involved
with a defense lawyer?”

“She’s a friend of a friend,” Willis
said.

Ahh, so there was the rub. “The lawyer’s a
woman, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“And let me guess, she’s good looking.”

“Not just good looking,” Willis said.
“Smokin’ hot.”

“And you’re hoping that by doing this job
for her you can get in her pants.”

“Nah, man, it ain’t like that,” he said.
“She’s not my type.”

“They’re all your type,” I said.

“Not this one. She’s way too smart for me.
And ambitious. And real. You know me. I like my girls dumb and lazy
and fake.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But why take the job
then? I don’t get it.”

He sighed. “Neither do I, Highway, neither
do I. It was like she had some spell on me, you know? She told me
all about the situation, straight-up with no bullshit, then asked
me if I’d help her out.”

“And you just said yes.”

“That’s right. I didn’t even mean to. My
mind was thinking no way in hell, but when I opened my mouth, out
came yes.”

I smiled and let him have it. I had to take
advantage of opportunities like this. They didn’t come around
often. “You were spellbound, my friend. Lapping out of her hand
like a puppy dog. Owned by a girl. Letting yourself—”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in all you want,” Willis
said. “All I know is you’re the one doing the job now, so I’m off
the hook.”

“And I’m on it,” I said.

“That’s what friends are for, to pick us up
when we’re down.” Willis nodded his head to the right, towards
Amber and Tori, who were walking up to the table. “And speaking of
getting things up, here come the ladies.”

Amber and Tori arrived. They were still in
uniform but it was obvious from their demeanor that they were off
the clock.

“You boys ready to go?” Amber said.
“Heather’s already at my house with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a
case of beer.” She sat on the table, facing me, her legs spread
slightly to give me a good look. “So what do you say? Care to come
with me?”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,”
Willis said as he stood up. He was smiling from ear to ear, the
previous conversation about the job all but forgotten already.
“What about you, Highway?”

“I can’t pass up free drinks,” I said with a
straight face. I rose from my chair. Amber held her arms out to me
and I lifted her off the table. “Let’s roll.”

4

The next day I woke up in a strange bed. I
sat up at the waist and felt the familiar rush of blood to my head
like a herd of thundering buffalo. Too much to drink the night
before. Again. I uttered a low groan and fell back into the pillow
and rubbed my temples.

My memories of the previous night were
jumbled. I remember hanging with Willis, having a couple of
pitchers and wings at Shooter’s, then going off to someone’s
downtown loft—the name Amber came to mind—having some more beers,
then some shots of Jack, then—

I ignored the pain and sat up again and
looked around. My clothes were lying in a heap at the side of the
bed. An empty condom package was on the ground next to them. On the
nightstand to my right was the alarm clock read 8:45. Next to it
was another empty condom package.

Damn, I must have been pretty good last
night,
I thought with a weary smile.
Too bad I don’t
remember anything about it.

I took a deep breath and swung my legs over
the side of the bed and got to my feet. I shuffled into to the
bathroom and relieved my bladder. As I was standing there I spotted
yet another empty condom package lying on the floor, near the
bathtub. I laughed and shook my head. Crazy stuff.

I finished up in the bathroom, put on my
clothes, and headed towards the kitchen to see if anyone else was
around.

The loft was empty but there was a sticky
note on the fridge.

Thanks for last night. I had a great
time.

Help yourself to anything you want.

--Amber

I grabbed a cup from the cupboard, opened up
the fridge and poured myself some orange juice. It took the edge of
my headache but made my stomach grumble. I was no stranger to pain,
in fact, I actually enjoyed it to a certain extent, but a hangover
was a different animal altogether. It was an oozy, sloppy feeling,
more akin to frustration than real pain. I despised it. Yet I
continually put myself in a position to wake up with one. I
wondered what this said about my psyche but decided not to ruminate
on it, lest I actually came up with an answer. Sometimes ignorance
truly was bliss.

I rinsed the glass and set it in the sink.
The phone rang. I let the machine get it. Willis’s voice came over
the speaker.

“Highway, you still there?”

I picked up the phone. “Yeah. What’s
up.”

“Not much,” Willis said. I could hear him
smiling. “How are you doing, my man?”

“Not bad, not bad.”

“After a night with Amber, I should hope
not.”

“Yeah, well I’m sure it was fun. Too bad I
don’t remember anything about it.”

“No problem there,” Willis said. “I got the
whole thing recorded on my phone. You can relive it whenever you
want.”

“Bullshit,” I said, knowing there was a very
real possibility that Willis was telling the truth but hoping
desperately that he was just messing with me.

Willis laughed. “Nah, not the whole thing.
Just a little bit of the night. Before things got too crazy.”

I was careful not to let Willis hear my
relieved exhale. “Is that the only reason you called? To give me
shit about last night.”

“Nah, man. I called because I got a bead on
our guy.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. He’s at The Body Shop, over on Sports
Arena.”

“Isn’t nine o’clock kind of early to be at a
strip club?”

“Depends on how you define early,” Willis
said. “From what I can gather, it’s late for these guys. They were
there all night.”

“So they shouldn’t pose too much of a
problem.”

“That’s the hope,” Willis said. “But I
wouldn’t count on it. Now get your ass over here before we miss
them.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your
panties in a bunch. I’m coming.”

5

It was just after 9AM when I pulled into the
parking lot outside the Body Shop Gentlemen’s Club. I spotted
Willis’s Black Chevy Blazer in the northwest corner of the lot and
parked next to it. I shut off my engine and climbed out of my car
and into his.

“Took you long enough,” Willis said.

“Traffic was a bitch,” I said. “So what’s
the situation?”

“We’re looking for this guy,” Willis said,
handing me a file folder. Inside was a printout of a California
Driver’s License and a mug shot. The dude’s full name was Vincent
Pedroza. He had brown, unkempt hair, thin lips, cold eyes hiding
behind narrow slits and a broad, misshapen nose that had been
broken and re-set multiple times.

“He looks like a real fighter,” I said.

“That’s what they say.”

I looked at the stats on his driver’s
license. 6’3” 225 pounds. “Pretty big dude, too.”

“That depends on how you define big.”

“Nobody’s big compared to you,” I said.
“Except maybe some NFL lineman. But compared to me he’s big.”