CHAPTER 24--THE PLAN

June 1997

A

s we walked, he explained to me the plan. Now, I had been under the impression we'd follow him to Rooster's that night, but that wasn't the plan. The plan, he explained, was to have me come up in the morning. As for directions, Junior had directions on him he was going to give me. But he was insisting that Rooster insisted we do not come until the morning.

And I had been looking forward to a shower and a warm bed.

Told Junior as much, and he just laughed.

"At Rooster's?" he said. "Ever since Emily died, he's not been much of a homemaker."

"Emily?"

"His wife. Err, his late wife."

"I didn't know he was married."

"Most people didn't, so I'm not surprised."

"Man, that Rooster is a man with a lot of secrets."

"Yeah, but the pay is good."

"Yeah, guess then we'll go get a room somewhere."

"Rooster thought you might want to do that. He wants you to camp out here. Lots of folks are. When you see the map, you'll see that leaving from here is a lot easier than coming from town. Besides, with all these Deadheads in town, finding a decent room will be hell. Trust me."

"OK, now here are your directions," Junior continued, reaching into his fanny pack. Expected him to pull out a map or a piece of paper, but instead he pulled out a little black box. No, not a magic box. This thing had a brand name. Voice-It.

"What is it?" I asked.

"A digital recorder. Stores everything on computer chips. All you have to do is press the play button, and Rooster in his voice will tell you how to get to him. It's in a series of messages. Just keep hitting play to hear the next message."

"Wow," I managed, taking hold of the device.

Was just about to press the play button when Junior grabbed my arm and said, "Rooster told me to tell you to not by any means listen to it until morning."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding."

And I knew Rooster too well. Rooster wasn't kidding. Sometimes I figured he was just that way to be that way, not because he had to. It was almost as though he enjoyed the cloak-and-dagger aspect of it all. That or he was just nuts.

"So, we'll see you in the morning," Junior said, turning to leave.

"See you tomorrow," I said. "And thanks."

I turned and started walking towards the lot where I last remembered seeing the Dodge. Man, what a night, Queen, I tell you. Looking down at the little device from Junior, the thought occurred to me that there was no way Rooster would know if I listened to it. Then again, we're talking about Rooster. Still, I felt quite defiant. Who else was he going to get to drive his precious pornware to the fucking valley? I pushed the button.

"Goddamnit Jack, I told you not to push the button until morning."

Why, the son of a bitch.

Pressed the button again.

"Goddamnit, again, Jack, push it again, and I will call Federal Express."

OK, fine have it your way.

I put the device in my pocket. That Rooster could be one uncanny son of a bitch, that's for sure. Don't know how I managed to recognize the van, Louie and Ginny had done such an amazing job with the stickers. Still, I knew it was the Dodge, because it was right where I parked it. And if there's one thing I'll be always be good at, it's remembering where I park a car. Or van. So I walked up to it, and I notice that the windows are all steamed up. Now, if I hadn't been almost on top of them, I would have just backed off gracefully. But there was no mistaking it. Ginny and Louie were making-out heavy and big time, Queen. The way we used to in the parent's Oldsmobile. Even Ginny was practically half-undressed. It was Ginny who saw me, and screamed "Hey Jack!"

Boy, something had changed her attitude. She stumbled out of the Dodge, pulling her shirt back down. That's when I noticed it was a tie-dyed shirt.

"Nice shirt," I said. Before she could respond, she had wrapped her arms around me. Louie, meanwhile, came crawling out, and put his arm around me while wearing this absolutely, positively beautiful grin. That's when I noticed his eyes. Round black eyes. And he noticed mine. Ginny pulled away, and I noticed hers. But it wasn't coke or speed dilation. It was acid dilation. Pure and simple. There was too much genuine emotion there for it to be anything else.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"We got miracled, amigo," Louie said. "These people just walked up to us and said they wanted to give away free tickets."

So maybe that was them I saw on the on the video screen.

"Yeah," Ginny added. "That was a lot of fun. It kind of sucks that it wasn't the real band. Reminded me of a rave, only without the rave music."

"Where'd you get acid?" I asked.

"From one of the guys who sold us stickers," Louie said. “Hey, what do you think of the van, by the way? Ginny even painted some trippy flowers on the side.”

Shit, sure enough, she did, Queen. And the flowers while definitely surreal exuded a certain strange beauty. Beneath the flowers were words.

"What's that?" I asked.

"A poem," she said, sparkling and vibrant. I swear to you, Queen, she looked more beautiful that night than ever before.

"Want me to read it to you?"

"Sure," I said.

She kneeled down on the ground and started reading the words painted in different colors.

"Dreams flow like clouds in mirrors, love remains in the shadows, just a word ...”

"What's it mean," I asked.

"What do you want it to mean?"

She smiled back at me.

No, she beamed.

Sat around and bull shitted for awhile, and I decided that if I was going to get some sleep, I needed to put away a few beers. With all the excitement that day, not to mention the acid, I would never get to sleep without a little help. Louie was sitting on the back fender with the back open trying to play my guitar. Earlier, I had showed him a few chords. Meanwhile, Ginny was happily engaged in the act of writing her magnum opus on the side of the Dodge. When neither was looking, I slipped away to buy a beer from one of the hundreds of guys who roll ice chests around selling everything from Bud and Coors to Sammy Adams and Pete's Wicked Ale. And, truth to be told, I bought more than one.

By the time I stumbled back to the van several hours later, my two newly amorous friends had already retired. This time I approached quietly, but I could tell they were in the back. The windows were all fogged up. And maybe it was just the beer and remnants of the acid, but I could have sworn I saw that thing rocking.

Or at least moving a little.

I lay down on the ground next to the van. Assuming that Louie and Ginny had finally consummated his passion for her, I lay there for awhile, numb to the rocks and glass that formed my bed, and was drunkenly happy for my one-armed, small-change bandit-friend, mi amigo, Louie Carlos Mejia.

And there I passed out.