Bail, part 3

The check in had been easy. A weekday, technically still afternoon. The evening refugees from the highway, only a little more than one hundred yards distant, had not yet arrived. After presenting his Hilton Honors card, he decided to ask if they had a jacuzzi suite available. They did, room 313, for $145 a night. He booked it, paid and had a couple of key cards for the room inside of ten minutes. It was more than he typically would pay for one night's stay, but this wasn't a typical day. Today it was worth it.

When he returned to the lot Vic found Tammy, casually leaning against the side of the car, smoking a cigarette. She looked so... young! For just that instant Vic heard a scolding voice inside his head. You're old enough to be her father, you piece of shit! This was followed almost instantly by another voice inside his head replying, Yeah, don't care. She's an adult. When he arrived within earshot of her, he realized that wasn't a cigarette she was smoking.

"Hey! Hope ya don't mind I decided to start without ya. This shit's really loud, ya know? Didn't wanna stink up your ride."

"Yeah? That's real nice of you. Pass it over!"

They spent ten minutes out there, leaning against Vic's car and sharing that joint in a chill March wind. Vic now had some context for her meaning of the term "loud", though he was missing this property out in the open air. Just as most do not drink beer for it's taste, there are few who smoke weed for it's smell. Of course, the smell of beer is hardly an indicator for it's potency. As it had been quite some time since he'd had any, Vic was woefully unprepared for this. The strain that had been gathered that day was of a variety that some might refer to as "creep weed". After smoking three quarters Vic could feel that familiar buzz and was ready to tag out. He wouldn't become aware of how baked he was until they went inside Longnecks for their early dinner.

At ten of 5:00 the two of them entered Longnecks, not reeking, but certainly carrying a hint of the herb upon themselves. The first warning sign to Vic came the moment the entry door closed behind them. The inside of the establishment was reasonably well lit, but following the dun white skies it was like entering a cave. He felt frozen in his tracks as his eyes adjusted. Then suddenly, the panic seized him. All of his periphery was darkened and fuzzy, leaving him very concerned for whatever might be lurking there. The only thought that remained clear was that he wanted to reach the bar. There was a narrow tunnel of light, cast from the row of flat screens mounted over the bar. They just needed to follow the light for thirty feet.

There was a hostess seated at the cashier's station to their left. Marla. Vic had not seen her. Marla was thirty-something, had one of those cynical faces that said nothing would surprise her. She had instantly caught a whiff of them, bringing a smirk to one corner of her mouth. She looked them over, trying to sort out what was their deal. This is one of those valuable life lessons that one learns from being a hostess in a sports bar.  

They did present quite the pair. There was the tall, lean figure of a man who looked to be in his late forties. Salt and pepper hair, well-tailored wool jacket, grey slacks and some expensive looking shoes. Probably some kind of sales rep or insurance executive. And the girl. The girl didn't fit. A daughter? She looked young enough. She looked like she had dug her clothes out of a Salvation Army donation bin. Maybe a college student? Maybe this was some kind of neo-punk fashion statement. Marla was kind of digging the black converse. Could this be some kind of daddy-daughter smoke down date? 

"Hey, y'all. You folks want a table, or would you like to sit at the bar?"

Tammy and Marla both giggled a little when Vic jumped, he was so startled by her sudden appearance. He recovered quickly, didn't seem to notice their amusement.

"Yeah... we're just gonna... yeah, the bar's good." 

Marla just waved them on then. No reason to get up, no reason to think about them anymore. They were Paul, the bartender's problem now. They shuffled onward to the bar, where surely adult beverages and cooked vittles awaited them. Vic felt like he was wearing lead boots. It was taking a frightfully long time to cover that thirty feet. 

At last, they were there. Vic collapsed onto a stool; Tammy took the one on his right.

"Jesus, Vic... you okay? Don't stroke out on me!"

"No, no... nothing like that. What the fuck did you put in that weed?"

"I told ya it was some good shit!"

"Yeah... fair. You did. Holy shit!"

"Ya know what you need, Vic? You need a drink!"

Yes. Indeed. A drink and many more. The evening was young and there were great hills to be conquered. They began with two 24oz tall drafts. They both had a serious munch on, ordered a fifteen piece wings, a basket of smothered fries. When the food arrived there were two more tall drafts. And an order for a bacon cheeseburger.

For the next hour and a half they gorged themselves on draft beers and fried foods. A sparse crowd filtered in during that time, all taking seats at a distance from them. The closest of any were a pair of hard hat types, huddled over beer and shots at the end of the bar to their right. Tammy gave up on the drink after her second tall. Vic had four. Throw a few double bourbons into that mix. By 7:00 Vic was in the full throes of a crunk attack. At 6:00 Tammy had dropped two more 500 oxys. It is a good thing they closed the check when they did. Shortly after 7:00 they weaved their way to the exit and out into the waiting darkness.

It had grown colder out. The wind, which was coming right at their faces, had picked up, now spitting cold sleet. The frigid air was bracing, restoring just enough sobriety to arrive at the idea of going to the car to smoke another joint. It was another of those minor miracles to be found in mind altering substances; those fleeting moments of clarity only serve to remind that you still want more. They felt like they were racing to get in the car. It was more of a wobbly jog, comical to any who may have been watching. Thankfully, there were none.

They each slammed their doors shut behind them at the same time and Vic immediately started the engine. He set to the fan and temperature controls, ignored the wipers. They weren't driving anywhere.

"I'll roll us another one in a minute. I gotta warm up a little! Feel like my nips are gonna break off!"

"We sure don't want that."

"Right?"

That 6:00 dose was really kicking in now. Part of it was the cold, part of it was him. It had been a while since she had found herself this excited for a man. Part of her wanted to go for his pants and give him head right there in the car. But that's what you did with a John. Vic wasn't a John. She wanted to fuck him. 

"What kinda music ya like, Vic? Do ya like country?"

"Fucking hate it."

"Oh... I bet you're a classic rock guy, then? Am I right?"

"Yeah, I suppose you could say that. So, if I put some music on will that get you to roll that joint?"

She knew he was only teasing her and responded in kind. "Put on somethin' sexy, maybe I'll give ya a dance", she pouted seductively.

"Yeah? In the car? How you gonna do that?"

"I could show you...", she couldn't resist any longer, reaching over and placing a hand on his crotch, "... show you mine, if you show me yours." She purred over dramatically to keep it playful, but the way she was groping him through his trousers said she wasn't just playing.

"That sounds like a lot of fun, sweetheart, but we got a room for that. Last time I got laid in a car I was seventeen. Let's smoke that joint, then you go get your shower..."

She withdrew her hand with mock offense and then grinned. "You're right. I wanna get good and fucked up, then I am gonna do you right." She pulled out the bag and papers, improvising a tray out of the glove box. It was just beginning to warm up inside the car. When she finished the task, she held it up for Vic to take. "Here...got something else for ya...", as she replaced the bag and papers inside her coat, she fished another bag out, placing it in her lap. "Here, take a couple of these." She handed him two of her oxys and the rest of her Mountain Dew from earlier. "So, where ya wanna smoke that thing, Vic? "

He downed the pills without hesitation. "Gimme a light, will ya? We're gonna smoke it right here in the car. Too fuckin' cold out there!"

"Cool! You want me to crack the windows? I know you don't wanna stink up your car."

"It's okay. Doesn't matter anymore."

They did crack the windows, with the front panel heat at full force. Most of the smoke escaped, but they still managed to create quite a cloud inside the car. Tammy didn't think too much about what changed his mind, chalking it up to being so buzzed. She was feeling no pain herself. The fresh dose of the potent weed, atop the oxys and the drinks, was leaving her tingling all over. All she could think about was getting out of these clothes and into a hot shower. She wanted to be nice and clean for him. 

They smoked two thirds of it, until Vic had a coughing fit. It was enough, he tagged out. Both of them having achieved their stated desire to get really fucked up, they then hastened indoors, to the elevator and to the warmth of room 313 beyond. Left out of the elevator, three quarters of the way down the hall, on the left. Right where the desk said it would be. He took the key cards from his jacket pocket, handed one to Tammy, and then fumbled with the other until the familiar click opened the door. He pushed the door open and bid her to enter.

Vic stepped in right behind her and hit the wall switch on his right. It was as big a reveal to him as it was for Tammy. He hadn't taken the time to check the room earlier. In his intoxicated state he was only vaguely aware that maybe he should have, but all turned out well. The entrance was a very short hallway, with an alcove closet to the right and a full-length mirror opposite. The hall continued for ten feet, until reaching an archway that framed the room beyond. It was standard fare for a Hampton, variations on a theme of taupe, clean, well furnished.  

Tammy passed through the arch and turned to her right, then gasped in shock. After a very short wall the space opened up into the jacuzzi suite. It was a cool, blue tile throughout with a bank of mirrors, a glass doored shower and a whirlpool tub set into the floor. A toilet and sink were partitioned off in one corner with a door. Otherwise, the space was open, looking over a king with plush bedding.

"Oh! Fuck yeah! I'm havin' a bath! This is awesome, Vic!"

Vic followed her and watched on as she rushed to start the bath. It was pretty nice. Better than he'd have expected for Richwood, Kentucky. He'd been surprised they even had such a suite. This one was actually one of two on site.

He'd grabbed a gym bag from the back seat of the car, slung over his left shoulder. He unloaded it, dropping it casually on the bed, and then sat down next to it. The tap was roaring, echoing off of the tile as steam began to rise. Tammy was saying something, but he couldn't make out what it was over the water. She continued testing the water, adjusting the knobs until having it just right. Vic leaned back on the bed, drunk, stoned as fuck and now the oxys were starting to kick in.

Once she'd found the right balance of temperature, Tammy arose to stand over the tub, watching it fill. As the steam gathered, she began to methodically disrobe, keeping her back to him. He knew she was teasing him and he was enjoying the show. Stripped down to the waist she still appeared to be a very small-framed girl. Her back was creamy white skin, without a single blemish. Unlike most young women of the day, there was hardly any ink on her. She had a small, red rose tattoo on her right shoulder. Unencumbered of any top, her wiry mane spilled freely across her slender neck. When she slowly unpeeled her jeans, it was clear this was no girl, but indeed a woman. Her hips were broad and limber, her ass full and firm. Before even seeing the front of her, Vic could tell that she had given birth. At least once. She hadn't made any mention of children and he never asked.

She continued to tease, keeping her back turned to him as she stepped into the tub. He noticed one other tattoo, on her left hip. It was black, maybe a gothic script. It looked like it might be a name, but he didn't get a clear look at it before she melted into the water. She gave out a deep sigh of satisfaction as she swirled about in the tub, finding the right spot to recline before turning on the jets. She had a direct view to Vic over on that bed. Most guys would already have their pants off by now.

"Hey! Whatcha doin' over there? Plenty of room in this bath! Get your clothes off and bring that cock over here!"

Vic could not decline that invitation. Though he could barely stand up, he managed to strip bare in two steps and strut proudly into the bath with a full hard on. For the better part of the next two hours, he proceeded to defile her from head to toe. They started in the tub, moved to the bed and back again. They drained the water and dried... and continued on the bed. She straddled him, grinding against him until she had come at least six more times. She was raw. Spent. 

Vic lay upon his back with her curled up on his right side, her backside pressed against him. He examined the tattoo on her hip more closely.

"What does that say, that tattoo on your hip? Is that a name?"

"No. Just a word. Bail."

He absorbed this in silence. So fucked up. Had to wonder what it meant but could barely form the question. After several minutes it came to him in the fog.

"What... what is that? I mean... what does it mean?"

"Okay, so it's kinda like... it's like this philosophy in a word. Somethin' I got from an old boyfriend. It's like... like it's okay to fuck up, right? No matter what you do, shit will always fuck up, so stop trying so hard for other people. Accept the consequences of being who you are, just "bail" on everything else."

"Whoa! That's some deep shit. Sounds like Bukowski. So, do you believe that?"

"I don't know any more. I must have believed once. I got talked into the tattoo, right?"

Vic was nodding off, thinking. Bail. Accept the consequences of being who you are. It was completely relatable.

Vic never did decide which direction he was going to go. He didn't have to. When this day had started, he only knew he was headed south. Maybe Texas, maybe Florida. He was looking for signs along the way to tell him which.

He had taken four grand out of the bank, what he reckoned was enough for two weeks. If the docs were right, he wouldn't need any more than that. Vic was on a mission to find a good place to die.

When he was first diagnosed, it was already considered that it was likely too late. The tumor had to be classified as inoperable. It wrapped about the spine, assuring that any attempt at surgery would at best result in total paralysis. There were some "hail Mary" options with radiation and chemo, but the only thing these could guarantee were a foreseeable future of nausea and vomiting unto death. If he did nothing? Maybe a couple of weeks. He decided those two weeks were going to be his. All his. Not answering to anyone again, just walking silently into the void.

Sometime in the night Vic just stopped breathing. Tammy had drifted in and out of a slumber, never coming fully awake. She didn't notice that he had not moved until about 3:00AM, when she had to get up to pee. When she returned to the bed, he looked very tempting to her. She decided that she'd try to arouse another round, but very quickly found that something was wrong. He had begun to go cold. At the instant she realized what had happened, she uttered a reflexive "Oh fuck!"

The adrenaline rush of panic is ten times more sobering than any cold air. Tammy had no idea that Vic had been ill in any way. Her thoughts immediately leaped to the frightening conclusion that the oxys, combined with the liquor, had caused his heart to stop. She'd heard of shit like that happening. They were pills that he had got from her, pills that she had without a prescription. Oh fuck, oh fuck! Her heart was pounding. She had rapidly convinced herself to get the fuck out of this room, out of this hotel. Maybe go to Waffle House until the rest of the world woke up.

She forced herself to slow down her breathing. Calm down. Get dressed, gather up all your shit. She hadn't really done anything wrong. She met a guy next door at dinner, came back to his room and fucked him. She had to leave; he was alive when I left. I don't know where he got any pills. I never saw any pills. 

She finished dressing, looked around the room. She would hold on to the bag. Vic couldn't use it. No sense letting the damn cops have it! She looked on the body one last time. Shame. Hell of a good fuck. As she turned away, she stepped on his jacket. It made her freeze for a minute. She could not resist. She knelt down to search inside the pockets. There was a bank envelope with nearly thirty-four hundred dollars in small bills. The cops would probably pocket it anyway. She might as well take it too. 

She couldn't look at him again. She slipped out the door quietly, instinctively looking both ways in the hall before creeping to the stairwell. Once the hall door shut behind her Tammy hustled down those flights of steps and lunged at the exit door, like she was underwater, clawing to the surface. 

Cold! Cold air. The sleet and wind had ended and there was no one on the street. Just the empty, cold night. Tammy cinched up her hood and braced herself for the walk. She could probably make it over to the Waffle House in ten minutes. Fifteen tops. 

On that day Tammy accepted the consequences of who she was. She was a whore with an opiate addiction. Sometimes even a whore is deserving of some kindness. She didn't really know who Vic was, or his story. She had paid him the only kindness she had to give. She was truly sorry that he had died. She thought that maybe, just maybe, this could be a turning point for her. But probably not. She plucked a couple more oxys from inside her coat pocket and choked them down dry. Off to the Waffle House, then. Now it was Thursday.