Nathan's Clan of Deadheads Page 4

  The question nagged at him during the almost one-mile walk to his truck. What caused this sudden unusual attraction? It seemed a lot of strange things had come over Nathan since he’d taken on this new self. The only explanation could be the assertion of Chris’ personality but, from Nathan’s perspective, it was more deeply rooted than id alone. He found respite from the debate as he stopped to inspect the repairs they’d completed on the footbridge. As he continued onward, the issue resurfaced.

  He stopped at the edge of the parking area to relieve himself before heading out on such a long trip. He stuffed things back in and buttoned up, adjusting for comfort. Crawling into the cab of the truck, he adjusted again. Though it had become second nature by now, the need to do so still confounded him. Yet he felt an ego boost in the task; particularly within plain sight of the men of the compound, which he found stranger yet.

  In a snap decision, he shrugged it all off; there would be time enough to sort those things out when he arrived in Cincinnati to see the Great American Ballpark stadium that housed the Baseball Hall of Fame. He might even pay a visit to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center. Right now he needed to concentrate on getting there. He double-checked the wad of cash in the pocket of his jacket, moved the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, pushed the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, and drove off.

  Chapter 7

  Nathan’s drive to Cincinnati took longer than he’d expected. Traffic snarled to a halt on the I-64 a ways outside of Lexington, Kentucky. Inching toward an exit, he about made up his mind to get off and spend the entire winter. Surfing through the offerings of the city on his cell phone changed his mind about that in a hurry; there just wouldn’t be enough happening for him. Plus, the remainder of the trip would only take another ninety minutes or so once traffic cleared. A car horn blared from behind, and he looked ahead to see things had begun to move again. He bit down on his toothpick, dropped the phone onto the bench seat, and hit the gas.

  As he did that, his vision glanced to the rearview mirror and he lifted a hand of thanks to acknowledge the car behind him. That’s when he saw them; a fairly transparent couple in the bed of his pick-up, shifting to put their backs against the cab to avoid the draft of wind as the truck gained speed.

  Rapping his knuckles on the glass behind the seat, Nathan motioned them to join him up front. “You may as well be comfortable,” he said when the man began to crawl in.

  “I’ll be damned. Ya’ll really could see us.” The man turned and pushed his face through the back again. “Come on up, Nadeen.”

  Nathan grinned. “Who else would I be talking to?”

  “And you can hear, too. Well, now, I wasn’t quite sure, you know. You got to allow it’s rare.”

  “I will. Name’s Nathan. Where’re ya’ll headed?”

  “I’m Wayne. This here’s Nadeen.” He jutted a thumb toward her as she settled into a spot between the men. “Not going nowheres special. Just out for a spin, really. It’s something we like to do from time to time to break the monotony.”

  Peripheral vision enabled Nathan to catch Nadeen staring at him and he turned a broad smile toward her. “It’s okay darlin’, I won’t bite.”

  Wayne let out a guffaw. “Wouldn’t get much if ya did!”

  Nadeen shifted closer to her friend. “So, how is it you’re able to…you know…”

  “Just can, I guess,” Nathan lied. “Could for years.” He flipped his blinker light on and changed lanes where the highway merged to I-75 and headed north.

  “You from around these parts?” Wayne asked.

  “West Virginia. Got a place out in the boondocks. Guess that’s why I invited you two up to ride with me. Get’s kinda lonely traveling alone, you know?”

  “You’re a ways away from home, ain’t ya?”

  “That I am, Nadeen. For the same reason, I guess. Every once in a while a man’s gotta find some excitement.” Nathan flipped the blinker to the opposite direction to merge with the oncoming traffic.

  “How come you ain’t got any luggage, or nothin’?” Nadeen asked.

  Nathan glanced at her and shrugged. “Don’t need any. I can get what I need when I reach the city.”

  “Exactly how far are you goin’, if you don’t mind my askin’, that is?”

  “Well, Wayne, when I headed out this morning, I wasn’t quite sure. Then, as I plopped my butt down on the seat here, pretty sudden-like, Cincinnati popped into my mind.”

  “Never been that far north. Maybe we should go all the way with you. What you say, Nadeen? You game?”

  Nathan turned to Nadeen to find her still staring. He shifted the toothpick in his mouth and returned his attention to the road ahead. No sense in mangling a perfectly good body.

  “I think it’d be a bit of a hoot,” Wayne said. Nadeen didn’t answer. He waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Are you with me?”

  Her voice trembled when she answered. “I think we should get out up ahead.”

  “Now why’s that?” Nathan asked.

  “Just do.”

  “Aw, come on, Nadeen. Let’s do like he says and find some excitement for a change. Sure as hell ain’t nothin’ ever happening around here. Come, on, what could it hurt?” Wayne insisted.

  Nathan noticed her slide even farther away. If she got any closer, she’d be right in the guy. “I swear to you, I ain’t dangerous. Besides, let’s be honest here, darlin’, you’re already dead.” Nathan chuckled. “Shouldn’t I be the one shakin’ in his boots?”

  Nadine leaned forward, studying Nathan’s face. “Not so sure about that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Here he’s nice enough to invite us in outta the cold wind, you ought not to be givin’ Nathan a hard time.” Wayne gave her a few seconds to respond. “Now, are we goin’ or not?”

  “There’s somethin’ not quite right about you, mister.”

  The dead rarely recognized him for what he was and, though it did happen, none had ever expressed fear. There was something unnerving about the quaver in her voice, a veiled tone of threat, as if she meant to expose him to an authority somewhere. Nathan lifted his boot off the gas pedal and pulled to the side right at the exit to Newtown Pike. Self-confidence be damned, he didn’t dare take a chance of being caught overstaying his time in a borrowed body. Without turning his face toward them, he said, “I wouldn’t want to cause the lady any undue distress. It’s been mighty nice talkin’ to you, though. You stay safe, hear?”

  “Well, we thank you for the ride, don’t we?”

  The tone of Wayne’s voice as he slid from the truck told Nathan all he needed to know. He lifted a hand in a slight wave of goodbye and pulled back into traffic. In the passenger side-view mirror, he witnessed Wayne’s wild arm gestures as the man tromped down the exit ramp after Nadeen, most likely giving her what-for.

  Nathan shook his head even while he sighed with relief. The manner in which the woman had been eyeballing him meant she was trouble and he felt a twinge of sorrow for Wayne. What good could there be in being dead if you didn’t take advantage of it, and have some fun once in a while?

  Sixty-five minutes later the lights of Cincinnati beckoned him. He peered at signs looking for a nice hotel. One of the higher end chains would do. One with a nice steakhouse nearby. Then, after dinner, back to the hotel for a hot shower and a heavenly night’s sleep in a comfy bed with a really good mattress; things he’d dream about over the months on the compound.

  Not seeing anything to strike his fancy, he pulled to the break-down lane right before the freeway interchange south of the city. He picked up his cell phone, swiped to the internet app and searched. There. A five-star hotel, and within a block to the north a tavern and pub, where he bet his life—well, if he had an actual life to bet, anyway—he’d be able to get a damned good steak smothered in onions and mushrooms, a baked potato drenched in butter and sour cream; maybe he’d treat himself to a nice dessert. He patted his waistline and nodded, though in doing so he recko
ned he best find a gym to keep this body in shape. According to the map, to the south was a contemporary art center he could wander through in the morning. It looked to be a good winter.

  Chapter 8

  When the clerk asked if he needed assistance with luggage, he flashed his brightest smile hoping the small dimples would show in the soft lighting of the hotel lobby. “No, ma’am. I’ll get it on my way back in.” He leaned forward on the counter to get a better look at her. “What can you recommend about the pub up the way?”

  “Well, that would depend on what you’ve got a taste for,” she answered, handing him a card key in its paper holder.

  “A really good steak, made to order, and grilled to perfection.”

  “Then I’d suggest you stay right here in the hotel for that.”

  “Well, thank you kindly,” Nathan said, and took three steps in the direction she’d pointed before turning around. As he heard Pa say every time he’d found some new venture to invest in, “No risk, no gain.” Nathan removed the ever-present toothpick, and peered at the nametag on her jacket. “Victoria, is it? I bet it would taste a lot better if I had someone to accompany me.”

  She laughed in a light, pleasing sound before she politely turned him down.

  “Well, all right then. Can’t say I didn’t try. Though, I might come back down for a drink when your shift ends.” With the smile still firmly in place, Nathan tipped his non-existent hat and strolled off amid the sound of her soft laughter echoing through the lobby.

  The restaurant maître d’ met him with a frown of distaste but, after Nathan flashed his room key, he pulled a menu from beneath the podium. “Right this way then, sir.”

  “I do apologize for my state of dress,” Nathan said, following behind, “but it seems I arrived before my luggage.”

  Pulling a plush leather padded chair partially away from a table on the far side of the wainscoted oak-walled dining room separated from other diners, the man sniffed. “Understandable, sir. Will this seat meet with approval?”

  “Anywhere is fine,” Nathan replied, sat, accepted the proffered menu and, without looking at the man, added, “Send out a bottle of your finest Bordeaux, if you would be so kind.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The host rendered a slight bow with a smile and left.

  Not that Nathan liked doing it, he much preferred issuing gentle southern charm, but he’d learned long ago to deal with attitudes. Let them know the wallet is fat enough and noses would pert’ near scrape the floor, snobbery dissolving into sudden flattery. It irked him, but his manners remained firmly intact; an automatic reflex akin to the bible study prayers he’d learned as a child.

  He never opened the leather-bound menu. Without thought for any allergies this new body might have, he issued instructions to the waitress even as he nodded to the sommelier’s offer of the label for inspection. “I want a Porterhouse steak, one inch thick, medium. Onions and mushrooms grilled in butter—real butter, not clarified. Baked potato; butter and sour cream, no chives. Keep the vegetables.” He lifted his glass, swirling the dark red liquid, held it up to the light to see how it clung to the sides, then brought the glass to his nose and inhaled. He took a small sip and nodded.

  Nathan took his time, his every sense brought into play: the aroma wafting from the plate, the sizzle and crackle of the fat on the metal insert as the meal was presented, the steam rising from the potato; the texture of each bite, relishing each morsel of the meat, its juices flooding the taste buds of this borrowed body; the blending of butter and sour cream melting into the potato; all brought a smile of satisfaction.

  He pushed back a few inches from the table, dabbed his face with the linen napkin, and sighed with contentment. It brought to mind the image of a bobcat of his beloved West Virginia hills taking time to purr and lick its paws after consuming a fresh kill. The waitress rushed over to clear the dishes, and the sommelier refreshed his wine glass.

  If there could be one thing Nathan missed about his life, being in his own body, it would be in times like this when memories flooded his mind; recollections of retiring with the men-folk to the parlor after a meal, to sip on Cognac and smoke cigars, and discuss important matters of the day.

  The more empty the bottle of wine, the fewer thoughts of a rendezvous with the desk clerk filled his mind. He signaled for his check, charged it to his hotel room leaving a hefty tip, drained the last sip of the liquid from his glass, and left for his room.

  Up in the third floor suite, he dropped his clothes on a chair, and spent almost an hour sitting on the floor of the shower, the hot water creating a steam room effect, and dozed. After drying himself, he snuggled down under the thick blankets of the bed and slept.

  Nathan woke the next morning and stretched. He called for room service and went about his morning ablutions. The knock at his door came sooner than expected, and he pulled on the plush robe that hung on a hook in the bathroom.

  “There’s a message for you as well, Mr. Crockett,” the waiter said, transferring the order to the small table near a large window at the far end of the living room.

  “Really?” Nathan wondered aloud and reached out to accept it, “I can’t imagine,” and then he laughed as he accepted the handwritten note on hotel stationary. ‘Some Don Juan you turned out to be. Here I imagined a tryst with a brazen Lothario and I find you retired to your room without me.—Vicky.’ “Well, then, we’ll have to see about making this right.”

  The waiter stood ready to push his service cart out, hovering for a tip. Nathan went to the chair and retrieved his wallet from his jeans, peeled two twenty-dollar bills from the stack, handed them over, let the man out and lingered to watch him strut down the empty hallway to the elevator. He perused the internet on his cell phone while scarfing down the breakfast, then dressed and headed out to buy a few clothes. It wouldn’t do to wear the same thing when he met his date. And he fully intended to meet her. Despite the strange attraction and fantasies about Zakariah it had been a long, dry summer.

  Chapter 9

  Nathan approached the front desk, sans the typical toothpick, dressed in a black sports jacket, white shirt, and tight black jeans that accentuated his waist—not to mention what was packed in below it. The boots added another inch to his stature.

  Vicky’s face lit up. “Don’t you clean up nice.”

  “Well, now, I suppose for an old country boy it’ll have to do. It’s about as dressy as it gets for me.” Nathan glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her. “What’s the chance of skipping out a few minutes early?”

  Vicky turned toward an archway to a back room. “Sharon, are you ready to take over? My date’s here.” Then she smiled, winking a brown eye at Nathan. “I sure wouldn’t want this one to get away.”

  Sharon came into view and immediately halted in her tracks. “I should say not. Girl, how is it you’re always getting the good ones?” She waved her hands at Vicky, shooing her from behind the counter. “Go, go. Don’t be letting such prime beef stand idle, he’s liable to take off for better pastures.”

  “Why, thank you kindly, ma’am,” Nathan let loose with his dimpled smile and tipped his non-existent hat. This self looked to be exactly what he needed to get exactly what he was looking for. “Ya’ll are much too kind.” He turned his attention to his date. “Now, where shall we go? Drinks, dinner, or both?”

  Vicky snuggled in tight to his side as he placed a hand to the small of her back. “Let’s just go for a drink and see where it leads us.”

  “As you wish, pretty lady.”

  The walk to the pub two blocks away took less than ten minutes, and they found they had the place pretty much to themselves, if you didn’t count the people she couldn’t see but Nathan could. He chose a table nearest the bar and signaled to the bartender who stood behind the mahogany poised to take their order. “What would you like?”

  “I think a vodka with a splash of cranberry.”

  Nathan repeated her choice and added, “What do you have in
the way of top shelf whiskey?”

  “Jack Daniel’s Black Label is about the best you’ll do here.”

  Nathan nodded. “That’ll do. A double. Neat.”

  Though Vicky regaled him with small talk through two drinks, Nathan’s concern wandered to the conversation he overheard from two tables away, positioned conveniently behind his date so it appeared he paid her rapt attention. He responded with nods and a verbal “Oh, uh-huh,” often enough to avoid detection.

  “Look closer. I’m telling you, that there is not a normal guy.”

  “So what? Let him have his fun.”

  “Let him have his fun. He looks much too comfy to just be having fun. I’m telling you, he’s been in there for a while. I think we should say something.”

  “Like he’ll answer? Even if it is a deadhead in there, he can hardly talk to thin air, it’d freak her the hell out,” his friend said with an indicating nod at Vicky.

  “Wouldn’t you like a warning about this new gang of watchers or keepers or whatever the hell we’re supposed to call them? If they catch up with him, he’s a dead man.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a dead man anyway.”

  The suggested warning made Nathan’s ears perk up. He didn’t think if he slid out of the body that Chris would go anywhere. Nathan was pretty sure of that. But chances were he’d sit like a deaf-mute and that wouldn’t do either. He drained his glass and tapped it to the tabletop. Excusing himself, he pointed toward the men’s room as he walked past the two deadheads.