Dispensations by Randolph Thomas

Author:Randolph Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-89823-305-6
Publisher: New Rivers Press
Published: 2014-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Sure enough, we found Roxanne’s LTD at the first place we looked. Dean’s Dinner Theater, the place where, according to Art, she’d gotten shitfaced the previous year. It was a dark, windowless, gray brick establishment farther out on Route 11. Art said I wasn’t old enough to go in, and when I protested, he reminded me that I’d promised to follow orders. He left me the key and told me to play the radio. The AM-FM switch was broken, so I moved from one country AM station to another. While I waited, a number of people came and went from the restaurant, mostly older men with slicked-back hair and middle-age paunches, who were occasionally arm in arm with women in pantsuits and heavy make-up. When Art brought Roxanne out, she was leaning on him. I reached back, unlocked the door and flipped the handle up so it opened. Roxanne slumped against the seat, and Art slammed the door.

“Jesus,” Roxanne said. “What’d you bring him for?”

“I needed a wheelman I could trust. Besides, he’s a likable enough delinquent.”

Roxanne sulked in the back seat. She had on red lipstick and blue eyeliner I’d never seen her wear before. Her curly blond hair, which was usually wound back in a tight bun, dangled down the shoulders of her black dress. She looked almost sultry. It was the first time I’d ever thought about her that way, and I wondered why she didn’t try to look sexy more often.

Art glanced back at me as if he knew what I was thinking, that I did in fact have the hots for Roxanne. He smirked and reached through my window and locked Roxanne’s door.

“I’m taking Roxanne’s car,” he said. “She lives downtown, upstairs from Jame’s Shoe Repair.”

I knew the building Art meant, with the stenciled misspelling some kids had taken to calling the shame of the city, but I’d never known that people lived behind the windows on the second floor. I adjusted the seat so I could reach the wheel better. Both my parents’ cars were automatics like this one, and I felt okay once I found the headlight switch and the brake release. I followed Art across the gravel parking lot to the road. Roxanne had sunk down, and her face was lost in shadow. We were halfway back to town with nothing along the dark highway except for the taillights of Roxanne’s car and the occasional porch light, when I heard Roxanne rummaging through her purse.

“Give me a cigarette, will you?” she said. “Goddammit, I left mine in the bar.”

“They’re not menthol,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

I reached into my pocket, took out a Doral and handed it back to her. She lit up, took a long drag, and started into a coughing fit.

“Christ,” Roxanne said, “this cigarette’s stale. What is it, a hundred years old?”

She rolled down her window and flicked the Doral into the night. I watched the flame hit the road behind us, bounce and splinter.

“Piece of shit,” she said. “God, I’m dying for a decent smoke.

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