The Ostinato Trilogy

Breakfast.

Breakfast.

Opening the door, he caught the muted bell being held in place with duct tape. It dawned on him that the bell stood as a metaphor for this town, held together with duct tape. Or still half drunk and blood sugar too low, he was thinking all kinds of weird crap. He scratched his scruffy cheeks, trying to remember the last time he slept, or showered. That would be the next order of business after some much-needed tuck.

Determined not to run and hide, he sat at the bar. Staring Junior straight in the eye, he ordered, “Bangers and mash,” an afterthought, “please.”

Junior merely raised an eyebrow, handed him a menu, and moved down the bar to begin mixing some concoction.

He scanned over the choices. It seemed in Texas there was something close to what he would call a proper English Breakfast. Called ‘A Heart Attack on a Platter,’ it included sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, fried green tomatoes, toast with butter, Bar-b-que beans, and hash browns. He decided he was more than a little hungry.

Junior surveyed Trevor’s skinny frame and handed him a glass, filled with what appeared to be blood, but which he soon found was a hotter-than-hell, high-octane Bloody Mary. Junior chuckled a little as he waited for Trevor’s reaction, which was muted considering he loved Indian food: the hotter, the better. Whether meant as a joke or hazing or a test, Junior seemed satisfied and left to start preparing Trevor’s meal.

Once Junior left, Trevor gave the slightest shiver as the strength and heat of the drink seeped into his body, like a hot knife through butter. By the time the first of his breakfast was arriving, he was feeling almost human, and the events of the early morning hours quickly faded into memory.

While eating, using his own code, he jotted down the plan for the events of the upcoming days on a napkin. Grunting approval, he shoveled in the food. During one of the passes, Junior set a cup of black coffee in front of him then went back to work. Trevor gave a quick, “Thanks, mate,” around a half-chewed piece of sausage.

Finishing breakfast, he had the notion some gravy would’ve gone well with it. “That was one of the best English Breakfasts I have ever had. What do I owe you?”

Junior slid him the check, took his money and the tip. As Trevor was leaving, he could hear Junior starting to clear up after the meal.

Watching him cross the road, you would’ve thought he was Montgomery marching through Tunisia. A man on a mission, and the first step on that mission was to rouse Cuff and Link then partake in a blistering hot shower.

Bounding up the stairs, Trevor burst into the shared room. Displaying more energy than he should have, he walked in on Cuff and Link sharing a queen size bed, cuddling in their sleep.

The sound startled them out of their slumber. Cuff, visible from the door, expressed shock and embarrassment. Ignoring the two, he walked by his unslept-in bed and headed for the bathroom, talking as he stripped. “You two up and at ‘em. I have a plan for the day, and I need you ready to work as soon as the bank and town hall opens.”

Cuff and Link looked at one another, both contemplating the unused bed. There was, after all, only one bathroom. Trevor continued to talk around his toothbrush, giving a garbled rendition of his plan.

“Cuff, you go to town hall, research any properties close to town: the larger, the better. Also, check out some of these empty buildings, find out the owners and if they are listed. Link, head to the bank. Check that our money has cleared and open an account. See if you can find a list of the bank properties for sale. It will take longer than a cash sale, but we might need to go that way.”

While shaving, he added, “I’ll see if I can find us an empty storefront and check on the package.” He started singing in the shower, and the two bodyguards closed the door to help drown out the sound.

Shortly, the door was thrown open with steam pouring out of the bathroom. Towel encased, Trevor moved to dress. One by one, Cuff and Link made their way to the bathroom.

Trevor selected a rather dapper, fashionable dark blue sharkskin suit. He was sure to stand out like a porcupine in a nudist colony. West Texas was never going to be the same.