I dinged the bell. Then I dinged the bell again. Some Cracker Jack with droopy eyes and soiled hair stepped behind the counter and I spat. “Who runs this shithole?” I ask.
“Sir?”
“I said who runs this shithole?”
The Man Behind the Desk leaned his head back and glared at me from down his nose. “Better watch who you’re speaking to in these parts, mister.”
I spat again. “I’m the one you should watch, pal.”
The Man lowered his glance and swallowed hard. “You mean you’re…”
“Say my name.”
He froze in place then blinked. “You’re Beau Montana,” he said.
“You’re goddamn right.”
His hands trembled. He ran his fingers through his matted hair and reached for a keycard. “My apologies sir. I wasn’t expecting you this early.” I took the keycard and spat on the desk. I said nothing more to him.
I strolled down the shitstank corridor and found the elevator broken. After climbing the steps to the second floor, I used the keycard to unlock my room and stepped inside. The toilet was clogged. Bed unmade. Injection needles littered the floor. The room was exactly as I expected it to be. I took a quarter and unscrewed the air vent and stuffed the fifteen grand of hard US currency into it. Then I looked myself once over through the shattered mirror and sauntered back into the Arizona sun.
Under the wretched heat, I found a Preacher man yelling obscenities into traffic. He seemed approachable enough. So I tapped him on the shoulder. “Cigarillo?” I ask the Preacher.
“American. I speak American,” he said.
“Then could you spare a poor fellow like me a cigarette?”
“Of course,” said the Preacher. “But in exchange, I must profess the word of god. For the saving of your very soul. This world is temporary but the word is for eternity.”
I placed the cigarette between my lips and lit the zippo. “Uh huh. And which god is that Preacher man?”
“The one true god. The god of our savior. The god of the word.”
“And where did you find him?”
“He’s been with me since the beginning. I’ve never known no other god.”
“What about Da Nang. 68?”
“Sir?”
“Was god at Da Nang? In 1968?”
“God is everywhere.”
I dropped the half smoked cigarette to the undusted ground and exhaled on the Preacher’s face. “I was there,” I told him. “I saw it with my own eyes. The napalm. The fire. The wretched screams of burning children. Even I, the devil, could never forget. And through those flames I saw all around me. I saw no god. No goodness. No sign of a heavenly reprieve. There was only the cry of the many followed by silence. Death was their only salvation. Is that your god? If so, then your god is no better than me.”
I punched the Preacher on the stomach. As he writhed on the ground and grasped for air, I reached into his smock and lifted his wallet. Inside was sixty bucks in three $20s. I took one twenty dollar bill and dropped the rest onto his chest. “I left you forty bucks,” I told him. “That’s more than what your god left those children in Da Nang. Thanks for the cigarette.”
TO BE CONTINUED…