The Jar of Nephren-Ka

Loose Ends

Vacherie, Louisiana: 2:12 AM, Monday, June 25th, 1984

The phone booth smelled of sweat and cigarettes, but I felt as if I had arrived at the promised land. After over an hour of trudging down back roads, I had finally found a little gas station with a lonely phone booth sitting off on the edge of the lot.

The station was empty, of course. Just as well, I'm sure my face looked like a pile of hamburger meat that someone had taken the wrong end of a claw hammer to. That's certainly how it felt.

I dropped a dime into the slot and waited for the dial tone to stop, then resume. Then I dialed King Cab.

"King Cab," a bored male voice answered. It wasn't Hebert, unfortunately, but I would make do.

"Oleg working?" I asked.

There was a pause. "Who's this?" the voice asked.

"Rev Parata. I'm a friend of Hubert's."

My voice sounded nasal and stuffed up, like I had a t-shirt jammed in each nostril.

The voice harrumphed. "That so?"

"It is. I'm also friends with various dead presidents," I added.

"That so?" the voice repeated, this time much more interested.

"It is. So is Oleg working?"

"He is," the voice affirmed. "Just finished a fare."

"Good. I need him to pick me up at..."

I glanced at the pay phone, looking for the address on the little white card by the coin slot."7790 LA-20 in Vacherie," I read off.

There was a whistle. "You gonna need some dead presidents for that, Oleg's gonna be tied up for two hours coming to get you."

"Listen," I said, "I'll pay the fare and add in an extra twenty dollars for each of you. Just send him."

"Hang on," the man said, and I heard the phone settle on the desk and the wheeled chair squeak its way across the room.

There was a burst of static, and then the man's voice came through, distant and indistinct. There was another burst of static a few seconds later, and more indistinct vocalizations came through, but these were distinctly Russian sounding.

The squeaking resumed, and the man picked the phone back up.

"Ok pal, you got it. Fare plus forty dollars. Oleg will be there in about an hour."

"Thanks," I said.

"Don't thank me, thank Oleg. He vouched for you, so it's his ass if you stand us up."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," I said, and that might be the most accurate words I'd ever uttered.

***

It was nearly three-thirty when Oleg's radioactive yellow cab pulled into the lot. I was sitting on the curb in front of the store's door, and I massaged my knee, then rose and approached. When I slid into the back seat, Oleg said "Where should I..." but broke off when he saw my face in the rearview. His jaw dropped.

"That bad?" I asked, trying to grin. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and almost laughed. My face was so swollen, I looked like a corpse left to float for a week that was trying to smile.

Oleg crossed himself. "Is very bad," he said. "You want hospital, yes?"

"No," I said.

"No?" Oleg repeated.