Ride to the Rat Hole Read online

into her palm and rubbed the cat’s fur. “Kitty, kitty,” she murmured.

  “Should of ran over it when we had the chance,” Trygve said.

  “Tryg, that is exactly the negative thinking we were talking about,” Labelle said. “This helpless creature was put into our lives for a reason. Everything is for a reason. We are doing all we can to help her thrive.”

  “Like Squirrel and The Wheel here, right?” Tryg leaned over the steering wheel. “Thrive!” he yelled. He yanked the steering wheel to the right. The car drifted on to the dirt shoulder. Another yank to the left and it came back into the lane in a cloud of dust.

  “What the fuck,” Earl yelled.

  Tryg looked in the rearview mirror and laughed. "Hang on with your little claws there, Squirrel."

  Labelle dabbed more water on the failing kitten. Its ribs moved in and out and its grayish tongue hung out the side of its mouth.

  I sat as straight as I could on the seat, my leg touching Labelle’s. My hands rested on my knees. I stretched my left pinkie to within a hair’s width of her knee, as she stroked the kitten’s ears. The way we were sitting, she might have noticed, and maybe even waited for, a brush of my skin, my fingertips on her thigh, my hand between her legs. Her breath quickening, and then mounting, out of control, breathing wildly and squirming in her seat.

  I put my face to the window and fogged the glass.

  “Man, roll it down,” Tryg yelled.

  I thrust my head through the open window, into the wind, catching my breath. A sign on the road said that we were approaching Moapa Town, fifty-five miles from Las Vegas. I pulled myself back in and sat upright on the seat, my hands resting on my thighs. Labelle continued to stroke the kitten, with long sweeps down her orange, water-streaked fur, with both hands. I focused on the oasis river bed and green fields in Moapa Town, appearing out of countless square miles of mauve desert sand.

  Tryg said, “That sign there says there’s a fancy, Jack Nicklaus golf course nineteen miles up into those godforsaken mountains. That might be worth seeing. What do you think, Labelle?”

  Earl spoke from the back. “Ferris, we’re supposed to meet Hank at the Sahara for dinner.” Hank was code Earl and I had for getting out of situations.

  “We have to keep moving toward Las Vegas,” I said to Tryg. “If you guys want to drop us off, that’s okay. We can hitch another ride. No problem.”

  Labelle lifted her hand. “Let’s go on to Vegas.”

  “Good idea, Sweetheart.” Tryg pounded the steering wheel with the butt of his palm. “Then we can all go to L.A. together.”

  While Earl sat back, I watched the road ahead. Signs for Great Basin Highway, Nellis Air Force Base, and North Las Vegas appeared on the roadside.

  Tryg swiveled his head. “What you guys think of old Tricky Dick quitting?”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  Earl stayed back in his seat.

  “Richard Milhous Nixon resigned as president yesterday,” Labelle said.

  “Where you been, on the moon?” Tryg laughed.

  “We were up on the Virgin River in Zion. Before that, hitchhiking down from Canada.”

  “Thank God. That guy was a joke,” Earl said, from behind.

  “Whoa there, Squirrel. You might not have agreed with his record, but he commands some respect,” Tryg said, watching Earl through the mirror.

  “The name is Earl.”

  “You know, Squirrel, if I could have, I would have voted for Nixon. He was better than the yahoo they had running against him.”

  “No more politics.” Labelle lifted her hand off the kitten and waved it in the air.

  I thought about asking Trygve why he couldn’t vote for Richard Nixon, but glanced at a sign whizzing past that said we had entered North Las Vegas. A few miles from the Strip.

  I looked at Labelle’s arm, as she went back to fondling the cat. The light, blonde hair on her forearm touched the hair on my leg. I smelled her perfume. Her small breast was on my bicep. I took her in through my skin, and felt lightness in my lap.

  Tryg pointed to his left. “Look, Peaches, the Little Chapel of the Flowers. Right there. Below the sign that says Fun City.” He waited until she looked. “We should stop and get married. We even have Ferris Wheel and Squirrel as witnesses,” he said.

  “We’re not getting married here.” Labelle looked back down to the kitten.

  I turned to see where Tryg pointed, and looked back at Earl. His eyes and mouth were parallel dark slits.

  When I turned to the road, I saw the Sahara, and extended my finger. “There. You can drop us off. The Sahara there. That’s where we’re meeting our friend.”

  Tryg kept his eyes straight down Las Vegas Boulevard, and drove past the Sahara, without a word. Labelle watched him. “Trygve?” she said.

  “Hey!” Earl said.

  “At Walpole, I dreamed of this, when I had special times at special places with my friends,” Trygve said.

  Earl leaned up, and stretched his neck across the back of the front seat. He put his head inches from Tryg’s. “We are not your friends. Stop the car!” he shouted into Tryg’s ear.

  Tryg twitched his head to the side, as if a mosquito buzzed his ear canal. He kept driving.

  “What are you doing?” Earl screamed.

  “Take it easy, E.,” I said. “Why don’t we see what happens.”

  Tryg turned his head to the left and right, as if he were trying to pull a word out of the sea of neon signs. Labelle continued to calmly stroke the cat. For the first time since Earl and I got in the car, the kitten lifted its head and looked around.

  “Oh, lookie!” Labelle squealed. “He’s okay. Hi, Sweetie.” Squirming in her seat, Labelle rubbed her soft exultant skin against my thigh. She put her hand on my knee and squeezed. I nearly arched my back.

  I heard Earl rustling through his pack behind me. We sailed down the Boulevard, in light traffic, each of us in front quiet. In my periphery, I saw something move behind Tryg’s head. “Pull over, asshole, or I’ll split your skull like a melon,” Earl said, waving his blunt, rusted camping hatchet over Tryg’s head.

  “Man, will you shut up,” Tryg said, peering at Earl in the slit of a mirror above his head. “I can’t think. Somebody shut Squirrel up.” He continued to scan both sides of the street.

  “What are you looking for, Tryg?” Labelle said.

  “A buddy told me to look for The Rat Hole Bar. He said it has a small yellow sign. Hard to see. He said it’s the best party in Vegas.”

  “I want out, now,” Earl yelled.

  “Take it easy, Earl. Come on.” I turned in my seat and pushed my body against Labelle. I felt myself rising. “This might not be so bad.”

  “Final warning. Stop this car, or I swear to God.”

  “Earl!”

  “Hey, Squirrel. I told you to shut up. I can’t see the street. If I miss this place I'm looking for, I’m coming back there. And you do not want me back there.”

  “Tryg, Honey, please stop the car.” The sound of Labelle’s voice silenced us all. Earl sat back. I stared at Tryg, who looked at Labelle.

  “Peaches, please. We’ve drove all this way. Let’s have a little fun with these guys.”

  “Trygve, we can’t force them. These boys are not interested,” Labelle said, turning the kitten around to face her and rubbing it under its chin. “We’ll find something else.”

  I felt her pull away from me, as she leaned to take Trygve’s hand. She had said boys. She was probably younger than me. And she said we weren't interested. She never asked me.

  Tryg jerked the car to the curb and stopped. He got out and pulled the front seat forward. He unlocked the trunk and stood aside, as Earl lifted out our gear. I opened my door, and looked at Labelle, who smiled at me. I got out and the kitten jumped into my place on the seat and stretched. I pushed the door closed. Labelle put her hand over mine on the window fr
ame. “Have fun,” she said.

  “Thank you. And thank you guys for the ride.” I leaned down to see Tryg. He watched his outside mirror, to his left, and accelerated into a break in traffic.

  I walked to Earl, who sat on the curb, and stuffed his hatchet into his backpack. He yanked tight on the laces of his boots. He stood, lifted his pack, put his arms through the straps, and heaved the load on to his back. “That was fucking crazy,” he said. “Those people were crazy. That Trygve was a psycho. Trygve! For a few minutes there, I wasn’t sure we were going to make it out alive.”

  “Dude, you pulled an ax,” I said.

  “Screw you. I should have buried it in your head. What was that all about: `why don’t we see what happens, Earl” and “this might not be so bad, Earl”? That girl have her hand on your dick?”

  I turned and watched the Chevy, waiting at the red light, thirty feet away. Its pipes rumbled softly, smoke tumbling out. Labelle’s bare arm rested on the window frame, where my hand had been. Her body odor still lingered in my nose. She turned her head, looked back at me, and waved her fingers. When I turned to Earl, he was half a block down the street, his dark shape bobbing against the background of colorful, moving neon lights. I looked back at Labelle, who watched me, smiling.

  I took a step toward the car. The light changed, and the Chevy moved forward. I saw myself running after it, backpack and all, yelling, “Earl, I’ll see you at home.” I waved, as Earl kept walking. As I ran to the Chevy, the car’s taillights lit, and the passenger door swung open. I jumped in, as Labelle moved over, and Trygve