'Don't push your luck,' Stanley said. She didn't let the warning stop her. 'Okay, okay!' Stanley snapped.
'When you start sawing, I'll take my hands away.’
'Okay!' Once again, he lowered his legs toward the tub. He stood on its ledges and shuffled along until he came to the four-by-eight. Bending over, he braced his left hand against it. His right hand gripped the saw.
'Start,' Sheila said.
'Yeah,' he said. 'Sure.'
Tugging at the saw's wooden handle, he drew the blade out of its deep slot in the beam.
Sheila frowned. 'What're you doing?'
'You want me to start sawing. always do what I'm told.' Her cry of pain split the quiet as Stanley ran the saw across the top of her left thigh.
***
'You'd better keep down,' Em warned, 'or else you'll pork your back.'
The man crawling underneath the tree grunted and stayed low until he was well clear of the trunk. His silver jewelry jangled as he rolled onto his back. Red-faced and huffing, he raised his knees into the air. 'You hear that, Loreen?' he called.
'I heard, Caspar,' a woman answered. She sounded irritated. 'I'm not deaf, you know.'
'Never said you were, baby.' He rolled his head sideways and blinked toward Em. 'Hello, miss.'
'Just Em,' the girl said. 'That's short for Emerald. These are my pals, Clint and Mary.'
'Pleased to meet you all,' Caspar said. He pushed at the pavement, struggling to sit up. 'Whew! That's a mighty steep old road back there. And I, for one, am not as young as used to be.'
'How old were you then?' Em asked.
Caspar, done sitting up, scowled at her. He was as fat as Santa, but beardless. He had no mustache, either, but his black eyebrows were enormous, bushy, upswept to points, and more Satanic than Santa-like.
Though his scowl looked ferocious, Em smiled.
'Just my luck,' he said. 'A scamp. Beware of geeks beating wit.'
Em's jaw dropped. She glanced from Clint to Mary. 'I think he just called me a geek. Did you hear that? He doesn't even know me.'
'He's psychic,' Mary said.
'Hardy har.'
'Psychic indeed,' Caspar said. He turned to the woman who was poking her head out from under the tree. 'Didn't see this one coming, did we, my dear?'
'Speak for yourself.'
'Watch your back, darling,' he warned her.
She kept crawling forward. Like Caspar, she was rotund, red-faced, and out of breath. She appeared to be twenty-five or thirty years old - about half his age. Her jet black hair was shorter than his, and shaped like a football helmet while his was a shaggy mane.
Clear of the trunk, she sat on the pavement next to Caspar. What a pair, Clint thought. They wore matching red blouses - loose, airy affairs that gleamed like silk, had billowing sleeves, and were gathered in around their waists with broad, golden sashes. Loreen wore a peasant skirt; Caspar, a pair of crisp blue jeans. They sported sandals instead of shoes. They each wore more jewelry than Clint had seen on one person in a long time: enormous hoops that dangled from their ears, necklaces, pendants, bracelets, rings on most of their fingers. Patting the woman's leg, Caspar looked from Clint to the others and said, 'My Loreen. What would do without her? Smile more often, perhaps?'
She slapped the back of his hand. 'He finds himself amusing,' she explained.
'We just finished eating,' Clint said. 'We have some salami and cheese left over. Would you like some?'
'That would be splendid, I'm sure,' Caspar said.
'Help yourselves,' Em said, leaning forward and handing the bag to him. As he took it, she asked, 'What are your costumes for? Do you work in a Greek restaurant?'
'Scamp,' Caspar said.
'We're gypsies, my dear,' Loreen explained.
'Oh, delightful,' Mary muttered.
Clint gave her an annoyed glance. She smirked at him.
Em and the newcomers paid no attention. Em, sitting up straight, grabbed her knees and said, 'Real gypsies?'
'What's real?' asked Caspar, peering into the bag.
'We're gypsy fortune-tellers,' Loreen explained.
'The Blotskis,' Caspar added. 'We're world famous in Studio City.' He took out a handful of cheese slices and the remains of the salami, and one of the knives.
'I don't think I've heard of you,' Em said. 'We won't hold that against you,' Caspar said. 'You're one among legions,' Loreen told her.
'Our parlor's in Studio City,' Caspar explained 'but our car is in West Hollywood. The hike appears to be more than we bargained for.'
'Couldn't get through the traffic?' Clint asked.
'Ah. I took one peek at Ventura Boulevard and decided to leave our car in the parking lot.'
'My feet will never be the same,' Loreen said.
'The hike will do us good.'
'If it doesn't kill us.'
'You're almost to the top,' Clint said.
'Speaking of which,' Mary said, 'shouldn't we be going?’
'What's the hurry?' Em asked.
Though Clint hated to agree with Mary about anything, he told Em, 'We've been resting here too long already. I want to get home.'
'But these are gypsies.'
'Yeah,' Mary said. 'Sure thing.'
'I don't know about you, but I'd sort of like to have my fortune told.'
'What do you want to know, sweetie?' Loreen asked.
Em frowned. 'Don't you have to use a crystal ball or look at my palm or something?'
'Not Loreen,' Caspar said, cutting offa thick disk of salami. 'She's a face-reader.'
'I never heard of something like that.'
'A mug-inspector,' Caspar added. 'A fraud,' Mary muttered.
Clint had no doubt that everyone heard her, but nobody reacted.
Loreen said, 'Tell me what you want to know, Emerald.'
Em gnawed her lower lip. Then she said, 'To begin with, what's my last name?'
Caspar, chuckling, placed a slice of cheese on top of the salami piece. 'Such a scamp,' he said as he handed it to Loreen. 'A test! She wants to test you. How do you like that one?'
'I'm afraid I don't do parlor tricks,' Loreen told Em. 'Your last name is no mystery to you. I deal only in mysteries, in the dark secrets lurking in the mists of the future.'
'What a load,' Mary said.
Loreen didn't ignore that one. She turned her head toward Mary, smiled pleasantly, and said, 'The parting mists do show you, smart lady, coming to a very bad end in the very near future.'
Em cackled.
Smiling beatifically, Loreen chomped her salami and cheese.
'That's real funny,' Mary said. 'Ha ha ha. What am supposed to do now, tremble? I'm so scared. Weirdos.'
Words muffled by her soggy mouthful, Loreen said, 'I just call 'em like see 'em. So sorry. Rest in peace, honey.'
'Bitch.'
'Hey!' Ciint snapped.
'She said I'm gonna die!'
'And soon,' Em added, laughing. 'That's really for shit!' Clint tried not to smile.
'Oh, yeah, you think it's funny, too. You wouldn't think it was so funny if she said it about Em, though, would you?
You'd be laughing out of the other side of your face, then.'
'I'm not laughing,' Clint explained.
'Maybe not, but you want to.'
'I am not laughing,' Caspar said. The grim tone of his voice shocked Clint. Em's laughter stopped as if crushed by a boot. 'You called my Loreen a bitch,' Caspar said, staring at Mary, his eyelids half shut. The salami was in his left hand, the knife in his fight. He raised the blade of the knife. 'Perhaps I should remove your tongue?'
Oh, Jesus, Clint thought. 'She didn't mean anything,' he said.
'She called my Loreen a bitch.'
Clint turned on Mary. 'Tell them you're sorry. You didn't mean it.'
'The hell will.'
'Do it!'
Her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears. 'You're just gonna let this asshole threaten me?'
Em rolled her eyes upward. 'Oh
, wonderful, now she's called him an asshole. The fun never ends. Jeezle-peezle, Mary!' Leaning forward, she patted Caspar's knee. 'Don't let her get to you, okay? Sometimes, she's a putz. You know what I mean? You've just gotta basically ignore her.'
Caspar slowly nodded. 'For you, my little scamp, I'll let the woman keep her tongue.'
'Only because you're so nice,' Loreen added.
Mary wiped her eyes, then glared at Clint. 'Thanks a heap, He-man.'
'I'm not here to save your butt when you go running off at the mouth. I don't know what your problem is, but…'
'I'm a putz.'
Frowning, Em tilted her head and asked nobody in particular, 'Can a female person be a putz? Or is that a term that only applies in a strict sense to men?'
'It applies in Mary's case,' Loreen said, smiling.
Mary's face darkened and her mouth opened. But she shut her mouth fast.
'We're all friends again,' Caspar said. 'Aren't we, Mary?’
'Yeah, sure.'
He bared his teeth at her. 'Of course, I was kidding about cutting out your tongue. Just kidding. A little joke. I would never cut out the tongue of a pretty woman like you.'
Clint fully expected the next words out of Caspar's mouth to be, 'Of course, I would cheerfully slit your throat from ear to ear,' and mean it. From the looks on the faces of Mary and Em, they seemed to be thinking pretty much the same thing.
Whoever this guy is, Clint thought, he's dangerous. Friendly and cheerful, but definitely dangerous. And probably no more of a gypsy than am - just some sort of showman or con artist, or God knows what. Same with Loreen.
What's she, anyway? His wife? His daughter? Ask? Yeah, right, and risk the Wrath of Caspar? No, thanks. Leave that sort of thing to Em.
'Can we get going, now?' Mary asked.
'Let's wait till they're done eating,' Em said, 'and we can all walk together.'
'And why would we want to do that?'
'Well, for starters, it wouldn't be very polite to walk away and leave them. Also, I happen to find them very fascinating people.'
'Thank you, dear,' Loreen said.
'You're welcome.' She returned her attention to Mary. 'And also, it's a well-known fact that there is safety in numbers.'
'Excellent observation,' Caspar said, and stuffed his mouth with salami and cheese.
'Thank you,' Em told him. 'I'11 just bet you'd be handy to have around if we should happen to run into a hooligan or two.'
Busy chewing, he nodded and twirled the blade of the knife. 'You can have some of that water, by the way,' Em added. 'You two are probably parched. I should've mentioned it. Those bottles in the bag there…'
'Ah.' He reached into the bag and pulled out one of the plastic bottles. Only about a cup of water remained in it. 'Thank you, my dear. You are a life saver.' He took a single swallow, then passed the bottle to Loreen.
Like Caspar, she restricted herself to one swallow. Then she licked her lips and said, 'Delicious.'
'Drink some more,' Em said. 'Both of you. That was hardly enough to wet your whistles.'
'Maybe later,' Loreen told her. She handed the bottle back to Caspar, who capped it and returned it to the sack.
'I think we could use a couple more people,' Clint said 'Especially in case of trouble.' Eyeing Mary, he added, 'As long as we can all get along together. Are you going behave?'
'I'll behave,' she said. Lowering her eyes, she muttered 'Like have a choice.'
'If you act up,' Em warned, 'we'll let Caspar cut your tongue out.'
'Oh, you're real funny.'
Clint sighed. 'That's no help, Em.'
'But fun.'
'Such a scamp,' Caspar said.
'She doesn't need any encouragement,' Clint told him.
'You're right. Emerald, be a sweetheart and stop pestering Mary.'
'Thanks,' Clint said. 'Anyway, what do you think about joining up with us?'
'Which way are you heading?' Loreen asked.
'Some psychic,' Mary muttered. And quickly added, 'Sorry'
'They're heading the same way as us,' Caspar told her. 'You didn't see them on the way up?'
'I wasn't looking up.'
'I saw them. I saw someone. It was you?'
'Probably,' Clint said. 'Nobody else seems to be up here'
'I didn't see anyone,' Loreen said.
'We know that,' Caspar told her. 'Tell us something we don't know.'
'We're in for big trouble,' she said in a very casual voice, as if commenting on bland weather. Clint felt his stomach sink. 'Wonderful,' Mary muttered.
Em curled her upper lip. 'Is that a prediction?' she asked Loreen.
The woman didn't answer, but Caspar said, 'I'm afraid so.' Then he asked Loreen, 'What sort of trouble?''Big trouble.'
'Is she getting this from someone's face?' Em asked Caspar. 'You said she's a face-reader.'
'From the face of the day,' Loreen said. 'I see blood on the face of the day.'
Mary let out a huff of air. She said, 'This is such…' But she didn't let herself finish.
Everyone stared at Loreen. 'Tell us more,' Caspar said.
'I see death at sunset.'
Something down low inside Clint seemed to shrivel.
'One of us?' Caspar asked.
'All right,' Clint said. 'That's enough. Just cut it out. I don't know who you people are, but I don't want to hear any more of this. Nobody can predict the future, and you're giving me the creeps. So knock it off, okay? I don't want to hear this kind of stuff. Just keep it to yourselves, or…'
'I don't want to be around them,' Mary protested, standing up. 'Okay? Let's just go.'
'If you leave now,' Em said, 'you won't find out who's going to die at sunset.'
'As if didn't know. Who do you suppose they're gonna finger? She's got it in for me. You've all got it in for me.'
'No, we don't,' Em said. 'That's silly.'
Mary frowned down at Clint. 'Are you coming?'
'Is everybody ready?' he asked, glancing at the others.
'Those two don't have to come with us, do they? Come on, Clint, they're…, they scare me.'
'I'm done with banishing people.'
'You oughta be happy about that,' Em told her.
'As far as I'm concerned,' Clint said, 'the Biotskis are welcome to come along.'
'You're a fine and decent man,' Loreen said.
'True,' Caspar added. 'And that's not a prediction, it's a fact. Mind if we eat while we walk?'
'Go ahead. Just lay off this fortune-telling stuff. Nobody wants to hear it.'
'Or maybe,' Em suggested, 'you could tell us just the nifty stuff, and leave out anything that's ooky.'
'No,' Clint said. 'Any more predictions, nifty, ooky otherwise, and I'm going to take off and leave everybody behind.'
'Same here,' Mary said.
'Those are the ground rules.'
'Fine by me,' Caspar said. 'Loreen?'
She pressed a forefinger to her greasy lips. 'Mum's word,' she said.
Clint got to his feet. 'Let's get moving,' he said. We're almost to the top, so the worst is behind us.'
***
They had eaten a lunch of barbeque-flavored potato chips and butter and jelly sandwiches. Barbara had tried a beer, given up on it after one taste, and switched to Dr Pepper. The others had seemed to enjoy their beers. Heather went to keep watch out the window, Lee had Earl go into the bedroom for a change of clothes. Barbara and Pete had sat beside each other on the floor while they were gone. Barbara could hear quiet talking from the other room but she couldn't make out the words.
'huh?' Earl said as he swaggered into the living room. The pin-striped pants had been replaced by a pair of camouflage trousers worn with white socks and faded blue running shoes.
'All I need's like an M-16, or something, and I'd be all set to roll.' He grinned at Lee. 'Anyway, thanks for the clothes. I'll get 'em back to you, promise.'
'No hurry,' Lee said.
'Thanks for feeding us,'
Barbara said, getting to her feet. Pete said. 'It sure hit the spot.'
'Glad to help,' Lee told them.
'Now, if you really wanta help,' Earl said, 'how about letting us borrow one of your guns?' He said it smiling, as if it were a big joke, but Barbara knew he meant it.
'No can do.'
Earl made a mock-pouting face. 'Hey, I thought we were pals.'
'I don't loan out my weapons.'
'You don't need both of 'em, do you?'
'Yes.'
'Hey, come on. How am I gonna protect Banner if I don't have a gun? Look at her. She's a beauty, isn't she?'
Lee glanced at Barbara. His eyes darted from her face to the hand that held her blouse shut, then back to Earl. He said nothing.
'Don't you care what happens to her?'
'I care.'
'All we gotta do, you know, is run into the wrong sort guys out there on our way home, and…'
'Stay here,' Lee said. 'Nobody's pushing you out the door.'
'I have to get home,' Barbara told him. 'My parents… ‘
'Same here,' Pete said.
'But we don't need one of your guns,' she added.
'Speak for yourself,' Earl said.
'I just did. I don't want one.'
'I do.' Earl frowned at Lee. 'Come on, you've got the assault rifle.' He nodded at the carbine that was leaning against the sofa near Heather. 'What do you need the pistol for? It might save our lives. Might save Banner from getting reamed by a gang of drooling maniacs.
'Barbara scowled. 'Shut up.'
Heather smirked over her shoulder at Earl. 'You said there isn't any gang of maniacs out there.'
'Yeah, well, who knows? Just 'cause I didn't see it… I sure saw plenty of poor jerks who'd gotten themselves trashed real good. It ain't exactly a picnic out there.'
'Then don't leave,' Lee said. He looked at Barbara. 'I know you want to get home. I know you're worried about your parents.'
'And it has to be killing them, not knowing if I'm okay.'
'Same here,' Pete said.
Lee nodded. 'I understand. But you'd be better off playing it safe. Do you think that your parents would want you to risk your lives, just in order to get home a little bit sooner? Not a chance. The National Guard'll be on the streets tomorrow.’
'The Guard?' Pete asked. 'Really?’