Throwback & Backlash by Kirk Alex

Author:Kirk Alex
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tucumcari Press
Published: 2018-06-20T00:00:00+00:00

I made it to Margie's room. She was in a stupor. She'd been drinking, too.

“I've got good news, baby. Monica kicked me out.”

We passed out in each other's arms.

Chapter 124

Sometime later that night the door to the motel room banged open and Grozewski, with Frankenstein toting a camera with a bright flashing light, burst in and snapped away. Then laughing hysterically, they left. I spent the rest of the night cradling Margie in my arms. She cried until the wee hours of the morning.

When she finally quieted down and dozed off, I washed up and bought us some breakfast in the motel's lounge. She didn't want anything to eat, just a drink. I resisted. She insisted. I gave in. She pulled away at the bourbon until it knocked her out. I spent the rest of the day taking care of her. She couldn't stop vomiting. The manager kept coming around to see if everything was okay. I told him it was.

He wanted us out of there pretty bad, especially after the Valley afternoon papers came out. The story was on the front page. We didn't get the headline treatment. Both of our pictures were on there. The article didn't come right out and say we murdered Frank Graham, it was close enough. We were ‘persons of interest.’ I guess it would have been sufficient grounds for a lawsuit if they had. They had been careful in their wording. A picture of Grozewski was also on the front page. I kept the paper from Margie for as long as I could.

The long-distance call did it. Grozewski had apparently contacted her mother. Now Rinelle, that Loony Tunes mother of hers, wanted to know if it was true: Did she kill her husband?

“Ma, how can you say that?” Margie pleaded. She sounded pretty damned convincing. Thanks to the booze. I almost believed it myself.

After the phone call Margie went to pieces all over again. I was barely holding up myself. The strain of it all was getting to me, too. It wore me down. In an effort to pick up her spirits, I reminded her that that fancy yellow Camaro of hers must’ve been ready and that we ought to go get it.

We took a cab to the dealership. The Camaro was ready. I had to admit, what a beauty it was. Shiny and impressive enough. I looked at Margie, too much of a wreck to show real interest and handed me the keys.

“I’m too depressed to drive.”

The only reason we stopped by her photographer’s to pick up the latest version of her portfolio was because I suggested it.

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