Double Negative (A Jefferson Shaw Novel) by Robert Gregory Browne

Author:Robert Gregory Browne [Browne, Robert Gregory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Braun Haus Media, LLC
Published: 2021-12-13T16:00:00+00:00

36

The descriptions of Ashville hadn’t done justice to the cesspool it actually was.

Take a liberal amount of urban decay, crime, drugs, and homelessness, sprinkle it with some Texas dirt, and you might have an idea of what I saw as I drove down the main boulevard.

By comparison, Rosewater was an oasis in paradise—especially if you happened to be boarding at the Molina ranch.

As I drove, I kept checking my rearview mirror for any sign of Delgado, but I didn’t see him back there. He could have decided to hang farther back and keep his headlights off, but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t on some secret mission. I’d already told him what I was up to. And if he really wanted to know my whereabouts, all he had to do was check the GPS tracker.

I found the first of the two red light districts—home to Club de Fantasía—on a narrow street that intersected the main boulevard. I drove past the street, circled back, then parked the truck next to a shuttered used car dealership.

I sat for a moment looking out at the swarm of activity that ran for three long blocks. I didn’t know if the street was closed to traffic, but it might as well have been. Men of various makes and models were packed onto it, milling about like ants crawling over a candy bar.

The candy stood in rag-tag groups in front of several brightly lit bars—women wearing skimpy shorts and halter tops or bikinis that left little to the imagination. Some were smoking, others chewing gum, all heedless of the men around them as they talked and laughed among themselves and did nothing to beckon potential customers except stand there half naked.

Which, of course, was all it took.

There was a full range of ages among the women. Some as young as eighteen, some teetering toward their late forties. Some tall and thin and well-built, and some overweight and spilling out of their skimpy clothes. Young or old, fat or thin, they all managed to garner attention from the two peckered billy goats hovering about them.

More than once I saw young men walk up to older women, probably assuming their experience was far more important than a firm, youthful body. They could always close their eyes and think of the girl who got away or the one who could never be reached, as the woman went about her task and brought their fantasy to life.

It was all pretty pathetic if I thought about it. I was reminded of the thousands of prostitutes in Saigon, so many decades ago, and of the “hooch maids” who cleaned up our quarters and sometimes offered special services for an extra buck or two.

I won’t lie and say I never took them up on those offers. Ella had asked me if I was the perfect man, and the answer is no. I did things during the war that I’m not proud of, but the rules seemed far less important back then, when you knew each day on earth could be your last.

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