American Night- a Web Novel

A man returns home one early morning hour to find his fiancée sprawled in a pool of blood. What else could he do? He takes to the road -two-thousand three hundred and forty-seven miles- to avenge her death. Caught in the no-man's-land between loneliness and blood-lust, this wronged lover has to decide at every turn whether the road to vengeance will ever bring him back to what he's lost. Or will he become lost? -somewhere out in the American Night. All materials © SethJ 2006.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

The driver’s suspicions were correct: the hitchhiker’s arrival in Las Vegas is a return to his element. Among so many black, closely cropped heads, the hitchhiker is able to improvise and strut with the least self-awareness. He moves coolly, limb for limb, with a borrowed confidence. No one could be watching, or the whole room could set their eyes on him; it doesn’t matter.

Sure enough, there is at least one man watching. He does it with the slightest tilt of his head, yet even in this, there is a little too much interest. Smokey touches the rim of his hat with two gold-ringed fingers, and slides them as if he’s checking for dust. This could be a fatal sign, or merely a learned habit, but he won’t unlock eyes with the hitchhiker. The latter continues across the floor steadily. Sweaty suits part the way without the hitchhiker ever having to lay so much as a finger or muttering an “excuse me”. He’s close enough to see a flash of Smokey’s gold falsies as he laughs at whatever drabble one of his slow-witted hangers-on deems worthy of sharing with this dark-as-coal kingpin, but his eyes don’t leave the hitchhiker’s face, now dripping with sweat. If Smokey recognizes him, he doesn’t let on.

His lips close over the metal in his mouth, causing him to take on an intent stare. It’s not like all the other resentful looks that were thrown his way when he first entered. This one means business, and it actually has behind it the means and wherewithal to follow through on any course of action seen fit. The hitchhiker hesitates, or thinks he’s hesitated, but the insistent booming of a bass strum has led him through.

The hitchhiker gets within breathing distance, and it looks as if words are not even going to be exchanged. He supposes Smokey might rap him with the cane he is gripping up on as soon as he comes near, or maybe he has a more lethal weapon hidden on him. The smile reappears in a flash when the hitchhiker thinks he can’t possibly get any closer without provoking an altercation. So be it. At the last moment, a lanky, black hand extends out to bridge the distance.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home