Free Phoenix Fire by Billy Chitwood Page B

I'd like to think that it's a lot more than that, like maybe a monument to Grandma Myrena and Grandpa John, something with my signature on it, something that I can leave for posterity. It better be a lot of things! It's going to take just about all that I own before it's finished.”
    Jason was coming to his exit off Interstate 10 as he turned on his directional light and glanced again at Jenny. “You will see soon, Jenny Anne.”
    She giggled, like a schoolgirl. “I really never liked anyone calling me Jenny Anne – sounded so 'hill-billyish.' But I like you saying it. Oh, I'm so excited, Jason. Thank you for sharing your beautiful dream with me, for all the beautiful words you've spoken.” She gently touched his shoulder and allowed her hand to linger there.
    “You're welcome. It has not been shared with many people.”
    He took her hand and brought it to his lips, touched it with a feathery kiss.
    “Oh, by the way,” he added, with a schoolboy grin, “you give me a great deal of pleasure as well, Jenny Anne. After we see 'Apple Brown Betty' maybe you can do some talking, like, what gives you pleasure and what you want out of life. Seems only fair.”
    Jason exited the freeway, made a few turns, and headed toward a distant mountain. A huge dust devil seemed to be leading their way a hundred yards ahead and to their right.

Chapter Ten
    Danzetti smiled a crooked smile as he accepted the cash from Carlton Prince. Meticulously and slowly he counted the bills and checked the denominations.
    “It's all there, Danzetti, dammit! Please take it and go. It is not comfortable meeting you here.”
    Danzetti paused briefly to cock his eyebrow toward Carlton and smile a menacing smile. Finally, he completed his counting.
    They stood in the carpeted area just outside the men's room of the Beefeater's Restaurant. They were much too exposed for Carlton Prince. He wanted the short, squat, darkly sinister man to be out of his sight. Danzetti looked for all the world like the stereotypical thug Carlton remembered from movies and books. Carlton could not leave because Danzetti was blocking his way. Carlton was cornered between the cigarette machine and the joining juncture of walls.
    Enjoying the drama, the slow and methodical motion of his action, Danzetti pocketed the money. Someone was just emerging from the men's room. Without any words and with crab-like movement, Danzetti turned to his left and allowed Carlton his access for exiting. A sneer was pasted on his ugly acne scarred face.
    Carlton went straight to the bar and ordered a Manhattan on the rocks. He would not leave the restaurant until he was sure that Danzetti had gone. He sighed into his highball glass. Finally, it was over. He would not get himself into this mess again. There would be no more dealings with Lupo and the likes of Danzetti. He saw from the large back bar mirror the image of Danzetti moving toward the front door of the restaurant.
    Carlton gulped down his Manhattan in two swallows and ordered another. Danzetti was gone. The bastard!
    Carlton began to relax. The sweat on his palms and in the pits under his arms began to dissipate. A second Manhattan helped considerably in the relaxation process. He decided that he should have a third, one for the road, as they say.
    Yes, the ugly business was over. How had he allowed himself to get so absorbed in such a sordid world of thugs?
    The answer, he thought, was easy. Gambling! He liked to gamble, and, who controlled gambling? Crooks, gangsters, thugs. He must have known this going in. He was not a naive bumpkin and an easy mark. Or, was he? Of course, he was not.
    It had all started innocently enough. Yes, of course, he thought, 'innocently!' Hell, he had dropped twenty thousand dollars the first shot. That was not too damned innocent, thank you very much. But, then, he had come back, and, wow! Fairly big, he had won. For a while, he had won, a very short 'while.'
    He sat on the bar stool, thinking. Who had