Earl slouched on the sidewalk against the wall of the Single Spire Motel in such a way that it was not immediately apparent who was supporting whom. From his vantage point on the sidewalk Earl could see across the four lanes of sparse traffic, and he watched while a slow freight train ambled along from his left to his right. It was obvious at once which side of the tracks Earl was on, and his side was not the one most people aspired to.
     The Single Spire Motel had once been The Twin Towers Motel, but when the accident or explosion or earthquake had occurred that had necessitated the name change wasn't anything that Earl knew. All he knew now was that he was propped up against a squat square building that carried a faded brown paint job and that it was late afternoon and that he was hungry.
     The Single Spire Motel, itself, was a squat u-shaped building. There was room enough in the center of the U for a single column of six cars to park and a small office, which was between the two points. On top of the end of one of the U's a square block had been added and that was the sole remaining tower. Earl could see where a second upstairs room had been attached some years ago, but it wasn't there any longer and no one knew when it had been lost. In the tiny office there was a picture showing the Single Spire Motel at its heyday, with both towers triumphant, but no one knew when that picture was taken.
     It was now late afternoon and there was no foot traffic on the sidewalk across which Earl stretched his legs. There was only a smattering of cars making their way along the boulevard and none of the drivers were bothering to look over to see the fat man in the unseasonal velour shirt leaning against the Single Spire Motel. The train continued its course, a string of closed red boxcars passing by at the moment. Earlier there had been several tanker cars and many cars filled with sugar beets. Earl had watched them all pass, something he often did, because it was something to do.
     He had a room at the Single Spire Motel, but his was a typical one stuck in the middle of one of the legs. If he wanted to, he could look back over his right shoulder and see where his room was, but he couldn't see the open door because of the cars parked in the center of the U. His door was open because it was a warm day and the Single Spire Motel didn't boast any air conditioning, any free HBO or jacuzzis or any of those things. It was, and always had been, a run-down place. No matter where in Los Angeles you chose to drop it, the Single Spire Motel would not enhance its surroundings.
     It didn't cater to any travellers, either. For one thing, it was unlikely that anyone travelling to or through Los Angeles would wander down into the industrial area bordering the airport and decide to stop there for the night. It was even less likely that anyone who was unable to drive another mile would be heartened by the sight of a drab brown building lit only by a red neon sign that proclaimed "vacancy."
     Earl wondered about that. As far as he knew, there were thirteen rooms in the motel, five down each leg, two across the bottom, and the one in the tower. None of them, as far as he knew, were vacant, but the sign had always been lit. Once, maybe twice a week, someone would leave, but their room would be filled that same day. He knew better than to think that the motel was advertising anywhere, but enough people passed it every day on their way to or from work that he guessed thousands of people knew about it. He, himself, had found it about four months ago since it was conveniently located on the same block as a liquor store and a strip club and a mile or so down the street from where he worked.
     His old home, a room in a much larger motel, was being torn down to make way for a freeway onramp or something and he'd been given two weeks to find a new home. He'd left the iron-working place where he occasionally worked and had been on his way to meet his connection in the parking lot of the strip club when he passed the Single Spire Motel. The vacancy sign had attracted him and he was able to move in two days later when a family of Ecudorians had moved out.
     The room he got was the same as the rest in the motel. There was a small room with a bed, nightstands, and a desk. There was an even tinier bathroom that had a stall shower, toilet, and sink, and that was the extent of his home.
     Earl had few possessions, and what he had fit into an ancient, battered hard-shell suitcase. The suitcase was now under his bed, its contents distributed in the meager furniture that came with his room. He had a pea coat hanging in his closet with some jeans, a couple shirts in a drawer along with his socks, and in his bathroom on the back of the sink there were his toilet articles, including a bottle of cheap after-shave.
     Earl liked the after-shave, which he used liberally throughout the day and especially whenever he felt that he might be near someone. Sitting in the sun, as he was now, he could smell its citrus scent as it burned and boiled off his skin. His hair, thick, black, and greasy, was parted in the middle of his head and fell down to the bottom of his collar. His velour shirt was horizontally striped in various shades of blue, black, and gray and did nothing to disguise his girth. Earl was big, with a huge stomach and saggy man breasts. His legs were stretched out before him and would present an obstacle if there was any traffic on the sidewalk.
     Next to Earl, on his right side, was a quart bottle of malt liquor mostly empty. It was inside a brown bag and the top of the bag was spiraled tightly around the bottle. He picked up the bottle now and unscrewed the thin aluminum cap and took a deep, satisfying swig. Since he'd only been out here for five minutes or so the beer was still cold and small droplets of it spilled from his lips and lay in his beard and moustache.
     He watched the end of the train pass, the red light on the rear of the last car winking on and off in desolate urgency. It faded from view and Earl was helping himself to the last of the beer when a car pulled into the parking lot of the liquor store next door.
     Earl looked over at the sound, and heard a car door shut a few seconds later. A few seconds after that he saw a large balding man in his early thirties approaching. The man was smiling under his moustache and his belly, while smaller than Earl's, still jiggled slightly as he walked. He was holding a cigarette in his right hand and his left was jammed into his pants pocket.
     Earl smiled as his connection approached and began moving his legs in an effort to stand up. It took a few seconds, but soon he was standing in front of Gerry, who still towered over him.
     "Hey, what's up?" Gerry asked. He was wearing dark glasses and Earl couldn't see where he was looking.
     "Nothin' much. How about you?"
     Gerry shrugged his shoulders. "Want to do it?"
     Earl turned and leaned over, grabbing his bottle. He led Gerry around the corner of the motel and into the center parking lot. They wended their way through the cars and entered the open door in the middle of the row of rooms in the far leg of the U.
     Earl shut the door behind him and Gerry took a seat on the bed. Earl sat down next to him.
     "Whatcha got?" he asked.
     "Some good shit," Gerry answered. He dug in his pant's pocket and pulled out a small brown bottle that was full of a white powder. Earl screwed off the beer cap and took the vial that Gerry was handing him. He set the bottle cap gently on his wide knee and shoveled a couple matcheads of the white powder into it. He carefully screwed the top back onto the vial and used an eyedropper to add a small amount of water to the cap.
     He set the bottle cap on a nightstand table and pulled a cigar box out from under the bed. He opened the lid and grabbed a syringe and began stirring the mixture.
     "So, did you ever talk to Scott about getting the tower?" Gerry asked.
     "Nah. I haven't seen him lately." Satisfied that the powder was dissolved, Earl took some pliers from the box and carefully used them to hold the bottle cap. Gerry handed him a lighter.
     "Too bad," Gerry said. "How about Vicky?"
     "I've seen her 'round," Earl answered. He lit the lighter and was holding the cap over the flame, waving it back and forth under the blackening bottle cap. "But haven't talked to her."
     Gerry grunted and pulled off his belt.
     "I'll talk to her over the weekend, though," Earl said. "I always see her sometime on Sunday." He set the bottle cap back on the nightstand and put a small piece of cotton inside it. He stuck the syringe into the cotton ball and pulled back on the plunger, filling the chamber with a clear liquid.
     He lifted the syringe up, looked at it, and flicked it gently with his finger. Gerry handed him the belt and Earl stuck the syringe sideways in his mouth so that he could thread the belt around his arm.
     "I reawy wanna get that girl," Earl said. He looked down at his arm and slapped the inside of his elbow, hoping to raise a vein. It soon appeared and Earl pulled the syringe from his mouth and slid the needle into his vein.
     The clear liquid in the chamber recieved a trail of red blood and Earl depressed the plunger, pumping half the liquid into his arm. He bolted upright, pulled the spike from his arm and handed it over to Gerry.
     "Oh, yeah!" Earl sang. His face brightened, his eyes widened, and a huge smile plastered itself on his face. "Oh, yeah!"
     He undid the belt and handed it back to Gerry, who wound it around his own arm. Earl stood up, walked around to the other side of the bed and clapped his hands.
     By the time Gerry had repeated the ritual Earl had walked back to the front of the bed and into and out of the bathroom. He had a can of beer in his hand, which he opened.
     "Oh, yeah, I like that shit." Earl said. He took a swig of beer and watched Gerry's reaction, which matched his own. "So, can you get some more of it?"
     Gerry laughed and set the bottle cap back on the dresser. He handed the syringe back to Earl. "Yeah, for a little while."
     "I'm gonna want some more next week," Earl said. He sat down next to Gerry and offered him the beer.
     "Okay," Gerry answered after taking a swig and handing the can back. "Just give me a call." He stood up, towering over Earl, and slapped him gently on the shoulder. "Lemme know."
     Earl got up and was still a head shorter than his dealer. He dug into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a wad of bills and counted out the money he owed Gerry.
     "You want a beer or something?" he asked as he handed over the money.
     "No, that's cool. I gotta run," Gerry took the money and put it in his wallet. He turned and opened the door while Earl was putting the bottle cap and syringe back in the cigar box. "You want me to leave it open?"
     "Yeah, could ya?" Earl was sliding the box back under the bed. "I'll give you a call." He looked over his shoulder and saw Gerry walk away, across the lot.
     "Okay," Gerry called back.
     Earl sat back down on the bed, staring out at the parking lot and wringing his hands. He was definitely amped right now, very wired, and his right leg jiggled as he sat on the bed. He drained the beer in a few gulps and tossed the can across the room into the trash. He ran his hands through his hair, slapped his thighs a few times, and got up. He walked to the bathroom and threw some water on his face and another dose of after-shave. He avoided looking in the mirror while tucking his hair behind his ears and went back to sit on the bed.
     He was looking out the door when he saw a small white pickup pull into the parking area and a young guy in his early twenties wearing a T-shirt, blue jeans, and work boots get out of the truck.
     "Hey, Scott," Earl called, getting off the bed and heading out the door. "Got a sec?"