Bullet Rain Chapter 4

Every Saturday leading up to its release, I’m posting a new chapter of Bullet Rain here at the website. You can check out chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here and chapter 3 here.

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Outside the bar were parked three pickup trucks, two beaters, three motorcycles. Judging by the number of vehicles, he assumed there might be a dozen patrons inside at the most, but when he walked through the door he found double that amount, mostly men but a few women, too, sitting at tables and booths. None of them occupied the bar, where Nova headed through a fog of cigarette smoke and country music, instinctively veering toward the corner of the bar, so he could view the room with his back up against the wall.

The bartender was an older woman who had seen better days. She wore too much makeup and her hair had been bleached down to the roots. She barely acknowledged Nova at first, standing behind the bar, puffing on a cigarette, staring into space.

Finally Nova said, “Can I get a drink?”

She blinked and studied him for a long moment, before crushing her cigarette out in an ashtray sprouting used butts. She waltzed over, taking her time, still staring off into space like she would rather be anywhere else but here.

“Whatcha want?”

“Beer.”

“What kind of beer?”

“I don’t care. Just as long as it’s cold.”

She pursed her lips, studying him again, before silently grabbing a glass and filling it from one of the taps set up along the bar. Despite the Budweiser and Miller Lite neon signs buzzing in the windows, none of the taps were labeled, so Nova figured it would be a crapshoot to see what he ended up with.

The beer, when she set it down in front of him, had too much head, and the foam overflowed along the sides of the glass.

“Thanks,” Nova said. “You got a napkin, too?”

She ignored him. “You want to start a tab?”

“Sure.”

The woman started to walk away, probably to grab another cigarette, when Nova said, “Who runs the motel?”

She gave him an irritated look. “What’s that?”

“The motel. I’m looking for a room.”

“Oh yeah?” She turned to him fully, lighting herself another cigarette. “And why’s that?”

“My car broke down a couple miles from here. This time of night, I’m guessing I won’t get a hold of a mechanic until morning, so I figured I might as well get a room.”

The woman seemed to think about this for a moment before nodding. “You want a room? I can give you a room.”

“You manage the motel?”

“The motel, the diner, this bar—I manage it all. One night’s stay will cost you eighty bucks.”

“Seems pretty steep considering you have six rooms and only one of those is currently being used.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “You trying to haggle with me? Because I don’t have to rent you a room at all.”

“Eighty’s fine. Where can I get a key?”

“The keys are already inside the rooms, right on top of the pillows. But don’t expect to find any mechanic in the morning.”

“Why’s that?”

“There ain’t any. At least there ain’t any around here. The closest mechanic shop is in Townsend, the next town over, and that’s at least twelve miles. They’ll send someone out, but it might take most of the day.”

This wasn’t the news Nova wanted to hear, but he wasn’t surprised. He had passed through some towns just as small as this in the past two days, towns that barely deserved a dot on the map, so he couldn’t complain. At least he had a place to lay his head down, even though he was beginning to think the sheets might not have been washed in a while.

Laughter exploded at a booth off in the corner, a trio of beefy men pounding the tabletop.

The bartender started to drift away again, and Nova said to her, “Small town, huh?”

She sighed, turning back to him. “You seen any smaller?”

Nova shrugged and took a sip of the beer. He had expected something watered down, but it wasn’t. It was surprisingly good. He held the glass up and squinted at the amber liquid.

“What kind of beer is this?”

“Good beer,” the bartender said. “Any other questions?”

“What’s the name of this town anyway? I didn’t see any signs on the way in.”

The bartender flashed nicotine-stained teeth. “Honey, welcome to Parrot Spur.”

Bullet Rain Chapter 3

Every Saturday leading up to its release, I’m posting a new chapter of Bullet Rain here at the website. You can check out chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here. Also, my grandmother passed away yesterday. I had a chance to see her earlier in the week, and she was not doing well, so it's good to know she's in a better place. Bullet Rain will be dedicated to her memory. 

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It took him an hour before he saw the town off in the distance—a few lights in the growing darkness—and it took him another twenty minutes before those lights materialized into actual buildings. By then the sun had set and the temperature had dropped, just as Nova had known it would, and he was doubly glad he had brought along the leather jacket.

For the first mile or so he had focused on the sun-weathered macadam, trying to spot anything that might have caused two of his tires to blow, but besides a flattened can of Old Milwaukee along the side of the highway, there was nothing.

Traffic was sporadic for the most part, the first vehicle passing him a tractor-trailer. It had been coming toward him, away from town. He stuck out his thumb anyway, in the hopes the driver would stop, so Nova could use the CB radio. But the truck had just kept going—the trailer itself white with no markings on its side—and Nova had watched it receding, noting the license plate was from California.

A few other vehicles had passed him along the way—some headed west, others headed east—but by then he had no interest in hitching a ride. He would reach town soon enough.

He checked his phone every half mile, hoping for a signal. None was available. It was strange—he had been passing through most of rural America in the past two days and there had almost always been cell reception. Granted, it was usually only one or two bars, and even those weren’t reliable, but at least they had been something.

Strangely enough, as he neared town—nearly a half mile away—service was suddenly restored to his phone. Four bars, even, more than enough to make a phone call or use the Internet. He unlocked the screen, pulled up the phone application, but then realized he had nobody to call. He wasn’t a member of AAA, and even if he was he knew it didn’t matter unless there was a tow truck nearby, and if there was a tow truck nearby, then he might as well find it himself. The town looked small enough to walk from one end to the other in five minutes, so he kept walking.

Most of the town—houses and trailers—sat off on one side of the highway. On the other side was a diner and a bar, as well as a long, squat building that he realized after a moment was a motel. Behind the motel sat two dust-covered tractor-trailers.

Nova tried the diner first. The lights were on inside, but the doors were locked. A sign on the door said the diner closed at eight. He checked his watch. It was 8:15.

Inside, a middle-aged woman was wiping down the tables and counters. Another was mopping the linoleum floor. The one wiping tables noticed him, smiled and shrugged.

He went to the motel next. It appeared to have six rooms. There was only one car in the parking lot, a Volkswagen Rabbit convertible.

He couldn’t seem to find an office. All there appeared to be were the six rooms, and only one of them—occupied by the owner of the Rabbit, presumably—had lights on inside. He was half-tempted to knock on the door, inquire how one went about contacting the front desk, if such a front desk existed, but decided not to bother.

Nova headed for the bar.