Sail Cat Road, the sequel to No Good End, continues below. It is being posted tweet-by-tweet daily on Twitter (http://twitter.com/ttaylordude). I will post each chapter here (in chronological order). Thank you for your time.
Chapter 7
Eugene shifted gears. Jolene watched chain link fences go past. The road ahead curved east along a flat industrial stretch out of Houston.
“So you find out your daddy is not who you thought he was?” said Eugene. “That probably happens a lot, to be honest with you.”
“It’s all messed up,” said Jolene. “The old man kills people for a living. Usually, though, it’s people who deserve killing. He’s picky.”
“Maybe it’s in your best interest to get along with him if you have to be around him much. Killing people is a hard way to earn a buck.
“Not for him,” she said. “Doesn’t phase him either. It’s his calling. He was born to do it. Does it calmly, like a business deal.”
Jolene did not mention her own proclivity to pull a trigger and worry about the consequences later – or not at all.
“Are you in his good graces?” asked Eugene, pulling off the road into a strip joint parking lot. Jolene looked around, judging the vehicles.
She knew how to evaluate a strip joint; the more trucks, the better the tips; the nicer the cars, the bigger the jerks.
Jolene counted 30 trucks. Good news. “Says he’s my grandfather,” she said. “I’m not scared of him as much as what’s in my DNA.”
“We choose our own path, genetics be damned, said Eugene. “This is a respectable strip joint, by the way. Mama Jean takes care of her girls.
“Mama Jean?” said Jolene. “I knew a Mama Jean back home near Andalusia, Alabama. She was mean. Ran a bar. Beer and a beating for a dollar.”
“You stay on Mama’s good side and she’ll ass-whup a deputy or a mobster for you. Don’t matter to her. Her girls are all that matters.”
“Sounds like me and her will get along just fine,” said Jolene. “I need a good mama. Never had one. But I have been in a few strip joints.”
“With Mama, you’ll have two and a half,” said Eugene. “She’s a big woman; O-line big. She could bitch slap the head off a rattle snake.”
“If you need to recoup for a while, make a little cash, get healed up, I can drop you off. Check it out. See what you think. Lay low.”
“Wish I didn’t look so messed up,” said Jolene, gazing into the fold-down mirror. “Look at this shit. Those assholes did a job on me.”
“I don’t tolerate beating woman. None whatsoever. No excuse. Mama feels the same. She will take care of you. I promise.”
“How do you know this Mama Jean so well?” asked Jolene. “You frequent this place often?” She smiled. “It gets lonely on the road, I guess.”
“It does get lonesome now and then, but Mama is my ex-wife,” said Eugene. “I know exactly what she will and won’t do.”
Twenty miles later they were there. Jolene got out of the truck and Eugene walked her to the door. Jimbo, the doorman met them.
Jimbo was short, thick, hairy, tanned and tatooless. His voice spilled out over his teeth like husked corn from a combine, raw and rural.
“Eugene, you find another stray?” said Jimbo. “This is your third this year, ain’t it? Or is it four? Damn boy, I lose track of them.”
“Only two, Jimbo,” said Eugene. “This is Jolene. Some men beat her up and tossed her at the border to die. She’s pretty tough. She lived.”
“Yeah, she did. But she won’t be working until she looks less like a boxer and more like a stripper,” said Jimbo, shaking Jolene’s hand.
“That’s Mama’s department. Just go get her and let’s take care of introductions,” said Eugene.
Jolene gripped Jimbo’s hand firmer than he figured a woman could and smiled through the damage inflicted on her. “I’ll make it just fine.”
Jimbo cocked his head in a manner that had become his trademark to those who knew him. “I believe you will, and then some,” he said.
Mama Jean walked from the back wearing a flowing dress aggravated with colorful flowers. It covered her girth, but not convincingly.
She was muscled beneath her fat and, like Eugene said, looked like an offensive lineman – wearing a wig. Her face was kind but concerned.
“Eugene, tell me you didn’t do this to this girl,” said Mama. “If you did, I’ll beat you so bad you can’t drive for a month.”
“No, I found her in that diner back in Houston,” said Eugene. “She’s got a rough story and she needs some kindness, so I brought her here.”
Jolene nodded toward the large woman in deference but not fear. She liked her already. This woman could kick some ass.
“I was joking, Eugene,” said Mama. “You ain’t the brightest bulb, but you ain’t mean either. Bring her in and let’s get her fixed.”
“She can’t work,” said Jimbo. “Look at her.”
“Shut the hell up, Jimbo,” said Mama. “Last time I checked, you weren’t running this joint. I was. And I still am. Get back out front.”
Mama’s neck sweated and her breasts were almost as large as Jolene’s body. When she walked, they rolled in waves under her tropical moo moo.
“Tell me your story, Jolene” she said. “I have to know all my girl’s stories.”
