“Yeah. What took you so long?” He shut the door after Jody was in.
“Things,” she said, and gave him a mysterious smile. She pulled the other chair away from the table and sat down. Andy dropped onto the end of the bed where she’d slept. Near the foot of the other bed was Dad’s Mossberg shotgun. “Where’d that come from?”
“It’s been around,” Dad said.
“I thought you left it in the car.”
“It wouldn’t do us much good there.”
She wondered for a moment what she’d done with her Smith & Wesson, then remembered sliding it under the front seat of the car just as they’d pulled into the Texaco station last night. It must still be there. The magazine and box of ammo, too. Unless Dad or Sharon had gone under there and taken them out.
Ask?
If she asked, she would get a firearms lecture.
So she decided to let it go. The gun was probably right where she’d left it.
It better be. If somebody broke in the car and stole it last night ...
Not likely. The car was just down below in the parking lot, in plain view from the balcony where Dad had stood watch.
I shouldn’t have left it there, anyway, she told herself. Major stupid move.
I’m being major stupid a lot lately.
Maybe it has to do with having people trying to murder you all the time.
“So, what’re we doing now?” she asked.
“Now that you’re here,” Dad said, “we’re waiting for Sharon.”
“Well, she’s done with her shower. I heard the water go off just before I left and came over here.”
“Is your stuff all packed and ready to go?” Dad asked.
“Pretty much. Are we gonna leave, or have breakfast, or what?”
“Checkout time isn’t till noon. That gives us almost an hour and a half. I think we might as well leave everything in the rooms and go have breakfast. We can load up the car after we get back, then make some final pit stops and be on our way.”
“On our way where?” Jody asked.
Dad smiled at Andy. “That’s just what we were discussing when you came along.”
“We’re not going to Phoenix,” Andy told her.
“Thank God for that.”
“I suppose I’ll have to phone Spaulding sooner or later,” Dad said.
“Don’t hurry,” Andy suggested.
“He’s been notified that you turned up—that’ll do for the time being. I’ll want to check with a few people and find out where we stand before I have it out with him. In the meantime, just consider yourself part of the family.”
Andy grinned. “Can I choose which part?”
“Family pet,” Jody said.
“Ha ha. Is Sharon like part of the family, too?” he asked.
Dad shrugged. “Guess so.”
Narrowing his eyes, Andy rubbed his chin like an old sage stroking his goatee. “Let’s say Sharon’s my wife. You two can be our kids.”
“Get outa here,” Jody said.
Dad just shook his head. On his crooked mouth was a true smirk.
“How about it?” Andy asked.
At least he’s not miserable and crying, Jody told herself.
“You’d have to ask Sharon,” Dad said.
“Maybe she’s got a soft spot in her heart,” Jody said, “for obnoxious pip-squeaks.”
“Then she must love you.”
“In your ear.”
“Children, children, let’s try to get along.”
Just then, Sharon appeared on the balcony. She glanced through the window and raised a hand in greeting as she walked by.
“There’s the little woman now,” Andy said, and hopped up to open the door. Swinging it wide, he bowed slightly. “My dear, we’ve been expecting you.”
Sharon wrinkled her nose and looked from Jody to Jack. “What’s with him?”
“He’s bonkers for you,” Jody explained.
Andy winced and went scarlet. “I am not. I’m just kidding around. Cripes!”
Grinning at him, Sharon said, “Nothing to be ashamed of, pal. Guys are always going bonkers for me.”
Jody turned so she could see her father. His face looked almost as red as Andy’s.
“You do look very nice this morning,” Dad said. It sounded like a perfunctory compliment, but Jody had no doubt that he meant it. Meant it in a big way.
Sharon bobbed her head a bit and said, “Thanks.”
She looked fresh and cool and ready for adventure. Her short-sleeved white blouse had epaulettes and pocket flaps and its top few buttons undone. The blouse seemed a bit large for her. It wasn’t tucked in, and hung straight down from the front of her breasts so that it hid the top few inches of her shorts. The shorts were tan, loose around her legs, and very short. Their cuffs surrounded her thighs just below the hanging tails of her blouse.
Her legs were tawny and sleek. And they had muscles.
She wore white socks that came up just above her ankles. Her low-top British Knights looked brand new and brilliant white.
From her shoulder hung a brown leather purse.
Jody wondered if Sharon’s pistol was in the purse. It might be there. Since her blouse wasn’t tucked in, though, she might be carrying it in the waist of her shorts. Either in back or in front.
The way her blouse hung out in front, she could have hand grenades strapped to her belly and you’d never see a bulge.
Jody glanced from Dad to Andy. They were both watching Sharon—who wasn’t even doing anything. Just standing there, hip out so she was mostly on one leg, her right hand hanging on to the shoulder strap of her purse, her left ... maybe the guys were staring because of how the strap of the purse was pressing against Sharon’s right breast.
Men. Jeez.
“So,” Sharon said. “What’s up? Do we check out now, or find a place to eat, or ... ?”
“I think we’ll go and eat,” Dad told her. “Checkout isn’t till noon, so we’ve got all kinds of time.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“There’s a Denny’s just down the road.”
Jody expected him, next, to say, “Let’s walk. It’s not all that far. The exercise’ll do us good.” Before he could get the chance, she said, “We’ll drive, won’t we? My feet are still sort of racked up, and Andy’s got a bad knee. Anyway, I just took a shower. I don’t want to get all sweaty and yucked up.”
“What the hey,” Dad said. “We can drive.”
While he wrapped the shotgun inside their old blanket, Sharon opened the door and checked outside.
In the hot back seat of the car, Jody ducked down and slid her hand underneath Sharon’s seat. The carpet felt gritty.
“What’re you doing?” Andy asked.
She touched her pistol. “Nothing.” She left it there and sat up straight.
Dad eased out of the parking space. “Since we’re not walking, we aren’t limited to the Denny’s. Whatsay we scout around and see if we can’t find a local place?”
“Here we go,” Jody said.
“You can eat at a Denny’s any time,” he explained as he backed out of the parking space.
“I know, I know.”
“Maybe we can find a McDonalds,” Andy said.
“Oh, you’re dreaming,” Jody said. “You and Sharon have gotta say goodbye to all the nice, reliable chain-food places you’ve come to know and love. You’re traveling with Kong Fargo, now.”
Dad laughed.
“His life is a quest for culinary adventures.”
“We’re on the road,” he said. “Why settle for the same food we can get a few blocks from home?”
“I’m with you,” Sharon told him. “It’s not just the food, either. You get some local color.”
“And some local germs,” Andy said.
Jody laughed and nudged him with her elbow.
“Comedians,” Dad muttered.
As he steered past the Denny’s, Jody said, “Farewell to all that is familiar and saf
e.”
During the next few minutes, she came to see that Sharon was even better suited for Dad than she’d suspected. Sharon not only ignored the national chain restaurants, but even wanted to avoid local places that appeared reasonably normal. “Aah, that joint looks boring,” she would say. Or, “Too mundane.” Or, “What kind of ambience is that?”
“You eat there,” Dad would add, “and you won’t even remember it by tomorrow.”
“We’re gonna starve,” Andy said.
“Nope,” Jody assured him. “Any minute now, they’ll spot some dark, greasy dive that sports enough atmosphere to seem picturesque.”
Jody was the one who spotted it, though.
“Thar she blows.”
It was called Kactus Kate’s.
“Good eye, good eye,” Dad said—a compliment he usually reserved for Jody when she chose not to swing her baseball bat at a bad pitch.
“That’s a great sign up there,” Sharon said.
The sign suspended above the cafe’s door was a six-foot Saguaro cactus that resembled a skinny green man with raised arms. Nobody had gone so far as to paint a face on the cactus, but it did sport a red sombrero tilted at a jaunty angle. The sign looked as if it had been cut out of plywood. It looked long overdue for a fresh coat of paint.
Dad swung to the curb in front of Kactus Kate’s.
“We’re really going to eat here?” Andy asked.
Jody nodded. “Bet you’re wishing you’d stayed on the roof of the gas station.”
“If it’s really bad,” Dad said, “we’ll look for someplace else.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Andy. They’re almost never that bad.”
Dad plucked the key out of the ignition.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Sharon said, frowning at him. “If the kids really don’t want to try a place like this ...”
“Jody just likes to hear herself complain. She gets a kick out of trying these places. Right, honey?”
Sharon looked around at her.
Jody shrugged. “They keep life interesting, sort of. But then, so does a sharp stick in the eye.”
“What about you?” Sharon asked Andy.
“I don’t know. We always used to eat at McDonalds or Burger King, or ...”
“Are you willing to give this a try?”
“I guess so. Sure, why not?”
“Hey,” Jody said to him, “what’s the worst that can happen?”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Sharon said. “Let’s go get ’em.”
Kactus Kate’s had the decor of an old west museum: walls hung with wagon wheels; rusty lanterns; branding irons; paintings of lonesome deserts and cliff dwellings; and framed, yellowing photos of the likes of Jesse James, Sitting Bull, Geronimo, Custer, Buffalo Bill, the Wild Bunch, Wyatt Earp, and Dad’s all-time favorite gun fighter, James Butler Hickok.
Dad’s eyes lit up when he walked in.
Sharon got excited when she found that she could order a breakfast burrito with egg and chorizo inside it.
Andy, studying the menu, muttered, “All right!” when he discovered French toast made with cinnamon raisin bread.
For Jody, the best thing about Kactus Kate’s was the waitress, a blonde in her twenties, over six feet tall, who chomped on chewing gum as she swaggered over to the table.
According to the plastic pin above her left breast, her name was Bess.
Now Bess is picturesque, Jody thought.
She wore snakeskin boots that reached up almost to her knees, skintight blue jeans, a belt with an enormous brass buckle that showed a bucking horse, and a purple T-shirt decorated with a white fringe in a deep V down her chest. Both sleeves of her T-shirt were turned up, baring her upper arms. Her left arm looked smooth and unmarked. On her right, though, was the tattoo of a broken heart and the message, “BORN TO BUST HEARTS AND BRONCOS.” From the lobes of her ears dangled small, silver tomahawks.
After she’d brought over the coffee and hot chocolate, Sharon waited until she was out of earshot, then said, “I love that outfit.”
“You’d look great in it,” Dad told her. “You might want to skip the tattoos, though.”
“Too late for that.”
Andy leaned toward her. “What’ve you got?”
Sharon grinned. “The chances of you finding out are slim to none.”
“Where are they?” Andy persisted.
“It, not they. And never mind. Drink your cocoa.”
Andy and Jody started to work on their drinks, biting and sucking their way through soft white piles of whipping cream before finding the hot chocolate underneath.
When Bess came back to take their orders, she squeezed Andy’s shoulder and said, “What’s it gonna be for you, Sparkie?”
He blushed.
Maybe because the waitress had a hand on him. Maybe because she’d called him Sparkie.
Why’d she call him that? Jody wondered. Just to be colorful?
Andy stammered a bit as he ordered the French toast on the cinnamon raisin bread, and a side of sausage links.
That sounded good to Jody, so she asked for the same.
Sharon ordered the chorizo and egg burrito. Bess smiled at Dad and said, “What’ll it be for you, Sugar?”
“I’ll try one of those burritos, too. Probably live to regret it, but ...” He shrugged.
“You’re gonna swoon for it. Swoon and drool. We got the best chorizo in five counties. It’s all-fired asskickin’ hot, though, so you don’t wanta be sippin’ coffee with it. Need a drink that’ll cool down the fire, like a Pepsi.”
They all decided to have Pepsis with their breakfast. As Bess headed for the kitchen, Jody said, “How’s she for local color?”
“What a babe,” Andy said.
Sharon raised an eyebrow. “Ass-kickin’?”
“She might be a little far out in left field,” Dad said, “but it sure is nice to be in a place where the waitress talks American.”
“Ooo, Dad. Naughty. You’re such a bigot.”
“That’s me.” He took a sip of coffee, then set down the mug. “I wanta check out the pictures and things. Anybody else?”
“I wouldn’t mind a closer look,” Sharon said.
The two of them left the table. Dad headed straight for the picture of Wild Bill, Sharon at his side.
“Is your father a Republican?” Andy asked.
“Nope, a fascist storm trooper.”
“You mean like a Nazi?”
She laughed. “Yeah, only worse.”
“Those Nazis made lampshades out of skin. Real human skin. Did you know that? I saw this really gross book that this kid had at school. It showed all these pictures. They were so incredibly gross you wouldn’t believe it.”
“You sound like you loved them.”
He shrugged. “Well, they were pretty horrible in a way. But they were neat. Some of them showed all these women lined up to get gassed. The Nazis tricked them into thinking they were going in to take a shower, only the shower room was really this gigantic gas chamber. Anyway, none of them had on a stitch of clothes. I mean, you could see everything.”
“You would like that.”
He shrugged. “A lot of them were sort of fat and ugly, but ...”
“Jeez, Andy.”
“Yeah, okay. But anyway, this other picture showed a lampshade. It just looked like any normal lampshade, pretty much. It had somebody’s tattoo on it, though. A bird. Some sort of bird, like an eagle or something. It looked like it was flying under the moon or the sun, but that was actually the guy’s nipple.”
“That’s nauseating.”
“Yeah, but it’s kind of cool.”
“No it’s not.” Jody stared at him. His parents and sister had just been butchered. How could he be talking about things like lampshades of human skin and naked women in line to be murdered, much less describing them with such relish?
And had he forgotten about the dead guy on the floor of his bedroom who’d been wearing pants made out of
skin?
Pants. That’s even worse than a lampshade. They hadn’t been in some book, either. They’d been on a real guy in Andy’s own bedroom.
And he’s all excited about a picture of a lampshade?
That’s crazy.
Maybe this is like denial, Jody thought. Or compensating, or something. One of those psychological things people do when they’ve gotten their heads screwed up.
“I’d sure like to see that tattoo,” Andy whispered.
“Knock it off about the lampshade, okay?”
“Not that,” he said. “Sharon’s. I bet it’s on one of her boobs.”
Jody elbowed him fairly hard.
“Hey!”
“Don’t talk about people’s boobs.”
She saw Andy’s eyes lower to hers.
“Cut it out!”
“Okay, okay! Calm down.”
“Anyway, that might not even be where her tattoo is. It might be on her butt, for instance.”
Andy frowned. “That’d be an awful place for one.”
“I wouldn’t want one anywhere.”
He leaned close and whispered, “Maybe it’s on her poon.”
“On her what?”
“You know, her poon.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Down there.” He pointed toward Jody’s lap.
She whacked the back of his hand.
“Ow! That hurt!”
“Good. You oughta have your mouth washed out with soap.”
“You don’t have to hit.”
“You’d just better not go around pointing like that again. Jeez! Somebody might’ve seen you.”
“Nobody’s looking.”
“How would you like it if I pointed down at your you-know-what?”
Andy grinned. “My peter?”
“SHHHH! We’re in a public place. Now, stop it!”
“Okay.” He leaned close to Jody and whispered, “Peter peter peter peter.”
“Idiot.”
“Poon poon poon poon.”
“What’re you doing, turning into a five-year-old?”
He chanted, “Poon and Peter sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g. First came ...”
Jody clapped a hand across his mouth and held it there. “Shut up! You’re not funny.”
He nodded as if he wanted to assure her that he was very funny indeed.
“We’ll see how funny Sharon thinks you are,” Jody said. Smiling, she lowered her hand.