A HUNDRED MILES TO THE WEST, a black Town Car pulled into the rest stop in question, followed closely by a furiously red late-model Corvette.
A muscular man in a polo shirt and blonde crew-cut lifted the Corvette’s parking brake and turned to the elegant older woman in the passenger seat.
“I don’t like this, Fran. Not one bit.”
Frank Cook pulled down the sunshade and checked his makeup in the mirror. He decided that it would be safer to go light on the eyeliner if they were going to be out in the desert much longer. Too much makeup in this sunshine, and a girl looked very trashy, very fast.
“You never like anything,” he said. “But I suppose that’s one quality I like about you, Steve Dubrowski. That, and your palatial Los Altos estate, of course. You’re the kind of guy who sees a beautiful, sunny day and wants everyone to do pushups and hit punching bags.”
“There’s nothing beautiful about driving through Nevada.”
Frank smiled. “Of course there is. Now be a dear son-in-law and check the parking lot. I need to see why Billie has stopped.”
Billie leaned against a fender of the Town Car, a cigarette dangling from her lips and both hands jammed in the front pockets of her blue jeans like a bored James Dean with two ovaries too many.
Chip waved a journal bound in black leather in front of Billie’s cigarette.
“The whole book’s like that,” he said. “Listen to this one: September 14. Location: Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, Sector 3C. Blonde waitress behind counter of Burger Chef, estimated height 170 cm, very trim and ... hmm, can’t read that word. Left Vassily with two hundred rubles and instructions to follow girl after work. After three hours, Vassily returned with two socks, no rubles, and a black eye. Socks are low-ankle version of medium weight, white cotton. Fragrance is very earthy, with notes of chocolate and sweat. Overall grade: seven.”
“How in the name of Gus McCrae do you know how to speak Russian?”
“I can't. I just know how to read it. There was this massively multiplayer online game that was released only in Russia, so I––”
Billie held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. It’s for your own good.”
“I’m just answering your question.”
“Why don’t you drop that book and get back on the detector thing, okay?”
Chip pulled a laptop out of the back of the Town Car, along with a pair of telescoping antennae that formed a shiny metal ‘V.’
Frank approached along the sidewalk with a tap-tap of high heels. “Find anything?”
Chip pointed to a building that held restrooms and vending machines. “I’m getting a signal from over there.”
“Good work,” said Frank. “Billie, can you check the men’s bathroom? I’ll take the girl’s.”
“Scream if you see a mouse.”
“You’ll hear the sound of gunfire in that case, not screams.”
Chip stared as the pair walked toward the building. He shook his head and sighed.
Frank pushed through the second stall in the women’s restroom and spotted a rectangular phone on the toilet-paper dispenser. He covered the phone with a tissue and carried it outside.
“I found it!”
The door of the men’s room opened with a slam and Billie ran up. “Found what?”
“A phone.”
“It looks like my mom’s,” said Chip.
Billie turned and kicked over a trash can, spilling fast-food containers and banana peels everywhere. An elderly couple stared for a moment and hurried back to their car.
“Calm down, dear,” said Frank.
Chip laid the antennae on the trunk. “Give me Dean’s number, and I’ll try to recalibrate the gear to track his phone.”
Frank brushed a lock of brown hair from his eyes. “If the silly boy hasn’t lost it. We should also check on those two miscreants in the trunk. If they run out of water, that’s going to be a particular mess this particular individual isn’t cleaning up.”
Billie spat onto the sidewalk and pulled a can of snuff from her back pocket. “Why do you care if these ‘particular individuals’ live or die? They were on the brink of murdering Chip and me yesterday.”
“I know, but it’s so much fun,” said Frank. “I’ve always wanted to drive around with people in a car trunk. It’s so exciting!”
“Of course it is,” said Chip dryly. “But the difference between the death penalty for kidnapping and a misdemeanor for rowdy fun is the Utah state line. Let’s drop them off in a bad part of Salt Lake City.”
Billie snorted. “You watch too much TV. There’s no bad part of Salt Lake.”
“What I mean is, we cover them in malt liquor and leave them at the Greyhound station,” said Chip. “Nobody’ll believe anything they say.”
“You’re such a smart boy! I’m glad you came along,” said Frank. He reached out for a hug, but Chip backed away, his arms straight out.
“Let’s keep this professional, okay? I’m not crazy like the rest of you people. I just want to get my mom back home, safe and sound.”
Frank laughed. “Who’s crazy? We want the same thing for Dean.”
Steve Dubrowski walked up from the parking lot.
“I didn’t see anyone out there or hiding in the cars,” he said.
“All right,” said Fran. “I’m calling a group meeting! Group meeting everyone.”
Billie kicked the trash can again, knocking it across the sidewalk. “Just spit it out, Fran!”
“Steve’s car is faster, so he’ll go ahead and search for Dean. Whoever follows in the Town Car needs to stop for supplies.”
Steve raised a hand. “Including sunscreen. Also, is there time for us to get in a workout? I think all of us could benefit from some stretches and a little sparring. Maybe a run? Only a couple miles, nothing crazy.”
“Unless you want someone else to drive your car, Steve, I think it’s out of the question.”
“Someone else driving my car is definitely out of the question.”
“I call shotgun in the Corvette!” yelled Chip.
Frank smiled at Chip and held out a white-gloved hand. “How about ‘Rock, Paper, Shotgun?’ ”