The Amish Spaceman
Tracklist:
Russian Dance (Trepak) – Christmas At The Devil’s House
God Save The Queen – The Sex Pistols
Surfin’ Bird – The Ramones
9
Duke Nichego slapped the seat with a rolled copy of In Style magazine.
“But the most important thing about socks is the freshness,” he said. “There’s nothing more frustrating than catching sight of a beautiful girl, following her to an apartment, then having my men come back with something that’s been under the bed for six months. Even worse, if they bring back socks of the girl’s fat old mother.”
Billie shifted in the front seat. “How on earth would you know the difference?”
“Like a father knows his children,” said the driver, Vassily. “Duke Nichego is an amazing man.”
“It is very simple once you have done it as long as I,” said Nichego. “Young women take baths very often and also leave trace of nail polish on account of hastily preparing for weekend date. Old lady sock smells like dead German soldier dropped in sewer for a week then used by Russian soldier as latrine.”
“What an elegant description,” said Chip, as he watched waveforms on the screen of a small, wire-covered laptop.
“I’ll give you my socks if you let us go,” said Billie. “I guarantee they’re sweaty.”
Vassily laughed. “Duke Nichego does not enjoy socks of men.”
“Toss that pistol out the window and I’ll show you a man,” said Billie.
“Wait! I’ve got something,” said Chip. “The signal’s changed. They stopped moving ... correlating with GPS ... location of PPPP is twelve miles east of our position, near the freeway.”
“Finally, this horrible night will be over,” said Billie.
Vassily wagged a finger. “What is horrible about today? We broke you from prison without even asking.”
“What’s horrible is your stench. It’s enough to force a maggot into a midlife crisis, you bloated gas bag of rotting turnips.”
The Town Car roared down the mountain toward Reno, the raindrops flashing white as they crossed the headlights.
Chip pointed through the window. “Take the next exit.”
A blinding hurricane of red-and-blue whirled from a parking lot filled with cars, police cars, fire engines, people, and more police cars. A white wedding chapel slash funeral parlor slash twenty-four-hour buffet stood at the eye of the storm. Smoke poured from one end of the building, and firefighters directed long streams of water into the black clouds.
“We’re too late,” moaned Nichego. “The American security forces have beaten us with a punch.”
“If we are lucky, they have only started the torture,” said Vassily, “They will certainly not have completed the paperwork to ship Angelika to a maid cafe in Japan.”
“So many Americans with guns,” said Nichego. “I cannot pay everyone!”
Billie slapped the dashboard and pointed through the window.
“There’s the ambulance,” she said. “Other side of the parking lot with all the bright lights. Bunch of cops with assault rifles around it.”
Duke Nichego squirmed on the leather of the back seat. “This is bad time for me to say this, but before I bribe American officials, I must visit toilet.”
“I see a Chevron down the street,” said Chip.
“Drop me off and drive away quickly,” said Nichego. “We must avoid the video cameras of the fuel replenishment station.”
At the gas station he jumped out, and Vassily drove the Town Car a block away. He backed into a dark alley and shut off the engine. Rain dotted the windshield. Black smoke and a smell like burning rubber floated from the nearby wedding chapel.
“I don’t think we should park this close to the fire,” said Chip.
Vassily snorted. “You sound like expert on teaching me to eat eggs. In my small lifetime I have burned a dozen houses of politician, journalist, and bad cook. This is perfect position when Duke Nichego is finished with toilet explosion. You should count goats in your head or something; the Duke will take long time.”
He pulled the automatic pistol from inside his jacket and admired the finish in the light. In the passenger seat beside him, Billie leaned back for a nap.
As quietly as possible, Chip reached down and switched on the solder gun at his feet. He kept an eye on Vassily as the metal tool heated up. The wipers slowly cleaned the rain splatters from his view of the gas station.
A car zipped past the opening of the alley, as bright and red as a smear of nail polish.
“That car didn’t have its lights on,” said Chip.
Vassily shrugged. “Maybe driver is save fuel.”
“Oh, please,” said Billie. “Tell us, Comrade Peanut-Breath, more stories about how the people in your fly-blown part of the world have to cram horse manure and straw into your carburetors just to make it to the market so they can buy more horse manure and straw for the drive back to their stupid village next to the world’s biggest nuclear landfill!”
Vassily looked at her with a puzzled expression. “When did you visit Kamchatka?”
“I’ll visit that festering sore in the ground the same day I deliver your rotting head to your parent’s doorstep and set it on fire, that’s when.”
Vassily shook his head. “It is difficult. My parents live in special camp for happy education of people who do not appreciate the collection of socks. They do not have doorstep, or even door.”
“Just kill us and get this over with,” said Billie.
Chip shifted in his seat. “What? Leave me out of this.”
“Duke Nichego does not like when I shoot pistol in car,” said Vassily. “There is horrible smell for many weeks. Also, this is rental and I lose deposit.”
The Chevron exploded in a tornado-roar of white and orange that rocked the Town Car. Blackened corn chips and Squirt cans cracked the windshield and thumped on the roof.
Chip jabbed the soldering gun into Vassily’s cheek and the velvet-suited chauffeur screamed like a politician under budget cuts. Billie grabbed the pistol and smashed him across the nose, knocking Vassily unconscious. She leaned across to open the driver’s-side door, shoved Vassily’s limp body into the alley, and turned the ignition. The car rumbled to life.
Chip jumped in the front seat. “What about the Duke?”
“You think he survived that? First we get away from this place, then we figure out what to do about Dean and your ambulance.”