Oildale, California, a rut of a city just north of Bakersfield. The dive was the type of establishment seen only in cut-rate, small town-based films from the 40s: the regulars at the counter, two local sheriff deputies in an adjacent booth, and a woman with a bouffant hairdo pouring coffee with a cigarette in her mouth, its ashes stacked and accumulating at the end yet not falling off. A tired girl with chipped fingernail polish was bussing tables; four old folks read sections of a single newspaper; and, Hank Williams howled a song about a “lonesome whistle” blowing.
It pays first, however, to explain how we arrived in such a stale dwelling in Oildale. This will help to validate my approaching frustration…short and sweet:
For kicks, my brother Frank and I Stole a 4-door 1950 Mercury sedan in Sedona, Arizona… hopped the 17 North… got pulled over just before Flagstaff… told the blue-suite that “our Ma passed away this morning and we’re only try’na pick up time heading up to Winslow”… lied… got out of the speeding ticket… hooked a left on 66 to the 40… got arrested near Goose Lake for “creating a nuisance” and public intoxication… paid out $25 bail each… got our wallets, pocket knives, and the keys to “our” car back from the desk sergeant… crossed into California… broke down past Newberry Springs… nearly died of dehydration walking highway 40 seven miles to Barstow… found an ignition coil for the car… got a dairy truck to give us a ride back to the car… had the truck driver jump us on account of Frank leaving the parking lights on… fixed “our” Mercury… turned the Merc onto the 58 West… saw nothing through the Mojave except for oddballs who find it quaint to set-up house there… pissed on a dead armadillo by Tehachapi… grabbed the 99 North in Bakersfield… got lost crossing the river… Became hungry, tired, and fed up with the Arizona and the California desert………………….AND ended up in sorry ole’ Oildale.
“Got a light mister?” Frank says to one of the blue-suits seated in the cracked, grey metallic vinyl booth.
The pork eyed Frank and I up-and-down then pulled out the paper napkin that was tucked into his shirt collar and huffed as he straightened his legs out and reached into his trouser pockets for his lighter. The two cops sized Frank and I up as Frank lit his Lucky Strike. He returned the lighter back to the cop.
“Y’all have a nice day.” Frank said, issuing a feeble soldier-like salute. “Let’s sit in the back and figure out this car situation n’all.” He said to me.
The old folks scowled at us over the top edges of their newspapers. I lifted my eyebrows at them. We skinnied past the gal bussing the tables and slid into the farthest back booth. Frank pushed himself up against the window so he’d be protected by the booth walls; I sat in the middle. He pulled a straw from the cup at the end of the booth and fretfully tapped it on the metallic flake table.
“Now Jimmy-boy, this here’s a one honky town! Prolly built and managed by fruit-pickin’ Okies round 20 years ago! I ‘m not so sure about Okies Jimmy-boy… they seem T’be an untrustworthy lot, I tell ya. See the way them old coots stuck their noses up at me? If’n them swine weren’t feeding right there I would’ve said something for sure!” Frank claimed, slamming his fist on the table.
Frank leaned to his right to shoot a glance at the cops and old folks. One apparently caught his eye as he jolted back against the wall once again.
“Jesus-goddamn fruitcakes ‘round here!” Frank said, still eyeing the old folks, “Okay, here’s the plan Jimmy-boy: One, we need to get us some quick cash, and I aint runnin’ a shovel if you get me! Two, we need to ditch that ole’ Merc…. I love that car, but it’s gonna catch us up! We need to lift us a sweet ‘lil shoebox Ford and head up North toward Frisco or Sacramento and then on up, right?” Frank asked leaning in at me from over the table. Unannounced to Frank, however, was the bus girl standing at the booth’s end.
“Can I, um, Can I get you boys something? Soda? Coffee? …..A Ford Coupe perchance?” The girl asked with a sideways grin.
Frank and I froze in our seats. With the blue-suites only spittin’ distance away, I figured we were cooked for sure.
“Hey’ya cutie,” says Frank, “I’ll - I’ll have a nice warm cup of coffee and my brother Jimmy here, he’ll take one too. A ‘lil cream for the both of us, and uh, we was only funnin’around with the line about the Ford n’all!” Said Frank, adjusting his collar as smooth as butter.
“Is that right? Is that brand new Mercury outside yours then?” The girl mockingly asked us looking over the booth and out the window to where the shiny four-door sat with Arizona plates is full display. “’cause, you boys don’t quite fit the car… if you’re catching what I’m throwing?” The girl crossed her arms and stood up straight, never taking her eyes off the Mercury.
She was a good-looking gal, not striking by a long shot, but attractive nevertheless. She was skinny with trim arms and neck and stood about my height: 6’ give or take. Her dishwater-dark blond hair was tied-back loose with a navy blue ribbon, and she had big, beautiful hazel eyes sitting atop subtle grey early-morning-shift bags. A white lace-fringe diner apron concealed her up-to-date but tatty navy blue skirt and red v-neck sweater with white undershirt. A real “girl next door” look, but a gal I’d like living next to me!
“Now listen here,” says Frank, “did those tired ole’ cops send you over here to give us the business or are trying…”
“Who? Them two? Hell, the most they’ve done in the last six months is nail up a couple sets of new speed limit signs the State send on down to ‘um. No, I’m not giving you the business at all. I’ll be right back with those coffees, and unless you boys tells me the skinny on your plans to get some ‘quick cash’ and borrow a car outta’ Oildale, I may just have to ask the courageous crime-fighters over for a chat. Be back with those coffees in a second.”
The girl, clearly onto our game, strutted from the table like she just won four full games of blackjack. The luck! We busted out of a real tight one in Goose Lake only to get caught-up by a squeaky ‘lil tramp in Oildale! And, all on account of…..
“Hey! Don’t look at me like THAT!” Frank yell-whispered, “YOU, you should’a kicked me under the table when she was walkin’ up you rat, but no! You just sit there listening and allowed her to drop right in like a crackly ‘ole upstairs telephone line! Christ-all-mighty Jimmy-boy, we’re in something deep and smelly here.” Frank crossed his arms on the table and dropped his head down on them. “Let’s make like a tree and get the hell out of dodge!” I agreed.
Frank and I started to slide out of the booth and stood up only to see the girl walking up with the tray of coffees and cream.
“Is that right?” She asked, chomping on a piece of bubble gum with one hand on her hip, “You know, I started to kinda second guess my, uh, allegations for a second – figured I come out and apologize in fact – but your quick-movin’ feet tell me something’s in the air! Sit down. Name’s Constance, but seeing as we’re about to be close acquaintances, you can call be Connie.”
To Be Continued……
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