A Beginning (Foolish Paradise)
Cedar Creek, Texas what a place. Buck stopped at a place called The Foolish Paradise, it's exterior made one warm in the heart by way of trailer park debauchery. Luckily a few porch chairs were warmed by the sun and partially shaded by an aluminum shed that no longer had walls and was mostly a serviceable porch. Buck went inside and I took something rusty that appeared to be a chair. The day was just getting hot and Texas heat is something to admire, if nothing but for it's humid animosity. A dilapidated 1980s Camry pulled in, a gorgeously, decrepit blonde in pajama pants and a Wal-Mart hairdo decided to join this happy affair. She looked at me and smiled with disgust, "Buenasss diat, you intende ingles?" Rage to such greetings were long in my past, "I speak english quiet well, is there something I can help you with?" "I'm looking for your friend Rolando, he's supposed to be here," she said approaching closer adjusting the tight fitting halter top that somehow seemed wrong for the adult section of Wal-Mart. The name Rolando seemed to cause a breeze and when speaking of the devil things do seem to quicken. Buck opened the side door of our porch lean-to holding two already sweating beers. Nodding at Buck, "I apologize Miss, but I don't know Rolando, but if you would care to have a drink and pass some time with my friend and I, perhaps he will show up." Calamity Jane looked at Buck, the beers, then back at me, almost curious, but not quite, "No I'll be back, tell that pendejo if he's here he better have my money." I nodded and took a swill, "Buck I believe we have come to the right place." Buck sipped his beer and leaned back in his groaning chair.
Rolando had lived in Elgin, Texas his entire life. He claimed a lot of things in his life, his parents were wealthy ex-cartel restaurant owners from Mexico, but the truth was simple a few hard working Mexicans who bought a bar in the middle of nowhere and left it to their degenerate son. Using the remainder of his substantially small inheritance he managed to set himself up as some kind of playboy looking for love. Eventually, upon one of his drunken soirees into Austin he had met someone who did not live in the city. She was the sister of someone supposedly so important it warranted the entire family being unknown. Every time he beat her it was for a very good reason. "Yes, her brothers have to know how crazy she is," a sip of whisky to wash down a soothing outloud comment to nobody.
Bastrop, Texas, Linda loved being in the country so much, but she needed city things. HEB was her place of solace she could walk around for hours and they had all sorts of youth creams, organic foods, and life giving remedies which seemed to hold the same scientific esteem as any National Enquirer edition. Today she wore heavy, dark sunglasses to cover up excessive eye makeup which failed to hide a forgotten black eye. Linda knew who, but the how was always rather fuzzy, many of her life stories had that fuzziness attached to it. A rather kind of mold that no amount of money, treatment, or brother's attempts to fix could ever rid her of. She had seen her phone and knew that a phone call had gone out, one which if she did nothing would hold terrible consequences. Rubbing her temple and creeping toward the damage, "I wonder if they have any nude face creme?" She pushed her lonely revenge cart down another aisle, on sale screaming for attention.
The old Texaco outside of Elroy, Texas had a small game animal deli, one where an old, sober psychopath could find a delicious roadkill menu. The coyote tails were something of legend, but the sales would indicate a smaller audience of appreciation. Jorge went inside and stopped basking in window unit air conditioning. "'elo George," the storekeep who was obviously a fastidious gentleman with his greasy jeans, yellow teeth, and unwashed hair, Jorge just nodded. Walking to a Coleman cooler with a paper list of the drinks and their values, Jorge grabbed a 'Mexican coke' and briefly desired to smash Gentleman John's face, but instead set it on the counter. "A man of routine, I can respect that. Coyote tails and a mexican coke 9.87 slick." Jorge placed a 20 on the counter and a small mouse buzzed in his pocket. Psychopaths with phones aren't usually a danger to anybody as long as they are locked behind high walls and the comfort of potent medication. Jorge's desires heightened and suddenly food and drink became disgust. A smile at Gentleman John and a quick, quiet exit that left John thinking. Thoughts are lost quickly on those with simple, fiscal desires, Jorge had to work.