Roadhouse Blues (standard:mystery, 4486 words)
Author: Thom	Added: Dec 11 2000	Views/Reads: 3768/2372	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Sean Murphy is a PI based in Columbus Ohio. He is looking for a client's lost father. The trail leads to a roadhouse in West Virginia. Then things go bad. Very bad

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eyes. She smiled. 

"I have no illusions about this, Mr. Murphy. The guy may be a real jerk.
I just need to find out on my own." 

"Well, Ms. Collins, I change two hundred dollars a day plus expenses.
This could take a long time with absolutely no results. I don't want to 
get your hopes up or promise something I can't deliver." 

She smiled warmly. 

"Mr. Murphy, I'm an attorney and a big girl. I can take care of myself."
She dug a checkbook out of her purse and made one out to me. I took the 
fourteen-hundred dollar piece of paper and put it in my wallet. 

So, now here I was, turning south on route 35, headed for Pliney,
West-by-God, Virginia and Rhonda's. 

Webster wasn't too hard to find. His parole officer was retired but
remembered him as a nice guy that made a mistake and paid for it. The 
P.O. thought went back home to West Virginia. A check with the West 
Virginia version of  the BMV got me an address in Charleston. 

The woman at the Charleston address was Web's sister. He wasn't there
anymore. He'd gone back to the homestead near Hawk's Nest. Once there, 
I found he was down the hard road at Rhonda's. Well, at least I can get 
a beer there. 

The old man who told me where to find Webster looked like a Civil War
veteran, He was stooped, grizzled and worn with age, but there was a 
strength smoldering in his eyes like a banked fire. I  escaped his 
suspicious gaze and fled down the mountain and towards the bar.  It was 
something I could understand. 

In the tape deck John Prine was singing about Paradise Kentucky being
swallowed by progress. A coal company turned the town and land into a 
giant hole in the ground. Like an entrance to the netherworld. Boy, I 
needed a drink. I was too melancholy for words. 

A mile or so down the road I spotted Rhonda's. It was a squat, square,
block building with a faded coat of white paint and a flat roof. It 
hunkered down in the gravel parking lot a good stone's throw from the 
river. I could see the tree lined bank on the other side. The water 
sparkled and danced in the sunlight. 

I swung the Mustang into the lot, gravel growling under the low profile
tires. A plume of dust settled behind me. There were a few other 
vehicles there. Mostly pick up trucks of assorted vintages.  My GT 
ragtop was the only vehicle under ten years old in the lot. It looked 
as out of place as a hooker at a church social. 

I killed the engine and listened as it ticked cool. Some kind of song
bird off in the distance ran through part of its repertoire. 

I slid a Smith and Wesson .32 Air Weight into a holster sewn  inside my
gray western styled boot. Over the past few years I'd managed to annoy 
some rather nasty characters. Also, during my trip through the hollows, 
I'd seen enough suspicion of strangers to make me wary. Perhaps 
"Deliverance" wasn't so far fetched. 

I stood and stretched off the week's road miles, then strolled into the
roadhouse. It was dark, cool and comfortable. Friendly shadows. Sawdust 
on the floor beneath my boots. The bar was small. The stools were old 
and wore worn mismatched vinyl. The chrome was missing in places, rusty 
metal showing through, the color of dried blood. Everyone turned to 
look at me as I stood in the door. 

I grabbed a stool and ordered a beer. The woman behind the bar was faded
and older than her forty some years. Her washed out blue eyes were 
tired. She ran a work ruined hand through her brittle, bottle blonde 
hair and put a chambray covered elbow on the bar. 

"You're not from around here, are you?" Her voice was younger than her
years. It almost had to be. 

"No, I'm not. I'm from Columbus." 

"A Buckeye, huh?" She said, slapping my change down. 

I shrugged and sipped my draft. 

"Heard any good West Virginian jokes lately?" 

"I've never heard a good one." I said. 

"Right." She spun on her heel and walked down the bar to a group of men
seated at the other end. 

"A Buckeye." said one of the men. He was heavy and wide as a semi. On
his short, sparse brown hair was a John Deere gimme cap. His voice had 
a nasal Appalachian twang. 

"Ya know what a buckeye is, Josh?" 

One of the other guys nodded no as he sipped his draft. 

"It's a worthless nut even the squirrels won't eat." 

The four of them laughed as if Tim Allen were there talking of more
power and things manly. I gave them a small chuckle at the tired old 
joke to show I was a good sport. And a polite one at that. 

I took my beer over to the beat up old juke box and fed it a buck worth
of quarters. In return I received seven selections to use. I played 
country. A little Haggard. Some Jones and Patsy Cline. As I headed back 
to the short bar, I noticed a man in his late fifties sitting alone at 
a hub cap sized table. He was drinking a draft. A shot glass of 
something dark sat by the beer. Probably Bourbon. Perhaps Jack Daniel's 
sour mash. 

I went over. He was still thin. The dark hair was mixed with white. 

"Web Collins?" I asked. 

He looked up in disinterest and replied," Who wants to know?" 

The eyes were faded blue, like cornflowers. His gaze was level and
bored. The voice was rough with years of whiskey and tobacco. 

"Sean Murphy. Mind if I join you for a moment?" 

He handed me a shrug and nodded towards the empty chair across the
small, scarred table. My beer and I took the seat. 

I lit a cigarette as we checked each other out. 

"What kind of pansy name is Sean?" 

"It's the Irish version of John." 

"Were your parents pretentious?" 

"Never asked 'em." I said around  my smoke." 

I dropped a bomb on him. "Melissa sends her regards." 

His head snapped up from his brew like it was on a string. Those pale
blue eyes bored into my hazel one as if he were searching for the truth 
and not liking what he found. I sat quietly, smoking, waiting on him. 
It was his play now. 

Finally he just shook his head once and let a small, rueful smile
escape. 

"Melissa, huh? Where do you know her from? And how do you know me?" 

"I'm a private investigator. Your daughter hired me to find you. So I
did. She wants to see you." 

He killed his shot in a sudden, quick motion. 

"Why now? After all these years?" 

I told him the truth. 

After I finished, he just sat there. Silent for a while. Then he
gathered himself together to speak. 

"So Amanda's dead, huh? Get us a couple more, OK?" He said in that
whiskey baritone. 

I nodded and went to fetch a couple more beers. When I returned he took
a healthy pull off his and smiled wanly. 

"Well, I can't say I'll miss that woman. No, not at all. But Melissa,
that's different. You say she wants to see me?" His eyes were alive 
with rediscovered hope. 

"Yeh Web, she does. For thirty years or so she thought her Father was
dead. Then  Amanda dies and Melissa finds out you're alive. That's 
quite a shock. Your daughter wants to get to know you. That has to be 
worth something." 

We looked at each other for a while. The music was loud in the
background. The blue-white smoke from our cigarettes hung listlessly in 
the still air. 

The front door opened, casting a rectangle of light on the worn floor,
like a carpet of sunshine. Shadows crossed the light as a man and woman 
walked in. 

He was tall, thin and angular. Six-two. The dark eyes were hooded and
alert. His hair was as dark as the coal that's been stripped from these 
hills and hollows for the last century or so. 

The woman with him was tall and slim. Five-eight, hair as dark as the
man's and eyes as green as the fields of Ireland. She wore a long black 
unlined duster, out of place in the summer warmth. They strolled over 
to the short bar as if they owned the place. 

"Two draws."The man said in a low, soft drawl. Beneath the softness was
steel, an air of menace lurking, waiting for a chance to escape. 

Rhonda slapped two beers down on the bar's worn Formica top. The glasses
broke into a sweat. She took the man's two wrinkled dollar bills and 
put two quarters in their place. Web Collins looked at the two with 
disdain. 

"Damn." He muttered. 

I looked at him with a question plastered on my face. 

"Calvin and Babe Polster." He said in way of an answer. 

"So?" 

"Trouble. Trust me. C'mon let's go outside. You can give me Melissa's
phone number." 

He stood. It looked like the thing to do, so I did the same. 

"Where you headed Web?" The dark man said. His left thumb was hooked in
the pocket of his faded Levi's as he leaned on the bar. 

"Outside." Web replied, his voice wary and neutral. 

"Oh. So who's your friend?" 

Web hesitated, then replied,"A guy from Columbus who knows my little
girl." 

Calvin looked at me with new interest. 

"Well," he drawled, "that would be your fancy Ford out there with the
Ohio tags. You must have money. So, What do you do up there?" 

I looked at him as I became aware of a strong undercurrent of tension in
the room. I decided to tell him about my other job. 

"I own a bar." 

The woman walked to the other end of the bar, where the four guys were
sitting and looked at the potato chips on the wire rack. 

"Oh."Calvin said. "Where you headed from here, if you don't mind my
asking." 

I put my right boot on the empty chair in front of me. I crossed my arms
on my knee and eased my pant leg up. Just in case. This guy made me 
nervous. 

"Charleston." 

"Oh. Why doncha give me and the wife a ride up to Columbus? Our car
ain't running so hot." 

"Sorry, can't do that." 

I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone, a round being jacked into a
pump shotgun. Babe had swung it out from beneath the duster. In 
Calvin's hand was a stainless .357 magnum. It covered me and Web. The 
dark hole at the barrel's end looked like the highway to hell. Why me? 

"Wrong answer hotshot." He held the magnum on me as he spoke to Babe
over his shoulder. 

"Darlin', hustle them rednecks over to a table where you can keep an eye
on them. Rhonda too." He turned his full attention back to me. 

"You see, Buckeye, Babe and me have a little problem. A vacation  is a
real good idea right now. And that hot Ford of yours is just what the 
doctor ordered." 

He lit a cigarette, one handed, eyes never leaving me. Polster blew out
a plume of smoke and tossed us a cold deadly smile. 

"Now we're going to sit a while, let the sun go down some, so when we
make our run to Ohio, it'll be nice and dark. OK people, let's get 
comfy." 

He sat down on a bar stool, facing us, his elbows resting on the bar.
Calm. Confident. 

"Smoke 'em if you got 'em." Cal let out a cold laugh. It lay there like
week old road kill. 

After we sat back down, I looked at Web. He was tense as he stared at
Cal. I took a chance and asked Collins a question. 

"Why'd you take the money? Look what it got you. Five in the joint and
you lost the chance to see Melissa grow up. Was it worth it?" 

He stared at me with a mixture of anger and anguish on his angular face.
Web lit a cigarette and took a long, deep, angry pull. When he exhaled, 
the pale smoke hung in the air like fog. 

"You married, Murphy?" 

I shook my head. 

"Ever been in love?" 

"Sure." 

"Well Amanda wouldn't have let me see Melissa anyway." 

"Was a divorce on the way?" 

He nodded yes as hit his smoke again. 

"More than that." 

I waited and sipped my flat beer. 

He started slowly, softly. 

"I came home one afternoon and found Amanda with someone else. A woman.
This  was the early sixties and you didn't see stuff like that. At 
least not in Columbus, Ohio. I saw red and went nuts.  I put Amanda's 
friend in the hospital. Almost killed Amanda. I sure wanted to. Maybe 
it made me feel like a man again. I don't know.Anyway,  after that  I 
sure wouldn't be able to see Melissa again." 

He paused and I glanced over at Cal. He was watching us. But not
closely. My hand slipped to my boot. I scratched my calf and my hand 
slipped over the  .32's grip. I slid it out and put it on my lap. 

"The funny thing is, I didn't take the money." 

"Who did?" I asked. 

He shrugged. 

"I thought about it for five years. I don't know. They let me cop to the
theft and dropped the assault with intent to kill. I took it. Hey, 
what's passed is past. Anyway, we have other problems." He nodded 
towards Cal. 

"Right. Who are they?" 

"Cal and Babe Polster. He used to run shine till he found Coke paid
better. He's a mean, nasty SOB She's no better.  White trash. And if 
they're running, it's something really bad." 

"How bad?" I asked watching the two. 

"Someone's more than likely dead." He stared deep in my eyes. Maybe
looking for something. I don't if he found it. I shifted the pistol in 
my lap and stared back. 

"You know if you give them a ride you're dead." 

I nodded yes. The thought had crossed my mind. 

"Got any ideas?" 

I shrugged. I was good at it. 

"Figures." He shook his head slowly. There was a hint of disappointment
on his face. 

The other four patrons sat at the table. The big guy with the John Deere
cap was speaking in hushed tones to the man he'd called Josh. I had a 
bad feeling about this. It looked like these macho good ol' boys were 
going to do something very stupid. Maybe they won't get themselves 
killed. Yeah, maybe. 

"Web," I said softly, "The guy in the hat. You know him?" 

Collins glanced at the table and nodded yes. 

"Ken Casner. He's dumber than a box of rocks. Why?" 

"I think he's going to do something." 

Web sighed slowly. 

"Like I said, dumb as a box of rocks." 

Casner stood. Polster's eyes speared him as the magnum swung in his
direction. 

"Where do you think you're going, Ken?" Calvin's gaze was level. His
voice as cold as a lawyer's soul. 

Casner pulled the brim of his green gimee cap down a little lower on his
forehead and said," I need another beer, Cal. That OK?" 

Polster pondered the question and nodded yes slowly. 

"Draw us a pitcher while you're at it, why don't ya? Hell, I'm sure your
buddies could use another. Just do it slow and easy. That way nobody 
gets killed." His laugh hung heavily in the air. 

I leaned towards Collins and whispered "Is there a gun behind the bar?" 

"Damn." He muttered," Yeah, there is. A .45 Rhonda's daddy drug back
from WW Two." 

"Is he that stupid?" 

"Oh, yeah. No doubt." 

I flipped the safety off  on my.32 and eased back the slide, jacking a
round into the chamber, coughing to cover the noise. Cocked and locked. 
Ready, I hoped. 

The big guy strolled towards the bar with all the style and panache a
man his size could muster. The small.32 felt heavy in my hand. 

Casner poured a new glass of beer for him, then drew a pitcher. The beer
was golden. It's head as white as my knuckles on the.32's grip. Please, 
I prayed, don't be stupid. Another of my lapsed Catholic, unanswered 
prayers. 

Casner smiled and reached down and scratched his leg. Grinning, he
brought his hand up. Polster smiled and as the.45 cleared the top of 
the bar, he put a bullet between Casner's eyes. 

The good ol' boy dropped  like a stunned cow. Babe covered  all of us. I
kept my little pistol in my hand under the table. I'm not crazy. I want 
to be the hero  and get the girl. 

The shotgun covered the table. Cal watched us. 

"Anybody else have a death wish? How 'bout you Buckeye?" 

"Do I look stupid?" 

"Maybe. You got a name?" 

"Yeah." My voice was calmer than I was. 

"And?' Polster watched me warily. 

"Murphy. Sean Murphy." Hey, it always works for James Bond. 

"Murphy, huh? I know you boy? The name sounds kinda familiar." 

I took a drink, "It's the Irish version of Smith." 

He looked dubious. "What time is it, Babe?" 

"Almost six." 

"Won't be long now. C'mere Murphy, let me freshen up that there beer of
yours." 

"Thanks, but I'm fine." 

"I'd rather you drank with me." The steel reappeared in his voice. 

"Sure" I tucked in my shirt, sliding the little.32 into my pocket. I
picked up my glass and slowly crossed the barroom, the sawdust slick 
beneath my boots. 

He had Rhonda pour me a beer. As she walked back to the table he watched
me and smiled a shark-like smile. 

"So," he drawled," you own a bar, huh?" 

I nodded, 

"A yuppie place?" 

I shrugged as I put a boot on the rail. 

"What's it called?" 

"Zachary's." 

"Sounds like a fern bar. You're a god sized boy. How much trouble you
have?' 

"Not much." I said, putting my foot on the floor. He was making me
nervous. I tucked my hands into my pockets. 

"You're what? Six-foot, one seventy?" 

"One-eighty," 

"Tough guy?" 

I shrugged again. 

"Well, I'll show you tough." 

He calmly turned and pointed the magnum at Web and pulled back the
hammer. 

Their eyes locked. Web's gaze was calm and level, saying go to hell.   
Cal's eyes were colder than a Wyoming winter. 

"So, Webster, you afraid of dying?" 

Web lit a smoke as he watched Cal. He took a long pull on it and smiled.


"Polster," he said slowly, "there's nothing a clown like you can do to
frighten me. In fact, I should make you use that fancy pistol as a 
suppository." 

Cal's face went red as he fired. The noise had my ears ringing as the
round slammed into Web's table. Collins was already on the floor going 
for cover, his speed surprising as I shoved the.32 into Cal's ear. 

Babe swung the shotgun at me. 

"Drop it darlin'  before I splash his brains all over the bar. And Cal,
let me have the gun." 

''I don't think so. See, you kill me, she kills you and everybody else.
Guess we got us a stand off." 

"You think she's that fast?" Adrenaline was pounding through my body. 

"Try it." 

"Yeah, maybe I will." 

"I doubt it." 

OK, Murphy, I thought, what now? 

The blacked out window in the front of the bar exploded as the tear gas
canister rolled in. The white gas spread through the air. Heavy. 
Cloying. 

Polster moved to the left, swinging the big stainless pistol up at me. I
put two into his chest as Babe's shotgun stared me in the eye. I was 
dead and we both knew it. As Babe smiled, a third eye appeared in her 
forehead. She folded like an empty wallet. My knees turned to rubber as 
a voice said," Drop it or die." 

I turned as I let go  of my pistol and saw four West Virginia State
troopers in the doorway, their weapons covering the room. 

"Cool" I said. 

Two hours later Web and I stood by the Mustang. A Sergeant was there
with us. An ambulance had taken Cal and the dead away. 

Cal and Babe had killed a State Trooper earlier in the day. A routine
traffic stop gone bad. Their car had blown an engine a mile or so down 
the road from Rhonda's. 

The roadhouse was the only place they could be. A Trooper had slipped in
the back about the time Cal killed Casner. He couldn't do anything from 
the tight hall. So, they came in the front. I appreciated their timing. 


"Well, I guess this was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong
time, Mr. Murphy. I'm sorry. Our hospitality is usually better." The 
sergeant drawled. 

"Don't worry about it." 

He smiled and reminded me I'd need to come back to testify, then offered
me his large hand. We shook and said good-bye. 

Web then shook my hand and leaned on my car's fender. His work boot
carved a circle in the gravel. 

"Murphy, you did OK in there," 

I smiled and lit a Marlboro. 

"Thanks, Web. You were something too." I stared off towards the river.
The water glittered like diamonds in the crisp white moonlight. 

"You lied to me Web." My voice was neutral and the cigarette was hot and
tasted like the floors of hell. I took another pull, then ground it out 
beneath my bootheel."You took the money." 

"Yeh." His voice was so soft, I had to strain to hear it."It was to get
me and Missy away from Amanda. Needless to say, we didn't to make it." 

"I thought it was something like that. I'm going to get in this car and
call my client. I'll tell her where to find her father. Call. I think 
you two will get along just fine. She's a lot like you. good-bye Web. 
And thanks." I offered my hand one last time. He took it, his grip firm 


"Hey, Murphy, I just gave you an opening. That's all." 

I got in the car and fired it up. The V-8 caught and purred. I put it in
gear, and eased through the lot. Web waved and walked off to a beat up 
old Chevy pick up. 

I hit US 35 and headed south towards Charlston as I dialed the phone.
Melissa picked up on the third ring. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi. Sean Murphy here. I've got some good news for you." 

THE END 


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