Greatest Hits

Greatest Hits
A novel by
Rollie Tom Anderson


Prologue - 1968

          High above, in the center of a cool October sky the pale, obese moon was being upstaged by the banks of bright lights that shined down upon the stadium directly below its ancient glare.  In the rusted, rickety stands hundreds of excited supporters watched nervously as the last few minutes of the contest unfolding before their eyes slowly but relentlessly ticked away on the weathered scoreboard situated at the end of the field.
        Two of the best high school football teams in the state of Tennessee, the Brownsville Tigers and the Newell Knights, had battled to a 21-21 tie.  With less than two minutes left on the clock, the partisan hometown crowd in Newell Stadium began to chant the name of the player who had pulled out a victory in the same scenario many times before.
          That boy was Gabriel Brewer.  He was the son of Dorothy and James Brewer, born on January 3rd, 1951 in that small but growing community.  On his 17th birthday he stood at an even six feet, weighed 155 muscular pounds, sported sandy blonde hair that never stayed combed, owned a pair of penetrating green eyes and possessed a great deal of God-given charisma and natural charm.  He went to church every Sunday in order to make his momma happy, brought home A’s and B’s consistently on his report cards and had his own wheels long before any of his envious classmates did.  Easily the most popular young man in his school, he had been elected Senior Class President in a landslide because no one was foolhardy enough to run against him.  But his true love was sports.  He excelled in basketball, baseball and track from his elementary school days forward but his passion was for football and he was now constantly receiving overtures from some of the finest universities in the country.  Well-known coaches had his home phone number memorized.
          On top of all that, Gabriel Brewer, with his quick wit and irresistible smile, had his pick of any girl in town.

          As the clock continued to sprint towards the final gun the Knights had the ball but were pinned deep in their own end of the field.  The eleven players broke huddle and hurried to the line of scrimmage.  The ball was snapped and handed off to Gabriel who proceeded to follow his blockers and sweep around the left end.  Running somewhat tentatively at first, he made some deceptive moves, turned on the jets and left two beefy defensive linemen sprawled on the ground, grasping in vain for Brewer’s phantom legs.
The crowd screamed in unison and rose to their feet as he ran untouched forty yards down the sideline into the Tigers’ territory.  An awaiting cornerback had him directly in his sights, ready to counter any feint his heralded foe might try but Gabriel never altered his course one degree and crashed right into his chest at full speed.  The jarring impact was heard even above the escalating roar of the now delirious throng.
          Gabriel reeled from the thunderous collision but soon regained his balance and headed for the Brownsville goal, leaving his dazed challenger wondering what day it was and if he’d remembered to feed his cat.  Seconds later, with only fifteen yards remaining the swift, wiry safety of the Tigers closed in for the kill.  The footrace ended at the five yard line where Gabriel was firmly caught by the jersey and swung around backwards.  This allowed another fast defensive back to catch up and he smashed into him at optimum velocity.  The football came loose and rolled into the end zone before Gabriel was able to break the plane of the goal with it.
          The noise that assaulted them from the packed stands stopped like a radio that had suddenly come unplugged from the wall socket.  A huge, collective gasp was all that was heard.  Gabriel and the two Brownsville players scrambled frantically for the tumbling ball and all three of them reached it at the same moment.
          Many spectators swore later they could plainly see that one of the Tigers had the ball secured for a touchback but by the time the winded officials arrived on the scene Gabriel was rising to his feet, taunting the confused player closest to him who was still searching for the elusive pigskin that now rested under Gabriel’s right arm.  The other boy was clutching his now broken ribs in agonizing pain.
          Newell won the game that evening and once again Gabriel was the talk of the town.  His grinning mug appeared on the front page of the Newell News the next day with “Gabriel Brewer, the pride of Newell High” captioned underneath in bold, one-inch high letters.


Chapter 1

         The callous midday sun bleached the landscape of all color and the stale, unmoving air smelled like old, dried up bones.  At that moment Gabriel couldn’t even hear an approaching truck on the highway next to him, much less see one.  It had been that kind of morning, smack dab in the middle of his empty summer of ‘72.
         “Strange,” he thought as he trudged ahead, “the random thoughts that come into your brain when you have nothing to think about and nowhere to go.”  For some reason he’d been pondering what secret ingredient his mom had tossed into her splendid pea salad to make it so mouthwatering.  She never told anyone, not even her sisters who she shared everything with.  “What a crazy thing to wonder about when stuck out in the middle of oblivion,” he mused silently.  “Maybe it’s knowing that I’m down to one package of cheap peanut butter crackers to keep me alive,” he muttered aloud.
         Just then the muted roar of a monstrous Peterbilt wafted in from the other side of the small hill he’d just climbed and his optimism rose exponentially.  He turned with hope in his heart as the semi approached, stuck out his thumb and, for a split second, he was convinced that the driver was slowing down.  Gabriel leaned out into the road and flashed his friendliest I’m-not-a-serial-killer grin but it failed him once again.  The rumbling, gravel-hauling dinosaur sped past, peppering him with sharp pebbles and roasting him with a furnace-like gust of hell-born air that sent his tattered John Deere cap flying.
         “That’s great, just great,” he groused as he rubbed the dust out of his stringy hair and hastily retrieved the only thing that still tied him to his Tennessee roots.  His dad had given that green hat to him.  Not in a show of fatherly affection, necessarily, but due more to the fact that he already had one he preferred because it was worn in.  Still, Gabriel treasured it like it was a family heirloom.
         Half an hour later he was still walking westward.  A dozen trucks and about thirty cars had zoomed by as if he didn’t exist but he had no other options than to keep moving forward and to keep hoping for a break.  Finally, about three miles past the border between Texas and New Mexico, a two-tone Ford sedan pulled over.  By this time Gabriel didn’t care if it was Vlad the Impaler behind the wheel.  He was getting in.

         The driver motioned for him to put his tattered backpack in the rear seat so Gabriel opened the back door and tossed everything he had to his name inside and shut the door.  He opened the passenger door and peered inside briefly before climbing in.  He smiled at the man who’d done him such a big favor.
         “Thanks for stopping.  I appreciate it.”
         “You’re more than welcome, son.”
         The man put the car in gear and glanced in the side mirror before accelerating back onto the famous ribbon of highway known as Route 66.  Another dirt-hauling behemoth whizzed by in the passing lane, making the Ford shiver as if it was cold outside.
         “How far you going?” the driver asked.
         “As far as you are, I guess.”
         “I see.  Well, I’m headed in the direction of Tucson.  That far enough?”
         “Suits me fine.”
         The driver got the car up to the speed limit and never ventured over it.  Gabriel stretched out and relaxed his aching legs some.  Without being obvious, he covertly sized up the Good Samaritan who’d taken a chance in helping out a bedraggled stranger.  He’d learned not to appear too curious while checking things out.  Folks often took that to be a sign of harboring ulterior motives or, worst of all, an unstable frame of mind and that usually resulted in the ride turning into a maddeningly short lift.  Gabriel made sure that all of his necessary movements were smooth and casual.  He stared straight ahead for several minutes and said nothing at all.
                        Out of the corner of his experienced eye he assessed the man next to him.  Middle-aged, about five feet four inches tall, weighing twenty to twenty five pounds over what he needed to carry around, no sign of being a smoker or daytime drinker, kept his clothes clean and neatly pressed, fairly thick horn-rimmed glasses.  The large black, leather-bound Bible lying on the seat between them was the only thing that gave him pause.  However, no indications of his being an impaler.  So far so good.  Average dude.  No threat perceived.
         “How do you like my new used car?” the man inquired out of nowhere.
         Tinny voice that might eventually grate on his nerves.  Mental note taken.  Gabriel gave the vehicle’s interior a quick inspection.
         “Oh, yeah.  It’s nice.  Real nice.  Had it long?”
         “Just got it a week ago.  Less than five thousand miles on it.  Still has that new car smell.  Sorta.  Don’t you think?”
         “I do.  Nothing like it.”
         “Got a great deal on it.  First owner didn’t like the color.”
         “Lucky you.”
         “Makes you wonder why they bought it in the first place, huh?”
         “Yeah.”
         Gabriel shifted in his seat and looked out at the bleak scenery he’d so recently been a small but vulnerable part of.  Off in the distance he saw a big black buzzard picking at some poor animal that had crawled as far as it could before turning into fresh road kill.  “Death follows me everywhere,” he thought to himself.  They passed over a drought-stricken creek bed.  He thought he spotted a rattlesnake slithering along in the heat but it may have been just a withered tree branch.  Suddenly he felt a wave of weariness wash over him.  He made himself take a deep breath.
         “Where you from?” the man asked.
         Gabriel heard him fine but, out of habit, responded with a “Hmm?”
         “Where you hail from, kid?”
         “Oh.  Back east.  Tennessee.”
         “Is that a fact?  Love them Smoky Mountains.  Myself, I was born and raised in Ada, Oklahoma.  Hanley’s the name.  Reverend Bob Hanley.  Pleased to meet you.”
         Bob stuck out a sweaty palm towards Gabriel.  They shook hands.
         “Same here.  I’m Gabriel.  Gabriel Brewer.”
         “Gabriel, huh?  How about that.  Did you know that your name means God’s revealing messenger?”
         “Oh, yeah?  Well, no messages today.  Sorry to disappoint.”
         Bob laughed, then turned oddly solemn.  “Truth or Consequences,” he blurted out as if it were a prosecuting attorney’s accusation in a tense courtroom.
         Gabriel cocked his head and gave him a quizzical look.  “Beg your pardon?”
         “Truth or Consequences.  New Mexico.”  He laughed again.  “That’s where I’m headed to before I drive on to Tucson.  I have some business there but I just love the irony implied in that town’s unusual name, especially with me being a preacher and all.”
         “Oh, I get it.  Never been there.  Sounds religious enough, though.”
         Bob chuckled.  “Ain’t that the truth!”
         The nondescript sedan rolled on through the dull, emaciated terrain that this portion of the renowned highway traversed over without bias, carrying two people farther along in their mortal journey but who were headed in completely different directions.

         From the instant Gabriel had heard the title “Reverend” he knew it would only be a matter of time before he’d be wishing he was back on the side of the highway with his thumb extended.  The unforgiving road was heartless and often cruel but at least it didn’t ask probing, uncomfortable questions about the condition of his everlasting soul.  However, the growing tiredness he felt oozing into his muscles was overwhelming and it had been a brutal morning out in the hot, unflinching sun.  He didn’t want to appear weary but he couldn’t stifle a yawn.
         “Hey, Bob.  Would you be offended if I rested my eyes for a bit?”
         “Go ahead.  You look like you could use a nap.”
         “Thanks.”
         Gabriel leaned his head back and sideways into the nook between the seat and the door frame.  He was out like a light.

         No dreams came but he did remember experiencing a strong sensation that he was drifting about in a heavy gray mist just before he was jolted out of his sleep.  All things considered, though, anything short of the usual nightmare was a blessing.  At first he feared the car had hit something.  He sat up with a start, looked out the window and over at Bob.  No change in his surroundings.  All clear.
         “Sorry ‘bout that.  I’m usually an expert at dodging pot holes but that son-of-a-gun snuck up on me.  You okay?”  He chuckled slightly.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
         “You didn’t.  I’m fine,” Gabriel said, rubbing his eyes.
         “I’m starting to get hungry, Gabriel.  I think there’s a Denny’s ahead at the next exit.  You up for a bite?”
         “You go ahead.  I’ll wait outside.  I don’t have a cent to my name.”
         “Don’t worry about that, Gabriel.  I gotcha covered.”
         Gabriel nodded.  Part of him wanted to say no but the part of his stomach that was growling like a Grizzly took control over his response mechanisms.

        Twenty minutes later they were inside, seated across from each other in a booth by the door.  The thing about Denny’s was that you couldn’t tell whether you were in Maine or Mississippi if you didn’t look out the window.  The company had an interior design they obviously liked and they were sticking with it coast to coast.  There was a sizeable cigarette burn in the burgundy naugahyde seat next to Gabriel and the silverware didn’t appear to have made it through a complete wash cycle but beggars dare not be choosers so he opted to be grateful for small favors.  At least the teenage waitress gave him a coy wink after taking their orders.  He took that to mean that either he didn’t look as bad as he felt or she was desperate for companionship.  The ragged collection of rough-hewn truckers and the suspicious locals in the place weren’t as impressed with his long, dirty hair and hippy love child clothes as she was so he intentionally kept his eyes from wandering around the room too much.  He’d learned the hard way that trouble need not be encouraged.
         Bob sipped at his iced tea, rapped his fingers on the table and acted fidgety.
         “So.  How long you been hitching rides, Gabriel?”
         “Over two years now.”
         “Do you like the life you’re living?”
         “I reckon so.  Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t.  It has its ups and downs just like everything else does.”
         Bob nodded.  “Can I ask you something, Gabriel?  Something really important?”
         “Here it comes,” Gabriel thought to himself before replying.  “Fire away.”
         “It’s what I ask everyone I meet.”  He paused in order to achieve the optimal effect.  “Are you forgiven?”
         That’s not exactly the blunt opening serve he was expecting but it didn’t matter, anyway.  It was just part of the game he was going to have to play.  Gabriel clasped his hands together over his mouth and stared out the window for a couple of seconds.  A mother was arguing with her adolescent son in the parking lot.  It looked like the kid didn’t want to eat at Denny’s today.  Maybe the youngster had some place more along the lines of Baskin & Robbins in mind.  But Bob’s query rattled around in Gabriel’s head like a loose ball bearing.  It had hit a nerve.  “Am I?” he asked himself.
         He turned back to Bob and shrugged.  “Don’t know.”
         “You can be,” Bob said.  “Let me ask you this, then.  Where are you going?”
         Gabriel sighed.  “That’s easy.  Wherever my feet and my thumb take me.”
         “Fair enough.  But where are you going to spend eternity?”
         The critical moment had arrived.  He had three choices.  He could abruptly rise and walk out of the restaurant without a word or engage in a theological argument with Bob that he couldn’t win or prepare to act like this evangelist’s well-rehearsed spiel was the greatest revelation he’d ever heard.  With his vacuous stomach firmly in command of the situation he was helpless to take any action other than to go with the third option.
         “Eternity?  Wow, that’s a big word there, Bob.  Don’t give it a lot of thought these days.”
         “You should.”
         “I’m too busy living, I guess.”
         “So you like living, huh?”
         “Sure.  Beats the alternative.”
         “Well, then, how would you like to have eternal life in heaven, Gabriel?”
         Gabriel shrugged again.  Bob reached into his briefcase, pulled out his trusty Holy Bible and plopped it on the table with a thud.  Gabriel wondered to himself why these Billy Graham types always came on like insurance salesmen.
         He let Bob deliver his come-to-Jesus sermon without interruption.  His greasy cheeseburger and flaccid fries arrived at the same time that Bob’s chicken fried steak smothered in an odd-hued gravy did but Bob didn’t even slow down.  Gabriel wasn’t about to waste time, though, and gobbled his food down in less than five minutes.  It was the first decent meal he’d had in a week.  If God had anything to do with that little nugget of mercy he was not ashamed to be thankful, that was for sure.
         He was certain that Bob would take a break from his soliloquy to eat his meal before it got cold but he was wrong about that.  He considered bringing that to his attention but he knew from experience not to interrupt a preacher when he’s on a roll.  Bob hit him with everything except the identity of the antichrist.  He quoted scripture, interpreted their deep, mysterious meanings and how they related to the state of Gabriel’s soul, said a few amens and then repeated the whole rigmarole, padding his argument with even more Bible quotes.  This went on for a good half hour while Bob’s gravy turned to a cold, gelatin-like paste but Gabriel hung in there, nodding in agreement every so often.
         But the urge to tell Reverend Hanley that he was full of rancid beans was getting stronger by the second.  He wanted to get some more miles in before having to go back out on the lonely highway shoulder but if this guy didn’t shut up soon he was going to have to bolt out of principle.  “A hopeless sinner can only take so much,” he thought.  It was then that the still-winking waitress came by with her dented coffee pot in hand and asked if they needed anything.  As if coming out of a hypnotic state, Bob seemed to finally realize that if he didn’t plow into his steak soon it would be inedible and actually stopped talking in mid-sentence.  He told the girl they were fine and picked up his fork.  Gabriel took the opportunity to speak.
         “Wow.  You’ve really got me thinking about some heavy stuff, Bob.  You’ve cleared up a lot of questions I’ve had for a long, long while.  Thank you ever so much for introducing me to Jesus.”
         “My pleasure,” Bob uttered out of a mouthful of mashed potatoes.  “It’s my mission in life.”
         Now that he was sitting on a full stomach Gabriel wanted badly to demonstrate to Bob that he wasn’t as dumb as he looked by informing him that, in his personal investigation of the Bible, he’d found the Jesus described in the gospels to be a man a lot more like himself than the Reverend!  He yearned to point out that the son of God had no place to lay his head, no idea where his next meal was coming from, drifted from town to town, hung out with ne’er do wells and rebels, had no money in his pocket because he freely gave all that he had to those in need and shared love wherever he went.  But Gabriel also knew there was a time and a place for everything and that this was neither.  Instead, Gabriel reached for Bob’s fat Bible, slid it over and opened it in front of him.  “You go ahead and eat, Reverend.  I want to check this book out for myself.”
         Bob swallowed and smiled.  “Praise the Lord!” he shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the place.  Even the bratty kid who was still fussing about not wanting to be at Denny’s went mute for a moment.  Gabriel slumped down in his seat a little and pretended to be wholly intrigued by the contents of God’s handbook until time to leave.

         Back on the road again the good Reverend Bob regaled Gabriel with story after story about all the lost souls he’d saved over the years.  You would’ve thought that Bob was the messiah, not Jesus.  An accident on the other side of the road slowed their progress considerably due to the gawk factor and it was sundown before they neared the outskirts of Albuquerque.  Bob told him that’s where he’d be turning south and Gabriel decided he better quit while he was ahead.
         Bob pulled into a gas station minutes later, told the attendant to fill it up and went to visit the little boys’ room.  As soon as he was out of sight Gabriel got out, grabbed his backpack and walked into the darkening shadows behind the building.  He stood behind a tree and watched as Bob returned to his car and noticed that his passenger had split the scene.  He waited for a few minutes then paid for his gas, looked around once more briefly and then drove away.
         Gabriel stood in the darkness and sized up his situation.  He had no idea where he was.  All he was sure of was that he was alone, in the middle of New Mexico and that he could sure use a cigarette.  He walked back into the lights of the station and tried to bum one off of a guy who pulled up in a Mustang convertible but the man waved him off rudely before he got a word out.  So much for that idea.  In a small, dilapidated shack about a block away Gabriel found some old, musty blankets he could sleep on and took off in search of a quiet, safe place to spend the night.
         He spotted a row of frame houses in the distance and cautiously made his way there.  Locating one that had a “for sale” sign in the yard and showed no signs of being occupied, he was able to slip inside through an unlocked window and slumbered with a roof over his head for a change.