CHAPTER 26--ROAD TO ROOSTER'S

June 1997

P

ulled open the door to the Dodge and hopped in. Louie and Ginny were apparently still asleep in back, buried underneath some sheets. I could hear snoring. I decided, after the fiasco in Laughlin, not to take anything for granted anymore, and double checked. Pulled the blankets off and counted to two. That's when I noticed, in between furtive glances around for the presence of an ominous black BMW, or its owner, that they were both still partially clothed. And it was hot, Queen, so hot that if you were already naked, you really couldn't see the point in putting on some clothes.

It's none of your business, man.

They woke up the moment the blankets were removed, and sensed my panic and alarm. They knew something was up.

"Louie, I need your eyes."

"I'm there."

He took the shotgun position.

"What am I looking for? Cops?"

"No, a black BMW."

"A black BMW? In this parking lot?"

"Trust me," I said. "Look across the way about 15 cars that way. See that Red Chevy blazer that's sticking out."

"Yeah."

"Well, you can't see it, but sitting next to it is a black BMW that I swear to you on Queen's grave belongs to Tony Domenico. DDT. The same one we saw in Laughlin."

Pulled the Dodge forward and started driving the opposite way.

"No fucking way," Louie said.

"Yes, fucking way."

"Oh wait, now I see it. It's just sitting there. So did you see him?"

"No, but I can feel him, feel his presence."

Louie started scanning the parking lot. "What's he look like?"

"Like James Woods, with lots of scars, dark hair and crooked teeth. Real tall."

"Nobody fitting that description. Whoa, wait a minute. Stop!"

I slammed on the brakes.

"What?"

"I just saw somebody I haven't seen since high school. Wait here one sec, I'll be right back."

"Louie, no," I shouted.

Damn kid. He was already out the door. Couldn't see where he went. Sat there and fumed for a moment, and tried to get my head back to the space it was in the past night.

Everything happens for a reason.

Looked at Ginny in the back seat. She seemed blissful, but concerned.

"So you had a fun time at the concert?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"Maybe we could hit the Virtual Dead tour?"

"Maybe."

The passenger door swung open and Louie jumped in and slammed the door.

"Now that's a fucking trip. It was my homeboy from high school, Eddie. He's living in L.A. now. Hope it's OK, Jack, I gave him my pager number," he said.

"Can we go now?" I said, my patience wearing thin. Noticed that Ginny was lighting up a cigarette.

"Hey, Ginny, the tables are turned. Let me have one."

"Yeah, sure," she said, pulling the pack out of her pants pocket.

"It's my last one, other than the one I'm smoking. Can we stop somewhere and get some more?"

"Man, what is it about you and all smokers?" Louie asked. "That you fret over your last cigarette."

"Who's DDT?" Ginny asked, still trying to catch up on the conversation.

She handed me a cigarette.

"Louie, there's an unwritten law among all smokers that you never take a person's last smoke. It's just something you never do. Ginny, DDT is an asshole, and he wants to kill me. That's all I can tell you for now. What I need to do right now is put much distance between us and a black BMW I just pissed on in the lot back there."

Finally, thank God, fucking finally, we were on the pavement and headed out of the place. "Any sign of a black BMW, Louie?"

"No, none," he answered back.

I sucked another drag off the smoke, feeling very grateful that Ginny had given me her last one. Truth was, I wasn't sure when we could stop for cigarettes. We had to get the hell out of there, and get to Rooster's place. Of course, that's when it dawned on me I hadn't the foggiest idea where we were going. Had to think for a sec, and remembered where I put the recorder Junior had left with me: in my inside vest pocket next to my Glock. I reached in and pulled it out. Pressed the 'play' button.

"Thank you for trusting me, Jack. Thank you very much," Rooster's voice cracked at us.

How in the hell does he do that?

Hit play again.

"OK, Jack want you to leave the Silver Bowl parking lot and go west on Boulder Highway."

Hot damn. We were already there, Queen. This was getting easy. Pressed the button again.

"Stop at the first convenience store on your right."

"Hey, sugar, looks like we can stop for smokes."

Pulled into what looked liked it used to be a 7-11. Now it was independently owned. Pushed the button again and Rooster's voice told us to go buy a pack of cigarettes, specifically my brand-Camel Filters. His voice continued: "Had Junior check all of this out on Saturday, so this should work. Divide the cost of the cigarettes, uh, disregard the decimal, by 5.2, and drive that many miles north on I-15. Exactly. When you are at the exact mileage, look for a dirt road."

Shit, Queen, this was out near the Valley of Fire. Fucking Rooster, making us run all over town, when we were probably sitting right on fucking top of them two nights ago.

Pushed the button again.

"OK, Jack, drive out there first, and then you'll get your next instructions."

All I could think at that point, Queen, was that after going through all that, if Rooster had us drive back into town, I was going to reconsider my undying admiration of the man. But sure enough, exactly 40.5 miles outside of town, on I-15, a small, barely-noticeable dirt road headed south, deep into the desert. Turned on to it. Knew enough not to have hit the play button until I got to that point.

"Jackie Boy, I'm so proud of you. Head due south on this road for 27 miles. At exactly 27 miles you'll notice a small panel on top of a pole. Flip open the plate, and there's a key pad. Punch in the code for the Jack of Hearts. A mile down from there you'll notice a gate is open. You've got basically two minutes before the gate closes again. So make it fast. Stay on the road until you see the complex, we're up inside a canyon. It's a ways, like another thirty miles."

And way out in the middle of fucking nowhere.