Page 23 of Brimstone Hollow

“YOU JUST NOW GETTINGin?” Hollis says as I enter the motel lobby.

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes at me and says, “I got up this morning and saw that Datsun of yours wasn’t in the lot. You spend the whole night on stakeout or something?”

I let out a surprised, ironic laugh, and approach the desk. Hollis’s ever-present cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth and an old PI novel lies open and face down on the desk. I recognize the cover and smile at the half-remembered story. A bombing, a stakeout, a deadly confrontation against the backdrop of the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. I realize Hollis is hoping for the same exciting shenanigans from me.

“No,” I tell him. “I wrecked my car last night.”

“What’d you go and do that for?” he says, almost shouting and obviously both affronted and disappointed. He scowls, flicks his cigarette.

“I’m going to have someone come and check her out today.”

“Is she real bad off?” he asks.

I nod and bite my bottom lip to try and keep my chin from quivering.

“Damn,” he says, his shoulders slumping in shared remorse. “You want some coffee?”

“Yes.”

He goes through a side door and there’s some rattling around before he returns with two fresh, steaming cups. He hands me one and I inhale the strong scent of grocery store coffee. The brew is double strong and exactly what I need.

“You know anyone with a black Ford F-150?” I ask him.

“Sure,” he says. “’Bout half the town.”

“I’m gonna need to get around. Anyone in town drive a ride share?”

“No such luck,” Hollis says. “This is not exactly a hot spot for Uber.”

He lights a new cigarette off his old one, takes a deep inhale, and says, “There’s a guy drives a taxi for all the folks lost their license to a DUI. But I wouldn’t ride with him.”

“Why not?”

“Man’s always drunk.” Hollis chuckles, his skinny shoulders bouncing, and I let out a groan.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I got an old Bronco out back I don’t hardly drive since I bought the new one. Held on to her for years. My ex used to threaten to push it into the Hell Hole. Said it was junking up the yard.”

“The Hell Hole in Brimstone Hollow?” I ask. “The one you mentioned yesterday?

“Sure. Folks say it’s a bottomless pit so they’re always throwing shit in there. Anyway, I ended up keeping the car and getting rid of the wife. She ain’t much—the Bronco, I mean—but she runs and she’ll get you around town.”

“Seriously?” I say. “I’d be happy to rent it from you while I’m here.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. He digs down into his pocket and pulls out a ring so crowded with keys that there are extra rings holding all of them. He sniffs as he fingers through them and then finds the old silver key and says, “When you see her, you won’t wonder why I ain’t charging you.”

He wrangles the key loose and puts it in my hand.

“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

“Gas her up when you’re done,” he says as I start to leave. “Anddon’twreck her.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say.

Before I’m even out the door, he’s back to his book.