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Gunter walked back into the motel room an hour later.  He looked frayed.

Trixie was still awake, laying on top of the bed naked in anticipation of his return.  Gunter was still suffering from the effects of the Salad Wagon at K-Bob’s.  The 32 pages he’d eaten from the file as he read it did nothing to help the situation.  In fact, the paper and butter lettuce had combined to form a substance loosely held together by the whiskey that was causing quite a bit of discomfort.  It was certainly going to require a trip to the dealership to have the ‘Deluxe-Duece Road-Rider’ serviced when he got back home.

“Thad,” Trixie whispered in her sultry voice, “I think I might be too sore for another go at it.  Could we just cuddle?”

Her request gave him the perfect way to dodge what would have been a difficult opportunity to perform.  But men like Thad Hunter didn’t cuddle.  Men like Thad Gunter were about performance, not emotional support.  Broads that craved such a thing lasted as long in his world as a snow cone in August.

“I’ve got a meeting in an hour,” Gunter said. “It’s just as well.  But I’ve got to shave and shower.  You might want to get in that fancy sable-silver Urban Commando Stockholm Syndrome Edition Sedan and get back to town before anyone sees you here in my room.”

“I don’t care who sees me.  I don’t want to leave.”  Trixie was getting clingy.  Gunter hated it when broads got clingy.  “I’ll wait for you.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.  It could be hours.  Could be days.  I’ll call you.”  Gunter began stripping off his clothes to get in the shower.

“It’s Becky, isn’t it?  Becky from the Ben Franklin?” Trixie had an edge in her voice.  “I saw the two of you at the park across from Alamo Elementary yesterday.  Don’t deny it.  Your Eldoradanental was parked right next to her Brooklane 600.”  She glanced over at the chrome Struger Super Max .387 with the mother-of-pearl grips laying  on the nightstand.  Passion can drive a dame to do stupid things.  Things she’ll regret.  And then more things after that thing that she’ll regret even more.  Gunter had seen it all before.  Especially in small towns where men like him don’t often show up.

As he stood at the end of the bed naked, they each had a decision to make.  Each made the right one.  Gunter walked towards the bathroom to shower and shave.  Once she heard the water running in the shower, Trixie quickly dressed and made her way out to the Urban Commando Sedan.  On the pillow she’d left her panties with her number written on a coupon for a free haircut.  She was hoping he’d use it.

At the Grounds for Divorce, Gunter pulled up and parked right next to Becky’s Brooklane 600.  The windows on her car were down and he could smell her perfume as he walked by.  Inside, he saw her in the booth in the back, in the corner in the dark.  Lucinda pretended she didn’t see him when he walked in, but sent Delgado over with a CMC cup and a pot of Folgers.  It was decaf, but she didn’t tell him.  “It’s time someone took the starch out of his collar,” she thought to herself.

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“You look like you didn’t get much sleep last night,” Becky said as Gunter slid into the booth.  “In fact, you look like a hammered goat turd.”

“Good morning to you, too.”  Gunter was in no mood for it.

“Was it the Salad Wagon or Trixie that took the wind out of your sails?” Becky asked.  “Either one could do it.  Both of them in one night can be fatal.”  Becky actually laughed.

“How’d you know about Trixie?”

“I’m the one who sent her over.”  Becky let that sink in for a minute.  “I figured if she satisfied whatever immoral, yet predictable urges you had, you’d leave me alone.”  Gunter took a sip of Folgers and peered at Becky.  She continued, “I know your type all too well.  And Trixie?  Well, she’s Trixie.  I knew the two of you would hit it off.”

“The Salad Wagon did a number on my lower intestinal tract.  And then, all the pages in that file I had to eat.  Not gonna lie, I only got through about half of ‘em.”  Gunter still looked a little green around the gills.

Becky almost spit out her coffee. She was laughing so hard.  “Are you effing serious?  You really ate them?”

“Those were the instructions.  Of course I did.”  Gunter was beginning to feel he’d been had.

“Damn you’re gullible.  I was just being dramatic.  I’ve got a Shred-O-Matic under the front seat of the Brookwood 600.”

Gunter raised his leg slightly and farted a paper clip.  “Enough of all that.  Give me the Cliff Notes version of what’s going on here.  I got lost in all the statistics, weather reports, population figures and other reams of bullshit in the file.  Cut to the chase.”

“Short story?” Becky said.  “Sunshine, satellites, and mirrors.”

“Okay.  Maybe I need a little more than that,” Gunter admitted.

“The Consortium is launching satellites that will rotate around the earth.  Twenty-four of them equally spaced.  One over every time zone.  They’ll be operable in six months.  Maybe less.  Each will be equipped with mirrors.  More mirrors than you probably look at in any one given day, if you can imagine that.  Thousands of them on each one.  They’ll be trained on earth, one spot in particular.”  Becky stopped talking when Delgado came over with a fresh pot of Folgers.

As he walked away, Gunter said, “And that place is Fort Stockton?”

“You’re sharper than you look.”  Becky was heartless.

“The Consortium needs a lot of land.  Hot, flat, worthless land that nobody else wants.  Land that gets sunshine most of the year.  Land that doesn’t draw a lot of attention.  They need twenty thousand acres of it.”  Becky took a sip of coffee.  “And that land surrounds Fort Stockton.

“Sounds like a real estate deal,” Gunter Said.  “That’s not what I do.”

“I’m well aware of what you do.”  Becky looked disgusted.  “Let me finish.”

“I’ve never had a woman that didn’t,” Gunter snickered.

“They’re not all as easy as Trixie.”  Becky continued, “The land is going to be covered in mirrors.  Mirrors reflecting sunlight will stretch out as far as the eye can see.”

“And all of that will be reflected up to the satellites?”  Gunter asked.

“And back down.”  Becky let that sink in a minute.  “Light and energy.  Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  On demand.  Whenever you want it.  The sunlight is reflected up to the satellites during the day, to each other as needed per season, back down to earth at night.  All around the world.  Endless supply.  Sunlight will be marketed like Chesterfields, in sizes and quantities tailored to every need.  Imagine enough actual sunlight beamed down for evening football games, or enough to grow crops year round nearly anywhere in the world.”

“Sounds novel.  Maybe game-changing,” Gunter said.  “But I still don’t see my role in all this.”

“Are you familiar with Mayor Goodman?” Becky asked.

“I’m more familiar with his wife,” Gunter snickered.

“You’re not alone.  Nonetheless, we think he may have gotten a hint of what is about to take place.  Regardless of the fact that the town will benefit immensely from the construction of the solar panels and the tax revenue of the energy being sold, when he puts all the pieces together he could go after the same properties we are, drive the price up, create chaos, and ruin the whole deal.”  The look on Becky’s face turned from joviality to real concern.  “He could muck up the whole thing just to make a few bucks and feather his big orange nest.”

“Mayor Goodman create chaos?  You’ve got to be kidding.”  Gunter had figured out the mayor before he even figured out the mayor’s wife.  “What is my angle?”

“Two fold.  You need to be working on the hold-outs that haven’t sold their land yet.  Figure out what will get them to sign.  If it’s more money, we can deal with it, within reason.  If they’re in the mayor’s pocket we need to know.”  Becky took another sip of coffee.

“And the second part?”

“Figure out if the mayor is doing anything illegal to get an advantage on the land deals, or using his office for personal gain.”

“I thought that was already well established.”  Gunter was still putting all the pieces together.

“We need to neutralize his threat.  It goes beyond just Fort Stockton and his cronies.  This could have an effect on a much bigger picture.”  Becky reached into her purse and pulled out a picture and slid it across the table.  “This is his car.  You need to tail him.  See where he goes and who he’s dealing with.  Get the lay of the land.  Then we’ll see what the best way is to proceed.”

“Figures he’d drive something like this.”  Gunter seemed disgusted.

It was a garish Fundamental Union Felony 3400, Stretch Edition, in Russian Red.  Fake wide white walls, an underpowered engine churning out more noise and emissions than actual horsepower, and a steering wheel made for little tiny hands.  It looked like he’d opted for the Giuliani Italian Pleather interior, which was known to stain easily and not wear well.  “Looks like he’s compensating.”  The big overpriced sedans hadn’t sold well when they were new, and had almost no value after four years.  Gunter folded the photo and slid it into his pocket.   I guess the good thing is that an FU Felony 3400 will be easy to spot.”

“Don’t get too close to it. Number one, you don’t want him to see you.  Number two, the pollution that spews out of that thing is probably toxic.”

“The car or the mayor?” Gunter chuckled.

“Both.” Becky answered.  She wasn’t smiling.  “I believe you already know where his residence is.  You won’t find  him there very often.  Mrs. Goodman barely tolerates him.  Start with either his golf course, or The Scuttlebutt.  He cheats frequently at both places.  Be careful.”

“You think he’s armed?

“No.  The smell.  He’s like a walking bucket of goat cheese with a combover that’s been left out in the sun.”

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Delgado brought the check, which Becky handed to Gunter.  He took out a Benjamin and handed it back to Delgado with the tab.  “Keep the change.”

Becky slid out of the booth and stood up, straightening her dress before she made her way back out to the Brooklane 600.  “I’ll be back in touch.  In the meantime, I’d recommend you use protection with Trixie.  She’s seen more ceilings than Michelangelo.”

“They don’t make protection in my size,” Gunter gloated.

“Surely there’s a company out there that makes something that small.”  Becky turned the key, firing up the Mileage Master 740 cubic-inch Straight Six and putting it in reverse.  Humiliation was a new experience for Thad Gunter and It was intoxicating.  

He had never wanted a woman so bad in his life than he wanted Becky right at that moment.

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