Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

the fan . . . people are liable to come calling, on you! Official people! People… with all kinds, of badges! And subpoenas! And warrants! You may… at long last . . . be forced, to get up,! Get off your dead ass! Be forced to get up . . . off your selfish, conniving, ass! And go out… and, actually, get what’s known as a job! Like the rest of us. That’s job! You’ll probably have to look it up!”

“A job? Like the rest of you? All you do… is sit here and write drivel! For Harlequin or Silhouette . . . or someone! I’m halfway surprised that you’re not running around the house, right now… absolutely naked!”

“I was, you know! About a half-hour ago! Sorry that you missed it! And… like everything else . . . you don’t have the remotest of ideas! Not the faintest clue . . . as to what it takes! What it takes . . . to whomp up a two-hundred page novel! So, don’t you dare put down… what I do! It’s honest! Unlike your own selfish… semi-legal… pursuits! Your exploitation . . . of your own son! Among others!”

“Why, you . . . !

“And, you listen! Listen to me, Sheila! If I was Jason… I’d have greened the scene too! I’d have gotten the hell out! Out… from under your overbearing thumb! A helluva long time ago! A helluva long time ago! And… let me tell you something else, Miss Smart-Ass! If he does come around… I’m going to harbor him! Isn’t that what they say? ‘Harbor’ someone? And I may even… may even take him, to bed! I’m sorry now… that I didn’t! That I haven’t! That I didn’t . . . didn’t just go ahead… and actually take the kid, to bed! Listen to me, Sheila! I promise nothing . . . beddy-bye-wise… for the future! In fact, go ahead, and think of whatever things… whatever things sexual . . . that really piss you off! And you can count . . . on the fact that I will have done it, with him! Done it to him! If I ever see him again!”

“Come off it, Debbie! I figure you already did seduce him. And I think that you’ve been compliant . . . in his running away! He didn’t have that much money! Had no resources, on him… or with him! For him to have stayed away… stayed away, for this long . . . he’d have to have had some help! Substantial help! And I don’t know, of anybody else… outside of my friendly, neighborhood, seductress . . . to whom he could ever come, for help! To whom he would come, for help! To whom he’d ever think of coming to… to help him out!”

“Well, the longer this conversation goes on . . . the sorrier your friendly, neighborhood, seductress is getting! Sorry as hell! How regrettable it is . . . that Jason didn’t come to me, for help! Or, for something else! For something… spectacularly . . . else! But, let’s face it. I’m pretty sure, that your kid is more resourceful . . . much more resourceful… than you’re willing to believe! To give him credit for! Somehow or another, he’s managed, to get himself out! Out of your greedy clutches! My compliments go out to him! Where ever he may be!”

“Well, I’m going to the police on this, and…”

“That’s something you should’ve done! Should’ve done . . . gone and done… last week, for God’s sakes!”

“Yes! And when I do. I’m going to give them my theory as to where he might be! And with whom!”

“You just go right ahead! You do that! And may I remind you… that ‘the kid’ is twenty-one! Or is it twenty-two? Whether or not he acts like it! Even if what you suspect would happen to be true… and I still say you’ve got your head, totally, up your ass… no laws would’ve been broken! None! Zilch! It’s not statutory rape, y’know. Not unlawful… to let a kid, that age, boff me! If I were you, I think I’d be a little more worried about… whether this thing, with Doctor Keltner, ever blows up, in your face!”

“Debbie? Debbie… you’ve got this thing all wrong! Your information is all screwed up!”

“There’s gonna be a lot of people… asking a lot of questions,” responded the hostess—undeterred. “A helluva lot of questions! A helluva lot of people! And, listen! I’ve not said anything to Mark! To Mark… at the radio station… about your situation. You can believe that… or not. And I’m still not going to! Not a word! But, I am telling you that… if I were you… I’d be more than a little concerned! And, again… as far as this thing with Jason being gone is concerned… you’re barking up the wrong damn tree! Way up the wrong damn tree!”

Sheila Rutkowski had stormed out of her erstwhile friend’s house. She was halfway down the walk—moving toward the street—when it occurred to her that Debbie might be watching. Being already so “misunderstood”, she knew that she would do well—to restore her limp! Substantially! And quickly!

Her recent hostess had promised her—that she’d not divulge her theory, as to Sheila’s, years-ago, “accident”. Not to Mark Martin, the investigative reporter, at WWJ—or, presumably, anyone else. Still, it would not be any sort of help, if Debbie were to see her being a little more “athletic”, than she’d needed to be!

Jason’s mother didn’t know exactly what she was going to do, at that point. Finding a public phone—from which to call for another taxi (hopefully, one with a driver, who’d be much more appreciative)—in the, strictly-residential, neighborhood would be almost impossible.

On an impulse, she made her way out, onto the street—and began to walk, alongside the many vehicles parked there. The fifth car was a 1998 Buick LeSabre. And the keys! There they were! In the ignition!

It had been—literally—years, since she’d driven any car! Anywhere! Her brother’s ’79 Plymouth Fury—and her former husband’s 1981 Oldsmobile 98—had been it! In “just about forever”!

Brazenly (what else?) she opened the driver’s door, slid in, and cranked the car, to life! She clipped the rear bumper of the year-old Cadillac sedan, parked in front of her—as she, hurriedly, pulled out into the sparse traffic.

She drove—being careful to observe