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‘To pluck a beautiful flower from the desert is an unpardonable sin.’ – Man Of Mountain, Shoshone Medicine Man My best friend Karla, lived with her dad, Hank, in a trailer until she was eighteen. Then she fixed up an empty trailer, one of those old chrome things with the rounded corners, and moved into it by herself. She used to get spooked in that trailer all by herself. She would call me on the phone and say, “Jan, come over and spend the night. You know I’ve got NetFlix; we’ll rent something to watch.” I never understood why she liked scary movies when she got spooked. We grew up in the middle of nowhere — Joshua Tree, Nevada. Well, you’ve probably never heard of it, much less been here. A long time ago, way before I was born, when they built US 95 between Reno and Las Vegas, they bypassed our little tiny town. It was never much of a town anyhow, though I’ve heard about the so called ‘good ole days’. There isn’t much here in the desert, just this flat valley of sand, Joshua trees, cactus and tumbleweeds. You can see the distant barren mountains in every direction. Just southwest is California’s famous Death Valley, and the government used to explode atomic bombs to the east of us. In fact, because of that, everyone around here receives a government stipend. You know, because it’s considered a high risk area for cancer and so forth. Old Bud Parker is the only person I know of actually getting cancer, and everyone said he smoked three packs of cigarettes a day for sixty years before he got sick. Besides a lot of empty run down buildings, all that’s left in Joshua Tree is the Motor Lodge on the west side of the road. On the east side is Pop’s Saloon and Bottle Shop, Pop’s General Store, Buck’s Auto Garage, and Hank’s Diner.*******************A Harley-Davidson sped down the two lane black top. The engine’s thunderous roar was all that broke the dead silence of the desert. On either side of the road, endless Joshua Trees seemed to fly by the rider. The desert, as always, seemed unchanging and the scorching sun was relentless. Kicking up behind the Harley, a dirt devil twisted across the sand as tumbleweeds blew across the road. His eyes peeled on the road ahead, the rider strained to see buildings looming ahead in a mirage-like haze. The loud bike sped toward the buildings as they came into focus. The engine popped as he slowed to enter the town. A sleeveless denim jacket exposed the rider’s thick muscled arms, so completely covered in tattoos that they almost appeared black at a distance. Despite the road dirty doo-rag tied around his head, long black hair waved behind him. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but exposed a rugged face, severely tanned and chafed from the wind. He displayed several days’ growth of beard. The road sign up ahead announced ‘Welcome to Joshua Tree, Unincorporated’. The miles of Joshua Trees visible across the desert in every direction, made the rider think it was an appropriate name. With the deep roar of the motorcycle approaching, two old men jumped up from their game of Checkers and nearly face planted against the large plate glass window of Pop’s General Store. Wide open, peering eyes projected their curiosity as they watched the large muscled rider pulled up in front of the store and get off his bike. “You two are gonna get snot on my damn window!” Pops’ scruffy voice sounded irritable. Pops poked his head out the front door and yelled, “Gas is self service. I take cash and credit cards.” The spring on the screen door slammed it shut, as Pops turned to go back behind the cashier’s counter. “You two act as if you ain’t ever seen a motorcycle rider.” Pops shook his head. “This one looks kind of scary, Pops,” declared bald headed Duffy. “I think he’s Hulk Hogan!” Shorty Rob grinned and nodded at Duffy and Pops. “You think everyone on a motorbike is Hulk Hogan.” Duffy shook his head in disbelief. Pops smiled, “Naaa, this guy’s not as tall or big as Hulk Hogan and he’s a lot younger. Look, he has a full head of long thick black hair. Hogan’s bald on top and has white hair.” “Well, he might be a famous wrestler,” Shorty Rob insisted. “Maybe he is, Shorty Rob,” Pops chuckled, “ask ‘im when he comes in.” Once again, the spring on the screen door slammed it shut. Rustling across the floor, Duffy and Shorty Rob hustled back to their chairs and Checkers board but kept their eyes peeled on the tall, muscled biker that had just entered. Standing just inside the door of the store, he glanced around. Heavy boots clicked loudly against the creaky wooden floor, as he stepped up to the counter and took out his wallet. “Are you Pop, as on the sign?” “Yep, Pops. Everyone calls me Pops.” “So you run the Saloon and Bottle Shop, too?” “Sure do.” “In that case, I’d like to pay for a couple of bottles of Tequila with this gas. I like Don Julio.” “No problem,” answered Pops, “Be right back.” Hustling from behind the counter, Pops exited a large side door with the words Saloon above it. Duffy and Shorty Rob pretended to be playing their game of Checkers, but their constant gawking was obvious to the biker at the counter. Quickly, Pops was back with two bottles of Don Julio. Slapping two crisp hundred dollar bills down on the counter with Ankara escort his thick fingers, the biker did not say a word but quickly studied Pops with his eyes. Realizing he was being studied, Pops nervously rang up the purchase then quickly counted out the change as he handed it to the robust biker. “How’s the Motor Lodge and the diner here?” The biker’s voice was deep and gravelly. “A Mexican family does a great job running that motel, real clean. And Hank is a helluva short order cook; grills a mean ribeye. His chili is damn good, too.” With his eyebrow twitching, Pops cautiously eyed the stranger. “Hmm,” grunted the biker. His boots scuffed heavily off the wooden floor, as he walked out. Pops and the two old guys watched curiously through the large front window, as the biker stepped onto his Harley and kick started it. The engine roared, as he turned it and crossed the highway to the Motor Lodge. “Something about that guy doesn’t feel right.” Duffy scratched his chin. “Ya know, it’s getting about that time again. It’s been what, twenty years…” “Ah, cut that out! I don’t want to hear any of that talk in here,” retorted Pops, obviously irritated at what Duffy said. “Duffy’s right,” added Shorty Rob. “The timing is about right.” “I don’t want to hear it!” Pops scurried through the door into the saloon. ******************* There wasn’t much happening here, and it’s especially sad now that Karla isn’t around anymore. After she left, her dad, Hank, sold his diner to my Pops and then he too just disappeared. No one knew where he went. Now, my Pops owns every business around here except Buck’s Auto Garage. Karla always told me, “Jan, I’m going places someday, gonna see the world.” I guess I just didn’t expect her leaving to happen the way it did. Karla was just a year older than me, and we were the only two girls in Joshua Tree around our age. In fact, there aren’t even any guys here my age, even now. Evan was a year older than Karla, and he’d always been her main guy. He now lives over at Scotty’s Junction. That’s forty-five minutes away and the closest thing resembling a town to us. Evan has actually become my boyfriend now that Karla’s gone. And I know I’m not drop dead gorgeous like Karla, but everyone tells me I’m pretty cute. You know, I’ve heard that Karla’s mother was beautiful. People rarely talked about her.*******************The little bell above the door announced his entry, as the rider stepped into the lobby of the Motor Lodge. Wiping his hands, the motel clerk walked behind the counter from a side room. “Hola,” he greeted, ‘“you need a room?” “Yeah, for one night.” “Forty dollars.” The Mexican clerk turned toward the side room and snapped his fingers. As the rider pulled the money from his wallet, a boy entered the lobby. “Sí, papa.” Dutifully the boy stood next to his father. “Enrique, you carry this man’s luggage to his room.” “Sí,” the boy answered. “Not necessary,” the biker grunted, “All I got are these side saddlebags, and nobody touches those but me.” “As you wish, señor.” “Vera Cruz?” the large biker asked. “Sí, we moved here from Vera Cruz.” The clerk nodded his head. “Recognized the accent,” the biker said, grabbing the saddlebags off the floor. “I’ve enjoyed some fine señoritas down in Vera Cruz before. That was some great panochita.” Glaring at the biker, the desk clerk quickly covered his son’s ears. Unlocking the door, the biker pushed it open with his boot, entered and tossed the dusty leather saddlebags onto the floor. The rings of the curtain screeched loudly, as he violently yanked it open. Staring through the window for several minutes, he looked down the street toward the diner. He imagined Marcha Funebra by Chopin playing in his head. Without looking away, he easily pulled the sealed top off the Don Julio he held in his hand. It took several seconds for him to empty the entire 750 milliliter bottle of tequila down his throat. ******************* No one has officially told me the story, but through bits and pieces of what I’ve overheard and when I’ve eavesdropped on conversations, I learned about The Curse. Yes, Joshua Tree, Nevada is cursed. People have tried to lift The Curse, but all have supposedly failed. I used to not believe in The Curse — so much hocus pocus. But after — well, I’ll get to that later. Once way back, I’m pretty sure they said Teddy Roosevelt was President at the time, some exorcists came to lift The Curse. Real serious exorcists, like that movie; they had sent for Catholic priests. Two were from New York City, but the main one came all the way from The Vatican in Italy. Isn’t that in Rome? I just know it’s in Europe, and it’s a long way to come. They tried for days, camped out in the desert outside town over where the old fort used to be. One night, they came running back to town and wouldn’t leave the general store. They stayed there until the coach that ran from Las Vegas to Reno came, and they got on and left. Something scared them so bad, they didn’t even go back to the fort to get their stuff.*******************The sound of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck on a small speaker jolted the biker out of his daze. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he retrieved his Ankara escort bayan cell phone. “Yeah, boss,” he answered. “Is she there, Asmodeus?” The voice on the phone was husky and deep. Sniffing the air, the biker closed his eyes to savor the aroma of the atmosphere around him. “Yes, I can smell her.” “I need you to keep to the schedule,” the voice said. “In six thousand years, have I ever disappointed you?” “No, Asmodeus, you haven’t,” the voice answered. “Te amo,” the voice added in Latin and the phone hung up. A half smile formed on Asmodeus’s lips, as he looked through the window again, focusing on the diner across the street. His widening smile exposed his teeth, as the setting sun glinted off a gold incisor with a pentagram carved into it. Asmodeus had showered and dusted off his clothes as best he could before venturing out. Smelling the food on the grill teased his senses, as he strolled across the street. Hank’s Diner was less than half full, but he sensed that it was rarely any busier than the way he found it. Sizzling steaks and burgers popped and hissed on the grill, wetting Asmodeus’s appetite. He couldn’t wait to find a seat, sink his teeth into a juicy steak and get down to the business of checking out the entree he had been sent here for. A gruff voice at the grill yelled out, “Seat yourself.” Asmodeus made his way by the bar stools at the counter and passed most of the booths before sitting in the very back booth facing the interior. Studying the diner, he found himself thoroughly entertained by the naive cowboys, but most of all he was amused at the two preachers in cheap polyester suits chowing down on greasy hamburgers. It was after he had scanned most of the room that he saw her turn toward him. Her face and smile radiated through the diner. He watched, as she flung her long, straight, blonde hair back in a flirty manner. It was as if everything had turned into a slow motion rotation with her at the center. Her face was perfect, true beauty in art — she was the perfect female form. She gracefully grabbed her order pad and made her way toward his booth. Her motion oozed natural sexuality, as her innocent, charming smile mesmerized the patrons. Everyone’s eyes following her, as she slipped by their tables. Asmodeus had seen and devoured more beautiful women than he could ever remember, but as her bright blue eyes caught his, he knew he had never seen any more gorgeous than this one. He thought to himself how much fun this assignment was going to be — the delightful things nightmares are made of. “Hi there, mister.” Her wide greeting smile exposed the gleam in her eyes. “Welcome to Hank’s Diner.” “Well, hi there, Karla.” Her eyes gave away her surprise upon hearing this stranger say her name. Asmodeus smiled. “It’s on your name tag.” “Oh yeah, that’s right.” She giggled. “It’s just that I nearly always know the customers, but I’ve never seen you before.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you that way.” “It’s no problem, mister.” Karla’s sheepish smile displayed a little embarrassment, but her flirty twist informed Asmodeus of what he needed to know. As he studied her facial expressions and her body language for subtle hints that would determine his course of action, Asmodeus realized that she was studying him the same way. He caught her eying his bulging muscled arms, and she checked out his flat belly that centered his rather large frame. His very dark tan on an already olive skin tone made him darker than anyone in the diner. He guessed that his long jet black hair and deep brown eyes added to his dark air of mystique that she seemed so curious about. Asmodeus knew she would wonder about his arms saturated in tattoos, but he doubted she would understand the meanings behind them. “I didn’t see a car pull up,” she said inquisitively. “I walked from the motel.” “Oh my god! Is that your Harley I saw parked over there?” “Yes, it is.” “It’s a real fancy one.” Karla smiled again. “I love to ride on motorcycles.” “Hmmm… maybe you could ride with me later.” Her eyes beamed with excitement, and she again twisted at the waist. “Karla!” the gruff voice at the grill impatiently yelled out. “You got that order yet?” “Getting it, Hank,” she yelled back. Turning to Asmodeus again, “Hank is my dad, I better get your order.” “I heard the ribeye was good here. I’ll have that medium rare, some hash browns and a cold beer. One of the best things you Americans ever came up with was to refrigerate beer.” “We Americans? Aren’t you an American?” “Just a figure of speech, sweetie.” Asmodeus grinned. He had mastered the southwestern American accent decades before. Sitting back in his seat, Asmodeus lustfully admired Karla’s twisty ass in motion, as she strolled back to the grill and clipped his order above it. Still sizzling when Karla delivered it, the grilled steak and hash browns wetted his appetite. Riding his Harley in the desert always made him hungry and thirsty. Asmodeus downed four beers with his steak and potatoes, which he engulfed quickly. Appearing with the check as he finished, Karla laid it on the table. “When are you going to give me a ride on that big hog you got over there?” Asmodeus Escort Ankara sat up and grinned. “I’m in Room 6, what time do you get off work?” Again twisting at the hips, Karla broke into a smile. “I get off in an hour.” “Come over then. I’ll fire the Fatboy up and we can play.” “Oooh, that sounds good.” Karla twisted quickly, “See ya.” Her ass danced, as she strutted back toward the counter. Leaning over to watch her twisty butt, Asmodeus suddenly saw a bright light. He pulled up quickly and saw it was the younger of the two preachers. The young preacher facing him in the other booth had been mostly hidden from his view by the back of the other preacher. Asmodeus hadn’t seen a glow like that since the previous century. Quickly he wondered if the young preacher had noticed him. Just then, he saw the young man lean over the other preacher’s shoulder to peek at him. Asmodeus jerked himself out of view. Yanking his wallet from his back jeans pocket, he laid out two crisp twenty dollar bills for a tip. Karla would remember that. Gabbing the check off the table, he got up quickly and walked as fast as he could by the two preachers. Asmodeus paid Karla at the cash register, winking at her before he turned to leave. “See ya in a few,” he said. She nodded and smiled back. Quickly exiting, he disappeared into the dark shadows of the desert night. Lurking around the corner of an abandoned trailer, he watched the young preacher step outside. The young man looked up and down the street for a few minutes before giving up. Asmodeus had not felt fear for nearly a century until that moment, so he didn’t move until the young preacher went back into the diner. ******************* It was way back when this excuse for a town was a US Cavalry post known as Fort Joshua Tree. That was when The Curse began. One of the soldiers had been secretly seeing the daughter of the local Shoshone Medicine Man, Bear Paw. The federal government had moved the Shoshone west into a nearby Indian Reservation several years before. The soldier was just a private, a real young man, probably not even twenty years old at the time. But he and Bear Paw’s daughter, the medicine man’s only child, had fallen in love with each other. When the affair was found out, Captain Miller, the commander of little Fort Joshua Tree, also Karla’s great-great grandfather on her mother’s side. By the way, Karla didn’t even remember her mother… evidently, she ran off soon after Karla was born. Pops just says she left with some smooth talking guy from the city and for me to never mention it to Karla. I always suspected there was more to it, and there was. Oh, back to the beginning… Captain Miller was livid that one of his men was involved with a Shoshone girl, especially the daughter of the medicine man. Well, Captain Miller had the private sent back east with the supply wagon. Bear Paw’s daughter was so heartbroken, she went out in the desert and committed suicide. They say Bear Paw mourned for two weeks by himself out in the hills. Some said he had been conjuring up something – something really bad – some powerful evil. Bear Paw came to the fort with several Shoshone warriors. The Captain was very upset, as he was supposed to keep the Shoshone on the reservation and not allow them to stir up any trouble. The Cavalry and the Indians had some kind of stand off, but Bear Paw wasn’t there to fight, though he did blame Captain Miller for his daughter’s suicide. While the soldiers had their guns drawn, Bear Paw danced and chanted words in Shoshone. Then he split open several leather bags of brightly colored powder. They say that immediately after, strong winds kicked up and blew the colored dust all over Captain Miller and his men. This is when the story really gets strange.People around here only talk about this in hushed tones or when they know any young people or kids aren’t around. But this is how I’ve heard it over the years.*******************An old-fashioned iron bed frame and headboard filled up much of the small motel room. An antique art deco night stand with a cheap Tiffany lamp sat next to the bed. The chest-of-drawers was ornate Victorian, and a flower patterned, nearly worn-through sitting chair sat in the corner. The ceiling fan spun at its fastest speed, and the window air conditioner rattled, as it strained to cool off the room in the desert heat. Drinking straight from the bottle, Asmodeus was gulping down Don Julio while sitting back on the bed. He turned up one more long gulp then savored the tequila before letting it slide down his throat. He sat the bottle on the nightstand by the Gideon’s Bible that was turned open to his favorite passage in the book of Psalm. With a pen, Asmodeus had just circled Psalm 106:37-38: “They sacrificed their sons and their daughters to the demons; they poured out innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan, and the land was polluted with blood.” He had scribbled ‘the good ole days!’ next to it. After clearing his throat, Asmodeus said out loud to himself, “She’s on her way.” He smiled faintly, as he listened for her knock on the door. Very soon, soft knocking announced that she had arrived. Upon opening the door, Asmodeus immediately turned his back and walked to the bed, lying back on it. “Close the door and lock it,” Asmodeus said. Karla closed the door, turned the lock on the knob and locked the chain. Sporting a huge mischievous grin, she twirled around quickly and looked at Asmodeus.
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