My Ship Comes In, Excerpt 13: just like a woman….

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My Ship Comes In, Excerpt 13: just like a woman….

May 23, 2022 by T.K. O'Neill

“My Ship Comes In” is the fourth story, a novella, in T.K. O’Neill’s Northwoods Pulp Reloaded collection of three short crime stories and this longer story. Ebook available here.

CHAPTER 8

I’m questioning my decision as I throw my stuff into the van. But then I catch sight of Dory standing by the motel office holding an old brown suitcase. She’s wearing a light blue, loose-fitting cotton dress the breeze is pushing against her bra-less nipples, and I quickly shrug off my anxiety as something obviously not related to this lovely moment.

My heart is beating like a tom-tom as I reach over and unlatch the door. She steps gracefully in and looks at me, eyebrows raised and lips tight together but smiling slightly.

“Let’s get down the road,” I say.

“Roll ’em easy, cowboy,” she says, then gets in and sits down and crosses her long, bare legs. The dress slides high up on her buttermilk thighs and all I can do is sigh. She lights up a cigarette and rolls down the window as I swing away from the motel onto the cracked asphalt.

The tires slap on spider webs of tar and the road stretches out in front of me, shining in the hot Florida sun. I’m trying to decide what tape to put in to set the mood just right. Bagley’s tapes are limited but I finally find one that seems to fit the moment: Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits.

I jam it in the player. The raunchy, rolling notes come bounding out of the speakers and I know instinctively that I’ve chosen the right tape. Because it’s true, everybody must get stoned.

Dory’s head bounces softly to the rhythm. It’s a pretty day. The sun is shining and a few large, cottony clouds float high in the searing blue sky. Dylan sings on. The wind blows. She’s just like a woman.

Then it finally hits me. I have a million dollars worth of cocaine in the back of the van and I’ve brought a stranger into the mix. Suddenly, my dick shrinks and the skin on my nuts tightens up and, man, do I need a drink. And here it is coming up on noon. Who could blame a person in my situation for stopping to relax his jangled nerves?

We don’t utter a word until we get to Crystal River, a small village soon to be overrun with development. Dory spots a corner store and asks if I can stop so she can grab a pack of smokes. I suggest we should wait until we find a bar somewhere and then go in and have a beer and a smoke, a little something to take the edge off. And in the meantime there’s a pack of Kools in the glove compartment.

She screws up her face and looks at me, eyes narrowed. “You know they put saltpeter in those Kools,” she says. “Like they give to soldiers in the war. You know, so they won’t get horny.”

“No way. Where’d you hear that one?”

“It’s true. How many of those do you smoke a day?”

“I don’t know… not too many.”

She studies me as I nervously take the pack from the glove compartment and light one up with the dashboard lighter. I smoke about half and then flip it out the window with a snap of my finger.

“Do you know if Marlboros have saltpeter in them?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper.

“Sure they do. Why do you think the Marlboro Man is always alone?”

“I see what you mean. So what cigarette do you recommend?”

“For me, right now, it would be any non-menthol I can get my hands on. Men shouldn’t smoke at all. They should save their energies for other, more important things.” She flashes a knowing glance then blinks nervously and stares out the window. “Oh, all right,” she says. “I’ll have one of those Kools.”

I’m turning into electrified Jello when I finally spot the all important tavern sign. Sandpiper Lounge. Faded, blue concrete box with a big air conditioner sticking out a side window. “Shall we?” I say like the fly to the spider and point at the fine establishment. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Why not,” she says.

I park the van. We get out. The air is hot. We go in the bar.

(To be continued)