The Maine Events, Rodney Riesel [best books to read in your 20s TXT] 📗

was that?”

“Nothing. I'm okay. What can I do for you?”

“There were two men here earlier. They were asking aboutyou.”

“What did they ask?”

“If you were staying here.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them it was none of their business.”

“What were they driving?”

“Real nice car—black Lincoln.”

“What did they look like?”

“One guy had long black hair slicked back to his scalp, andears that stuck way out. The other guy was about my height, and bald.”

“The bald guy have a scar under his right eye?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Okay, thanks, um—I didn't get your name.”

“Crystal … Foster.”

“Thank you, Crystal.”

“Are they friends of yours, Mr. Crane?”

“No, Crystal.”

“Good, because the bald guy said my face looked like a wadded-uproad map.”

“Well, that wasn't very nice.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“I'm sorry about that, Crystal.”

Crystal shrugged. “It's not your fault.” She continued tostare down at Allen. “Do you need help getting up?”

“No thank you, Crystal.”

“Okay then,” she said, turning. “I'm right next door if youneed anything.”

Allen swung the door shut and dropped to his belly with a humph.

Ten minutes later Allen was awakened again. He raised hishead to look through the window. He couldn't see anyone.

“Yeah?” he hollered.

“It's Jacob … from downstairs.”

“What do you want?”

“I have your dog.”

Allen looked around the room. Frankie was nowhere in sight.

“What?”

“I said, I have your dog.”

That's right, Allen recalled, I took the dog outlast night … or this morning. What time was that?

“Did you hear me?”

“Are you holding him for ransom?” Allen asked jokingly.

“No.” Then there was a long pause as the drunkard climbed tohis feet. Just as Allen put his hand on the knob, Jacob asked, “How much wouldyou pay if I was?”

Allen snorted. “A gajillion dollars.” He opened the door.

“You look like crap,” said Jacob.

“You're short, and you've got a big pimple on yourforehead.”

“You have bags under your eyes.”

“You look like Jay Leno's illegitimate daughter, with thatlong hair and underbite.”

Jacob laughed. “You're a dick.”

“I know.”

Jacob handed Allen Frankie's leash, and Frankie trotted intothe room.

“Where'd you find him?”

“He was sitting over there on the sidewalk barking at theseagulls.”

Allen looked down at the dog. “What did I tell you aboutthat?” he asked. He returned his attention to Jacob. “Is there a store closeby?”

“What kind of store?”

“Like a grocery store or something.”

“There's a grocery store on US1.”

“Anything closer?”

“There's one of those Something Farms gas stations about amile from here.”

“Cumberland Farms?”

“Yeah, that's it.”

“Is that too far for you to ride your skateboard?”

“Why?”

“I need a few things.”

“How much?”

“Soda, aspirin, chips.”

“I mean, how much you giving me?”

“Ten bucks.”

“To ride a mile on a skateboard, how about twenty?”

“How about fifteen?”

“Okay.”

“I'll make a list.”

Allen opened one of his notebooks and ripped out a sheet ofpaper. He grabbed a pen and made a list. On the list was a two-liter bottle ofCoke, a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, aspirin, and a couple bottles of water. Hereached into his pocket, grabbed his money clip, and counted out fifteendollars, plus another fifteen for the items on the list. He handed Jacob themoney and the list.

“Is that too many items?” Allen asked.

“No,” Jacob replied. “My mom's driving over there in a fewminutes anyway, I'll just ride over with her.”

“I thought you were riding your skateboard.”

“No, I just wanted you to fork over the fifteen bucks.”

“Now I'm glad I called you Leno's daughter.”

“And I'm glad I called you a dick, so we're even.” Jacobturned and walked away.

Allen shut the door. “Kinda surprised he didn't make me paya ransom for ya, Frankie.”

Frankie jumped up on the bed and laid down. Allen sat downbeside him.

“How long were you out there, pal?” Allen scratched thedog's head. “Sorry about that.” He glanced over at the bottle of tequila on thenightstand, and then at the empty rum bottle on the floor. “That was supposedto last the whole two weeks—one bottle per week. Now I have to make one bottlelast for the rest of the time I'm here.”

Allen did the math in his head. Let's see, that'sseventeen shots in a bottle. He went to the sink and plugged in the coffeepot. I've got thirteen days left. In a wicker basket he found twofiltered coffee pouches—one regular, and one decaf. That's two drinks on theweekends, and one drink on the weekdays. He tore open the regular packageand placed it in the filter tray. Rationing sucks. He filled the fourserving coffee pot with water, dumped it into the back of the coffee maker, andhit the power button. A minute later water was running through the filter intothe pot, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the room. Allen took a deepbreath. If I don't drink today, I can have two tomorrow.

In the bathroom, Allen brushed his teeth and splashed coldwater on his face and through his short, dirty blond hair. He stared into themirror.

Red, white, and blue eyes, he thought.

He splashed a few more handfuls of cold water on his faceand the back of his neck. He returned to the bedroom, changed his clothes, andpoured himself a cup of coffee.

He carried the coffee to the table and set it next to hislaptop.

I can't write with a headache like this. “Shall wewalk down to the seawall, Frankie?”

Frankie leapt off the bed and ran to the door.

“Movin' a little quicker today, dog. This place just takesome gettin' used to? I'll tell ya what, I'll bring the leash, but I won't putit on you unless you start chasing those birds. We got a deal?” Frankie waggedhis tail. “A wag is as good as a wink to a hungover writer.”

Allen picked up his coffee mug and grabbed his cell phoneoff the nightstand, and together he and Frankie walked downstairs and acrossthe parking lot.

“Looks like I missed the sunrise, Frankie.” Allen reachedinto the pocket of his shorts and took out his cell phone. “What time was thesunrise this morning?” he asked the phone.

Today, the sun rose at 5:58 a.m.

“Missed it by a long shot. What time does the sunrisetomorrow?”

Tomorrow, the sun will rise at 6:00 a.m.

“What's the weather tomorrow?”

Tomorrow’s forecast for York Beach is 87 and partlysunny.

Allen slid the cell back into his pocket. “I'll have to setmy alarm so we