Roxi's Mountain

Once out on the street, Lewis says, “I think we should pay miss Purdy a visit.” O’Malley calls for a ride, and within minutes, the two board a cab. “Where to?”

“420 Cranberry Road.”

“Oh. Hold on. I got to call this in.” Phone in hand, fingers start tapping out numbers. “Yeah, I got two wanting me to drive them out to miss Purdy’s.” Eyes dart to the rearview mirror, “I can take you as far as the mailbox. The rest of the way is on you.”

“Why is that?”

“Bossman didn’t say. So, what’s it going to be?”

“Take us there. And this is for your troubles.”

Two crisp bills is all it takes, and once they are beyond the signal lights and all of the four way stops, eventually the cab turns onto Cranberry Road. Of the few house there are, most, if not all have wood split and stacked close by. Seeing this brings on having a woven blanket wrapped around shoulders while wiping away the fog from the window glass. Of reaching for that book on the shelf before cozying up in that easy chair next to a lit potbellied stove. Casually giving Lewis a glance before looking ahead through the windshield, the cab driver flicks his eyes to the rearview. “Another mile to go.” “Alright. Thanks again for running us out here.” “If it was on me, I’d take you on in.” Eyes unwavering in the rearview mirror, O’Malley sees the rage hidden behind thin walls. “It’s okay. We’ll manage.” After saying this, O’Malley gives Lewis another glance and plain to see is that she’s talking to him. What she is saying is what he wants to know and as the cab begins to slow, looking to where they are at, there is no missing the oversized mailbox stenciled with the numbers, 420.