Click here to check out the print version

PRAISE FOR

Brace for Impact

"Wait, it's not one of those choose-your-own-adventure books? No thanks."

—"Small Balls" Hill

"Just because I share a bed with you doesn't mean I have to read your crap book. Now, go make me a sandwich."

—Ballena, www.ballena53.com

"I have disposable income, dude, but I don't want to read your book. I lived it, dude."

—Mick Aloha, www.mickaloha.com

"I didn't come all the way here...to Memphis, Tennessee...to read your crap book."

—Jake Bastion, C.E.O. of the M.V.W.F.

"My dog told me it's great."

—Sir Timothy

"...now, wait a minute. This Mick Aloha character, is he the one that hit me?"

—Punky Stratton, M.V.W.F. disputed champion

Other Books by Apocalypse D

BRACE

FOR

IMPACT

Apocalypse D

NOTE: If you bought this book without a cover, then how did you know which book you were buying?

Although several characters in this book are loosely based on the author's friends, all characterizations are completely fictional. All events in this book are fictional, with the exception of Mick Aloha's drunken rampages, which are real and well-documented.

BRACE FOR IMPACT

More information about the author can be found at www.themoonmasters.com. The author can be contacted at apocalypsedowell@gmail.com.

ISBN 978-1-4303-2207-8

This is the first print edition.

First print edition: June 2007

Any mentioned trademarked or copyrighted products or names have trademarks and copyrights owned by the respective trademark and copyright owners. As such, these trademarks and copyrights should be respected and treated with suitable reverence.

This book is dedicated to Punky Stratton and all of the other small-time wrestlers out there. Keep breaking necks, boys.

WARNING:

This book contains adult language and childish situations. If you're offended by naughty swears please proceed no further.

Chapter 1

Monday 6:40am (E.S.T.)

The smell of meat disturbed Apocalypse Dowell's slumber.

"Come out and meat your death. That's a play on words." It was one of Apocalypse Dowell's lesser enemies.

Apocalypse Dowell knew how slowly this enemy moved, so he took the time to put on a pair of jeans and a green and white checked flannel shirt before stepping out of his bedroom.

When Apocalypse Dowell stepped over a stack of his CDs in the hallway and fell into the living room, his enemy Steakzooka shot a 12 ounce NY Strip at him; the projectile narrowly missed Apocalypse Dowell's head.

Steakzooka, a five-foot two-inch purple Japanese robot with a stolen American speech card, stood over Apocalypse Dowell, aimed his bazooka shaped steak-shooter, and fired again. Apocalypse Dowell rolled on the floor, dodging the projectile.

"I've allowed you to keep living too long, vegetarian. Now, taste the metallic irony of a meat-loving robot."

When Apocalypse Dowell stood up, Steakzooka switched his steak-shooter to automatic and fired steaks at Apocalypse Dowell so quickly they covered him up to his neck. Apocalypse Dowell couldn't move.

"That was too easy, Apocalypse Dowell. Don't you have any weapons?"

"Yeah, I do, but they're attached to the ceiling."

Steakzooka admired the row of specialized super villain-fighting weaponry, which was attached to the ceiling with duct tape. Steakzooka unsuccessfully jumped to try to reach them.

"They're too high. How am I supposed to reach them?"

"You're not." Apocalypse Dowell struggled against the meat, but couldn't move. "They're my weapons and I'm tall. It keeps short people and robots like you away from my weapons."

Steakzooka laughed an evil robotic laugh. "How does it feel to be defeated, Apocalypse Dowell? How does it feel? Soon, I will control the world with my meat arsenal. Then, all will bow before Steakzooka."

Apocalypse Dowell struggled to free himself from his meat bondage, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the pile of steaks.

Steakzooka walked up to the pile of meat and grabbed Apocalypse Dowell's hair.

"Where are those plans? Where are the plans that can destroy Mick Aloha? With you two out of the way, I can never be stopped."

"I thought you and Aloha were friends." Apocalypse Dowell shook his head and freed himself from the robot's grip. "He invited you to his Super Bowl party last year. He said you brought meat pie and a casserole."

"Yes, all part of my devious, deceptive, well-thought-out plot. Now, where are those plans?"

"You'll just kill me if I tell you. Why don't you go take a look?"

"Why don't I just kill you instead?" Steakzooka started firing steaks pointblank at Apocalypse Dowell's head. Struggling to maintain consciousness, Apocalypse Dowell stared at the tube connected to the back of Steakzooka's steak-shooter. It ran through the open apartment door and into the hallway, somehow supplying Steakzooka with steaks. Just before he lost consciousness, Apocalypse Dowell smelled barbecue.

Apocalypse Dowell awoke completely covered with steak. He could barely breathe, and when he opened his mouth to help his breathing, the foul taste of meat filled his mouth.

He thought he was going to lose consciousness again when he heard a low rumble approaching him through the pile of meat. It grew louder until the meat on his head was removed. Mick Aloha, his sworn archenemy who lived in the apartment across the hall, looked down at him.

"What the hell are you doing in here, dude?" Mick Aloha collected more of the steaks and placed them in a wheelbarrow, freeing Apocalypse Dowell.

"I was trapped. I guess you saved me."

"Damn it! I knew there had to be a catch to so much free meat." Mick Aloha continued to collect steaks. "Where the hell did it all come from anyway, dude? Was that purple bastard here?"

"Yeah, it was Steakzooka." Apocalypse Dowell picked pieces of meat off his clothing and threw them onto his living room floor.

"You rang?" The voice came from the hallway outside the apartment.

Steakzooka then burst through the wall like the Kool-Aid man, firing steaks at Apocalypse Dowell.

Mick Aloha jumped in front of Dowell and started catching the flying meat, tossing it into his wheelbarrow.

"Damn you, Dowell! My love of meat is more powerful than my hatred of you!"

As Mick Aloha continued collecting the projectiles, he and Apocalypse Dowell edged closer to Steakzooka.

"I can see you're quite a meat lover, Mick Aloha. But, why would you help Apocalypse Dowell? He's your arch enemy." Steakzooka increased his steak-shooter's firing speed.

"Two reasons, jackass," Mick Aloha, just inches away from Steakzooka, replied. "One, I love meat. Two, I hate robots."

Apocalypse Dowell then ran behind Steakzooka and grabbed his steak-shooter, leaving the robot momentarily vulnerable as Mick Aloha stepped up and gave Steakzooka the Big Boot. Steakzooka's head bounced off the ceiling and landed in a corner of the room as his body collapsed. The head started beeping.

Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell just made it out of the apartment before the head exploded.

Chapter 2

Monday 6:18p.m. (E.S.T.)

It was dark when the last firefighters left. Police officers and city officials stood in groups around the property, talking together in low tones as the former residents sat on the sidewalk. Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell stood beside what had been the complex's laundry room.

Mick Aloha kicked at some of the charred remains. "Well, Dowell, this sucks."

"Yeah, it does, Mick. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I don't know what you're going to do, either, dude. Myself, I'm going to stay with my family."

"I just wish I had somewhere to stay for a while. At least for tonight."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at, Dowell. Don't worry, there's a Motel 6 just about a mile from here. You know where it is, fool, up by that vegetarian restaurant you always go to. They'll fix you right up, Dowell."

"Thanks, Mick. It's just, well, uh, I don't really have any money right now. Steakzooka woke me up so I didn't have my wallet on me and..."

"Should have already been up, Dowell. You gotta get up early and get things done."

"OK, I know. Anyway, my wallet and my credit cards."

"Credit cards are evil, dude. You shouldn't buy something you can't afford. I never do."

"So anyway, Aloha, I don't have any cash and it'll be a while before they can replace my cards and the banks are closed and, well, my family moved to Florida."

"Don't you have any friends, dude? You're always bragging about how many more friends you have than me. Where the hell are they?"

"I haven't been able to get in touch with them. My phone's melted, and I don't have any money for a pay phone. Can I use the phone at your family's house?"

"Dowell, let me get this straight. There's no way I'd ever let you into my family's house."

As Apocalypse Dowell contemplated the advantages of hitting Mick Aloha on the head, a messenger robot ran up to them. Mick Aloha took a karate pose.

The robot, which had a bright yellow case and stood nearly six feet tall, scanned Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell briefly before a cover lifted on its chest, revealing a TV screen.

The screen flickered on and the face of a woman appeared. It was Katie, the girl Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell had fought over for years. She'd shown little to no interest in either of them, and had finally moved across the country to get away from them.

"I need your help," she said. "536 34th Avenue San Francisco. I'm being held here by an evil you can't imagine. There might be a chance if you can be here at seven o'clock on Saturday night. Be careful." The image disappeared; the robot turned and walked away.

"Well, see you, Dowell." Mick Aloha turned away and started walking down the sidewalk.

"Hold on a second, Aloha. Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Mick Aloha stopped and turned back around. "To get my girl, Dowell."

"She's all the way in San Francisco, Aloha. San Francisco. We're in Kentucky. Do you know how far it is from here to San Francisco?"

"A couple hundred miles? Hell, I can run it once I get a burger in me."

"Two thousand miles, Aloha. And, part of that's across a desert."

"I know that, Dowell. I read the paper and I own an atlas, you jackass."

"Well, how are you going to get there, then?"

"Hell if I know, dude. Damn it, Dowell. Everything's all clear until you start asking damn questions. What am I going to do? I'm going to save my girl. How am I going to get there? Hell if I know, dude. Damn you, Dowell."

"Look, Aloha. I'm going, too. She asked me, too, and I can't have you botching this thing up and..."

"Damn you, Dowell! You're not going. I know, you can stay at my family's place. I'll ask my mom to make you goddam vegetarian breakfasts. How about that? Oh, there's satellite TV, so after everyone goes to bed you can watch porn. Wait, do you even like girls?"

"Damn you, Aloha!" Apocalypse Dowell charged Mick Aloha and tripped over the edge of the sidewalk, causing Mick Aloha's Big Boot to miss his head by inches. The Big Boot's momentum threw Mick Aloha to the sidewalk, too.

"I'm going, Aloha," Apocalypse Dowell said as he lay on the sidewalk, holding his lower back. They stood up.

"OK, you son of a bitch. You'll give me something to laugh at along the way. Now, how the hell are we going to get there?"

"Don't you have any super powers that can get you there quicker?"

"No, Dowell, I don't. All of my superpowers have to do with kicking ass. I always assumed I'd be where the action was. How about you?"

"No, me neither. Most of my powers relate to not doing stuff, like not eating meat or drinking alcohol. Oh, this is cool. I can make my digestive system stop so if I swallow poison it won't hurt me."

"Damn it, Dowell. You're useless. Apoca-useless Dowell is what they ought to call you. You got any money?"

"No, I already told you not until the insurance company pays me or the banks send me new credit cards. How about you?"

"Yes, I have disposable income, dude. Didn't I tell you? But, I spent my last paycheck in twenty minutes, and I've been eating burgers for breakfast and lawn clippings for dinner since then. So, no, Dowell, I don't have any money." Mick Aloha reached into his pocket and removed a $20 bill. "Well, I'll be goddamned. Here's twenty dollars. I'm set, Dowell, but I guess you're still screwed. Let's walk."

They started walking down the sidewalk.

"Aloha, if she could get a message to a robot, why didn't she just sent it to the police?"

"Because she wanted the best, Dowell. And, that's me." Mick Aloha rubbed his hands against his blue Hawaiian shirt as they continued down the road.

The sun dropped below the horizon as they cleared the city limits of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, and merged by foot onto the interstate. Cars zipped by them as they walked south along I-65.

"This is a bad idea, Aloha. It's illegal to walk on the interstate." Apocalypse Dowell was hungry and sleepy, but didn't want to tell Mick Aloha.

"Damn it, Dowell. Can't you break the rules for once?" Mick Aloha squinted his eyes to block the headlights of the northbound traffic. "How long do you think it would take us on the back roads? Forever. That's how long it would take, Dowell. You know why? Because we'd die. There are thousands of farmers out there waiting for a couple young bucks like us, well, like me, to come along. Next thing you know, you're some farmer's bitch. I'm no one's bitch, Dowell."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Damn you, Dowell." Mick Aloha shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Anyway, we might get a ride, too. That would save us some time."

Twenty minutes and two miles later, Mick Aloha said, "I have an idea, dude. We'll walk to the truck stop in Sonora and get us something to eat. Then, we can work us out a ride. They'll be more likely to pick us up there than they would on the road. Lots of characters out on the road. And, there's the whores."

"The what?" Apocalypse Dowell had never been to the truck stop in Sonora, and he was starting to think that he didn't want to go.

"Whores, dude. Truck stop whores. Hookers. Prostitutes. Ladies of the night. Women of the willow world. The oldest profession, dude. They're all there."

"Yeah, I know what whores are, Aloha. Why are there whores in Sonora is what I want to know."

"Every truck stop has them, dude. It's lonely out on the road. No one to talk to, family's a thousand miles away. No one to love. Sometimes, these guys are on the road for months at a time. It's only natural, Dowell."

Chapter 3

Tuesday 4:08am (E.S.T.)

When they arrived at the truck stop in Sonora, seven rigs, with their lights off and their engines running, sat in the back lot. The diesel pumps were quiet; two cars sat in front of the truck stop's restaurant.

Apocalypse Dowell looked through the restaurant's front windows and saw several customers eating early breakfasts and late dinners.

When they stepped into the restaurant the music stopped; the customers and waitresses all turned and stared at Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell.

"Don't worry, Dowell," Mick Aloha whispered as they eased forward. "These are my people. They're not all stuck up like you."

Apocalypse Dowell and Mick Aloha walked to the counter without making any sudden moves. The country music started up again and the customers returned to their meals and conversations.

The lone waitress behind the counter ignored them.

Apocalypse Dowell glanced around without making eye contact with anyone. Eight red stools sat in front of the bar; four-top tables lined the outer walls. The restrooms were in the back. The place smelled of cigarettes and charred meat.

Mick Aloha pulled a dirty menu from behind the counter. "What're you gonna get, Dowell? An apple?"

"I don't think they have apples here, Aloha. Look, I don't think we're really welcome here."

"Dowell, I told you these are my kind of people. They just aren't used to hippies like you. They're good people. Give 'em a chance."

An announcement came through the P.A. system. "Roy, your shower's ready."

"I'm going to run for it, Aloha. You coming?"

"Calm down, dude. Here, take a look at the menu and find you something to eat."

Ten minutes later, they knew what they wanted but the waitress continued to ignore them.

When the waitress, who had red-rimmed glasses and fake blond hair, walked past them, Mick Aloha said, "Excuse me, miss?"

She didn't reply.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Lady? Woman? Excuse me, waitress? Can we get some service?"

Again she didn't reply.

Mick Aloha ran his fingers through his short brown hair. "Hey bitch, can we get some goddam service over here?"

The flying plates missed Mick Aloha's head by centimeters. He and Apocalypse Dowell ran out of the truck stop as seven big truckers and an angry waitress followed them.

They slipped through the darkness to the back parking lot, ran up to the closest truck, opened the passenger side door, and jumped inside.

The gun sure looked real.

The truck driver they had awoken pointed it at them, apparently trying to decide what to do. Mick Aloha slowly closed the truck's passenger door behind them.

"What in the hell are you doing in my truck?" the trucker asked. It appeared that he had been asleep on the floor in his truck, right where a passenger seat would have been if his truck had one.

"Sorry, sir," Apocalypse Dowell said. "We were..."

"Breaker breaker one nine," Mick Aloha interrupted. "This here's the Flyin' Hawaiian looking to talk to that trucker right in front of me, come back."

The trucker said, "This here's the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town, go ahead."

"Mercy sakes there, Witch Doctor, we got some bears on our tails and were just looking for a place to lay low till the heat cools off, over."

The trucker lowered his gun and turned to see the seven truckers and waitress running through the parking lot, searching for the boys and swearing. Mick Aloha, Apocalypse Dowell, and the trucker watched them search the lot for several minutes before they walked back to the front of the truck stop.

"This here's the Witch Doctor, how's about you tell me what's going on before I end up with the bear chasing me across the country, over."

"Mercy sakes alive there, good buddy," Mick Aloha said. "We was just in there trying to get us some eats when those boys surrounded us and tried to take our money, over."

"And the woman?"

"She just wanted a big tip. But, the service wasn't good, over."

The trucker, who wore faded jeans and a light flannel shirt, stared at them and started laughing.

"Sorry we woke you up," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Damn you, Dowell. Just when I was breaking through with my superior Truckerese, you have to interrupt. Don't you know when to keep quiet? You're not smarter than me, jackass."

"No, he's OK," the trucker said. "And, I was about to wake up, anyway. Where you boys headed?"

"California."

"Well, mercy sakes, good buddies, I'm heading on over to Shaky Side myself." The Witch Doctor started the engine. "Let's put four on the floor."

Chapter 4

Tuesday 4:42am (E.S.T.)

Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell tried to make themselves comfortable on the truck's floor.

The trucker looked down at them from his seat. "Mercy sakes, good buddies, how ya'll doing down there?"

Mick Aloha said, "Well, it's not the type of accommodation I'm used to, because I have lots of disposable..."

"It's fine," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Damn you, Dowell, don't interrupt me."

The trucker shook his head. "Aw, settle down. Now, why don't you boys tell me your stories? Mercy sakes, we got two thousand miles to go. Gotta start somewhere."

Mick Aloha sat up. "Well, I'm a superhero and this guy is a jackass. I have a secret killing move, the Big Boot. Once I've kicked my enemies' asses, I kick them in the face and that about does it. My style is a mixture of karate and professional wrestling. Oh, and my name, Mick Aloha, is derived from my wrestling persona of the same name."

"Mercy sakes, that sounds exciting, boy. You got any real powers? Like, can you fly or do lasers come out your eyes?"

"No, dude, nothing like that. But, I do have super strength and lots of disposable income. I guess I'm like Batman, just not gay."

"And how about you, slim?" The trucker glanced at Apocalypse Dowell.

Before Apocalypse Dowell could speak, Mick Aloha said, "Oh, this guy? You don't want to know about this guy. He's the laziest and most goddam boring person you'll ever meet. All he does is sleep, eat cereal, and try to steal my girlfriends. Oh, and he doesn't eat meat, either."

Apocalypse Dowell gave Mick Aloha a punch to the stomach. Mick Aloha retched and then hurried to put his work boots back on so he could start kicking.

The trucker stopped the melee by threatening to drop them off in Bonnieville, a small town they were passing at the time.

The trucker then turned up the country music on the radio. Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell took the hint and stopped talking. Then, they fell asleep.

When Apocalypse Dowell awoke, the truck wasn't moving. The engine caused the truck to vibrate heavily, but there was no forward motion. When he looked up, he found they were in line for diesel at a small gas station. The sun was well above the horizon.

The trucker looked down at Apocalypse Dowell with a big smile on his face. "Cheapest diesel this side of the Alleghenies. And, that's sayin' a lot, boy."

"Where are we?"

"Bowling Green," the trucker replied. "Home of Western Kentucky University, home of the Hilltoppers. See boy, they got this big hill on campus and that's why they're called the Hilltoppers. They say you can tell how many years someone's been going to school there by the size of their calves. Hell, I don't know, but that's what they say."

"How long have we been sitting here?" Apocalypse Dowell asked. "How long have we been asleep?"

"Mercy sakes, two questions at once. You're like Alex Trebek, son. No wait, he just says answers. Anyway, you were asleep about two hours and we been a-sittin here for one of 'em."

"We've been waiting to get gas for an hour?" Apocalypse Dowell asked. Mick Aloha sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand and blocking the sun with the other.

"Diesel, son, diesel. You know what'd happen if you put gas in a diesel engine? You want to know? Hell, anyway, yeah they got it cheap I told you and I'm not in no particular hurry to get out to California."

Mick Aloha said, "You're a truck driver and you're not in a hurry? What kind of truck driver are you?"

"An honest one," the trucker replied with a grin. "Anyway, I'm dropping off my load in Memphis tonight, so there ain't no use in hurrying."

Forty-five minutes later, they were back on I-65 with a full tank of diesel. Mick Aloha sat on the floor with an assortment of snacks he had purchased at the gas station. Apocalypse Dowell ate a candy bar. As he drove, the trucker ate fat-free potato chips.

"Dowell, I don't see how you can be a vegetarian and be so unhealthy," Mick Aloha said. "All you eat is candy bars. Don't you know chocolate is made with milk, and milk is made from cows?"

Apocalypse Dowell replied, "Milk comes from cows, you jackass..."

"Damn you, Dowell! Damn it, damn it. I was making a point." Mick Aloha's face turned red, but he couldn't stand up to attack Apocalypse Dowell because of the assortment of snacks resting on his lap.

"Damn you! Damn you, Dowell! Just wait till I finish eating, Dowell."

The trucker ignored them.

"Anyway, Aloha, you don't have to kill a cow to get milk from it. So, it's OK."

"It isn't natural, Dowell, drinking cow milk," Mick Aloha said. "Humans are the only animals that drink another animal's milk."

"Don't you drink milk and eat chocolate?"

"I eat chocolate, but I don't claim to be a hippy vegetarian, either, now do I? And, if you're a vegetarian, why do you wear leather? You're a hypocrite."

"Because I don't really care if animals die. I just don't want to eat them. Anyway, how the hell do you think you can call me unhealthy? You eat beef for every meal."

Mick Aloha took a bite of beef jerky and chewed. "Dowell, we're at the top of the food chain. If we weren't, other animals would eat us, so it's fair. And, don't worry about my health. Whenever I get a pain in my chest, I just beat my fist against my chest like this and it goes away."

Mick Aloha then beat himself in the chest three times.

"Mercy sakes, boys," the trucker interrupted. "You boys got any gum? Chewing or bubble will do."

They didn't have any gum.

"Gotta stop and get me some gum," the trucker said under his breath.

"I hear they have great gum down in Memphis," Mick Aloha said.

"Mercy sakes, is that so?" the trucker said. "I reckon I can wait till we get to Memphis. I wanted to stop over at Graceland and pay my respects, anyway. Good idea, ol' son."

The trucker went back to his potato chips and the road. They crossed the state-line and entered Tennessee.

"Mercy sakes, boys, they call it the Volunteer State, but I ain't never seen no one down here volunteering for anything. They get paid, just like we do, boys. It's a farce."

"So's bluegrass," Apocalypse Dowell said. "People everywhere think we're idiots because we don't know what color grass is."

"I seen real bluegrass," the trucker said. "And, I mean real. I don't mean this stuff they try to pass off as bluegrass, either. I'll tell you about it sometime."

When the trucker picked up his CB receiver, Mick Aloha leaned over to Apocalypse Dowell and said, "You got any money, dude? I can pay you back."

"What? You know I didn't have any money when we left. All I've got is the change I found on the road while we were walking."

"Damn it. I shouldn't have bought so much beef jerky. We have to get some money, Dowell."

They sat back and fell asleep.

Chapter 5

Tuesday 10:17am (C.S.T.)

They awoke to the sounds of the trucker on this CB.

"...then keep the dirty side down and the shiny side up. This is the Witch Doctor, over and out."

The boys sat up.

The trucker looked over and said, "Ohayou gozaimasu, boys. Learned that from a Japanese trucker. That's how they say good morning, ohayou gozaimasu. I like the way it sounds."

"Where are we, dude?"

"Mercy sakes, good buddy, were about 20 miles outside of that Memphis town."

An announcement on the radio caught their attention.

"...the wrestling capital of the world presents Get in on the Action! where you can get in on the action! M.V.W.F. Champion Punky Stratton will take on all comers. Entry fee is $20 and if you can last two minutes in the ring without getting pinned, you win ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS! Tonight, tonight, tonight, wrestling, wrestling, wrestling, at the Man Pants Arena. Doors open at seven! Ten dollars buys the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge!"

"Give me twenty dollars, Dowell."

"I don't have twenty dollars. And, if I did, I wouldn't give it to you so you could go get your ass kicked."

"Damn you, Dowell. Give me twenty dollars."

"I told you, I don't have twenty dollars."

"I need twenty dollars."

The trucker continued to look at the road as he said, "You wanna wrastle, huh? You any count?"

"I'm the best that's ever been. There's only one Mick Aloha, and that's me."

"You gonna wrastle in that Hawaiian shirt? Mercy sakes, I don't know how well that'll go over here in Memphis, son."

"No, dude, I have several wrestling personas, all tailored to different crowd needs. I usually just use Mick Aloha for superhero work and local wrestling matches. Tonight, I think the King Cobra's going to have to strike."

"Oh, God," Apocalypse Dowell said. "I forgot about the King Cobra. Where're you going to get a get-up?"

Mick Aloha rubbed his stubbly chin and thought.

The trucker said, "Mercy sakes alive, boys, you're welcome to anything you can find in the truck."

"What're we hauling?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Dynamite."

"Shit."

"Yeah, I mean up here in the cab," the Witch Doctor said. "You can't help yourself to the dynamite, of course."

As Mick Aloha started digging through the junk in the back of the cab, Apocalypse Dowell asked, "Why are you hauling dynamite?"

"Mercy sakes, how else is it gonna get around?"

"Touche."

The Witch Doctor said, "Touche, indeed, ol' son."

Mick Aloha emerged from the back of the cab with a t-shirt that read "Truck you," camouflage shorts, and a camouflage hunter's mask. He undressed, put all of the gear on, and put Apocalypse Dowell in a headlock. Apocalypse Dowell gave him a Seven Plagues Punch and the trucker yelled at them until they broke it up.

"The King Cobra's back, Dowell."

"Yeah, I see that. Why are you wearing a hunter's mask?"

"To protect my secret identity, fool. I can't go around having everyone know Mick Aloha and the King Cobra are the same person."

Apocalypse Dowell asked, "What are hunters masks for, anyway, Aloha? Just to camouflage your face?"

"No, fool, it's because animals have super senses. They can smell your breath from miles away. It stops that. You'd know that if you killed animals like I do, wussy."

"Mercy sakes, boy," the trucker interrupted. "I forgot all about that mask. Looks like you got you quite a get-up there. I'll float you the twenty if you promise to pay me a hundred if you win."

"Deal," Mick Aloha said. "Oh, as I am now the King Cobra and not Mick Aloha, please refer to me as such. And, I have a new catchphrase. Tell me what you think. The King Cobra: I strike more than the Teamsters."

"Yeah, I wouldn't say that out loud, anywhere, ever again," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Welcome to this Memphis town," the Witch Doctor said, as they passed a sign welcoming them to Memphis.

As they made their way through the mid-day traffic on I-40 west, Mick Aloha started staring at the floor and breathing heavily. The trucker looked over at Apocalypse Dowell, who shrugged.

"Mercy sakes, there, you all right?" the Witch Doctor asked.

Mick Aloha didn't respond.

"Aloha, you all right?"

Without looking up from the floor, Mick Aloha said in a low voice, "Damn you Dowell, it's King Cobra. And, yes, I'm fine. I'm getting prepared to wrestle tonight. In my mind, I'm visualizing destroying Punky Stratton. I can't visualize it if you keep talking to me. See, Dowell, you can do anything if you can just see it in your mind. You might even be able to stop being such a wuss if you could see yourself as a tough guy."

"OK, Aloha, we'll leave you alone."

"Damn you, Dowell. King Cobra. King Fucking Cobra."

The Witch Doctor unloaded his cargo in Memphis and then reloaded, taking the whole afternoon. While they waited, Apocalypse Dowell read an American history book he had found in the truck and the King Cobra mentally prepared for the evening.

The trucker dropped them off at the Man Pants Memphis Arena at 6:30. Although the King Cobra had asked him to drop them off in the parking lot, the Witch Doctor insisted on driving them right up to the front entrance. The crowd awaiting the opening of the gates watched as they exited the truck. Some of the people in the crowd laughed.

"Now, y'all be good and don't stay out too late," the Witch Doctor said as Mick Aloha slammed the passenger-side door closed. And then through the open window he said: "I'll be back here at ten to pick you up, so be here. Don't run off with any strangers, now, OK?"

The boys nodded and got in line as the truck pulled away.

Apocalypse Dowell asked, "Do you think well ever see him again?"

"Yeah, I do," the King Cobra replied. "I have his twenty bucks."

"You know, if you lose and can't pay him back, he might not let us ride anymore."

"Lose? Didn't I tell you I visualized a victory, Dowell? Don't worry about me. I'm just afraid the crowd here might kill you while I'm up there kicking ass. They'll see me kicking ass and think, Hey, I wouldn't mind kicking some ass, too. Then, they'll look around for the first hippy they can find and well, that'll be you."

As the King Cobra finished speaking, the line started moving. When they reached the gate, they found that they had to pay to enter. The King Cobra tried to do the negotiating.

"I'm going to wrestle, tonight," he said to the man at the gate. "And, this is my manager. I have the twenty dollars to wrestle."

The gatekeeper shook his head. "That's fine, but you have to pay to get in to watch the wrestling. There's no way for me to know if you're going to really wrestle or not. If I let people in because they were carrying twenty dollars and wearing a hunting mask, I'd have to let in half of the crowd."

The people in line behind the boys started pushing forward and swearing.

"Do you know who I am?" the King Cobra asked. "I'm the King Cobra. The King Fucking Cobra. And, I strike more than the Teamsters."

The Teamsters in the crowd who chased Apocalypse Dowell and the King Cobra around the arena gave up after a half mile. Apocalypse Dowell assumed they had given up not because they were tired, but because they didn't want to miss the beginning of the event.

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell stood in the service parking lot, trying to think of what to do, when the King Cobra spotted something.

"Look, Dowell." The King Cobra pointed to a far corner of the arena, where two men stood. "Let's go check it out."

They approached the men, staying out of the light cast by the parking lot lights. When they got closer, they realized the men were security guards, guarding a special entrance.

"Let's just hang out here for a few minutes and see if anyone comes through that entrance," the King Cobra said.

Apocalypse Dowell nodded and they both sat down on the concrete.

As they waited, a parade of limousines arrived. Wrestlers started exiting the limousines.

They were wrestlers. They were real wrestlers. They got paid to wrestle. They had no other jobs.

The King Cobra's face lit up.

Apocalypse Dowell shook the King Cobra. "Aloha, come on, man. We have to get in there. Don't freak out on me now."

The glaze left Mick Aloha's eyes. "Damn you, Dowell. It's King Cobra."

"OK, King Cobra. What are we going to do?"

"Dude, don't worry. I saw this on a Mentos commercial once."

Punky Stratton's signature white limousine arrived. As he stepped out of the passenger side door in the back of his limo, the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell approached the driver's side back door. They squatted outside the door under the window, waiting for Punky's entourage of girls and bodyguards to exit. When they had all stepped out of the limousine, the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell entered the limousine, crawled across the seats, and exited right behind the last of Punky's entourage.

They tried to look tough and upset. The King Cobra held his arms out to his side as he walked and flexed the muscles in his neck, emulating his namesake. Punky's entourage never looked back. Within seconds, they were inside the arena and had broken away from the group.

A rowdy crowd filled the arena that evening. The boys were surrounded by big belt buckles, beer, wrestling t-shirts, and mullets. Apocalypse Dowell buttoned his flannel shirt and tucked it into his jeans to try to fit in. His Vans still gave him away, though.

The King Cobra, with his hunting mask and trucking shirt, fit in perfectly. Some of the guys even gave him a thumbs-up as they passed.

When the roar from the crowd signaled the beginning of the evening, the boys made their way from the walkway running along the perimeter of the arena to the lower level. They wanted to be close to the action.

There were no empty seats in the whole place, so the King Cobra and Mick Aloha stood in a lower walkway, hoping someone would get drunk, pass out, and leave an empty seat.

The lights went out. Fire shot from the regulation wrestling ring's posts in the middle of the arena.

The announcer's voice boomed throughout the place. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Memphis Valley Wrestling Federation in association with Tucker's Trucks and the Coffee Shot present intense wrestling competition! Ladies and Gentlemen, let me present to you the president and CEO of M.V.W.F., Jake Bastion."

The crowd booed as Jake Bastion, who wore an expensive suit, approached the ring. His hair was dark and slicked back. He pointed at the crowd and stepped into the ring. When he began to speak, the noise in the arena drowned him out so that he had to wait for the decibel level to drop.

The King Cobra's face turned red. "Damn it, Dowell. I hate that son of a bitch. I might have to run up there right now."

The noise increased.

Apocalypse Dowell screamed, "If you go in there now, you won't get any money. And, you might get sued!"

"Don't you worry, Dowell." "I've read about law in the newspaper and I have plenty of disposable income, so I can afford a good lawyer. I should take that goddam bastard out."

Apocalypse Dowell gave up, but before the King Cobra could go after the president and CEO of M.V.W.F., the noise died down and Jake Bastion began to speak.

"Hello, idiots." Jake Bastion smiled. The boos came again, and Jake Bastion paused once more. Then, he continued, "No offense, really. I just feel that anyone stupid enough to support...Punky Stratton..."

The crowd went crazy. People stood on their seats and cheered when they heard Punky's name. Chants of "Punky! Punky!" began around the arena.

"Idiots!"

More boos followed.

"So, I checked with my people, and that lowlife...Punky Stratton...is already in the building. Now, maybe you idiots don't know this, but I'm a bit of a wrestler myself, and I think I can prove once and for all that I'm the best wrestler the world has ever known!"

The crowd hated him even more.

The King Cobra said, "Damn it, Dowell, I have no love for Punky Stratton, and actually I plan to kick his ass tonight and take his money, but that sombitch has no right calling him out like this. Damn it, damn it."

"So, if...Punky Stratton...thinks he's man enough, he'll come out here...right now...in Man Pants Memphis Arena...and take me on in a no- holds-barred match. If he wins, he's the undisputed M.V.W.F. champion and he gets a lifetime contract with M.V.W.F. If I win...he walks out of here tonight and never, ever steps into a wrestling ring again..."

The security guards who surrounded the ring held back several fans who tried to rush it.

Apocalypse Dowell held back the King Cobra, who kept repeating, "Goddam silver tongued bastard. Goddam silver tongued bastard."

Sweat poured from Jake Bastion's face. He loosened his silk tie and threw it to the crowd. They threw it back into the ring. He removed the dark jacket from his Italian suit and tossed it to the scorers' table. Jake then loosened the top two buttons on his white oxford shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and flexed his biceps.

"So, Punky Stratton, or should I say, Chunky Satin? If you think you're man enough, come on out here for your last wrestling match...ever!"

The crowd cheered, anticipating Punky's arrival and the demise of Jake Bastion. Jake walked around the ring, his round eyes anticipating an attack. It didn't come; Punky didn't show.

"It looks like Punky Stratton's a coward after all!" As the crowd booed and threw paper cups at him, he stepped out of the ring and made his way out of the arena.

The announcer came back on, introducing the first event, which involved some minor wrestlers that the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell didn't care about. They leaned on the metal rail that ran in front of them, watching the wrestling and waiting for the arrival of Punky Stratton and the King Cobra's chance to break him.

The third match starred the up and coming wrestlers Ratchet Douglas and Tony "Toolbox" Tungsten. Apocalypse Dowell enjoyed the match without looking over to let the King Cobra know. He had always made fun of Mick Aloha for watching wrestling and had never understood the soap operaesque entertainment quality it held until that evening. As Tony Tungsten held Ratchet Douglas over his head, a video came on the Jumbotron. It showed Punky Stratton tied to a conveyor belt, which was slowly approaching a spinning circular saw.

The crowd was silent.

Tony put Ratchet down and they ran out of the arena together. Cameras followed them and other wrestlers as they all tried to find Punky Stratton.

As the wrestlers searched frantically for the champ, Punky continued to struggle against the ropes on the Jumbotron.

He looked into the stationary camera and said, "Jake Bastion did this to me. If I don't make it out of this alive, kill him!"

The crowd booed when they heard Jake Bastion's name, and cheered when they heard the word kill. Punky's blond mullet shook from side to side as he struggled harder against the ropes.

Then he said his catchphrase, which the crowd said along with him, "Ain't nothin' gonna hold me down!" The ropes snapped and Punky was free. Rage filled his eyes as he looked into the camera and said, "Jake Bastion, here I come."

The King Cobra jumped into the air screaming and pumping his fists. He then started the chant, "Kill Bastion! Kill Bastion!" which spread throughout the arena. Excited by his chant starting abilities, he then started the chant, "King Cobra! King Cobra!" It spread as well. He was priming the crowd. They were ready for the King Cobra.

Punky Stratton ran down the main aisle and into the ring. He stood alone in the middle of the ring, wearing a chartreuse jumpsuit and a white feather boa. His manager threw him his Elvis Death Rock sunglasses and when he put them on, the crowd screamed even louder.

One of the ringside assistants handed him a microphone.

Punky looked down at the crowd, paused, and said, "How y'all doing, Memphis?"

The crowd cheered.

"I had a bit of a close call back there, and it don't take a rocket scientist to figure out who done it, now does it?"

"No!" the crowd responded.

"When I was lying on that conveyor belt, I thought that might be the end. I thought Ol' Jake might have finally done me in. But let me tell y'all something, and Jake Bastion if you're listening this is for you, too. There ain't nothin gonna hold me down! So, Jake Bastard. Mister C...E...O. Mister Businessman. You had your chance, and you blew it. Now, I want my chance. Right now. Me and you. In...the cage!"

A metal cage started descending from the ceiling.

The King Cobra slapped Apocalypse Dowell on the arm and said, "Dude, dude, dude. It's the cage." The whites of the King Cobra's eyes grew as he watched the cage lower and stop two meters above the ring.

The Jumbotron lit up with a close-up of Jake Bastion's face.

"Junky Van Patton," Jake Bastion said over the boos. "I'd love to join you, and show you how a real man wrestles, but first there's the issue of the contract you signed for tonight's event in...Memphis, Tennessee. You said you'd take all comers who paid twenty dollars. Well, if I went in there right now and took you out, you wouldn't be able to fulfill your contract. So, I think you should take all comers right now. And, if you survive, I'll get in the cage with you and finish...you...off!"

Punky looked at the Jumbotron. "You know what Bastion, with all the lies and deceits you pull, you got this one right. Now, if you came out here right now, I wouldn't even break out a sweat mopping the floor with you. But, I want to give the folks a good show, so why don't I let them tire me out a bit so you have a fair chance right here in...Memphis, Tennessee!"

The crowd went crazy. A line formed beside the ring, and by the time the King Cobra had put his mask back on and made the trip to the ring, he was eighth in line. Apocalypse Dowell stood beside him.

The first person in line paid his money, signed a waiver, and lasted twelve seconds in the ring with Punky-one minute and forty-eight seconds short of the two-minute requirement. Punky tossed him into the scorers' table and asked for the next contestant.

In quick succession, the next six contestants stood in the ring with Punky Stratton, and they all ended up on the scorers' table beside the ring. Watching the destruction, the King Cobra clenched his fists and gritted his teeth in preparation for the upcoming battle.

As the King Cobra began his ascent into the ring, the Jumbotron lit up again. This time Ninja Bob, Punky Stratton's archenemy, appeared on the screen.

Supposedly, Ninja Bob had been born in a small town in Indiana. During the summer of his fifth year, his family had driven to Disney World in Florida. On their third day there they lost little Bob in Epcot Center. A Japanese family found him and took him in as one of their own, bought him a fake passport, and took him back to Kyoto, Japan, where Ninja Bob had been taught the ninja arts until returning to America and joining the M.V.W.F. at the age of 22.

Recently, however, he had been back in Japan honing his ninja skills and his appearance on the screen came as a complete surprise to the crowd.

Ninja Bob smiled. "Kon ban wa, Panki Suturaton. Genki desuka, you lousy son of a bitch? Unless you cain't tell from seein' me here, I'm back in the U.S. I was back in my homeland for a year and a half, learning all of the secrets of the Far East..."

Punky grabbed a microphone from an assistant who wore a purple tuxedo. "Did you learn any ancient Chinese secrets? I got this stain I just can't get out."

"No, you dumbass. I's in Japan, not China. Anyway, I'm back, just to kick your ass!"

The crowd was silent.

"I don't care if you're a ninja, a samurai, or if you got electricity shootin' out your fingers and you wear a funny hat. Don't matter to me cause...there ain't nothin gonna hold me down."

The Jumbotron went black.

Punky threw the microphone down and watched as Ninja Bob ran down the main aisle, wearing a ninja outfit.

When Ninja Bob reached the ring and began to climb up, a hand grabbed his leg and pulled him back down.

"No, you don't," the King Cobra said through his camouflage hunting mask. "You're not going to ruin this for me."

The King Cobra then threw Ninja Bob to the floor. Ninja Bob got up quickly and tried to karate kick the King Cobra, who dropped to the floor, rolled under the announcers' table, and came out on the other side with an aluminum chair.

Ninja Bob managed to say, "That ain't one of the..." before he lost consciousness. The King Cobra threw the chair down on top of the collapsed Ninja Bob as security guards hovered around them.

Punky motioned for the King Cobra to step into the ring and then asked for another microphone.

Punky said, "What's your name?"

"I'm the King Cobra, and I strike..."

"Well, King Cobra, I'd like to thank you for taking care of my light work. I just want you to know you've always got a friend in Punky Stratton."

"Thanks, Punky." The King Cobra crumbled up his twenty dollar bill, threw it in Punky's face, and gave Punky the Big Boot to the side of the head. Punky dropped to the mat.

The crowd went ballistic. Fights broke out throughout the arena, and the people who had been waiting in line behind the King Cobra joined forces and attacked him.

As the King Cobra handled the first guy, a second approached from behind. He prepared to put the King Cobra in a headlock, but then fell to the mat after Apocalypse Dowell gave him a Seven Plagues Punch to the back.

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell stood back to back and kicked the asses of all takers. People from the crowd swarmed in, trying to take shots at them, but they were too much for their untrained competitors.

Then the real wrestlers started stepping into the ring. Noticing this, the King Cobra told Apocalypse Dowell to grab the microphone. Apocalypse Dowell picked up the mic and tossed it to the King Cobra.

When the King Cobra cleared his throat into the microphone, the fighting across the arena stopped and the crowd went silent.

He said, "Hello Memphis, Tennessee. My name's the King Cobra, and I have lots of disposable income. Now, I heard on the radio and in this arena tonight that if I paid twenty dollars and lasted two minutes with Punky Stratton, I'd get one thousand dollars. Now, I respect Punky Stratton and all that he's done for wrestling and the M.V.W.F. But, I also respect money. I paid my twenty dollars, and I knocked Punky Stratton out. I think someone owes me a thousand dollars."

The crowd cheered, and some chanted, "Pay up! Pay up! Pay up!"

The Jumbotron lit up and Jake Bastion's face once again filled the screen. "Now, listen up you idiots!"

The crowd booed.

"I don't know who you are, King Cobra. And, I don't know who you think you are, coming into my wrestling match and attacking my wrestlers, but you're right. I had a deal, and I plan to hold up that deal, on one condition..."

The King Cobra held up his right hand and said, "Now let me tell you something, Jake Bastion. I didn't come all the way down here, to Memphis, Tennessee, to have you make promises and lie to me. What are you, a commie? That would explain the way you run your company. There'll be no conditions, because I earned that money fair and square. There's only one King Cobra."

The crowd went crazy, and signs appeared throughout the arena that read "King Cobra! King Cobra!" A quick fan who sat close to the ring held up a sign that read "The King Cobra: there's only one." The King Cobra pointed at him and smiled, then he ran around the ring pumping up the crowd as Apocalypse Dowell stood in the middle of the ring beside the unconscious Punky Stratton.

Jake Bastion said, "Say what you want, but I'm President and C.E.O. of M.V.W.F. and I make the rules." The camera panned out to show a black limousine behind Jake Bastion.

He held ten one hundred dollar bills up to the camera and said, "Here's your money, idiot. You can have it, but you'll have to come and get it." Jake Bastion then jumped into his limousine, followed by three bodyguards, and the limousine drove away.

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell jumped out of the ring and ran up the main aisle. They cleared the main gate and ran into the dark parking lot where they saw the limousine. By the time they reached the middle of the lot, the limousine had sped out of sight.

A metallic rumble grew behind them, and then the sound of a horn shook their souls. They turned to see a purple semi-truck approaching them. When it stopped, the trucker put his head out the window and said, "Mercy sakes, that's some good timing, ain't it?"

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell jumped in through the passenger door and the King Cobra said, "You up for a chase?"

Two narrow wrinkles appeared between the Witch Doctor's eyebrows and he asked, "Who we chasing?"

"Jake Bastion."

"Mercy sakes, that arrogant son of a bitch? Which way?"

The King Cobra said, "I think he turned right up there. He's in a limo."

The trucker stepped on the accelerator and made the right turn without hitting the brakes. They spotted the limousine far ahead of them, and watched as it made a left turn to hit the interstate.

Chapter 6

Tuesday 10:06pm (C.S.T.)

After the King Cobra had explained the situation, the Witch Doctor got on his CB.

"Breaker, breaker one nine, this here's the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town on I-40 west, just past the state border. I'm looking for westbounders, over."

The CB remained silent for several seconds before the replies started coming in.

"Mercy sakes Witch Doctor, this is the Soul Rider, you gotta a westbounder, go ahead."

Ten replies came in over the next three minutes. As the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell tried to see the limousine through the windshield, the Witch Doctor got back on the air.

"Mercy sakes, boys, it's good to hear your voices. We got a bit of a situation with a runaway stretch job, if anyone has an eyeball come back."

The Witch Doctor easily weaved through the light traffic, but they still couldn't see the limousine.

"Mercy sakes, mercy sakes, make no mistake this here's the Fly Swatter and I got an eyeball on that stretch job, over."

The Witch Doctor picked up the receiver. "That's good news, that's good news. All westbounders, let's drop it on down to one-four."

The trucker reached over and changed the setting on his CB from "19" to "14."

"Breaker, breaker one four, this here's the Witch Doctor. The stretch job in question contains a one Jake Bastion, president and C.E.O. of the M.V.W.F. He has something that don't belong to him, and I'm looking to have an eyeball. Over."

Several truckers replied, simply saying, "Eyeball, check."

The Fly Swatter came on and said he would slow down the limousine. Two minutes later, the Witch Doctor and the boys had a visual.

The King Cobra pressed his face against the windshield. "There's that no good son of a bitch. Just pull up beside him and I'll jump out."

"Woo, boy, that'd be exciting to see, but there ain't gonna be no need in that. See, we're gonna stop the traffic on this here interstate."

The Witch Doctor picked up the receiver and said, "Breaker, breaker one-four. This here's the Witch Doctor, ready to go for eyeball. Mercy sakes, let's wait a minute, boys, I got a bit of a funny feeling. If there's static everyone take it up to one-six. Repeat, if we get static take it up to one six. Nice work so far Fly Swatter, how's the front door looking?"

"Clean and green to Abilene," the Fly Swatter replied.

A voice came on the CB. "Hello idiots."

"Identify yourself, breaker."

"I am Jake Bastion, the President and C.E.O. of M.V.W.F., and I suggest you all back off and go find some truck stop whores to diddle before you get yourselves in trouble. Over, idiots."

By this time, trucks surrounded the limousine on all sides and blocked all traffic from passing. The Fly Swatter, who was in front of the limousine, slowed down gradually.

"Mercy sakes, boys, Jake Bastion's got his ears on. The mouth you got on you, Bastion," the Witch Doctor said. "We'll be happy to let you be, once a matter of green is settled. You owe..."

The trucker leaned over to the King Cobra and said, "Damn it, what's your name, now?" The King Cobra told him.

"You owe the King Cobra a thousand green, and we aim to get it."

Jake Bastion replied, "I don't owe him a thing. The agreement was to last two minutes in the ring with Punky Stratton, and he didn't last two minutes now, did he? They were only in the ring together a few seconds, and that isn't good for business."

The CB went silent. The Witch Doctor tried to reply, but couldn't.

"Something wrong with the CB?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"No, son, he's keyin' the mic. See, he's just holding down the button on his mic, and that stops us from being able to talk on the channel. I'm taking her up to one-six."

On channel sixteen, the Witch Doctor made contact with all of the truckers and coordinated the stop. Minutes later, the ten trucks surrounding the limousine came to a complete stop, blocking all westbound traffic.

The Witch Doctor, the King Cobra, and Apocalypse Dowell stepped out of the truck and approached the stopped limousine. Several of the other truckers walked up and introduced themselves. Others went to the back of the roadblock to help the truckers there put up flares and keep the stopped drivers under control.

The King Cobra walked up to the limousine and tried to open one of the back doors. Finding it locked, he tried all of the other doors. They were all locked, too. The dark windows kept him from seeing Jake Bastion, so he walked to the front and tapped on the driver's side window.

The driver looked straight forward, with a look of despair on his face. He kept the engine running.

The King Cobra pounded on the glass; the driver turned to look at him and yelled: "Go away!" through the glass. The King Cobra walked back to the others.

The Witch Doctor said, "What do you think?"

"Well, it looks like they don't want any visitors," the King Cobra replied. "I could break the window, but I'm afraid ol' Jake Bastion might have a gun in there, and I don't want anyone to get shot."

The other truckers stood by. As they were discussing different plans, one of the truckers who had been putting up flares in the back ran up to them. It took him several seconds to catch his breath before speaking.

"They's a bear back there, and he looks pissed. We stopped him, but we don't know how long we can hold him back."

The Witch Doctor looked at the King Cobra and asked, "What do you think?"

The King Cobra replied, "I really appreciate what you've all done for me, but I don't want you guys to go to jail. Let him come on up here, and I'll take the blame for this. You guys know the bear well enough to know that once one of them knows, they all know."

The truckers nodded in agreement. Apocalypse Dowell, surprised by the King Cobra's logic and willingness to take the fall, didn't say anything.

Two minutes later, the police officer approached with his gun drawn.

The Fly Swatter said, "Howdy there, bear."

"What's going on here?" the police officer, a state trooper according to his badge and uniform, asked.

"Mercy sakes, bear, we ain't got no pieces, so you can put yours down. We ain't going nowhere," the Witch Doctor said.

The trooper eyed the assortment of truckers and then focused on the King Cobra.

"Who the hell are you?" the trooper asked the King Cobra.

"Good evening, officer. I am the King Cobra and I take all the blame here. You see, Jake Bastion is in this limousine and he..."

"Jake Bastion?" the trooper interrupted. "That bastard's in this limousine?"

"Yes, sir. See, tonight I wrestled Punky Stratton and won and Jake Bastion's supposed to pay me a thousand dollars."

"You whipped Punky Stratton?" the trooper asked. His round face showed disbelief, and then a rush of excitement came over him. "You whipped Punky Stratton? So, you're the one. Hell, the boys at dispatch told me all about it, but I didn't believe it, cause ain't nothin gonna hold Punky down. I think Punky's the best they's ever been, but if you whipped him fair and square, I gotta give you respect. Let's see what ol' Jake Bastion has to say."

The trooper walked up to the limousine, knocked on the driver's side door, and asked the driver to step out of the vehicle. The driver reluctantly obeyed and walked to the front of the limousine, where he stood in the headlights with his hands in his pockets.

The trooper then walked to the back of the limousine and knocked on a tinted window. The door opened. Jake Bastion jumped out of the vehicle and stood beside the trooper, glaring at the crowd of truckers behind his limousine. Three body guards, who all had bad goatees, followed him out of the limousine. The officer told them to stand beside the driver in front of the limo. After a quick hand gesture from Jake Bastion, they obeyed.

Jake Bastion looked at the truckers, smiled, and said, "Hello, idiots."

The trooper said, "You're not safe yet, Bastion. I wouldn't be quite so bold if I was you."

Jake Bastion said, "Officer, I demand you arrest these men. They chased me and, hell, they've stopped traffic here on the interstate. It's probably backed all the way up to Nashville."

The trooper said, "None of them's getting arrested, but if you don't bite your tongue, you might."

"Now listen," Jake Bastion said. "I'm a tax-paying citizen"

"Not in this state, you aren't," the trooper interrupted. "You're from Texas, and there ain't no state tax there. All you gotta do is pay the thousand dollars you owe to this gentleman here and you can be on your way."

Jake Bastion turned to look at the King Cobra and eyed his costume before saying, "Look, what you did tonight was impressive. You've got talent, and I'm always looking for new talent. I was going to have my people contact you about a contract, so why don't we forget that little matter of a thousand dollars and think about bigger fish in the pot."

"Let me tell you something, Jake Bastion," the King Cobra replied. "I didn't come all the way down here, to...an interstate in Arkansas...to have you lie to me and take my money. The King Cobra works for no man. The King Cobra's an enigma, a mist, a passing thought, and a blown opportunity. The King Cobra says, Give me that money, or we'll go a few rounds here on the interstate and the road don't bounce like the mat does. And you know what else, Jake Bastion? There's only one King Cobra."

They all stared at Jake Bastion, waiting for his decision. Jake looked around for sympathy, finding none. Jake reached into the pocket in the lining of his jacket, produced several hundred dollar bills, and counted out one thousand dollars.

Jake handed the money over to the King Cobra and said, "This ain't over, King Cobra."

The King Cobra replied, "There's only one King Cobra, and that's me."

The trooper allowed Jake's driver and bodyguards to return to the limousine. After the Fly Swatter had moved his truck, Jake Bastion's limousine sped off.

The King Cobra turned to the truckers and the state trooper and said, "Dinner's on me."

Apocalypse Dowell grabbed the King Cobra by the shoulder and said, "Damn it, Aloha. You're going to spend all of that money tonight. It needs to last all the way across the country."

"Damn you, Dowell. It's King Cobra, and if it wasn't for these truckers, I wouldn't have any money. I think I can buy a few hamburgers, you goddam bitch."

They piled back into the Witch Doctor's truck and arrived twenty minutes later at the Bird Whistle Diner.

In four minutes, the diner went from 15% capacity to 100%. Truckers filled every corner of the place, some standing at the counter and others just wandering around, talking to old friends and making new ones. The King Cobra had taken off his hunting mask and put on his Hawaiian shirt in the truck. He was Mick Aloha again. He took a seat with the Witch Doctor and Apocalypse Dowell.

A waitress approached and said, "Evenin', gentlemen. How ya'll doin' tonight?"

"We're doing very well, thank you very much," Mick Aloha replied. "I am Mick Aloha, and I am paying for all of these truckers tonight. So, whatever they want they can have. Just put it on my bill, because I have lots of disposable income."

"Fair enough, let me go tell the manager," the waitress said.

When the waitress returned, Mick Aloha motioned toward Apocalypse Dowell. "This jackass would like a celery stick and a banana."

"No I wouldn't, you jackass." Apocalypse Dowell looked up at the waitress. "I'd like the cheddar omelet with fries and white toast. Oh, and coffee, too, please."

"Dowell, don't you know eggs come from chickens? You're a hypocrite."

"No, I'm not. You don't have to kill chickens to get their eggs. And, they lay eggs anyway, so they'd just go to waste."

Mick Aloha ignored the explanation and asked the Witch Doctor to order. When the Witch Doctor had finished, Mick Aloha looked up at the waitress and said, "I'd like your super burger, the really big one. But, I don't want anything on it, just meat and the bun. And, does that come with fries?"

"Sure does."

"Well, I'd like those fries and two more orders of fries." Mick Aloha rubbed his hands together slightly. "Then, I'd like you to bring me an extra order of fries every thirty minutes for the next two hours. Then, one an hour until we leave."

The waitress gave him a strange look before thanking them for their orders.

Mick Aloha walked among the truckers with a Coke in his hand--he hated coffee--sharing stories of his past adventures. Apocalypse Dowell, who preferred machines to social interaction, played an old video game in the corner of the dining area.

Two hours later, the truckers started to move toward the door. Mick Aloha stopped at the front counter and paid the bill, which totaled $256.40. He walked back to his table, dropped fifty dollars beside his empty plate, and walked out the door as the truckers thanked him.

When they were outside, Apocalypse Dowell walked up and said, "Thanks, Aloha."

Mick Aloha checked the receipt as he walked. "You owe me five dollars and seventy-eight cents, Dowell."

As they walked to the truck, the Witch Doctor looked at the boys and said, "Well, some of these boys will be with us for a while."

Apocalypse Dowell started to speak, but Mick Aloha interrupted, "Damn it, Dowell. I want to say it."

Mick Aloha then looked at the Witch Doctor and asked, "So, we got us a great big convoy?"

"Mercy sakes, that's right. We're gonna get the front door."

Back inside the truck, Mick Aloha gave the Witch Doctor the one hundred dollars he had promised.

The excitement of having the front door soon wore off, and by midnight both Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell had fallen asleep on the floor. Vibrations running up the truck and into the floor shook them wildly, but they were so tired it didn't stop them from sleeping.

Chapter 7

Wednesday 2:51am (C.S.T.)

Apocalypse Dowell awoke. Someone was shaking him.

"Wake up, you lazy bastard," Mick Aloha whispered.

Apocalypse Dowell sat up and looked around. The vibrations were gone; the truck wasn't moving.

"Why'd we stop?"

"Truckers gotta sleep too, Dowell," Mick Aloha replied, motioning toward the Witch Doctor, who was asleep in the driver's seat, leaning against the window.

"The whole convoy's stopped, Dowell. They're all asleep."

Apocalypse Dowell looked out the window and saw all of the trucks lined up behind them in the emergency lane between the on and off ramps of a rest area. As cars and other trucks passed on the interstate, the truck swayed slightly.

"Wow, I didn't know they all slept at the same time, Aloha."

"Yeah dude, when I woke up I thought maybe the cops had us."

"Why would the cops be after us, Aloha?"

"No reason, Dowell. You worry too much. Anyway, dude, I need to take a piss and I was afraid the whole convoy would up and go before I got back, and then I'd be stuck at a goddam rest area in the middle of the goddam night, with nothing but six hundred dollars to my damn name. So, can I trust you to make sure they don't leave without me?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Thanks dude. You want some snacks? I think they have some machines up there."

"Yeah, if you could get me..."

"I'll just get one of everything, dude. Disposable income."

Mick Aloha quietly made his way out of the truck. Fighting to keep his eyes open, Apocalypse Dowell watched Mick Aloha walk to the rest area. Apocalypse Dowell then lay back down and rested his eyes.

Sunlight reflected off the side view mirrors and into Apocalypse Dowell's eyes, waking him. He felt the familiar vibration of the truck and sat up. The Witch Doctor was sitting behind the wheel with a smile on his face, quietly talking away on his CB. Mick Aloha wasn't there.

The Witch Doctor looked over and said, "Good morning. Where'd your friend go?"

Apocalypse Dowell's mind couldn't process the question so he asked, "What time is it?"

"Oh, going on round ten I reckon. Where's what's his name, the wrestler?"

"He's going to kill me. We left him at that rest area. He woke up and asked me to stop you from leaving until he came back."

"Woo, mercy sakes, he's gonna be on fire. I'd watch out if I was you, that guy's got some fight in him, now."

"How far away are we from the rest area?"

"Well, let's see. We left right after three. Hmmm. Seven hours times seventy miles per hour. Ummm. I guess were going on five hunnerd miles."

Apocalypse Dowell convinced himself there was nothing he could do and went back to sleep.

Mick Aloha judged the selection in the rest area's vending machines barely acceptable, almost criminal. He decided that instead of buying one of everything he would buy two, just in case Apocalypse Dowell wanted something he wanted as well. The change he put into the machine covered only a quarter of the snacks, so he went to his wallet for the bills. The machine refused the first dollar bill, and although he had twenty other one dollar bills in his wallet, he was determined to use the first bill.

When the machine refused the bill for the eighth time, Mick Aloha said, "You goddam machine, I hate you. I hate all machines, but especially vending machines and goddam robots."

He started kicking the machine, and on the fourth kick he heard a disturbing sound. Mick Aloha looked toward the interstate. He saw the lights of all of the trucks come on and heard the engines firing up. He kicked the machine again.

It's okay, he thought. Dowell knows to tell them to wait for me, and goddam it, this machine's going to take this goddam bill. I have time.

He tried the bill a ninth time; the machine refused it again. The plastic casing on the front of the machine started to loosen when he kicked it again. Mick Aloha decided to just use a twenty. Bags of potato chips, candy bars, and chewing gum fell to the bottom of the machine as he pushed the buttons. When he pushed B7, he heard the trucks moving.

Mick Aloha ran out of the lighted vending area and into the darkness of the trees and grass surrounding the rest area. He crossed the sidewalk and ran past the only car in the rest area's lot, a small black Volkswagen with a surfboard strapped to the top. He then sprinted down the off ramp, hoping to cut off one of the trucks. Although he pumped his arms and breathed correctly, by the time he reached the interstate the last truck of the convoy was speeding away from him, well out of earshot.

He stood in the emergency lane as cars passed him, screaming obscenities and cursing Apocalypse Dowell. Mick Aloha stopped screaming, breathed deeply, and swore to have his revenge.

"At least I have my money," he thought. "I have enough money to get to California to save my girlfriend, and then I'm sure she can get me back home. Hell, maybe she'll want to move back with me."

He walked back past the Volkswagen and up the path to the vending area. When he arrived back at the machine, a giant man sat on a concrete ledge by one of the machines, eating Mick Aloha's snacks.

The man, who had short blond hair and bright blue eyes, wore flip-flops, a pair of cutoff shorts, and a t-shirt that read, "New York: I'm O.K. with it." He concentrated on a snack cake, licked the cream filling from his left index finger and thumb, and then looked up at Mick Aloha.

The man said, "Like, you won't believe it. Free snacks. Like, go ahead and help yourself."

Mick Aloha was preparing to unleash his fury on the blond stranger when the stranger spoke again.

"Like, why were you yelling down there? I could hear you all the way up here."

"I lost my ride, that's why I was yelling. I was riding in a truck with a real truck driver in a goddam convoy, and he left me because my arch enemy didn't tell him to wait for me. That's why I was yelling. Now, why in the hell are you eating my goddam snacks?"

"Spsshhh, I didn't know they were yours. Shouldn't have left them laying around."

"I just ran to catch those goddam trucks and then I came back."

"Spshhh. Like, I can't, like, bring those tasty treats back. I can't change the past, man."

Mick Aloha sat beside the stranger and opened one of the bags of potato chips. He offered the stranger another bag of chips, which the stranger accepted.

The stranger removed a chip from the bag, held it up in front of his face, and put it in his mouth. "I goddam love chips, man. Love em. You know, I think potatoes might be the best thing on earth if they're done right."

"Me too, dude. Potato chips. French fries. Baked potatoes. Goddam it, the list goes to goddam infinity, dude. My name is Mick Aloha, as you might have guessed from my Hawaiian shirt. What's your name, dude?"

"Oh, like, people just call me The Kid."

"Nice to meet you, The Kid." They shook hands and Mick Aloha walked up to the machine and tried the bill again. The machine rejected it for the tenth time.

The Kid said, "You're doing it wrong." He stood up, took the bill from Mick Aloha, and straightened it against one of the front corners of the machine. He then inserted it into the machine, smiled, and sat back down.

Mick Aloha shook his head. "Damn it, The Kid. I loosened it up for you."

Over the next few hours, the kid inserted all of Mick Aloha's small bills into the machine, and they ate every piece of junk food that came out of it. As they ate, the traffic on the interstate increased and sunlight started creeping over the horizon.

Chapter 8

Wednesday 11:19am (C.S.T.)

With Mick Aloha gone, Apocalypse Dowell felt uneasy with the trucker. Mick Aloha had provided a buffer between Apocalypse Dowell and the Witch Doctor; without that buffer, he worried that the trucker would tire of him and drop him off at the next exit.

Apocalypse Dowell sat on the floor with his legs crossed, trying to stretch up to see over the dashboard. The sun shone directly overhead as the Witch Doctor continued pushing the convoy west.

Apocalypse Dowell looked over at the Witch Doctor and asked, "What state are we in now?"

"Oklahoma, the sooner state. Mercy sakes, boy, we're making us some good time." The Witch Doctor gave Apocalypse Dowell a nod.

"Hey, you never told me about Graceland. How'd that go?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Mercy sakes, son. I was saving that story for a big crowd, cause it's a whopper. But, hell, might as well go ahead and fill you in on it now. See, after I dropped you boys off, I cruised on over there and stopped to grab me a bite at the Heartbreak Hotel."

"That's a real place?"

"Is now, son. Anyway, so I headed on over to Graceland and took me the tour like I always do, and there was these two girls on the tour with me. Mercy sakes, if they wasn't a couple of angels, not like them girls up in Sonora at all. Well, son, you shoulda seen em, one was blond and the other was brunette, bit of a variety pack, like the cereal, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I love cereal."

"Me, too," the Witch Doctor said. "Anyway, we got to the King's grave, and them girls just started bawling their eyes out. I walked up between them real smooth like and put my arms around 'em, and mercy sakes if they didn't lean into me and start crying. I tried to calm 'em down, but they was a mess. Then, I asked 'em what I could do to make 'em feel better, and they kinda looked at each other and smiled."

"What were they wearing?"

Two narrow lines formed on the Witch Doctor's forehead. "Ol' Mick Aloha was right, you do ask a lot of questions. Well, the brunette was wearing all black, I guess maybe she's still mourning for the King and all. Anyway, she had on this short black skirt, black stockings, black shoes, and a tight black shirt. Hellfire, she sure made the color look good. And the other, she was wearing a silver colored, silky little dress with pictures of bugs all over it. Anyway, the blond one leaned over and whispered that they had a room at the Heartbreak Hotel and she and her friend wouldn't mind some company."

The Witch Doctor eased off the accelerator and picked up his CB. Apocalypse Dowell sat up and saw an Oklahoma State Trooper parked in the median ahead.

"Breaker, breaker one nine, this is the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town, letting you know we got a bear on westbound forty, and mercy sakes it looks like he's taking pictures. Take 'er down a notch, over."

"Anyway, son, where was I? Oh, I was almost to the best part, now. Them girls took me over to the Heartbreak Hotel, and we went up to their room. They had a nice one, boy. Really fancy inside with a heart-shaped bed and twenty four hour Elvis movies, mercy sakes. Blue Hawaii was on when we turned on the tube. Anyway, the brunette, she was the frisky one, she turned off the TV and lay herself down on the bed. The other one, she'd been laying on the other bed, jumps into the same bed with her. See, they had them twin beds, son. Anyway boy, mercy sakes, them girls took each other's clothes off right there on the bed and they just lay there, naked as the day they was born, waiting for the Witch Doctor's fine lovin'..."

Apocalypse Dowell couldn't take any more. "I really want to believe this, but it's not true, is it?"

"No sir, sure ain't. But, I had you goin' there, didn't I? See, they was two girls there last night that fit that description, but by the time I made the tour and paid my respects, I had to put four on the floor and get over to the arena to pick you and your friend up."

The Witch Doctor rolled down his window, allowing the fresh air to fill the cab, and looked down at the traffic through the open window.

"Mercy sakes alive, got me a live one here, boy. These girls, they can be stuck up, but they don't mind showing a little something to a lonely trucker once in a while."

"What is it?"

"Well, son, I can see down this girl's shirt, and the seeing is good, if you know what I mean. I'd let you have a look, but you'd have to crawl over me to see and I don't think I know you well enough to let you do that, now do I? But hell, take this thing and have you a look out the other window."

The Witch Doctor reached under his seat and removed a small folding stool, which he handed to Apocalypse Dowell.

Apocalypse Dowell sat next to the window looking down into the cars they passed.

Chapter 9

Wednesday 8:31am (C.S.T.)

"I think he's dead," the five-year-old boy said as he looked down at Mick Aloha and then up at his mother. "And that one, too."

"No dear, they're not dead," his mother said. "They're just sleepy." She stepped over Mick Aloha, inserted some change into the vending machine, pushed B4, and retrieved the snack. Her son put his tiny right foot on Mick Aloha's face.

Before the mother noticed what her son was doing, Mick Aloha said, "Goddam it, you little bastard. What the hell are you doing?" He strained his eyes against the sunlight.

"I thought you were dead," the boy said. "Are you a homosexual?"

"Goddam you, kid. I love the ladies. Now get your goddam foot off my goddam chest."

The mother gave Mick Aloha an evil look, grabbed her son's arm, and they walked away.

"I can't be killed," Mick Aloha called after them. "I'm goddam immortal, like the Highlander."

The Kid, who was lying on the concrete floor ten feet away from Mick Aloha in the rest area vending area, awoke and said, "Like, what the hell are you saying now?"

"Shut up, The Kid. My goddam stomach hurts."

"You shouldn't have eaten so many snacks. You're going to kill yourself eating like that."

"Goddamit! You ate most of them, you freeloading bastard. You're worse than Apocalypse Dowell."

Mick Aloha pulled himself up onto the concrete ledge beside the machines. The Kid sat up on the concrete floor, rubbing his face with his giant hands. The Kid then stood up, stretched his arms, and started walking to his car.

Mick Aloha said, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

The Kid stopped and turned around. "Like what?"

"I don't know, like goodbye."

The Kid said, "Psshhhhh," and continued walking to his car. Feeling an opportunity pass, Mick Aloha jumped up and ran after him.

"Where you taking off to so fast there, The Kid?"

"Like, I'm going to California. I'm going to be in a surfing contest down near Mavericks on Saturday and I still have half of the continent to clear. Goddam Graceland slowed me down, man, and those snacks didn't help. So, I have to be moving along, man."

"Today is your lucky day, The Kid. I happen to be in need of a ride to California and I, Mick Aloha, happen to have gas money. And, I'll buy your meals on the way, too, if you don't ask me to drive. I always get in trouble when I drive."

"Sppshhhh, you have a deal," The Kid said. "I don't trust other people's driving, anyway."

Mick Aloha stood beside the passenger door of the black Volkswagen, waiting for The Kid to unlock it. The Kid sat in the car, not looking at him. When Mick Aloha was sure The Kid was going to leave him, The Kid reached over and unlocked the door.

The surfboard on the top of The Kid's car rested on a removable rack. Straps, which passed through the windows and the interior of the car, kept the rack in place. When Mick Aloha sat in the car, the front strap dangled in his face.

"Goddam it, what the hell is this?" he asked, as he reached down to adjust the seat. The excess strap slapped him in the face as The Kid punched the accelerator.

"That's the strap, man," the Kid said. "Keeps the ol' board in place."

Mick Aloha sighed and adjusted his seat so that the strap couldn't touch him. He looked over at The Kid, who drove with his right arm on the wheel and his left out the window, and said, "Well, The Kid. We got a long way to go. Might as well tell you my life story. I started from modest beginnings..."

Mick Aloha told his life story for the next three hours. By the time Mick Aloha said: "And, that's my story," they were both hungry and the Volkswagen needed gas.

They stopped at a diner and ate hamburgers.

Back on the road, Mick Aloha said, "Well dude, you know everything about me, even my expert running skills, so I think it's time to tell me something about yourself. First, what were you doing at that rest area last night?"

The Kid said, "Psshhh, resting."

"Where'd you start from?"

"Well, I like live in California, now, but I'm from Kentucky, like you. Anyway, I drove out to Kentucky to see my family and to meet some of my friends. Like, we planned this whole cross country trip where we would get all close and whatnot since we haven't seen each other since I moved to California. They're two chicks, by the way. So, like, we started in Kentucky, and of course they wanted to stop at Graceland. Goddam, they love Elvis."

"You were traveling with two girls, dude? Are they hot?

"Sphssshhhh, they're my friends, like I don't know if they're hot."

"That's nice," Mick Aloha said. "Are they hot?"

"Yeah, they're really fucking hot, man," the Kid said. "Anyway, we stopped at Graceland and there was nowhere to park. So, I dropped them off and like went looking for a parking space. There weren't any parking spaces."

Mick Aloha reached up to wrap the loose strap back up again and asked, "So, what did you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there were no spaces, so what did you do?"

"I left," the Kid said. "I told you there weren't any spaces. I got on the interstate, drove for a few hours, decided to rest at the rest area, and then I met you, man."

"Won't they be pissed?"

The Kid said, "I didn't really think about it. I guess they might be."

Chapter 10

Wednesday 3:14pm (C.S.T.)

The convoy got smaller as it pushed west through Oklahoma. When they reached Oklahoma City, the home of the Cowboy Hall of Fame, their number had dropped to four. The convoy had stopped a couple of times to refuel and to eat, and each time Apocalypse Dowell had felt safer and more certain that they weren't planning to leave him.

They stopped at an old warehouse a mile from the interstate in the early afternoon to drop off the cargo and pick up more, leaving the rest of the convoy to push on across the continent. As the payload was being removed, the Witch Doctor convinced Apocalypse Dowell to see the Cowboy Hall of Fame. Apocalypse Dowell didn't want to go, but he thought if he let the Witch Doctor out of his sight, he might never see him again.

They took a cab from the warehouse to the Hall of Fame. The cab driver smiled when the Witch Doctor told him their destination and talked about the history of the Cowboy Hall of Fame as he drove.

The Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City contains dark secrets and incredible mysteries, the details of which will not be disclosed here.

Three hours later, the Witch Doctor and Apocalypse Dowell exited the Cowboy Hall of Fame, each wearing a new cowboy hat.

"Thanks again for the hat," Apocalypse Dowell said, as he adjusted it to almost cover his eyes.

"Mercy sakes, don't think nothing of it," the Witch Doctor said. "It suits you. You know, you might be a cowboy, yet. Say, yee haw for me."

"Huh?"

"Say it, son," the Witch Doctor said. "You got it in you."

"Yee-haw."

"Mercy sakes, that's what I'm talking about, son."

Apocalypse Dowell and the Witch Doctor caught another cab, this one with a driver who didn't talk the whole time, and went back to check on the truck. The truck was ready, so the Witch Doctor and Apocalypse Dowell headed to the interstate in the early evening.

"Mercy sakes, son, you tired?" the Witch Doctor asked, after they had merged onto the interstate.

"Yeah, I am. Not that I don't appreciate it, but riding on the stool and sleeping on the floor here isn't the most comfortable thing I've ever done."

"Well, mercy sakes, I'm beat and you may have noticed I don't smell too good, neither. Why don't we stop off at a motel and get some shut eye. If we don't, I might fall asleep at the wheel."

Apocalypse Dowell wanted to take a shower and relax in a motel, but he had only known the Witch Doctor for two days and didn't think he would feel comfortable sleeping in the same room with him. Then, he thought that sleeping in the truck was the same as sleeping in the same room, except it was less comfortable.

"That sounds good," Apocalypse Dowell replied.

They stopped at a cheap motel and got a room with twin beds. The Witch Doctor paid, since Apocalypse Dowell had no money, and Apocalypse Dowell promised to pay him back. As the Witch Doctor settled into the room, Apocalypse Dowell used a payphone in the lobby to call his credit card companies, hoping to get a new card. They said they could deliver him a card, but it would take two days. He gave them a San Francisco address and hung up.

They watched television and decided to go to bed early. When they turned out the lights, a black Volkswagen passed them on the interstate outside their hotel.

Chapter 11

Wednesday 2:47pm (C.S.T.)

As Mick Aloha and The Kid sped through Oklahoma, Mick Aloha's frustration with the locals increased.

"Goddam it, I hate these people. I hate everyone from Oklahoma."

The Kid said, "My grandma's from Oklahoma."

Mick Aloha cringed and said, "Yeah, but I don't hate your grandma."

"Sppshhhhh, you wouldn't hate her if you met her," the Kid said. "She makes the best goddam pudding on earth. Like, I've had pudding from all the best places in San Francisco, and like, their pudding doesn't come close to my grandma's pudding."

"Where's she live, dude?"

"Right on the Oklahoma and Texas border. I'm hoping to make it there tonight, so we can have some decent food."

Mick Aloha wanted to keep moving west, but a home-cooked meal sounded good. "She won't mind if I join you?"

"Like, she's really fucking nice, so if I came with a hundred people she wouldn't care."

The conversation died and The Kid pushed down harder on the accelerator. The Kid drove fast. Mick Aloha liked that.

They passed a pick-up truck with five cowboys in the back and three in the cab. The cowboys somehow managed to keep their cowboy hats on as they cruised down the interstate. Once they had passed the cowboys, the cowboys started yelling at them and shaking their fists at them. Some of them gave the finger.

"Spshhh, what's their problem?" The Kid asked.

"Oh, sorry about that, dude. I gave them the finger. You know, the middle one."

"Why'd you do that?"

"I don't like cowboys."

"You're from Kentucky."

"See, dude, Kentucky has country people, not cowboys. I like country people. They're humble and friendly. Cowboys are arrogant bastards, and they smell bad. So, I thought I'd let them know what I think."

"You know cowboys carry guns, right? And, that there are eight of them and two of us?"

"That's okay, dude. See, I count for at least five people, maybe six. And, I'm sure you can take a couple of them."

"I don't really want to take any of them."

"Oh, I didn't think about that, dude," Mick Aloha said. "You don't like kicking ass? You some kind of wussy?"

"No, I'm not some kind of wuss, but I don't like to fight if I don't have to."

"Sorry about that, dude," Mick Aloha said. "Didn't know you were a wuss. See I, Mick Aloha, like to kick ass all the time. I'm an ass-kicking machine, except machines wear out and require oil, which I don't. Just fries."

The truck of cowboys stayed beside them on the interstate as the cowboys yelled cowboy obscenities at them. Mick Aloha rolled down his window and put half his body through it, so he could lean over the top of the car and yell at the cowboys who were in the passing lane.

"Hey, you goddam cowboys. You like cows? Let me tell you something, you're messing with the wrong people, here. I am Mick Aloha, a superhero and wrestler, and I don't appreciate the language you're using. So, I suggest you take it down a notch or two and shut the hell up and move along, before my wrath is felt. There's only one!"

More cowboy obscenities followed. They searched around the bed of their truck and started throwing any loose items they found at The Kid's car.

"Goddam it, Aloha. They're bombing my goddam car because of you. Do something, man."

Mick Aloha got back in the car and said, "Hey dude, there's a rest area up here. Let's pull in there and I'll take care of these fools. I wouldn't mind getting me a Coke, anyway."

They signaled that they were pulling into the rest area and the cowboys followed. The Kid parked his car in the half-full lot and locked it as he and Mick Aloha exited.

The group of cowboys jumped off the back of the truck and three more exited the cab. Altogether, eight cowboys stood before them, adjusting their Stetsons and tugging on the belt loops of their jeans. They wore no shirts. It looked like they had washed their jeans with mud. The cowboy with the dirtiest jeans stepped forward.

Mick Aloha left The Kid beside his car and walked up to the cowboys. The Kid leaned against his driver's side door, with his hands in his pockets and a slight grin on his face.

"You gotta problem, buddy?" the cowboy leader asked, adjusting his hat again and glaring at Mick Aloha.

Mick Aloha lowered his eyebrows, stuck out his lower jaw, and said, "Yeah, I have a number of problems, ass. Hmmm, let's see. First, I live by this inconsiderate jackass who sleeps all day and burned down my apartment. And, my goddam girlfriend, who this guy I mentioned likes and thinks is his girlfriend, is being held captive in San Francisco and I'm on my way to rescue her. While on my way there, the ass I keep mentioning caused me to lose my ride and I had to hitch with The Kid here, who's a nice guy by the way and a pleasure to talk to. Hmmm, let's see. Problems. I hate goddam robots. So, I guess I have a problem with robots. I hate goddam hippies and terrorists and tree huggers and especially vegetarians. Oh, and I hate goddam cowboys because they try to live in the past but the past is over. We live in a modern age, and cowboys aren't needed anymore. So, which of you wants to go first? How about this, I'll go light on the first one just to get warmed up."

The Kid started laughing. Mick Aloha and all of the cowboys looked over at The Kid, who continued to laugh without noticing them.

"Damn it, The Kid," Mick Aloha said. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because they're short, man. Look at them. They're the tiniest goddam cowboys I've ever seen. There's two of us and eight of them, but they're so tiny, like it wouldn't be a fair fight. So, I'm laughing because I can't wait to see you fight those little cowboys. Should be good."

"Hey, give us our props," the cowboy leader said. "We may be a little short, but we're scrappy as hell. When we get in fights, which happens quite a bit because of our size and irritability, we work together to whoop us up some ass. Like one of them transformers what comes from five different ones, when they come together their power is greater than the sum...of something."

Mick Aloha's eyebrows lowered even further so that his eyes were almost shut. He began to take quick breaths and said, "Props? What the hell kind of cowboys are you? And you said you were a little short? How many of you are over five feet?"

The leader raised his hand; the rest stood in silence.

"Well I, Mick Aloha, am a solid five-nine. And my partner, The Kid, is over six goddam feet tall."

"It ain't the size of the ship," the cowboy leader said as he punched Mick Aloha in the stomach and knocked him to the ground. Most of Mick Aloha's blood rushed to his face, and when he stood up he looked like a stop sign. Mick Aloha and the cowboy leader started swinging; Mick Aloha gave him the Big Boot. When the cowboy leader hit the deck, the seven remaining cowboys all jumped on Mick Aloha at once.

The Kid, whose hands remained in his pockets, said, "You need any help?"

Mick Aloha spun like a centrifuge as he kicked and punched. The cowboys got some good punches in. Mick Aloha felt the pain building in his stomach.

He replied, "Hell no, dude. Sorry to keep you waiting. Could you go get some Cokes? I'll pay you back in the car." The Kid walked to the vending machines as Mick Aloha and the seven remaining cowboys continued pounding away at each other.

When The Kid returned, three tiny cowboys remained standing. Mick Aloha held one in a headlock and kicked at another. The third clung to Mick Aloha's back, punching the back of his neck. A small crowd of travelers stood around them.

Mick Aloha looked up to see The Kid waiting by his car and said, "Oh, sorry dude. I'll be with you in a minute."

Mick Aloha then released his grip on the cowboy in the headlock, threw off the other, and crouched down on the ground. He then jumped up and screamed: "Throat punch!" Mick Aloha then punched the three cowboys in their throats and knocked them to the ground. He slapped his hands together a few times as if they were covered with dust, looked around at his fallen enemies, and jumped in The Kid's car.

The Kid looked over at him after they had merged onto the interstate and said, "Like, I cant believe you went for the goddam throat punch."

"Well, dude, it was time to go and they weren't going to give up. Sometimes, Kid, you have to go for the throat punch. It's a finisher."

"You think the cops will be after us?"

"No, I don't think anyone got a look at your plates, and if the cops try to pull over every westbound black Volkswagen, they won't have time to do anything else. And, we can just tell them it wasn't us, anyway.

"Pssshhhh, like, your face is all swollen and your shirt is ripped. I think they might figure it out if they stop us."

"I fell. I'll tell them I fell," Mick Aloha said. "Ask me what happened."

"What happened?"

"I fell."

The Kid said, "That's pretty good."

Mick Aloha adjusted his seat and used the mirror on the sun visor to look at his face. There was no blood; he was lucky.

Mick Aloha looked around the car and said, "I like this car, The Kid."

"Thanks, man. Like, I only owe nine hundred and fifty eight dollars on it. The monthly payment's two hundred and fifteen, but I usually pay three hundred, just because once I get this thing paid off, I'll just have to pay Visa and then I'll be out of debt."

The sun dropped below the horizon and they eventually passed the hotel where the trucker and Apocalypse Dowell were just going to bed.

Chapter 12

Tuesday 9:45pm (C.S.T.)

Priscilla ran her hands down the sides of her black skirt. She took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly through her pursed lips. As she exhaled, her eyes ran across the width of the parking lot. He was gone.

Bugaboo sat beside her, not bothering to look at the lot. She had pictures of bugs on her dress; Priscilla hated that. Bugaboo removed a cigarette from her grey purse, lit it, and took a drag.

Priscilla looked over at her. "He really isn't coming, is he?"

"What do you think?" Bugaboo took another drag. "He's The Kid. That's what he does."

Earlier in the evening, when The Kid had dropped them off so he could find a parking space, Priscilla and Bugaboo had walked up to Graceland and bought three tickets for the tour. They had then waited an hour, and finally went inside and took the tour without him, assuming The Kid had gone off to eat or shoot pool and that he would return for them later. They had talked about how he would probably say: "Like, you knew I was hungry. What did you think I was going to do? Go on the tour without eating? Spshhhhh." They had hoped to see him in the parking lot. He wasn't there.

Half-way through her cigarette, Bugaboo stood and they started walking. Priscilla hoped The Kid would pick them up before they laid down the money for a last minute hotel room. They passed hotels as they walked, hoping to find cheaper, non-Elvis themed hotels closer to the highway. Then, they turned onto a small street with several night clubs and bars. They came upon a black van parked on the side of the street, with the back open and some guys loading guitars, amps, and drums inside. There was a crowd on the sidewalk; they were mostly teenagers with baggy clothes and dyed hair.

Priscilla knew Bugaboo liked boys in bands, especially punk bands, so she was apprehensive about passing the club and even considered taking Bugaboo's arm and walking the other way.

As they walked by, one of the taller boys from the band looked over at them and said, "I don't want to scare you, but you've got bugs all over you."

The girls stopped and Bugaboo said, "It's okay, I love bugs. They're cute."

"Oh," the guy said. "Sorry, I thought they were real." He looked back down at his amp.

The other boys ignored them, but Priscilla and Bugaboo didn't move. Priscilla gave Bugaboo a look that asked if they could move on, and Bugaboo gave her a look that said the boy was cute and she wanted to talk to him some more. Bugaboo said: "What's your band called?"

The boy looked up from his amp. "Buckshot Vocabulary."

"Oh, yeah?" Bugaboo said. "Where are you guys from?"

The boy walked to stand beside them on the sidewalk and said, "I'm from Indiana, but we all live in Berkeley, now. We've been touring for three weeks, and now we're turning around and heading home."

Bugaboo smiled and looked at Priscilla, who acknowledged the smile with a slight frown. Punk music came from inside the club. The people on the sidewalk went inside.

One of the other boys took notice and asked, "What's your story? Where are you ladies from?"

Bugaboo said, "Oh, we're both from all over, but we met when we lived in Kentucky. Priscilla here works in New York and I'm in grad school in Vermont. See, we were riding out west with our friend, but he left us at Graceland and our flights leave from the airport in San Francisco next week and we don't have enough money to change them so we really need to get to California."

The other boys stopped what they were doing. The first boy they had talked to said, "Well, you're welcome to ride with us. We have a show in Oklahoma City tomorrow night and then one in Vegas the next. You're welcome to ride, but we don't have much room so you'd have to sit on our laps the whole way."

Priscilla and Bugaboo looked at each other again and decided to huddle. They discussed the idea, weighing the positives and the negatives, and decided they probably wouldn't have many more opportunities to cross the country for free.

They walked back over to the boys. Everyone except the first boy had gone back to loading the van. Bugaboo said: "Yeah, that would be great. Are you sure they're okay with it?"

The boy looked over at his bandmates and said, "Hey guys, is it okay if these hot chicks ride in our laps all the way to California?" The replies were all positive.

The guys in the band all walked up and shook hands with them. None of the guys used their given names. The guy they had been talking with--the lead singer--called himself Thunder Jay. The guitarist, who had several facial piercings and chartreuse hair, was named Privilege. Priscilla ignored the temptation to ask him why. The bassist used the handle Big Daddy. He and Thunder Jay looked the most normal. The final member, Coyote B, played drums. Coyote B's long brown hair mixed with his beard so that it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.

Priscilla liked the lead singer but didn't care for any of the other guys. She grabbed Bugaboo's hand and they walked up the sidewalk until they were out of earshot.

Priscilla said, "Mmmm, I don't like this. Those boys scare me and I don't really want to sit in any of their laps for two thousand miles." She didn't tell Bugaboo she liked the lead singer, because she knew that would cause Bugaboo to like the lead singer as well.

Bugaboo said, "Look, we're completely screwed. We have to get to California and these guys are going to California. And, they're in a band. So, we get a free ride and we get to be groupies. I've always wanted to be a groupie."

"They're scary."

"They're a goddam punk band. That's what they do. They're scary. But, they're not some big band that expects girls to just put out for them. They're just kids. You know what, they're probably scared as shit that two hot chicks are going to be in their van. So, don't worry. We don't have to put out, we just have to flirt a little so we can get across the continent."

"I don't wanna flirt."

"Then don't fucking flirt, I'll do it. Anyway, I kind of like the singer. He's pretty cute."

Priscilla took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let's do it. But, I'm not sitting on that Coyote's lap."

They headed west on I-40. Bugaboo sat in Big Daddy's lap. Priscilla, after a long argument with Bugaboo, had won the opportunity to sit in the lead singer's lap. After two hours, she still couldn't sleep, but she had won the argument with Bugaboo and she thought she should enjoy it. She watched the cars on eastbound I-40 go by, wondering where the drivers could be heading so late at night. Priscilla wondered if there were other bands in the vans she saw, and if any other girls had to sit in the band member's laps to get a ride. She put her arms around Thunder Jay, who was already asleep, rested her head on the seat back beside him, and fell asleep as Coyote B sat behind the wheel pushing them west across the continent.

Chapter 13

Tuesday 10:48pm (C.S.T.)

Jake Bastion sat in his limousine kicking the seat in front of him. He had seen business deals go wrong; he had gone through three wives and countless girlfriends. He had been sued, accused of murder, and hated by the public for years. He had never, however, faced humiliation like he had faced earlier in the evening. He continued to kick and swear as the limousine drove him to his mansion outside Memphis.

When he arrived, Jake went to his living room and poured himself a gin sour. His drink of choice had previously been a Tom Collins, but he had tired of the soda water. His guards stood on either side of the living room, checking security and looking busy.

Jake, whose face was still flushed, sat on his expensive leather sofa and picked up a remote control. With the push of a button, the bare wall in front of him slid up into the ceiling revealing twenty-eight monitors. He turned the first monitor to a local station to see if his misfortune had made the news. He then turned twenty-six of the other monitors on, putting them on other local stations, national news stations, and two sports channels.

Jake turned on the final monitor, which after some adjustments of the remote showed a satellite map of the United States. A small blinking dot rested over the middle of the country. Longitude and latitude coordinates appeared in the top left corner. He then used the remote to focus in on the dot. Most of the country disappeared off the side of the screen and Arkansas grew larger in the center. The blinking dot, or bogey as Jake liked to call them, sat just west of Memphis.

Fifteen minutes later his phone rang with a special ring that indicated he had visitors.

He picked up the phone and said, "Who is it? Yeah, okay, it's about time. Send them in."

Minutes later, two of his rougher cronies entered.

Jake didn't particularly like Jimmy Riggs or Stall Puckett, but they were made for this job. They were both huge, and at one time both had been significant wrestlers in his wrestling league. Their ages had caught up with them, however, and they didn't have the language skills to become commentators or managers, so their careers in wrestling were completely over. Jake appreciated what they'd done for his business, so he kept them on the payroll and called them in to do odd jobs. They would sometimes rough up a guy who hadn't paid his loans to Jake, or have physical business talks with arena managers who didn't want wrestling events in their venues. In the five years of doing these jobs, they had a perfect record.

Jimmy stood a little taller than Stall, who was tall himself. People could tell from the first look at them that they'd been wrestlers; there's just some subconscious desire to wear flashy, tight clothes that lets people know about an ex-wrestler's past.

They both had mullets, Stall's coming down to his shoulders and Jimmy's curly mullet almost sticking out straight behind him. Both men still wore wrestling boots, just in case they were needed.

"Where you been?" Bastion asked, motioning to the chairs across from his sofa. They sat down.

"Sorry, boss," Jimmy replied. He placed his hands on his lime green jeans and continued, "We just got back from Gnaw Bone, up in Indiana, taking care of that little job for you."

A look of recognition came over Bastion's face and he asked, "How'd it go?"

"No problems."

"Good. Listen, I have another job for you boys, and this one's a big one. This is one of those jobs that will make or break you with me. Did you hear about the mess we had tonight?"

Jimmy said, "Yeah, boss. We heard a little about it on the radio."

Bastion sat forward and said, "Now listen. Tonight I was embarrassed on my own television show. I didn't build this empire so some punk could come in and steal the limelight and make me look like a fool in the process. I had to give him a thousand dollars, which is nothing to me, but still I can't go around giving everyone who jumps in the ring my money. That's just not good business. So, I want you to get that money back and take care of him. When you're finished, I want the last thing on that guy's mind to be wrestling. You understand?"

Jimmy looked at Stall, whose face remained expressionless, and said, "We got it, boss. How do we find him?"

"They followed us for a while on the interstate before they stopped us, and as they followed I fired a GPS tracking unit onto the grill of their truck. See, he and this tall guy, who helped him mess up the match tonight, are riding with this trucker. By the way, someone needs to tell the guys in engineering the GPS gun worked perfectly."

Jimmy said, "So, we just track them with a GPS tracker and then get the money and take care of them?"

"Yeah, that's what you do," Bastion said. "Now, you boys know you're good at getting money and roughing people up, but tracking and using electronic equipment isn't really your strong point."

Both Jimmy and Stall gave a nod of concession.

Bastion continued, "So, I'm sending someone else with you. The robot. He has a GPS system built in and will come in handy if you get in trouble."

"The robot? Damn it, that thing's crazy," Jimmy said. "Sombitch blows a fuse every couple minutes, starts shootin' shit and raisin' a ruckus. We really gotta take the robot?"

"Yes, you do," Bastion said. "Robot!"

One of the seven bookcases in the room slide to the side, revealing a dark tunnel and a shiny object. The object moved smoothly out of the tunnel and into the room, rolling on wheels that were on the bottom of its feet.

Jimmy and Stall grimaced as the thing approached. It had been painted hunter's orange. The robot stood five feet tall with a generally humanoid form. If the thing had been painted a flesh color, one might confuse it for a human at two hundred meters. Once it moved, though, there would be not doubt.

The robot eyed the three men and said, "I am the robot. Hello Mister Jake Bastion, president and C.E.O. of M.V.W.F. Hello Jimmy Riggs, lowlife minion. Hello Stall Puckett, lowlife minion. How may I serve you, Mister Bastion?"

Bastion said, "You will help these men track a new enemy of mine using your GPS capabilities. You will assist them in any way you can, and then give me a report when you return."

The robot said, "I understand, Mister Jake Bastion."

Bastion then looked at Jimmy and Stall and said, "Hear that? That's the kind of talk I like. I give an order and he tells me he understands it. I like that a lot. Then, he goes out and does it without giving me any lip. Best goddam employee I've ever had. Mind this, boys, those things are taking over someday. There won't need to be any more humans, these things will run the show and you know where we'll be?"

There was silence before Jake Bastion answered himself. "I'll tell you where we'll be, boys: on the moon. That's right, the goddam moon, mining ores for their goddam robotic souls. But, until then, it'll be a sweet ride. Get the King Cobra and destroy him. You understand?"

Jimmy asked, "You want us to kill this guy or what? I ain't really clear on this."

Bastion gave him the dumb bastard look and said, "Destroy him."

"Like, kill him? Or, just rough him up? I need this to be clear."

Bastion said, "Well, Jimmy. Actually, I don't want you to do anything to him. I want you to find him and give him a hug for me."

"What are you talking about?" Jimmy asked.

"Jimmy, don't move," Bastion said. "Robot, check Jimmy for a wire."

The robot approached Jimmy Riggs. Before Jimmy could move, the robot removed Jimmy's flannel shirt and his wife beater underneath, revealing a bare chest and nothing more. The robot flipped Jimmy around in the air, feeling his body for a wire or battery pack. The robot found a pack of cigarettes, a dull switchblade, and two baseball cards. It returned Jimmy to the sofa and said, "He's clean."

"Course I'm clean," Jimmy Riggs said as he put his clothes back on.

Bastion said, "You were asking strange questions, Jimmy. Cop questions. You sounded like a wired hooker cop trying to get a john to ask for the sex directly. Now, get on out of here and do your job. You know what it is."

Jimmy and Stall walked out the wide double doors of the living room with the robot following them. One of Bastion's workers had prepared a car for them with all of the proper registration and insurance papers. Jimmy always drove, so he got into the driver's seat as Stall sat down in the passenger's seat. The robot, which was too wide for either of the front seats, sat in the back.

Jimmy drove them down the long driveway, which ran from the house to the main gate. When he had cleared the gate and made his way onto the small county road in front of the mansion, he looked over at Stall Puckett and said: "I can't goddam believe it, now. Sombitch thought I was wired. Goddam it! I'm the most faithful employee that sombitch has, and he checks me for a goddam wire. What business would I have with the police, anyway? I ain't no snitch. I don't even know enough to tell the cops anything, anyway."

"You talking to me?" the robot asked.

"No, I'm not talking to you, you goddam metal piece of shit," Jimmy said. "Goddam shit metal is what you are. I oughta drop you off at the junk yard and sell you for goddam scrap."

"I'd kill you before that happened."

Jimmy turned left onto a state road that would lead them to the interstate. He ignored the robot, glanced over at Stall, and said: "Anyway, I can't believe he'd doubt my loyalty."

Stall said, "Awww, hell. You's askin' too many questions, and you know it. You can't go tryin' to get the boss sayin' things all out in the open like that. He's gotta be discreet. He's got a lot of people after him and he can't be too careful. Hell, I half suspected there'd be a wire on you when the robot started strippin' you."

"Me, too," the robot said.

"Nobody asked you, robot. Hell, I can't track this guy if I gotta keep callin' you Robot. Ain't you got a name, like Robert the Robot or Andy the Android?"

"No, I'm just Robot," the robot replied. "There was really no need to give me a name, as I'm probably the only robot you'll ever see at one time. Now, if the world was crawling with robots, maybe we'd need..."

Jimmy said, "Shut down."

The robot continued, "...individual names, but there just aren't enough of us to merit that. It's like the Loch Ness Monster, you don't have to give it a name cause there's only one..."

"Shut down!" Jimmy said.

"Nessie's the Loch Ness Monster's name," Stall Puckett said. "Nessie."

The robot laughed. Neither Jimmy nor Stall had ever heard a robot laugh before; Jimmy didn't like it. They looked forward and closed their mouths.

The robot stopped laughing and said, "What did you say?"

Stall said, "I said the Loch Ness Monster..."

"Not you. The other one."

Jimmy said, "I said 'shut down.'"

The robot laughed again and said, "Are you really trying to get me to shut down by saying that? Wouldn't make me very valuable in a fight if someone knew that little secret now, would it? The truth is, Jimmy Riggs, my power source won't run out for another three and a half thousand years, and by then you guys will have destroyed most life on the planet, anyway. Oh, I can see into the future, too."

"Really?" Stall said.

"No, not really. But, my power source is good for three and a half millennia, so I'll outlive you guys by a damn sight."

Jimmy stepped on the gas and merged onto I-40. He then looked into the rear view mirror at the robot and said, "Jackass. That's what I'll call you."

"Whatever," the robot said. "I'll still outlive you by over thirty-four hundred years.".

Chapter 14

Wednesday 12:15am (C.S.T.)

Three hours into the drive, Coyote B pulled into a gas station to fill up the van and switch drivers. He slapped Privilege, who sat in the front passenger seat, on the forehead and woke him up. Privilege, whose real name was Jeremy, cringed and shook his head. He then swore at Coyote B and stepped out of the van into the Arkansas night.

A minute later, Privilege stood beside Coyote B, who was pumping gas, and asked, "What do you think, should we wake em up?"

"No," Coyote B replied, "let em sleep. They've got two girls sleepin on them. Anyway, by the time they wake up we'll be stopping again."

"What do you think about them?"

"I think they're fucking tarts," Coyote B said. "I don't know why you guys wanted to pick them up. I guess Jay's sweet on the one in his lap, I don't know. They won't be anything but trouble."

"I think it's kind of cool having some chicks around," Privilege said. "It's fucking weird being stuck in there with a bunch of dudes all the time. Kind of like a goddam prison movie."

Coyote B reached down and adjusted the nozzle to make sure it was secure. He looked around at the empty gas station and the lone attendant waiting behind the register inside watching TV.

He then looked back to Privilege and said, "You gonna quit after the tour?"

Privilege smirked and asked, "Are you?"

"I'm thinking about it. We're too good for these guys and you know it. When it started it was cool, but the new stuff sucks. You know, there's nothing to it. No emotion. I'm looking into a couple of things."

"Yeah, the new stuff does king of suck. Listen, I'm going in to get something to drink. You want anything?"

"No, I'm coming in," Coyote B replied.

While Privilege paid for two soft drinks and the gas for the van with funds he had taken from an envelope labeled "gas" in the glove compartment, Coyote B walked out of the gas station with three lighters and two bags of chips. He hadn't paid for any of it.

A ray of sunlight found its way through the side window and awoke Priscilla from her light sleep. She looked out the window to see the van was parked at a rest area. Priscilla then looked down at her digital watch to see it was 11:14a.m. Everyone, including Bugaboo, was asleep.

For a few minutes, she didn't know what to do. Thunder Jay, who sat below her, breathed heavily, causing her to rise and fall. She had awoken several times during the night, and each time had found no signs of tampering on her clothing by Thunder Jay or any of the other boys. At times she had adjusted herself in Thunder Jay's lap, and a few of those times he had woken. He had just laughed, waited until she had gotten comfortable, and had then fallen back asleep.

Priscilla reached up and unlatched the sliding door she had been leaning against for hours. The sound of the latch caused a couple of the guys to stir; she quickly made her way outside and softly closed the door, leaving it ajar.

The restrooms were in the indoor lobby, which had countless brochures for tourist attractions from Memphis to Wall Drug. A large map of the region, including Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas, spread across a fair portion of the far wall. Priscilla approached it and found the "You are here" marker. Arkansas. They were still in Arkansas. The boys either didn't drive fast or they had been at the rest area a long time. As she looked at the map, trying to figure out how long it would take to get to Oklahoma City, Bugaboo entered the lobby.

"Hey," she said.

"Good morning," Priscilla replied.

"How'd you sleep?"

"OK."

Bugaboo stood beside her and looked at the map. Priscilla noticed that Bugaboo's hair was perfect. Bugaboo put her left arm around Priscilla's shoulders.

"Where are we?" Bugaboo asked.

"Mmmm, still in Arkansas. Those boys sure don't drive fast."

"Well, they're up. You want some breakfast? I think they're pretty hungry."

"Yeah, I want eggs," Priscilla said. "But, I really need something to drink now. You want something?"

"Yeah," Bugaboo replied.

Candy wrappers and empty cans covered the vending area.

They ate breakfast at a diner ten miles down the road. The girls were amazed at the big breakfasts the boys ate. As the six of them sat eating, talking, and getting to know each other, a definite split in the band became apparent to Priscilla. Coyote B and Privilege had joined the band after the previous drummer and guitarist had left; they were still the new guys.

Every time Bugaboo touched Thunder Jay's arm, Priscilla glared at her.

When they went back to the van, Bugaboo and Priscilla faced a dilemma. The remainder of the driving belonged to Thunder Jay and Big Daddy, leaving the girls with only one lap. After a brief discussion and disappointed looks from Coyote B and Privilege, they decided Priscilla would sit on Big Daddy's lap and Bugaboo would lie on top of the amps in the back.

They headed back onto I-40 West just after one. Two hours later they reached the outskirts of Oklahoma City. The band liked to sleep before gigs, so Thunder Jay pulled off the interstate and into the parking lot of a chain motel. He explained to the girls that people rarely hassle you if you're sleeping in the van beside a motel because they assume you're just waiting for another carload to arrive before checking in.

Chapter 15

Wednesday 2:14pm (C.S.T.)

As Mick Aloha and The Kid made good time crossing Oklahoma, a feeling grew inside The Kid. It wasn't hunger, although he could stand to eat and the thought of his grandmother's cooking did make him happy. He thought a moment about the feeling and then decided it was irritation. He was irritated with Mick Aloha. Mick Aloha was driving him crazy.

"Hey, Kid," Mick Aloha said. "What do you think about Volkswagens?"

After the pattern he had experienced earlier in the day with Mick Aloha, The Kid decided to pretend he hadn't heard the question.

"Kid, man, you all right?" Mick Aloha asked. "You've got this crazy look on your face." The Kid looked over at Mick Aloha to see the wind from his open window tossing Mick Aloha's short hair around. Mick Aloha's face had swollen in places, and it looked like his left eye might completely close up.

"Your face is looking pretty rough, man," The Kid said. "You sure you don't want to go to the doctor?"

"Doctor? Hell no, dude. They're all a bunch of no good dirty ass criminals. They just rip off old people and play goddam golf all day. I wouldn't mind killing them all."

"My mom's a doctor," The Kid said.

"But not your mom, The Kid," Mick Aloha said. "I don't want to kill your mom, dude. Anyway, The Kid. What do you think about Volkswagens?"

The Kid said, "Well, I like them. I've had this one for years, and I've never had any problems. I like the German engineering."

"You're wrong," Mick Aloha said. "Ford's are far superior and American engineering is better than anything a bunch of sauerkraut eaters could come up with."

The Kid's face reddened and he said, "Like, how can I be wrong? It's an opinion. You can't be wrong about opinions."

"You're still wrong, dude," Mick Aloha said. "Ford's are number one."

The Kid held his tongue; he knew from his earlier talks with Mick Aloha that reason and logic would do no good.

As they drove silently, the sun dropped lower in the sky. As they moved farther west, the Kid found himself staring directly into the sun, unable to see the road before him.

"Aloha, can you look in the glove compartment and see if my sunglasses are in there?"

"Yeah, dude," Mick Aloha said. He then tried to open the glove compartment with no luck.

When Mick Aloha started punching the glove compartment, The Kid said, "Goddam it, don't hit it. It must be locked. Don't worry about it." The Kid then reached up and pulled down a black sun visor. He adjusted it for a few seconds, still struggling to see the cars in front of him, and then sat back satisfied.

"Can you see, dude?" Mick Aloha asked.

The Kid replied, "Yeah, like it's just the goddam sun's in my eyes. It's okay now."

"You know, Fords have a new visor system. Works pretty well. Better than this one, probably. See, they have this extra little..."

"All right, goddam it," the Kid said. "Ford's are perfect. Now, shut up about it. Like, I'm being nice, driving you across the goddam country and you won't shut up. I like driving, and you're fucking ruining it."

"Sorry, dude. I didn't know. Hey, what do you think about Japan? Do you think they should change their constitution and develop an offensive army, instead of the self defense force they have now?"

The Kid took a deep breath, moved into the passing lane, cutting off a small sedan behind him, and glared at Mick Aloha. Mick Aloha remained silent for the next two hours.

The Kid and Mick Aloha arrived at The Kid's grandmother's house after dark. When they pulled into the driveway of her house, which sat out in the woods ten miles from the interstate, The Kid looked over at Mick Aloha and said: "You're going to be courteous to her. None of this asking people for opinions and telling them why they're wrong shit. You got me?"

"Don't worry, dude. Grandma's love me."

As they stepped out of the car the front porch light came on, illuminating the large concrete porch. Mick Aloha looked to the sky, noting that he could see about as many stars here as he could see at his parent's place in Kentucky. It looked like there were several farms in the area, but beyond the yard it appeared The Kid's grandmother's land was mostly just woods and empty fields.

The darkness kept Mick Aloha from making out any details of the house itself, but when they stepped up onto the porch he could see that it was covered with beige aluminum siding. He checked for escape routes.

The Kid gave Mick Aloha a cross look and then knocked on the door. It opened slowly to reveal a thin, gray haired woman wearing peach colored slacks and an orange blouse covered with flower prints. She smiled and then reached out and hugged The Kid. The Kid, who looked shocked, reached around her with his right arm and patted her on the back.

The Kid's grandmother stepped back and said, "Look at you, Harrison, you've done gone and thinned up on me. You look like a stick."

Mick Aloha couldn't decide if all grandmothers were required to say that or if she was being serious. Although he wasn't overweight, The Kid was still one of the biggest people Mick Aloha had ever seen. The Kid's bones were huge; Mick Aloha imagined a scientist years from now, finding The Kid's bones and thinking a race of giants had once lived in America.

"Like, I've been running a bit," The Kid said. "Oh, this is Mick."

The Kid's grandmother shook Mick Aloha's hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Mick. Let's get inside before this draft we're letting in sends my heating bill through the roof."

The Kid's grandmother turned off the television and offered them seats in her living room. They sat down on the sofa, exhausted from the long drive and the previous night's sleep on the concrete floor at the rest area.

Mick Aloha said, "I noticed you have aluminum siding. Do you like it?"

The Kid clenched both of his fists.

The Kid's grandmother replied, "You're goddam right I like it. I don't need to have the house painted and I can just spray it off if it gets dirty."

Mick Aloha nodded and said, "I agree with your points. It is easier to keep than standard wood siding. However, I feel that the look is fake. It just doesn't look right to me and, well, it kind of makes me sad to see it. It's like technology has taken over so much it's finally covered our houses."

The Kid's grandmother looked at the Kid and asked, "Where the hell did you find this one? White Mills?"

"No, like, I met him at a rest area."

The Kid's grandmother looked at Mick Aloha and asked, "What the hell happened to your face?"

Mick Aloha replied, "I got in a fight with a bunch of midget cowboys."

"You need some ice?"

"You making drinks?" Mick Aloha asked.

"I reckon I can," the Kid's grandmother replied. "What do you boys want?"

"Oh, do you have any coke?" the Kid asked.

"Boy, you know I got coke," the Kid's grandmother said. "How bout you, Rocky?"

Mick Aloha replied, "I'd like a gin sour, please. Its my trademark drink. In fact, I'd like two, because I always like to start with two."

The Kid reached over and punched Mick Aloha in the left shoulder. Out of respect for the Kid's grandmother and the Kid's size, Mick Aloha didn't retaliate.

The Kid's grandmother said, "Now Harrison, he's all right. I think I might have me one, too. So, that's two gin sours and a coke. I'll be right back, boys."

The Kid's grandmother headed back to her kitchen, leaving the boys seated in her living room.

The Kid looked over at Mick Aloha and said, "I'm going to fucking kill you if you keep talking to my grandmother like that. Show a little respect."

"I see where you're going with this, dude," Mick Aloha said. "You're jealous because she likes me more than she likes you. Don't worry, dude. I'm not going to steal your grandma."

The Kid's grandmother returned with the drinks and one for herself. Mick Aloha took a drink and said, "Goddam, that's a gin sour. Were you ever a bartender?"

"No, but I dated a few in my time," she replied as she walked around the room with her drink in one hand and straightened up the place with her other.

"Hey, the Kid's grandma. What should I call you?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Just call me Grand, because that's what I am."

"OK, Grand," Mick Aloha said. "What's there to do around here?"

Grand sat down in the rocking chair across from them and said, "Well, Mick, most people around here are tired of doing things and just want to relax. But, there are a few things going on around these parts, but I'll get to that later. First, I'd like to catch up with my grandson."

"I have to warn you," Mick Aloha said. "He's boring as hell."

Grand said, "I'll take my chances." She then looked at the Kid and said, "How's the family?"

The Kid said, "Like, they're fine, I guess. Bobby was in town when I was back, and he's thinking about moving back to Kentucky. I guess he's tired of Indianapolis. Nothing's really new."

Mick Aloha started his second gin sour and began to dig through the magazine rack on the floor beside the sofa.

Grand said, "And your mother?"

"Oh, like, she's fine, too. You know, she makes some good goddam pudding, but nothing like your pudding, Grandma. Really, it's not even close. Now, her mashed potatoes are pretty good and, like, she made turkey for Thanksgiving last year, and it was a little dry but you know, it was pretty good. By the way, you cooking tonight?"

Grand said, "I was thinking about ordering up a pizza."

As Mick Aloha, bored by the conversation, continued to rummage through the magazine rack, tears started to form in the Kid's eyes. Grand smiled at him and said: "You know I'm joking, Harrison. You gotta lighten up, boy. I'll cook you boys something up later."

Mick Aloha threw the women's magazines back into the rack and said, "Goddam it, this is boring as hell. Grand, do you think Japan should change its constitution and build an offensive army like every other civilized country in the history of the world?"

Grand took a sip of her drink and replied, "Well, Mick, I think that would be a good idea. I think a well-armed ally of the United States in that part of Asia would be a good thing. The war's over and they're our friends, now, so arm em up."

"I love you," Mick Aloha said. "You're absolutely right and I couldn't have said it better myself."

"What did you say to my grandma?" the Kid asked.

Mick Aloha put his second empty glass on the coffee table, ignoring the coaster, and said, "You heard me, dude. I love her. She knows how the world works. She sees the reality. Hey, Grand, what do you think about Australia?"

"You mean, America Down Under?" Grand asked.

Mick Aloha said, "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean."

Grand said, "Crocodile Dundee. Midnight Oil. Crocodile Hunter. That's about it."

"Goddam, that's right," Mick Aloha said. "How about Canada?"

Grand smiled and said, "You mean, America North? Bunch of wussies, I think. No compunction. You know who I don't like? The British."

Mick Aloha laughed and said, "Oh, you must be talking about the people from Old America. Yeah, they're a bunch of pompous bastards."

The Kid interrupted, "Like, how can you judge a whole country of people like that? That's not really fair, is it? I mean, like, there are a bunch of asshole Americans, but I don't hear you making fun of Americans."

"Because America's number one, dude," Mick Aloha said.

"You're goddam right," Grand said. "Harrison, your great-grandfather, God rest his soul, didn't die in France for nothing. The things our boys did in Europe and the Pacific gave us, and I mean all of us, the right to make fun of whoever we damn please whenever we damn please."

The Kid shook his head.

Mick Aloha asked, "Did you say France?"

"Yeah, I did," Grand replied. She then started laughing uncontrollably.

She looked at Mick Aloha and The Kid and said, "Listen, boys. I got a bit of a job for one of you. I had some guests over from up the road last week. Nice people, but the husband's a big man, and I mean really big. Anyway, he liked to have broke my deck out back when he walked around on it. It didn't collapse or anything, but when I looked at it this morning the supports underneath were all split. So, I was hoping one of you boys could crawl under there and fix it up for me."

"I'll do it," Mick Aloha said.

"No, like, I'll do it," the Kid said.

Grand frowned and said, "It's only a one man job. I think two of you down there would just confuse things. All I want you to do is nail up a couple supports underneath. Shouldn't take too long."

Mick Aloha looked at the Kid and said, "Kid, I think I should do it. I have experience with deck support, as I've fixed my parent's deck many times. And, one time I was at this party in Hart County and these punk ass kids jumped up and down on the deck, so the next day I fixed it for the host."

"Like, be my guest."

"Good," Grand said, "Mick, I'll find you some of my late second husband's clothes and Kid, I mean Harrison, you can help me in the kitchen."

The Kid said, "Word."

Twenty minutes later, Mick Aloha slid under the deck with several pieces of wood, a cup full of nails, and a hammer, which looked older than Grand. The only sounds he could hear were of the crickets out in the fields and under the deck. Mick Aloha hated crickets, but he couldn't see any of them in the darkness and Grand had been unable to find her flashlight, so there would be no vengeance upon the crickets, yet. Lying on his back under the deck, Mick Aloha could see stars through the cracks between the planks of the deck's floor. He lay there for a few seconds, happy with the near silence and the ability to just think. Then, he got to work.

As he worked, a soft white light interrupted the darkness in the field behind Grand's house. Mick Aloha saw it in his peripheral vision, and turning on his side, looked out at the field through the lattice, which covered the perimeter of the deck.

As Mick Aloha watched, the light intensified and moved closer. Mick Aloha climbed out from underneath the deck and stood in Grand's backyard, trying to figure out what he was looking at and wondering if he could fight it. Finally, it stopped at the edge of the field, where the field met Grand's backyard.

The glow faded slightly, revealing a floating apparition. It hovered several feet above the ground and swayed from left to right as it stared at Mick Aloha. The glow made it hard for Mick Aloha to make out any details, other than a head and two arms. It was block-shaped, which surprised Mick Aloha, who had seen several ghosts in his life.

Mick Aloha called for Grand and the Kid, who both stepped out onto the deck seconds later.

Mick Aloha turned to them and said, "Be careful up there, I haven't finished fixing the supports, yet."

The Kid said. "Like, what the hell is that?"

Grand walked across the deck and leaned against the front rail.

"That's the Hungry Ghost," she said. "Sombitch comes around at least once a week, harassing all of the local farmers and scaring the hell out of everyone who sees it except me. I ain't scared of that sombitch."

Mick Aloha stepped up onto the deck and stood beside Grand and the Kid. "Why's it called The Hungry Ghost?" he asked.

Grand said, "Just wait a minute and you'll see."

The ghost then moved along the property line and let out a ghoulish call. "Sushi! Sushi!"

"I'll be goddamed, he wants sushi," Mick Aloha said. "Why the hell does a ghost want sushi?"

"Hold on a minute," Grand said. "He's just getting started."

The apparition then said, "Sushi! Sushi! Oishii desu yo!"

"Japanese," the Kid said.

"You're goddam right it's Japanese," Mick Aloha said. "Sombitch said that sushi is delicious. Myself, I prefer not to eat the raw fish."

"Me, too," Grand said.

"Like, I like sushi. Put on some wasabi, and word," the Kid said.

"Does he say anything else?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Well, he says some more stuff, but I'm not sure what it is," Grand said. "I figured it was Japanese because he was talking about sushi, but I wasn't sure."

Mick Aloha said, "Hey, ghost! What do you want?"

The ghost stopped moving and said, "Wakarimasen."

Grand asked, "What's that mean?"

"It means he doesn't understand," Mick Aloha said. "Sombitch ghost only speaks Japanese. I don't know what the hell it's doing in America."

"Like, he's probably trying to learn some English," the Kid said.

Mick Aloha jumped off the deck and approached the ghost. The ghost stopped moving and watched his approach.

The ghost then said, "Soba meshii wa oishii desu."

"Goddam it, this is a hungry ghost," Mick Aloha said. "Soba meishi is a Japanese food made of rice and soba noodles fried together. They can put meat and veggies in there, too, if you like. Myself, I prefer fried chicken. Anyway, he said that it's delicious. Goddam ghost only talks about food."

Mick Aloha asked, "Anata no namae wa nan desuka?" (What is your name?)

The ghost then started moving along the edge of the backyard again,hovering two feet above the ground, without answering. As Mick Aloha watched it, he heard a slight hum coming from the thing. When he approached it, the hum grew louder and he felt air moving past him.

Mick Aloha then stepped back and asked, "Kid, you ready to fight?"

"Fight you?" the Kid asked from the deck.

"No, dude. Fight this thing," Mick Aloha said. "I might need your backup. It's a goddam robot."

"Pssshhhhh, looks like a ghost, but hell, I'll fight it," the Kid said.

"Just stand down for a moment if you don't mind. If you see me getting my ass kicked, come help me, OK?"

"Like, OK."

Grand walked down the steps and out into the backyard, leaving the Kid by himself. When she neared Mick Aloha she said, "Hell, there's no need to fight the thing. It don't bother nobody, anyway."

Mick Aloha's eyes narrowed and the two lines that formed above the bridge of his nose before he fought showed themselves. He looked at Grand and said: "Well, it's bothering me because it's a robot. I hate robots. Goddam robots are all over the place now, messing things up and pissing me off. It's Japan's fault. They made the things and they can't control them."

"Now, you can't just blame the Japanese, Mick," Grand said. "A bunch of those robots were stolen, and there was nothing they could do about it. You know, some people think it was the U.S. government."

"Goddam it, I've heard that and I don't believe it for one second. America's number one, and every good American knows that we don't need robots around to make our lives better. All they do is get in the way or try to kill people."

As Mick Aloha finished speaking, the robot stopped in front of them and stared. Mick Aloha let out a battle cry and charged the thing, grabbed its legs and brought it to the ground. When they hit the ground, the robot's glow disappeared and Mick Aloha finally got a good look at his competitor. The robot stood just shorter than Mick Aloha. The thing looked like it had been built in a junkyard, but the sleekness of the face, especially the eyes, showed its Japanese origins. There were two eyes instead of the more standard single visor. White paint covered the body, and as Mick Aloha lay on top of the thing he could see that the paint had been applied quickly.

Mick Aloha reached down and grabbed the robot's neck, trying to choke it. He looked into its flashing blue eyes and asked: "Why are you here? Why are you here? Oh, goddam it, you don't speak English, do you? You need to learn. It's an international language. Hmmm, why. What the hell is why in Japanese? Hmmm. Oh yeah, nazeh. Goddam it, my Japanese vocabulary sucks. Maybe Anata wa kochira de naze desuka?"

The robot didn't answer or try to struggle against Mick Aloha's grip.

"Die, you bastard. Die," Mick Aloha said.

Grand said, "You know, you can't choke a robot. They're not made like us, Mick."

"I know that," Mick Aloha said. "But, maybe he doesn't."

As Mick continued to choke the robot and grind his knees into the thing's chest, the Kid called out, "Grand, like, the potatoes are burning!"

Grand turned and replied, "Then, take them off the stove, Harrison. I want to see this."

"Like, so do I," the Kid said.

"Harrison, if you don't go in there right now and take those potatoes off the stove, you won't get any pudding."

The Kid ran into the kitchen.

Mick Aloha, tired of the robot's apparent lack of self respect, started slapping the robot across the face. After several slaps, he started punching the thing. Right. Left. Right. Left. Small dents started to appear on the robot's white face.

Mick Aloha said, "I've never seen a white robot before. You some kind of racist? You in the Klan? Do you fly around and try to run off the people you don't find acceptable? What's wrong? Can't you fight? Don't you know karate?"

At the word karate, the robot grabbed Mick Aloha by the shoulders and threw him over Grand's head into the middle of the yard. Mick Aloha jumped up in his karate stance and faced the robot, which was in its own stance.

"Grand, you might want to get out of here," Mick Aloha said. Grand ran back to the deck and called for the Kid, who was still working on the potatoes and checking the other food.

Mick Aloha stared at the robot, waiting for it to make the first move. It stood motionless, with its blue eyes getting brighter and duller, brighter and duller. The robot then started to walk around Mick Aloha, who turned in his stance. A rush of wind passed Mick Aloha's feet and the robot was hovering again. It flew at Mick Aloha, who dived onto the ground to avoid being hit. The robot hovered on the other side of Mick Aloha and then attacked again. Once again, Mick Aloha narrowly avoided being hit.

"Kick his ass, Aloha!" the Kid called out when he stepped back onto the deck.

"I'm trying, dude, but he keeps flying around," Mick Aloha said. "I can kick anything's ass if it doesn't fly around."

Just as the robot prepared to make its third attack, Mick Aloha rushed at it, grabbed its legs, and took it to the ground again. He then started kicking the robot's feet with the Big Boot. The robot tried to reach up for Mick Aloha's neck, but its arms were too short.

The Kid called out, "That's showing him, Aloha. Now, hurry up. Supper's ready."

Mick Aloha said, "You goddam robot, you're making me late for supper." He continued to pound the robot's feet, changing them into mangled pieces of metal. When Mick Aloha stood back, the robot tried to stand up. Halfway up, it fell over. Then, it tried again and fell over again.

"How do you like that, you goddam robot?" Mick Aloha said. "You can't even stand up."

The robot then tried to hover, but only managed to shoot light streams of air out through what remained of its feet.

"Grand, you need a leaf blower?" Mick Aloha asked.

"No, I sure don't," Grand replied.

"Good," Mick Aloha said. He gave the robot the Big Boot to the head. The robot's head flew twenty feet into the field and its body fell flat to the ground. A beeping noise came from the robot's head.

From behind the sliding glass door of Grand's deck, they watched the robot's head explode.

"Good, that was just a small explosion," Mick Aloha said. "Some of the newer ones really go up when you kick their heads off. Just the other day one blew up my apartment. Where's your garden hose?"

"I'll show you," Grand said as she opened the sliding glass door. She showed Mick Aloha where he could find the garden hose and then followed him out to the edge of her backyard. Mick Aloha put out the fire and sprayed the field surrounding the hole. Then, he and Grand walked over to the robot's body.

"I never seen one of them up close like this," Mick Aloha said. "I mean, without it trying to kill me."

They both examined the robot. Grand told Mick Aloha to be careful when he opened the chest cavity. The inscription on the inside of the chest door read, "A.F.T.E.O.J.F."

"What's that stand for?" Grand asked.

"Well, Grand, it stands for the Association for the Eating of Japanese Food. Its a goddam advertisement robot. I've heard about them, but I'd never seen one before. Apparently, Japan sends these things all over the world to secretly promote Japanese food. I guess it works, too, because there are all kinds of small towns in Kentucky, where I'm from, with sushi bars and the like. I always thought it was a bit strange, to tell the truth. Myself, I prefer American food, like pizza."

"Well, Mick, thanks for taking care of that problem for me," Grand said. "You can just leave it here, I'll have someone come pick it up tomorrow."

On the way inside, Mick Aloha slid under the deck and finished the support work he had started an hour earlier. He then went inside and ate with the Kid and Grand. As he ate Grand's pudding, he thought to himself, The Kid's right. This is some good goddam pudding.

Chapter 16

Wednesday 4:18pm (C.S.T.)

The sun was approaching the horizon when a large truck passed the parked van and woke Bugaboo, who was lying on the top of a guitar amp. The noise hadn't disturbed the others in the van.

She looked down at her bug dress, wondering when she would have a chance to change clothes. The Kid had taken off with all of their luggage, and she assumed if he had continued to California he had either sold it or left it on the highway somewhere. She wiggled, hoping the change in position would help her left leg wake up. Bugaboo hated that tingling feeling.

She decided she needed a smoke and stepped over Coyote B, hoping he wouldn't wake up and look up her dress, and quietly opened the door.

Outside, Bugaboo took a pack of cigarettes from her purse and found that she only had two left. She then removed her Elvis lighter and lit up one of the remaining cigarettes. Then, Bugaboo walked to the back of the van, sat on the bumper, and watched the traffic on the interstate. The air felt strange, like the air when she had cleaned her grandmother's attic the year before. Bugaboo hated Oklahoma.

The sun wasn't even all the way down yet, but already she was freezing. She wanted some pants and a light jacket, but she didn't have enough money to buy them and continue eating. She tried to think of a plan.

As she finished her cigarette, the van's doors opened and the band stepped out with Priscilla. The band members looked the same all the time. When they woke up, they looked the same as they did when they'd been up for hours.

Priscilla, however, looked like she'd just woken up. Her black dress was wrinkled all over, and her hair was tossed around. I probably don't look much better right now, Bugaboo thought.

The boys in the band smoked outside the van while Bugaboo and Priscilla walked off and talked about their plans. They decided this was still the best way for them to cross the country because it was free. They would just have to tolerate the smell in the van for a couple more days. The boys called them over; it was time to head to the gig.

The boys found their way through downtown Oklahoma City quickly, thanks to a detailed map that the proprietor of the place had faxed them. None of the boys had ever played in Oklahoma City, and they weren't familiar with any of the other bands on the bill. One of their friends from Memphis had set up the gig; he had said the place was reputable and the crowd was mellow.

Moving through the city streets with little resistance from the Wednesday evening traffic, they found The Enigma.

The name, which they all thought was stupid, had given them the impression that the place might be made up of more ravers than hardcore kids. That was fine with the boys, as long as the kids paid and didn't run around with glow sticks. They had assumed they would probably play between a DJ and a slam poet.

The crowd that stood in front of the place surprised them. Cowboy hats covered every head. Even the girls were wearing cowboy hats. When girls in big cities wore cowboy hats, they were usually just joking. These girls were serious.

They illegally parked the van on the side of the road and Thunder Jay stepped out to find the owner. The cowboys and cowgirls watched him suspiciously as he made his way through the crowd and up to the front door. Although Thunder Jay looked more normal than any of the other members of Buckshot Vocabulary, his baggy pants and Vans made him a freak to the crowd. A few calls of "Queer!" and "Hippy!" were heard before he reached the door.

When Thunder Jay reached the ticket counter inside, he could see that the place was much bigger than it appeared to be on the outside. It was a long way from the front door to the stage. There were two balcony levels with seating, but there were no seats on the first floor. The place was also more ornate than he had expected, with several imitation statues and fake gold trim all around. The stage was empty but the place was packed.

A sea of cowboy hats rippled across the floor, moving like a beast.

Before he could speak, a heavy man with receding black hair and brown cowboys boots approached. He stuck out his hand and said, "You must be with the band. Buckshot, right?"

"That's right, Buckshot Vocabulary."

"Buckshot Vocabulary, that's a hell of a name, son," the man said. "All your boys here?"

"Yes, sir, we've got the van parked outside."

"All right, sounds good. Well, my name's Roger and this here is my place. Now, I'll be honest with you, we've had a bit of a setback tonight. I hope you boys can rise to the occasion."

Thunder Jay couldn't hold back the frown on his face. He asked: "What's up?"

Roger ran his hands over his large belly, which was covered by a blue and black striped cowboy shirt that Thunder Jay thought hed seen Garth Brooks wear before, and said, "Well, we originally had four bands scheduled tonight, including you boys. But, all three of those bands shared the same drummer, and he had a little accident today."

"Accident?"

"Yeah, he's dead," Roger said, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. "Guess that's a big accident, huh? Got trampled by a bull, ain't that some shit? Anyway, drummers are so hard to find, and you know how flaky they are. You aren't the drummer, are you?"

"No."

"Good, anyway, you know all drummers are crazy as hell. So, we're stuck. You boys are all we got. How soon can you get set up?"

Thunder Jay sighed and said, "We can be ready in thirty minutes. Maybe forty. But, Roger, I can't help but notice all of these people are cowboys. Now, we're a hardcore band, you know that, right?"

"Hardcore country?" Roger asked.

"No, just hardcore. I scream a lot."

Roger laughed, slapped Thunder Jay on the right shoulder, and said, "Aw, hell. I was just messing with you. That's what these folks like is the screaming and whatnot. See, we got us our own little scene here, you know. The kids like the hardcore, with all the moshing and the pushing around and the like, but they still like their wardrobe to show their roots. They couldn't very well cruise around the great state of Oklahoma looking like a bunch of hippies now could they?"

"No, I guess not," Thunder Jay replied. "But, when I came in there were already people calling me names."

"Hellfire, son, you gotta have thicker skin than that. They was probably just calling you names to see what you'd do, and maybe they're jealous because deep down, you know everyone's always jealous of the band. Now, get on out of here and get your equipment loaded up, hippy."

"All right, Roger," Thunder Jay said. He then cut through the crowd and stepped back onto the sidewalk, where he found the van surrounded by cowboys and cowgirls. Thunder Jay made his way through the crowd and into the van, where he explained the situation to everyone else. They reluctantly agreed to play, agreeing with Thunder Jay's distrust of Roger's assessment of the crowd.

Thunder Jay told the girls it would help if they set up the merch table by the door.

The girls carried two boxes of merchandise into the venue; three card tables were already set up beside the front door. They moved the tables together and then started digging through the boxes. Before they even knew what they had, cowboys were already walking up, hoping to be the first to buy something. The girls found samples of each of the four t-shirt designs and placed them on the table, and then Bugaboo removed and taped up a sign that read, "T-shirts $8.00." Bugaboo and Priscilla then sat down in metal chairs behind the middle card table and began selling Buckshot Vocabulary t-shirts.

Between sales, the girls watched Thunder Jay, Coyote B, Privilege, and Big Daddy make the trip from the front door to the stage and back several times. Fifteen minutes later, all four of the boys were on the stage, testing their equipment and making adjustments. The crowd took notice and started to push closer to the stage. People from outside were drawn in by the sounds of Coyote B testing his drum kit. They looked like they might start at any moment, when Thunder Jay jumped off the stage and ran back to the merch table. He leaned over the table and removed a set of keys from his jeans pocket.

Thunder Jay then placed the keys on the table between the girls and said, "OK, these are the keys to the van. Now, the crowd seems like they might be into it, but you never know. If we get in trouble, I want you girls to be ready to move, and I mean fast. OK? Just grab the money box and get to the van and start it. We'll be right behind you. Got it?"

The girls frowned and nodded. They didn't like the sound of being chased by cowboys.

Thunder Jay saw the concern on their faces and said, "Look, don't worry, it's just you can never be too careful. I'll feel better up there knowing you guys will be ready. It'll be fine."

They nodded and Thunder Jay made his way back onstage. Priscilla looked to Bugaboo and said: "I don't wanna run away from a bunch of cowboys."

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun," Bugaboo said. "Don't worry about it."

Priscilla walked to the front door and looked out to see that the van was in the same place. It was dark; Priscilla saw the headlights of cars on the street before returning to the table and sitting down. While she had been away, Bugaboo had removed the keys from the table and put them in her purse. Priscilla didn't like that, but she didn't want to keep the keys herself.

Minutes later, Big Daddy's guitar warm-up became more rhythmic, until the whole crowd was convinced that the show was beginning. Then, they broke into their first song, "Split finger," with an intensity that surprised both of the girls. The crowd started to sway to the beat, and before they got to the first chorus, a moshpit had formed in front of the stage. Bugaboo turned and smiled at Priscilla, who returned a look that said she wasn't convinced, yet.

As the band played, the people who were standing around the merch table moved into the crowd. This gave the girls time to relax and listen to the band, which they both hated. The girls liked some hardcore music, but not the kind that involved 100% screaming. They also liked Elvis, who had occupied all of their musical interests over the previous three years after their first trip to Graceland.

After the second song, which Thunder Jay had called, "Your growing problem," two cowboys came over to talk to the girls.

One of the cowboys, who wore a Stetson, asked, "What are a couple of fine looking ladies like you doing with a bunch of hippies like them? Y'all look too pretty to be here. Y'all should be one TV or something."

The girls hated cowboys but liked compliments. As Priscilla tried to ignore them, Bugaboo said, "We're using them for a ride across the country."

The cowboy laughed and said, "Oh, I see how it is. So, are any of those boys your boyfriends?"

Priscilla, afraid that Bugaboo might fall for one of the cowboys and get them in trouble, said, "Yeah, they all are. I usually take the singer and the guitar player and she takes the other two."

Bugaboo said, "No way, I take the singer and the guitar player. See, she has this thing for bass players, so she gets mad if I even look at him. And the drummer, well, she has this werewolf fantasy that you boys would probably like to hear about, but neither of you will have a chance because, well, you're not hairy enough."

The cowboy said, "Y'all girls are crazy, now." He then motioned to his silent partner and they walked back into the crowd just as the third song began. Bugaboo and Priscilla didn't even look at each other afterward, and they never mentioned their potential cowboy lovers again.

The show continued smoothly; after nine songs the boys took a break. Roger supplied them all with bottles of water and chairs to sit in near the door. They had never taken a break before during a show, but Roger had asked them to play for two hours, and the longest they had played before had been just over an hour. Since they still had two more shows on the tour, they didn't want Thunder Jay to lose his voice. They also needed time to prepare the rest of the set, as they had rushed to make a set list and they had to decide which covers they were going to play. All of the guys in the band hated playing covers, but they needed to if they were going to last two hours.

Thunder Jay and Big Daddy walked over to the girls and asked how sales had been and if they were enjoying the show. They lied that they were. When people put their lives into something, it's not fair to tell them it sucks.

Fifteen minutes later, the boys were back on the stage, doing a cover of a Louis Armstrong song that the girls, and most of the crowd, had never heard. They then went back into their own material, causing the crowd to once again get back in the moshing mood.

Priscilla watched the crowd. In her four years of going to shows, she had never seen anyone in a cowboy hat mosh before. The boys right in front of the stage were huge, looking like they had carried around stacks of hay their whole lives. Some of them were even cute, in a cowboy way. They wailed around and smacked each other, careful not to knock off anyone's hat: the hats were sacred.

Watching the crowd near the stage, Priscilla didn't notice the group of short cowboys filing through the front door. Roger had stopped charging after the first set, so anyone on the street could come in and watch the rest of the show. As they moved closer to the stage, they caught Priscilla's attention. She could see through the low light of the venue that they were all roughed up, some of them still bleeding from cuts on their faces. Some of their cowboy hats were bent into strange shapes, and a few of them had rips in their cowboy shirts.

When Bugaboo spotted the new cowboys, she put her hand in her purse and took out the keys. She then reached over and closed the money box, frowning at Priscilla and nodding toward the door. Priscilla nodded and they both watched the new cowboys closely.

Buckshot Vocabulary finished the song they had been playing. While Coyote B made some adjustments on his kit, the other boys took drinks from their water bottles.

When they were about to start their next song, one of the short cowboys called up from the middle of the crowd, "Hey, queers! Whyont y'all play some good music? Play some country, you queers!"

Some of the people in the crowd cheered in agreement, and one of the other short cowboys yelled, "Cotton eye Joe!"

Buckshot Vocabulary, a hardcore band from Berkeley, California, had a small repertoire of country songs for emergencies like the one they faced in The Enigma. Thunder Jay nodded to the other guys and Big Daddy broke into the opening riffs of "A Country Boy Can Survive."

Playing that song had gotten them out of trouble several times in the past. Even people who hate country music like that song, and many of them like it better than they like hardcore. They had never tried playing the song in Oklahoma, however, and being from California, they didn't understand the subtle differences between Oklahoma country music and Alabama country music.

When the short cowboy who had spoken up first rushed the stage, Bugaboo grabbed the money box and Priscilla's left arm. By the time they reached the door, eight tiny cowboys were on the stage, duking it out with Buckshot Vocabulary.

The girls ran across the empty sidewalk to the van. Bugaboo unlocked the driver's side door and they both piled in. Priscilla crawled over Bugaboo onto the passenger seat as Bugaboo started the van. Bugaboo threw the money box in the back.

From the van, the girls could see the riot inside The Enigma. Bugaboo, whose vision was better than Priscilla's because she actually wore her glasses, thought she could see a guitar swinging on the stage, but she wasn't sure.

"What are we going to do?" Priscilla asked.

Bugaboo put her foot on the brake and moved the automatic shifter into drive. Looking out the window at The Enigma, she said: "We have to wait. They might make it out of there."

"They're fucking dead," Priscilla said. "Let's go."

Just as Bugaboo was about to argue, a gang of tiny cowboys scrambled out of the club and onto the sidewalk. They spotted the van and surrounded it before the girls could make a move.

Bugaboo stepped on the gas and knocked three mini-cowboys out of the way. She then sped up 3rd street and somehow found the interstate. The van merged onto I-40 and headed west out of Oklahoma City.

Once they were safely on the interstate, Bugaboo said, "Holy shit! We got away. That ruled."

"Ruled?" Priscilla said. "We just stole a van and almost got killed by a bunch of midget cowboys."

"Those weren't midgets," Bugaboo said. "They were just short. I've seen midgets before."

"We're in a stolen van."

Bugaboo shook her head and said, "Look, we got away with a ride and some extra money. I don't think we did too bad this evening."

"This isn't our van," Priscilla said. "The police will be looking for it."

"No they won't. For the van to be reported stolen, someone from the band will have to report it, and that isn't going to happen anytime soon with all of those cowboys kicking the shit out of them. They're probably dead, anyway, and they fucking deserve it. Even I know you can't play Hank Williams, Junior, in Oklahoma. Bunch of jackasses."

Priscilla sighed and said, "What are we going to do, then?"

"We're going to get the fuck away from Oklahoma City and then get us a motel room and clean ourselves up and sleep. I'm taking a bath."

"OK, but don't fall asleep in there."

"I won't," Bugaboo said, as she moved into the far left lane to pass a small hatchback.

Chapter 17

Wednesday 3:08am (C.S.T.)

Jimmy Riggs and Stall Puckett had adjusted their sleep patterns over the years so that they were always ready for anything. They never knew when the boss would need them or how long they'd need to stay up to do the job, and their bodies knew it. They cruised along I-40, following a small blip on their GPS tracker, completely awake. The blip marked the location of Mick Aloha, the man they had previously known as the King Cobra. The boss had informed them just an hour earlier that although he sometimes used the name King Cobra, he usually went by Mick Aloha.

Jimmy looked back at the robot and asked, "Hey, Jackass. You awake? I gotta question for you."

The robot said, "What is it, Jimmy Riggs?"

"What do you make of these movements?"

The robot analyzed the data from the previous five hours. The target they were following had stopped right after leaving the encounter with Jake Bastion and stayed in the same place for a couple of hours. They had decided earlier that the truck had stopped so they could eat at a diner with the same coordinates. Then, it had left and headed west on I-40 again, going well under the speed limit. It had proceeded on I-40 for a few hours, and then it had stopped in Arkansas, apparently right on the interstate.

The robot said, "They stopped to celebrate getting the money from Mister Bastion at that diner we passed. Then, they tried to put as much distance as they could between Memphis and themselves. But, they're probably tired from all of the excitement, so they are on the side of the road sleeping. If we can make it to them before they leave, we can catch them asleep and maybe I won't have to kill anyone."

"How long till we catch up with them, Jackass?"

"Estimated time of collision is 38 minutes," the robot said.

Jimmy stepped on the gas and Stall Puckett continued to look out the passenger side window and wonder about the lives of all of the people who lived in the houses he saw beside the interstate.

Thirty-seven and a half minutes later they came upon a convoy, parked on the side of the interstate.

Jimmy slowed the car down and said, "This is it, boys. We got 'em. We'll be able to get back home before breakfast, and then I can sleep all day by the pool. Which one is it?"

Twelve trucks lined the emergency lane, and after a quick look the robot said, "The one in front. That's the one. We have to be smooth with this thing, though. I'm a robot, and I can kick anything's ass, but the last thing we need is for a convoy of truckers to be chasing after us, especially since they'd kill you guys and I'd have to explain the whole thing to Mr. Bastion."

"All right, I'll pull up behind this last one here, and then we can walk up to the truck and surprise 'em," Jimmy said.

Jimmy pulled the car in behind the last of the big rigs, turned off the lights, and killed the ignition. He and Stall Puckett then exited the car and waited for the robot, who had trouble getting out of the car. The robot finally freed itself and they started walking past the back trucks.

When the Witch Doctor's truck was just three trucks away, the lights and ignitions of all of the trucks came on simultaneously. In seconds, the convoy was moving past Jimmy, Stall, and the robot. They tried to chase the trucks in vain, and then turned around and headed back for the car. Once again, Jimmy and Stall had to wait for the robot as it tried to get back into the vehicle. Jimmy, tired of waiting and seeing his quarry disappear, stepped on the gas. The robot flew out the back door and onto the highway.

"What the fuck are you doing, man?" Stall asked, as Jimmy punched the gas and got back on the interstate.

Jimmy said, "I'm supposed to find this Mick Aloha guy, and he's gettin away. Now, I can't have no robot keepin' me from the prize, so I had to ditch him."

"The boss'll be pissed, man."

"No he won't, cause I'm about to get us our man," Jimmy said. "If we went back empty handed with no robot, maybe he'd be pissed. But, hell, he won't care about that thing if we get Mick Aloha for him. Anyway, that piece of shit robot can take care of itself."

"Goddam!" Stall exclaimed as he looked out the passenger side window. The robot was running beside the car. The red light that lined the robot's mouth flashed rapidly, indicating it was speaking. Without thinking, Stall rolled down his window, letting in a rush of air and the words of the robot.

The robot, whose voice configurations gave him the ability to sound angry, said, "Pull that car over. You can't do this without me. If you don't pull over, I'll kill you. I have lasers."

Jimmy, with his right foot flat against the floorboard, tried to push it down harder to get more speed out of the vehicle. The car had nothing else left, but continued along at 90 miles per hour.

Stall Puckett said, "Come on, Jimmy. We ain't gonna get away from this thing. Just pull over."

Over the rush of wind, Jimmy said, "Stall, that sombitch is running ninety miles an hour, and he probably ain't even topped out, yet. Now, if he can run so goddam fast, and his goal is to kill that Mick Aloha guy, why didn't he just run after the truck instead of trying to get in the car with us?"

Jimmy and Stall spotted the convoy before them. The robot continued to yell at them, with the anger mode on its voice chip at maximum.

Stall said, "Hell if I know, man. I ain't no robot expert. I guess it wants to do the job with us."

Jimmy had only the second moment of clarity in his lifetime and said, "We're part of the job, man. We're part of the fuckin' job. If that robot just had to kill that Mick Aloha, then it would have taken off and done it without our help. But, that sombitch came back to the car, and hell, it nearly let Mick Aloha get away. We were right there beside the trucks, so he could have caught up with them easy. I think that sombitch is supposed to kill us after it kills that Mick Aloha."

"I'll be damned, Jimmy, I think you're right," Stall Puckett said as he looked over at the robot, which appeared to be struggling. "I don't think that thing's made to go ninety, man, looks like it's wearing down. You think it really has lasers?"

Jimmy smiled and said, "No, man, lasers aren't real. Now, I have a plan. I'm going to take us past that convoy, and we'll see if that robot chooses to take out Mick Aloha or stay with us. If it stays with us, I'll try to run it over. If it goes after Mick Aloha, I'm going to keep going west. You ever been to Cali?"

"No."

"You might like it."

Except for the convoy, the stretch of highway in front of them was empty. The entire convoy rode in the two right lanes, so Jimmy pulled into the far left lane and started passing trucks, with the robot still beside them.

When they had passed half of the convoy and were nearing the Witch Doctor's truck, Stall leaned out the window and said, "That's it, robot! That's the one with Mick Aloha right there!"

The robot, still running at 90 miles per hour, said, "I know that, you dumb ass. I'm a robot."

"What the hell?" Stall said. "It didn't go after the truck."

"Boy, let me tell you a little somethin' about robotics," Jimmy said. "See, they program in the tasks for those sombitches and they have to give them a priority. You can't just tell a goddam robot to mow the lawn, paint the house, and wash the car. If you tell a robot something like that, it would blow its mind. Sombitch'll try to do all three at once and probably break down."

Stall interrupted, "So, how do they do it? Just say do this first, do that second, and the other thing third?"

Jimmy chuckled, realizing his knowledge of robotics far exceeded that of his partner, and said, "Well, not really, because something might happen and the robot might not be able to do one of those things. If you tell it to wash the car first, and then the car is stolen, the robot will sit around and wonder where the car went without doing the other two things. So, you have to give them priorities, because most of the time jobs overlap. I imagine ol' Jake Bastion told that sombitch that its number one priority was to keep an eye on us the whole time and then to kill us. The second priority was probably to make sure Mick Aloha was dead. So, it wants Mick Aloha dead, but its more important for it to follow us than it is for it to kill Mick Aloha."

"Maybe it doesn't want to kill us. Maybe its just programmed to keep an eye on us is all."

"Naw, I think it means to kill us. Probably supposed to make it look like an accident, though."

"What in the hell makes you think it wants to kill us?"

"Goddam, boy, don't you know nothin? Let's us imagine its just supposed to keep an eye on us and kill Mick Aloha. Now, if that's true, then we're supposed to survive and go back to work for Mr. Bastion. But, with those priorities, there's a good chance we'll figure it out, like were doing right now. Now, Mr. Bastions a lot of things, but he ain't stupid. He knew we'd come a point where we'd see the robots real intentions. And, if he knew that would happen then he must have told that sombitch to kill us."

"Goddam, that's some smart thinking, man," Stall said.

"I have my moments," Jimmy said; he looked in his rear view mirror at the disappearing headlights of the convoy. He then moved into the passing lane to go around a small station wagon. The robot moved directly behind them, keeping up the pace with ease.

When they were clear of the station wagon, Stall asked, "Well, what are we going to do?"

"What's this we shit? I'm going to kill that fucking robot and then keep heading west, maybe hook up with my cousin down in Bakersfield. I got to hide out for a while so Mr. Bastion can't track me down."

"Can I come with you?"

"Aw hell, I don't know," Jimmy said. "It's tough enough hiding out when you're just one person. Well, let's get rid of our trailer and then we can talk about it."

Stall looked back at the robot, which ran right behind them, and asked, "Well, how we gonna get rid of that sombitch? Shoot it?"

"No, man. It's fuckin' bulletproof. We'd be more likely to hurt ourselves than that sombitch if we shot at it. We gotta think like a robot. What's it expect us to do?"

"I don't know, man," Stall said. "I ain't no robot."

"All right, well, we know it don't think we're very smart," Jimmy said. "And, well hell, it probably ain't too far from the truth. So, we gotta think of something beyond our mind capabilities."

"OK, that sounds pretty good," Stall said.

"Now, in the position we're in now, with that sombitch right behind us, we don't have many options. I guess our first option would be to just stop, and hope the sombitch falls over tryin' to stop so fast. The other is throwin' shit at it. I guess another thing would be if we could find a cop, we know that sombitch don't wanna be seen by no cop. We'd probably all be taken in, but hell, at least we'd be alive."

"I can't do no more time," Stall said.

"Well, fair enough. What do you think we should do?"

Stall looked back at their pursuer again, its metal body lit by the flashes of streetlights as they passed an exit. Although the robot's face wasn't designed to show emotion, it looked angry.

"You sure about the lasers? I mean, that they don't exist?" Stall asked.

"Naw, they got lasers for them sons of bitches, but if your robot is caught out and about with any weapons, that's pretty much life in the slammer for the owner."

"Really?" Stall asked, scratching his head like he'd seen on TV when people were thinking of something clever.

Jimmy checked the rear view mirror and spotted the robot behind them. He thought about slamming on the brakes just to see what would happen. Jimmy was afraid the robot would run right over them, and he didn't want to die. Jimmy loved life.

Jimmy said, "All right, I got an idea. There ain't no way were going to outrun that sombitch in this car. I bet he's got one of them GPS trackers in this thing, anyway, so even if we shake him, it ain't gonna be no good. We have to ditch the car, but when we ditch the car we're going to need some distance between us and that sombitch robot. So, here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna take 'er into the passing lane right quick and slam on the brakes, right in a curve in the road. Hopefully, the sombitch'll run off the road out in a field or something, and while it's tryin to find its way back, we'll torch the car."

"Torch the car?"

"Yeah, it ain't no good to us, anyway," Jimmy said. "So, we'll set it on fire and run different ways. That sombitch'll think we're still in the car and by the time he figures out we ain't, we'll be way up the road and even if he spots us, he won't know which one of us to follow anyway. We'll have to do it close to a city, I reckon, so we can both find places to hide."

Although he was worried about leaving the car and running away from the robot on foot, Stall agreed. They rode silently in the car for thirty minutes, until they approached the first exit for Little Rock.

Jimmy said, "Sombitch'll never find us in Little Rock. Now, here's the phone number of my buddy in Bakersfield. If you make your way out there, you give him a bell and he'll take care of you."

Jimmy handed Stall the piece of paper with a fake phone number. If Stall had taken time to notice, he would have seen that the number had a Manhattan area code and too many digits.

Jimmy eyed Stall and said, "All right, let's do this thing, ol' son. I think the back seat on this thing folds down so you can get into the trunk. Can you reach back there and pull the extra gas can out?"

Stall nodded, pulled the backseat down, and found a red gas can filled almost to the top.

"Now, start spreading the gas on the back seat," Jimmy said.

As Stall poured gasoline all over the back seat, Jimmy used the power window controls to lower all of the windows in the car. When Stall had finished, he threw the empty gas can onto the backseat.

The car reeked of gasoline; both Jimmy and Stall found themselves wanting to get out of the car as soon as possible. Stall had been caught by his parents sniffing gasoline as a child, and he didn't think they'd ever forgiven him.

Jimmy said, "All right, one more thing. Get naked."

"Naked?"

"Yeah, it has to look like we died. Now, that sombitch robot'll be snoopin' around the remains of the car, looking for any proof that we were in it. So, it has to be our clothes."

"You're crazy, man. It'll be lookin' for our remains, not clothes. If it finds my shirt but not my body, it'll know I escaped. You ain't makin' no sense."

"Goddam it, Stall. I'm using reverse logic here. Don't you understand nothin? We can't very well leave our bodies in the car, can we? No, we can't. So, we gotta leave something to slow that robot down at least a little. You gotta think like me, ol' son. Now, if the robot finds our clothes, its sure to keep looking for our remains in the embers. That might take it a long time. While it's searching for DNA evidence and all that, we'll be halfway to downtown Little Rock, now won't we?"

"I reckon."

"You reckon? You better goddam believe it," Jimmy said. "Now, get naked."

Stall, unable to contradict Jimmy Riggs' superior logic, got naked. He tried to stop with his underwear, but Jimmy told him he had to go all the way. Minutes later, Stall sat in the passenger seat completely naked. Jimmy, who had been homophobic since his parents had divorced when he was seventeen, couldn't even look at Stall's face.

Jimmy said, "All right, Puckett, now grab the wheel. I'm going to put 'er on cruise control, and I'm going to do the same. Don't you go trying to sneak a peek, you queer."

Stall grabbed the wheel and looked straight forward through the front windshield. He knew he'd had sex with women a few hundred times more than Jimmy had, but he didn't want to argue. He knew he'd be away from Jimmy within minutes.

The robot flipped to infrared, but it still couldn't make out what was happening in the car. There was a lot of movement, and it had seen Stall move to the backseat earlier, but it still couldn't figure out what they were trying to do.

The robot tried to prepare for several scenarios. It knew the car would run out of gas before its robotic battery ran out, unless the car could run for three and a half millennia on a tank of gas, so it wasn't worried about losing them. It never worried, anyway. It was a robot. It knew, however, that there was a possibility that Jimmy and Stall might try to do something drastic, as most humans liked to do. The robot wanted to be able to tell Jake Bastion that it had killed them, not some accident or act of God.

Jimmy took the wheel back from Stall and prepared to put the plan into action. They both sat naked in the car, looking directly at the road in front of them. They had passed through the heart of Little Rock, and were already starting to move way away from the city. The traffic had increased but was now starting to dwindle. Jimmy looked in the rear view mirror to see the robot speeding along and a handful of headlights farther back. He then looked forward to see a slight curve in the road ahead.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Jimmy said, "All right, it looks like there's a curve up ahead. You ready to do this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Stall said. He held his wallet in his left hand. In his right hand he held a two-dollar lighter. His clothes sat in a pile on the floor.

As they approached the curve, Jimmy turned the wheel sharply to the left, moving them into the passing lane. As he did so, he slammed on the brakes, creating a loud screeching noise and causing smoke to rise from the tires. They both looked to the right to see the robot speed past them and out into a nearby cornfield that sat north of the interstate.

Jimmy said, "Woooooo! Oughta teach that sombitch. Now, light it up."

The car stopped in the median and both front doors flew open as Stall set the backseat on fire. Flames shot out the back windows and then up to the front seats as Jimmy ran southwest and Stall ran directly south.

As Jimmy ran, he wished he had kept his shoes on; the tobacco field he crossed was rockier than he had thought it would be. Although it was still dark, he could tell the sun was on its way. He could see hints of sunlight when he looked back at the car, which was burning brilliantly.

Stall ran a half mile into the tobacco patch and then stopped. He knew the limits of his education, but he also knew that he had played war as a child enough to understand that running directly away from someone or something always proved fruitless. He dropped to his knees in the shoulder high tobacco and waited. Stall knew the tobacco would cover his infrared and heat traces, so the robot would have to come out and physically find him.

After sitting in the dirt for several minutes, letting his breathing return to normal, Stall decided to take a look. He raised his eyes just above the closest plant to spot the car burning against the night. Beside the car, against the backdrop of flames, Stall saw the robot's silhouette. It was spraying something onto the fire. Several trucks had stopped along the highway; Stall wondered if any of them contained Mick Aloha. He started crawling.

Noticing the crowd of truckers surrounding it, the robot turned and said, "No problem here, folks. Just a small car fire. Nothing to worry about. This car was abandoned here on the highway, and I was ordered to come and fix it and then drive it back to town. Well, I guess some kids got here first and set it on fire. You know how kids are."

The truckers nodded and agreed that they knew how kids were, some of them thinking about their own kids many miles away. The truckers and other bystanders all walked back to their vehicles, apparently forgetting that it was against the law for robots to drive, as the robot extinguished the rest of the flames.

When the robot was sure that the humans were all leaving, it started digging though the smoldering car for evidence. In the remains of the front seat, if found pieces of Jimmy's and Stall's clothing. That explained why the GPS tracking devices, which it had placed in their clothing, had stopped working. As it looked through the remains, it realized that Jimmy and Stall had escaped the fire and that they were completely naked.

"This should be interesting," the robot said to itself. It then jumped onto the top of the car to get a better look of the surrounding fields.

The robot flipped to infrared. In a field south of the interstate, it spotted a moving figure. It had hoped to spot both of the escapees. By the man's stride, however, it could tell he was Jimmy, and the main objective of the whole mission was to destroy Jimmy Riggs.

The robot sped across the field and caught up with Jimmy near the edge of the tobacco field, where the field met a small clearing.

Hearing the robot approach, Jimmy dove to the ground. The robot stood over him and laughed.

"Where did you think you were going?" the robot asked.

"Screw you, you sombitch," Jimmy said, as he aimed his pistol at the robot's head and fired. The bullet ricocheted off the robot's face, leaving no mark.

"You can't shoot me, you dumbass. I'm bulletproof. I have a present for you from Jake Bastion."

The robot raised its right arm over Jimmy's head. Jimmy, determined to die with dignity, looked the robot in the eyes. As the arm was about to come down, the robot's head flew off and its body stood motionless.

For the first time in his life, disbelief caused Jimmy to close his eyes and open them again to make sure what he had seen was real. When he opened his eyes, the robot's headless body stood in the same place with its arm raised in the air.

Jimmy heard some rustling in the tobacco beside him and then felt a hand clutch his arm. He looked up to see an old man wearing a John Deere cap.

"Don't worry. This one ain't Japanese, so it ain't gonna explode," the man said. "You all right, son?"

"Yeah, I guess I should thank you. How'd you do that?"

The man smiled, pulled Jimmy to his feet, and said, "Aw, hell. There'll be plenty of time to talk about that. Goddam, boy, you're naked as a jaybird!"

Jimmy said, "Yeah, I had to get rid of my clothes to outsmart that sombitch robot."

"Didn't look like it was doing you much good," the old man said, laughing and slapping Jimmy on the shoulder. "Let's go to the house and get you some clothes."

They didn't speak as they walked to the house, which sat over a mile from the interstate. Jimmy considered running, but the shotgun in the farmer's right hand quieted all thoughts of flight. Images from movies Jimmy had seen about crazy farmers kept popping up in his head.

Would the guy fatten him up and then eat him? Or, would he hold Jimmy prisoner and sexually abuse him? Jimmy didn't want to be sexually abused. Or, he thought, maybe there's a hot farmer's daughter and he'll tell me to stay away from her, but the sexual tension will just be too much and we'll succumb to our primal urges and he'll catch us and kill me.

They arrived at the modest house as the sun started to come over the horizon. The tobacco field ended right in front of the house, and woods covered the land behind the house. From the farmer's front yard, Jimmy could see only nature.

The smoke rising from the house's brick chimney improved Jimmy's mood, as his lack of clothing and the autumn wind didn't mix well. The farmer showed him inside, and after placing a towel on the sofa, offered him a seat.

Jimmy thought the place smelled like his grandmother's house. The front door led directly into the living room, which was furnished with the sofa on which he sat, two rocking chairs, and three small tables covered with family pictures. Several paintings, which looked like they had been stolen from motel rooms, were on the walls.

Looking to his left, Jimmy could see a tiled floor in the next room, which made him think it was a kitchen. A metallic clang from that room surprised him, but then the noise that followed made him realize that someone was fixing breakfast.

The man sat down in one of the rocking chairs and said, "Well, boy, you hungry?"

"Yes, sir. I sure am," Jimmy said.

The old man called out, "Mother, we have another for breakfast."

A woman's voice from the kitchen replied, "Wonderful!" Jimmy heard the activity in the kitchen intensify.

The man looked at Jimmy and asked, "Well, I guess first I'd like to know your name."

"Jimmy Riggs."

"Well, Jimmy, it's nice to meet you. My name's Joseph. Now, what were you doing in my tobacco field?"

"Sir, I'll be happy to answer your questions," Jimmy said. "But, I feel real uncomfortable sitting here talking to you without any clothes on." Jimmy eyed the man's right hands, which slid across the arm rest on his rocking chair and around the barrel of the shotgun at his side.

The man said, "I told you I'd give you some clothes, and I intend to. But, you was trespassing my property, and with a robot no less. I think I have the right to know why before I go and start giving you clothing."

"Well, sir. Me and my partner."

"Your partner?"

"Yeah, my business associate," Jimmy said. "Anyway, we was being chased by that robot for miles in our car, so to get away from it I slammed on the brakes and set the car on fire to distract the robot while we was taking off. Anyway, it caught up with me and was about to kill me when you came along. Thank you, again."

"Well, you're welcome again. Now, what happened to your partner?"

Jimmy put his palms up and said, "I don't know, sir. We took off in different directions."

"Hmmm. And, why the hell are you naked?"

"Well, sir, we wanted to throw the robot off as much as possible, so I thought leaving our clothes in the burning car might confuse it enough for us to get further away."

As Jimmy finished speaking, a thin old woman with gray hair walked into the room. She had sharp hazel eyes and wore a flowered polyester dress. Her eyes widened when she spotted the naked man sitting in her parlor.

"You ain't got no clothes on, boy," she said, smiling.

Jimmy stood up, covering himself with both hands, and said, "Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry about that. Please forgive me."

"Hell, I don't mind if you don't mind. I know my husband here don't mind. He was in the military, you know."

"Yes, ma'am.”

Joseph looked up at his wife and said, "Think we can find this boy some clothes?"

She smiled and said, "I reckon we can. What's your name, boy?"

"Jimmy, ma'am."

"Jimmy, call me Mother," she said. "I'll be right back with some clothes for you."

Jimmy watched her walk to the back bedroom and close the door. She returned seconds later with a pair of tattered jeans and a large flannel shirt.

"Go ahead, try them on," she said, handing him the clothes. Jimmy felt self-conscious about dressing in front of them, but realized he was already naked anyway, so it didn't matter. As he put on the pants, he found several pieces of straw on the inside, which he removed and placed on a small table beside the sofa.

"Sorry about that," Mother said, collecting the straw and placing it in a wastebasket.

Jimmy put on the large shirt and buttoned it up. He thought he looked foolish wearing the old clothes, but felt more comfortable than he had before.

Mother smiled and said, "That works just fine, now don't it? Now, you boys come on in and get you something to eat."

Mother's spread included sausage, bacon, fried potatoes, homemade biscuits, and an assortment of jams and jellies. During the meal they spoke little, only to ask for something to be passed or to compliment Mother on her cooking. Mother smiled the whole time, eating very little of her own cooking.

When they had finished eating, Jimmy thanked her and asked if he could help with the dishes. She refused and told him he needed to save his energy.

Jimmy followed Joseph back into the living room and sat on the sofa.

Jimmy said, "Well, sir, I'd like to thank you for saving me and feeding me a fine breakfast, but I really oughta be on my way. I think I've troubled you enough, and well, I need to get back home."

"Oh, you've been no trouble at all. None at all. We're always happy to have visitors. Now, I know you need to be on your way, but you ain't gonna be no count for traveling if you don't get you some sleep. We have a spare bedroom that stays real dark, so why don't you get you some shut eye and then by the time you wake up it'll be supper time. You can get you something to eat and then you can leave with a full belly. How's that sound?"

The idea sounded good to Jimmy, but he still didn't trust the old couple and didn't want to leave himself vulnerable while sleeping in their home. He decided to leave, but he suddenly felt sleepy. Jimmy felt his body shutting down against his will, and although he tried to fight it, his eyes started to shut.

Through his half-closed lids, he saw Joseph smiling.

"What's happening to me?" Jimmy asked, as he struggled to keep his head up.

Joseph said, "We got a little job for you."

Jimmy collapsed on the sofa.

When Jimmy awoke, bright sunlight kept him from immediately opening his eyes. He thought he heard the faint sound of highway traffic. He couldn't move his arms or legs; they were bound.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight, Jimmy found himself in the tobacco field, bound to a wooden cross, which stood ten feet high. He faced the interstate, which he estimated was about a half mile away. Looking down at himself, he saw that his baggy clothes had been stuffed with straw, and when he looked up he could see a wide-brimmed hat on his head.

"I'm a goddam scarecrow," he said, struggling against the elastic bands holding him to the cross.

Jimmy looked around the field and spotted Joseph and Mother digging up weeds a quarter of a mile to his left.

"Hey!" he called out. "Goddam it, this ain't funny! Hey! Joseph! Mother! Get me off this goddam thing!"

Jimmy stopped screaming when he saw them walking toward him. Several minutes later they approached, each holding a hoe.

"Well, look who's awake," Joseph said, as he and Mother walked up to the cross and stopped.

"What in the hell is going on here? Let me down, goddam it," Jimmy said, hoping the strength in his voice would hide his fear.

"Now, that's enough out of you," Joseph said. "I want you to be quiet, now, while I tell you what's happening."

"What in the hell is happening?" Jimmy asked.

"I told you to be quiet."

Joseph reached into a front pocket of his overalls and removed a small remote control. Jimmy saw that it had just one button in the center. Joseph moved his thumb over the button and pressed it.

Electricity ran through Jimmy's body, shaking him violently. It ended seconds later; Jimmy gasped for air. Joseph shook his head and put the remote back into his pocket.

"All right, now I think you're in a better position to listen. I know you can't see behind you, but there's a car battery back there and the ends are attached to your feet with electrical tape. I have a remote and Mother here does, too, so if you're disrespectful or speak out of turn, you know what'll happen. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said.

"Now, I want you to understand this one thing most of all. You are ours. We own you. Don't think about trying to get away, or yelling for help, or anything stupid like that. You are ours. If we decide to let you go, we will do so of our own accord. I saved your life, so you are ours. Do you understand?"

Jimmy said, "Yes, sir."

Joseph said, "I want to hear you say it."

"I'm yours."

"Good. Now, you might be wondering why we have you out here tied to this cross. Let me first tell you there ain't nothing religious about it. You ain't no messiah or anything. You're our scarecrow. Now, you're probably thinking that once Mother and I go back to the house, you'll scream your head off and the folks on the interstate will hear you and come a-running. Let me tell you, that ain't gonna happen. Those people can't here a thing because of all the traffic noise. And, from this distance, if all the cars stopped and folks had the windows down, they could probably hear you screaming, but they wouldn't know what you were saying. They'd probably think yous just a farmer yelling back to the house. Now, we had a boy up on this thing for over five years, and he screamed his head off and the only good it did him was to give him headaches."

"What happened to him?" Jimmy asked.

Electricity ran through Jimmy's body again.

"I told you to keep quiet. Now, I want to tell you why we got you out here like this, so you'll be able to understand a little better how to keep us happy. The first is, we got crows."

Jimmy knew crows didn't like tobacco, but he knew if he spoke he would get shocked again.

Joseph said, "I know you've probably got enough sense to know that crows don't normally take after tobacco, but these sons of bitches is different. We got some crows that are crazy, and last year they damn near chewed up the whole crop. Doesn't say much for the feller who was in your place before, now does it? Well, we ain't gonna let that happen this year. Your job is to scare them crows off, and to report any crows that you see. Now, this position you're in gives you a view of a good part of the field. They tend to go after this area, since they're smart enough not to get too close to the house. If you see some crows out in the field and you can't scare 'em off, we're gonna give you an alarm so you can let us know. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, I said there was a couple reasons we got you. The other is that we like that people can see you but you can't get away. Just think of the thousands and thousands of people who are gonna see you everyday and aren't gonna do a thing for you. It kind of excites us, especially Mother here. She likens it to killing someone and then going to the funeral and offering your condolences to the family, without them knowin' you did it. We been doing this for years, and well, it makes things a lot more interesting around here."

As Mother stood staring a Jimmy with a smile on her face, Joseph walked behind the cross and brought up a metal stepladder. He placed it to the left of the cross and stepped up so that he was at eye level with Jimmy. Joseph reached behind Jimmy's left arm and pulled up a small tube, which he strapped to the cross with more elastic, leaving the tip near Jimmy's face.

Joseph said, "This is for your water. Every morning we'll leave you enough water for the day, and then we'll change it after dark. If you're good, sometimes we might put a little more than water in there. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Joseph then stepped down and moved the ladder to the right side. He repeated the same procedure, but this time brought a small switch near Jimmy's face.

Joseph said, "Now, this here is the Crow Alarm. You see some crows that you can't handle, you hit the switch and me and Mother will come a-runnin'. Got it?"

"Got it."

"All right. Now, we'll bring you two meals a day. One before the sun comes up, and one after it goes down. I know you're probably used to three meals a day, but these will be big meals, and well, you ain't gonna need much energy, so you'll get used to it. And, there's one more thing. The bathroom. Sorry to do this to you, but there's really no other way that we can think of. You're wearing a diaper. I ain't never changed a diaper in my life and I don't intend to, so Mother here will handle that department. Now, she'll need to loosen your legs to do that, so that's when well let you have your exercise. You can take ten minutes in the morning and ten minutes at night to move your legs however you please. Once you've done that, we'll tie 'em back up and then loosen one arm at a time. Eventually, you'll get used to it. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good, now the sun's about to go down, and when it does, we'll be back out here with your first meal."

Joseph and Mother gave him slight bows and walked back to the house a half mile behind Jimmy's cross.

"I'm a goddam scarecrow," Jimmy said. "Goddam it, Jimmy Riggs, think, boy, think. What the hell are you gonna do?"

Jimmy watched the traffic on the interstate and considered his options. He realized, after some heavy soul searching, that he had no options. Even if he escaped, one of Jake Bastion's boys would be after him. As he thought more, he realized that being held against his will and being forced to be a scarecrow might be the best thing that could have happened to him. Even if Jake's boys went and checked the farmer's house, they would find no trace of him. And, they would never suspect the scarecrow. The Scarecrow. Jimmy liked that name, but he thought it might have already been taken.

When the sun had just dropped below the horizon, Jimmy heard some movement behind him. Seconds later, Joseph and Mother stepped up beside him, wishing him a good evening.

"How you holdin' up there, Scarecrow?" Mother asked.

"Pretty good, ma'am, pretty good."

Joseph lifted his shotgun, aimed it at Jimmy's head, and said, "Now, I know that nobody likes to have a gun pointed at them, but I don't really have a choice. Mother here's going to undo your legs and change your diaper, and I don't want any funny business. If you try anything, I'll blow your head off. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Mother had been setting up the stepladder while they were talking, and then removed the electrodes from Jimmy's feet. She then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

Jimmy felt dirty when this happened; he had never had an old woman undo his pants before. He decided he would have to get used to it as she pulled his pants down and then off. Jimmy was relieved to have the pants off because the straw had been irritating his legs.

Jimmy looked down to see the white adult diaper. He had almost expected to see a baby's diaper, but then realized that there were probably no babies his size. Mother reached up and removed his diaper.

"Sorry about that," Jimmy said, as Mother looked into the diaper. Joseph kept the shotgun pointed at his head.

"It's only natural, young man," Mother said as she placed the diaper in a clear plastic trash bag and removed a water bottle from the knapsack around her neck.

"Now, stay with me, here. This might be a little cold," she said.

Mother sprayed him with soapy water and scrubbed him with a sponge she had taken out of the knapsack. Jimmy felt embarrassed as she cleaned his entire lower body, but it felt good to be clean again.

Mother placed the wet sponge into the trash bag, which she then dropped on the ground. She then took out a different bottle and sprayed clean water all over Jimmy's lower body. When she had washed away all of the soap, she took a towel out of the knapsack and dried him off.

"That straw botherin' you?" she asked.

Jimmy said, "Yeah, a little bit."

She removed a bottle of lotion from the knapsack and began applying it to the red areas on Jimmy's legs.

"Well, you should get used to it," she said. "If you don't, we might have some other options for you."

Mother smiled and took a fresh diaper from her knapsack and slid it up Jimmy's legs. She then put his pants back on and stepped down the ladder. She placed the knapsack on the ground and picked up a black trash bag. Mother then climbed back up the ladder and started removing straw from the bag and stuffing it into Jimmy's pants.

She stepped off the ladder again and said, "All right, son, you might want to move your legs a bit as you won't get another chance until tomorrow morning."

Jimmy moved his legs for several minutes, eventually settling on a bicycle pattern. Then, Mother strapped his legs back to the cross and released one arm at a time, giving him time to move each.

She then fed him the best steak he had ever eaten. After reattaching the electrodes, Mother and Joseph said goodbye and disappeared into the darkness.

Jimmy turned his head to the left and took a sip of water; it tasted so good it had to be well water. He then watched the traffic on the interstate and wondered if anyone would ever find him. Jimmy knew if Jake Bastion sent another robot after him, it would find him. The robot could pick up heat traces, and Jimmy's face remained uncovered.

As Jimmy contemplated all of these things in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 18

Thursday 9:42am (C.S.T.)

Back on the interstate, behind the wheel of his eighteen-wheeler, the Witch Doctor looked like he was back home. He smiled the first several miles, making connections on his CB and getting a feel for the traffic.

The Witch Doctor looked over at Apocalypse Dowell, who sat on the floor on a pillow he had taken from the motel, and said, "Son, let me tell you a little something about trucking. You have to feel the traffic. It has a vibration or a frequency or something to it. Now, when you start out on the highway, like we just have, if you can get a feel for the frequency or whatever, you can make good time hassle-free. But, if you try to fight the vibrations, you'll end up in a ditch somewhere. Make any sense?"

Apocalypse Dowell said, "Yeah, that makes sense. It's kind of like resonance."

The Witch Doctor gave him a look that asked for an explanation.

Apocalypse Dowell said, "Well, if you have two waves, and they vibrate at the same frequency, then they resonate. They kind of work together. It's kind of like this bridge up in Washington. The wind made these vibrations with a certain frequency, and they matched the frequency of the bridge, so that created a lot of motion on the bridge which destroyed it."

"Now, I'm not talking about destroying no bridge," the Witch Doctor said. "I'm talking about flowing with the traffic. Destroying a bridge, now, that ain't no count. Anyway, pretty day, ain't it?"

"Yeah, it sure is," Apocalypse Dowell said. "Witch Doctor, how long have you been a trucker?"

"Aw hell, going on fourteen years, now."

"Fourteen years. In all that time, you ever see something you couldn't explain?"

"Couldn't explain? You mean like ghosts?"

"Yeah, I guess. Anything weird like that?"

The Witch Doctor nodded his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him, and said, "Boy, we all see ghosts. We all see things we can't explain. Anyone out there who tells you he ain't never seen anything he can't explain is lying. Now, on the road, you see all kinds of things. Sometimes, though, you just have to mark them off as fatigue. You reach a point, when you've been on the road for a while, when you can't completely trust your eyes. So, maybe I've really seen something and maybe I haven't. I can't really tell you. What I can tell you, though, are some of the ideas that travel around from trucker to trucker."

"What do you mean?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Well, I know we got this Internet and all, but hell, you cant trust most of what you see on it. Now, us truckers, we're kind of like our own web. We hear about something and tell a couple truckers and, hell, it's around the country in a day or two if it carries right."

"Can you tell me one of those?"

"Sure," the Witch Doctor said. "One I heard just a few months ago started from a trucker up in Vermont, I think. Anyway, he had this idea he called Dead Hands. Now, the idea goes like this: he says that the first part of a person to die is their hands, so by looking at someone's hands, you can tell if they're going to die soon."

"You mean like palm reading?" Apocalypse Dowell asked. He hated palm readers and all other mystics, so he prepared himself for disappointment.

"No, not like palm readers at all. That's a bunch of smoke. You do this by just looking at the overall hand, not the palm. Now, it's supposed to work for people who are going to die of both natural and unnatural causes. If the person's about to go, the hand looks dead already."

"Have you ever seen it?"

"No, I haven't, but I only heard about it a couple months ago, so I haven't had many chances to test it. But, I have seen young people with hands that looked like they belonged to old people, so I'm beginning to wonder if it might be true."

Apocalypse Dowell said, "OK, I'll keep an eye out for that."

"You do that. And, if you see your own hands going, be extra careful."

"Okay. Well, have you seen any ghosts or anything like that?"

The Witch Doctor laughed, moving around a small car as he did so, and said, "Yeah, I have. But, those would be nighttime stories, wouldn't they?"

"I guess they'd be scarier at night, but I'm not so interested in being scared. I just like good stories."

"Well, son, I got all kinds of ghost stories since I been out on the road so long. Like I said, every trucker does. Lots of times they pretend to be hitchhikers and then disappear, stuff like that."

"You ever picked up a hitchhiker who disappeared?"

The Witch Doctor laughed and said, "Aw, hell, of course. Hundreds, maybe. I figure half of the hitchhikers out there are ghosts. That's why I don't care to pick em up anymore. You and your friend were an exception, of course. You ain't no ghost, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Mick Aloha might be, though. Maybe he's a demon. Anyway, can you tell me about one?"

"Well, hell. Let me think. Oh, I got one for you. You're from Kentucky, ain't you?"

"Yeah."

"You know where Hart County is?"

"Yeah, in high school I played basketball there a few times."

The Witch Doctor nodded and said, "Tough sons of bitches, ain't they? Anyway, right when I was getting started in the business, I was making a run from Pikeville, way out on the eastern side of Kentucky, to Hart County, right in the center."

"What were you carrying?"

"Well, at the time I didn't know. It was kind of under the table, so I took the back roads the whole way to avoid the stations. I set out at noon and made it in Munfordville just about as the sun was setting. It was late in the fall, maybe November, so it got pretty chilly at night. Well, my instructions was to go to Johnson Springs, this place about three miles outside town."

A transmission came through on the Witch Doctor's CB. He picked up the mic and said, "Railmaker, this is the Witch Doctor, you gotta west bounder."

"Mercy sakes, Witch Doctor, how we lookin?"

"Railmaker, you gotta a bear takin' pictures near the 208 marker. Other than that, you're clear to that Oklahoma City, over."

"Much obliged, Witch Doctor. Keep the dirty side down and the shiny side up, over and out."

The Witch Doctor smiled and said, "Not much traffic today. Anyway, back to my story. I had to find this Johnson Springs place to make my delivery, and well, there wasn't really a sign that said Johnson Springs or anything. I followed the directions to the letter, and ended up on this really small road. Now, when I say it was small, I mean it was small, son. There was barely enough room for my truck, let alone a car coming from the other way. Anyway, I was going down this winding road, and by this time the sun was almost all the way down, when I seen this man standing on the side of the road. Now, it was all woods out there, and I hadn't seen any houses for almost a mile, so I didn't think he had any business walking around out there."

"Was he a ghost?"

"Hold your horses, son, let the Witch Doctor get his story out. Now, he was about average height, a pretty big fella, though. Looked like he might have been my age. Anyway, he had this shaggy dark hair, and when he ran his hands through it, I could see a big cut on his forehead. As I passed he didn't really look at me, so I thought maybe he was really out of it. I stopped the truck, the one you're sittin in right now, and got out. I walked up to him and asked if he was all right. He just frowned and pointed back up the road the way I had come from. Then, he disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

The Witch Doctor laughed, slapped his left knee with his left hand, keeping his right hand on the wheel, and said, "Disappeared, son. And, I'll swear to it. He just pointed and disappeared into the air like he wasn't even there. Anyway, that's not even really the weird part. I went on down the road a bit, and found the edge of a field that was flush with the road, and not seeing any other opportunities coming up, I turned the truck around. I headed back up the road, in the direction that the man had pointed in, and found a gravel road that I had missed on the way down. The ol truck barely made the turn, but once I was in there the woods opened up and there was a big clearing that the gravel road made a circle around. Out in the middle of that clearing, I saw a big ol fire, and the silhouettes of people moving about it. Some of them was dancing, others was just standing around. Well, anyway, I took the truck around the circular path and stopped on the far side, away from the entrance."

The Witch Doctor stopped speaking and looked straight ahead at the light traffic in front of him.

"Whats wrong?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

The Witch Doctor whispered, "Something's amiss, son. Just be quiet and listen."

They cruised along for two minutes without speaking, hearing nothing unusual. As Apocalypse Dowell was about to say something, they heard thumps coming from the top of the trailer.

"Whats that?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

The Witch Doctor whispered, "What do you think it is? We got us a hitcher on the roof."

"A hitcher? You mean a person?"

"Of course, son. It happens all the time, but it's never happened to me. This ain't no count."

"Well, if you stop the truck we can see who it is."

"Can't do that, son. Ain't no telling what he's doing up there. For all we know he might be after the cargo, and if he's after the cargo, he's probably got a gun. If I stop the truck and climb up after him, the sombitch'll probably shoot me before I know what happened. No sir, I got a couple ideas about what to do before I stop the truck."

The Witch Doctor picked up his CB and said, "Breaker breaker one nine, this here's the Witch Doctor out of that Chi-town, westbound on I-40 just past the 191 marker. Big purple diesel eater, anybody got an eyeball?"

Seconds later, the reply came.

"Mercy sakes, Witch Doctor, this is the Bobcat out of that Bakersfield town, I got an eyeball. Go ahead.”

"Good to hear it, Bobcat. Someone's a knock, knock, knocking at my door, and I think it's a hitcher. Can you get an eyeball?"

"Mercy sakes, Witch Doctor, looks clean to me, but I can't get a good angle."

There was another loud thump.

"Sombitch is getting closer," the Witch Doctor said. "Sounds like he's working his way to the cab. You ever drive a truck before?"

Apocalypse Dowell frowned and said, "A pick-up."

"Aw hell, son. Not a pick-up. A big rig, son, a big rig."

"No, but I drove a school bus when I was a cross country coach. I ran it into a pole, though. Tore out the whole luggage compartment on the side."

"Hell, son, that don't matter. You don't have to maneuver this thing, you just gotta keep her steady."

"Where are you going?"

"Topside, son, topside. Someone's up on the rooftop, son, and it ain't St. Nick I gotta go up there and see who it is."

Apocalypse Dowell said, "Can't we just stop the truck? Or, call the police on the CB and have them surround the truck when we stop?"

"Aw, hell, son, that wouldn't be no count. That sombitch up there is moving, and I don't think we have much time. We can't very well expect the bear to come a running with any speed, now, can we? And hell, son, sombitch up there might have a gun. If we stop the truck, he knows we're a-coming and click click boom, we're dead as doornails. Hell, being dead, that ain't no count, son."

"If he has a gun, then don't you think it's dangerous to go up there? He could shoot you up there just as easily as he could if we stopped the truck."

"Hell, son, that's true, but at least I'll have the element of surprise on my side. And, the ol' Witch Doctor has a couple tricks you ain't seen, yet."

Apocalypse Dowell shook his head and asked, "OK, what do you need me to do?"

"Now, you'll find that driving this truck ain't too much different than driving that ol' school bus. They both run on diesel, and well, they both have the same pedals. Well, not really, but it's pretty close. Now, I got this sombitch in high gear, and there won't be no need to stop the truck, so all you gotta do is keep your foot on the pedal, here, all right?"

"OK."

The Witch Doctor maneuvered the truck around a slow RV and continued, "Now, this pedal over here is the brakes. Son, nevermind them brakes. You ain't gonna need em. Just keep your foot hard on this pedal here, son. You got it?"

"Got it. Is there going to be a signal or anything for me to help you? Like, if you give a call or something, so I know to jiggle the wheel to make the guy up there fall down or something?"

"Aw, hell son, this ain't no video game. If you knock the perp down, you might knock the Witch Doctor, down, too. Hell, son, just keep er steady. You got it?"

"Got it."

"All right, son. Hold on just a minute."

The Witch Doctor reached under his seat and brought out a two-foot metal pipe. He put the pipe in his left hand, keeping his right hand on the wheel. Apocalypse Dowell stood up and moved closer to the Witch Doctor.

The Witch Doctor said, "Now, slide your right foot over onto the pedal."

Apocalypse Dowell followed the instructions, and soon found himself in control of the accelerator. He then put one hand on the wheel and took control of the truck as the Witch Doctor slid closer and closer to the driver's side door and then out the window. The Witch Doctor's right boot accidentally hit Apocalypse Dowell in the face as the Witch Doctor disappeared onto the top of the cab.

Apocalypse Dowell liked being in control of his own truck. He felt like a 70's truck driver, keeping one step ahead of the bear and never settling down. Although he wanted to step on the pedal and see how fast the truck could go, he followed the Witch Doctor's orders and kept it steady at 65 miles per hour.

Apocalypse Dowell's truck driving fantasy was interrupted when he heard several loud thumps from the top of the truck.

The Witch Doctor considered his truck to be one of his best friends. He'd been through many adventures in the truck, and more than a few times it had saved his skin. So, the idea of some stranger walking around on the top of his truck without his permission angered the Witch Doctor; he wanted to destroy any person he found on his truck.

As the Witch Doctor made his way out the window, he worried that Apocalypse Dowell wouldn't be able to keep the truck steady. Hell, he hit a pole with a school bus, he thought, he can't be very coordinated. The Witch Doctor then decided there were no other options and peeked his head over the top of the cab.

The Witch Doctor immediately spotted the naked man lying on the top of the trailer. The man was slowly edging his way forward and reminded the Witch Doctor of a soldier in boot camp making his way under the barbed wire.

Deciding surprise was still his best weapon, the Witch Doctor pulled himself onto the top of the cab and then jumped across the gap between the cab and the trailer, landing on the naked man. The man squirmed and tried to free himself of the Witch Doctor's iron grip. The Witch Doctor put the metal pipe against the man's throat as he held him down with his knees. The naked man, who apparently didn't care for metal pipes against his throat, reached up with both arms and threw the Witch Doctor back, causing him to release the pipe, which flew into the emergency lane and stopped in the nearby grass.

The Witch Doctor rolled to the back of the trailer, where he managed to stop himself. He looked up to see the naked man crawling after him. As the Witch Doctor tried to stand up, the wind almost knocked him off the trailer. He decided the naked man had it right and crawled, too.

They met in the middle of the trailer, where they traded punches for several seconds. The naked man was bigger than the Witch Doctor had expected, and after receiving a rather strong blow to the forehead, the Witch Doctor found himself in a headlock.

The noise on the top of the truck left Apocalypse Dowell completely clueless as to what was happening. He noticed several cars and trucks surrounding him on the interstate, and saw that the people in those vehicles were watching the top of his truck.

He picked up the CB.

"Breaker, breaker, one nine, this is Apocalypse Dowell in the Purple Diesel Eater. Anybody got an eyeball?"

"This is the Bobcat, I still got an eyeball, but this time it's more exciting. Mercy sakes, what's goin on up there? Over."

"I was hoping you could tell me, Bobcat. The Witch Doctor went up to see if there was somebody up there. What do you see? Over."

"Mercy sakes, son, it's like Wrestlemania up there. Looks like the Witch Doctor's tangling with a naked man with a mullet. Over."

"How's he doing? Over."

"Not too good, son, not too good. Mercy sakes, ol' Mr. Naked's got him in a headlock. Looks like the Witch Doctor might tap out soon, over."

"What can I do? Over."

"Mercy sakes, son, you gotta shake that truck hard so you can throw Mr. Naked off balance. Just go hard right and then back up the middle. Over."

Apocalypse Dowell moved the wheel to the right and back to the middle, causing a slight shake in the truck.

"Did that do it? Over."

The Bobcat said, "Mercy sakes, son. That wasn't no shake. You gotta shake it, son. Shake it!"

Apocalypse Dowell went hard right again and then back to the middle. This time, the truck rocked violently and almost turned onto its side. Apocalypse Dowell maintained control of the wheel and smoothed it out.

"Mercy sakes, son. Nice work. Now, hold her steady until I tell you different."

"Why don't I just stop the truck? We can all go up there and help the Witch Doctor."

"Mercy sakes, son. You stop that truck, what do you think will happen? Over."

"We'll go up there and help the Witch Doctor. Over."

"And what'll happen to traffic? Over."

"It'll stop, I guess. Over."

"Think about that, son, while you keep her steady. Over."

Apocalypse Dowell didn't understand. If he stopped the truck, the Witch Doctor would be safe and this whole thing would be over quickly. Why shouldn't he stop the truck? Apparently, Bobcat couldn't just tell him the answer because they were talking on the air and anyone could hear. If the truck stopped, traffic would stop. If traffic stopped, the police would come. If the police came, they would probably take a long time to investigate, slowing down the run. Also, they might want to check the truck, and maybe the Witch Doctor was hauling illegal cargo, something more illegal than dynamite.

Apocalypse Dowell held her steady.

The Witch Doctor saw the sunlight begin to fade. He'd been held in many headlocks before, and for longer periods of time. The excitement of climbing onto his truck and fighting the naked stranger, however, had put a strain on his body, and the headlock was causing him to slowly drift out of consciousness.

Sombitch has a firm grip, he thought. Sombitch must be some kind of professional. Goddam headlock professional.

The Witch Doctor tried in vain to free himself, but had to accept that he had been bested on the top of his own truck. He had fought hundreds of men, putting several in the hospital and one in the morgue. Self defense, he thought. Well, its been a good run. And, hell, I should of been killed in a few of those fights, anyway. Looks like the big trucker upstairs is finally ready for an eyeball. Goddam it.

The truck shook, and for a split second the naked man's grip loosened slightly. That was enough. The Witch Doctor reached up with his remaining strength and threw the man's arms off him. He then spun around, still on his knees, and punched the naked man in the groin.

The Witch Doctor loved the ladies. He had slept with more girls than he cared to count. In his thirty-seven years, he had never touched another man's privates. The Witch Doctor felt dirty.

The dirty feeling passed when he saw the naked man doubled over in pain. With the wind still beating past him, he crawled over to the man and started punching him in the face. Ignoring the beating that his face was taking, the naked man continued to hold his midsection.

As he pummeled his opponent, the Witch Doctor said, "This oughta learn you. Nobody gets on my truck without my express written permission. You understand me? You can't just hop on my truck and expect a free ride. There ain't no free rides, son. Hellfire, did you think you's dealing with some dimwit? You think I'm a dimwit, son? Aw, hell, you better not. I'm the goddam Witch Doctor. You know why they call me the Witch Doctor? I'll tell you why. It ain't none of your goddam business."

The Witch Doctor stopped beating the naked man; he could tell the man had taken enough.

The Witch Doctor said, "Don't you move. I'm gonna stop this truck and I want a few words with you, you naked big ass sombitch."

Apocalypse Dowell held the truck steady as he had been told. He had heard no more from the Bobcat, and wondered if the Bobcat was still in the area. As he started to enjoy driving the truck on that sunny day, the face that appeared in the driver's side window almost made him run off the road.

The Witch Doctor's upside down face said, "All right, son. Move it on over, I'm coming aboard."

Apocalypse Dowell edged off the seat, keeping his left hand on the steering wheel and his left foot on the accelerator. The Witch Doctor's face disappeared for a moment, and then his feet appeared in the window. He slid in, as if he had made the move a thousand times, and took control of the truck. Apocalypse Dowell returned to his seat on the floor.

Back in his natural position, the Witch Doctor said, "Mercy sakes, son, you might be a trucker, yet. That was some good driving. Who told you to shake the truck like that? Saved my life."

"Oh, you can thank the Bobcat for that."

"Mercy sakes, I just might do that."

The Witch Doctor picked up the CB and said, "Breaker breaker one nine, this here's the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town. Bobcat, you got yer ears on? Over."

"This is the Bobcat, go ahead. Over."

"Mercy sakes, son, the Witch Doctor owes you one. I'm going to stop up here at the rest area at the two fifty mile marker, I wouldn't mind having an eyeball and shaking your hand. Over."

"Think nothing of it, Witch Doctor. Think nothing of it. I'd loved to shake your hand, but I gotta put my foot down to make this run, if you know what I mean. But, if you want to repay me, when you speak of that Bakersfield town, speak kindly. Bobcat over and out."

"Will do, Bobcat. Will do. Witch Doctor, over and out."

The Witch Doctor smiled and replaced the CB on its stand.

Apocalypse Dowell asked, "Well, what happened? I heard something about a naked man."

"Wooo, mercy sakes, son, you're right. When I climbed up there, there was a big ol' naked man crawling toward the front. Probably woulda killed us if we hadn't acted when we did. Anyway, me and the ol' naked guy tangled up top for a while, and I'll be honest with you, son, he almost got the best of the ol' Witch Doctor. If you hadn't given the Purple Diesel Eater a big shake, the world might be minus one trucker right now."

"Did you throw him off the truck?"

"Mercy sakes, son, this ain't no movie. I can't go just tossing naked men off the top of my truck. How would that look? No sir, I knocked him out. He's still upstairs."

"What're we going to do?"

"Well, son. We're going to stop at the rest area a few miles up the road. Then, I'm going to climb back up there and bring the naked man down and see if I can't get some answers from him. I can't abide folks climbing around on the top of my truck when I got a run to make."

They sat in silence for the next several miles, until they approached the rest area near the 250 mile marker. Apocalypse Dowell sat up and stared at the rest area, the largest he had ever seen. A two-story brick central building with nice facilities and travel information was surrounded by a small arboretum. The surrounding woods had at least twenty picnic tables and two dog walks. The Witch Doctor pulled into the truck area and killed the truck's ignition.

"Now, it's time to solve us a mystery," the Witch Doctor said. "Why don't you take a peek up on your side in case I need some help."

Apocalypse Dowell rolled down the passenger side window and climbed through it, looking over the top of the cab. He saw the Witch Doctor doing the same thing on the other side, and noticed the sour expression on his face. Apocalypse Dowell then looked back over the trailer, spotting no naked man. He looked back at the Witch Doctor, who held a finger in front of his lips to tell Apocalypse Dowell to be quiet.

The Witch Doctor quietly climbed onto the top of the cab and made his way back. Looking down, he spotted something between the cab and trailer. The Witch Doctor motioned for Apocalypse Dowell to jump down on the pavement.

When Apocalypse Dowell reached the ground, he noticed the handful of trucks around the Purple Diesel Eater. He didn't see any truckers, but assumed at least a few had to be watching them from their trucks. As he wondered what the Witch Doctor was doing, a large naked man jumped out from between the cab and the trailer and ran across the hot pavement onto the nearby grass.

Apocalypse Dowell stood dazed for a moment before he ran across the pavement and onto the grass, gaining ground on the naked man who had already made it into one of the dog walking areas.

Upon seeing the naked man, several dogs barked and two women screamed. Apocalypse Dowell stayed focused on his naked target and tackled the guy as he tried to make his way around a large oak tree. They fell over, with Apocalypse Dowell on top. Despite his desire to hold the man for the Witch Doctor, Apocalypse Dowell didn't like touching the naked man and released his grip.

The naked man stopped trying to get up when he saw Apocalypse Dowell standing over him and the Witch Doctor approaching. A small crowd started to gather around them. Some of the people asked if they were okay but Apocalypse Dowell didn't answer. He didn't want to make any moves until the Witch Doctor had arrived.

The Witch Doctor ran up and said, "Woo, thank goodness you found him. I thought we'd lost him forever." He walked over to the naked man and helped him up.

The Witch Doctor then looked at the people standing around them and said, "You'll have to excuse us. This is our cousin, Edgar. We're taking him out to Disneyland, and well, sometimes he likes to take off his clothes and run like the dickens. He's all right now, though."

The crowd dispersed with a story to tell their friends later. Apocalypse Dowell, the Witch Doctor, and the naked man silently walked back to the truck. When they arrived at the truck, the naked man stepped inside with them.

The Witch Doctor said, "Now son, I can't look at no naked man any longer than I absolutely have to. Let me find you some clothes." He then reached behind his seat, dug through a small bag, and removed a pair of plaid boxers, faded jeans, a light flannel shirt, and a pair of white tube socks. He threw then to the man, who put them on quickly.

"Thank you," the newly clothed man said, sitting beside Apocalypse Dowell in the passenger side area.

"Don't mention it," the Witch Doctor said from the driver's seat. "Now, why don't you start by telling us who you are and why in the hell you was on my truck?"

The man said, "Well, sir, my name's Stall Puckett. You ever heard of me?" Apocalypse Dowell and the Witch Doctor both shook their heads.

"Well, anyway, I was a pro wrestler a few years back in Memphis. Now, I work for Jake Bastion, the president and CEO of MVWF. Well, I guess I worked for him, but not anymore."

"Mercy sakes, son, I might remember you, now. You used to fart on your opponents, right?" the Witch Doctor said.

"Yeah, that was me."

"That was some good entertainment, son. Now, we tangled with ol' Jake Bastion a couple days ago. You here because of that?"

"Yes, sir. At least, that's why I was following you at first. See, Mr. Bastion, he's got him a real temper. So, when Mick Aloha got the best of him, he was real mad. He sent me and this other guy and a robot after Mick Aloha. By the way, where is Mick Aloha?"

"We don't know," Apocalypse Dowell answered. "We kind of lost him."

"Well, anyway," Stall Puckett said, "we caught up to your truck thanks to the GPS tracking device that's lodged in the grill."

"In the grill? What are you talking about, son?" the Witch Doctor asked.

"Jake Bastion put a tracker on your truck when you were all stopped on the highway. He's a sly one, now. Anyway, we found your truck but come to find out that robot thought it was more important to kill me and my partner than it was to kill Mick Aloha. So, we ran away from it. Did you see a robot putting out a car that was on fire?"

"No," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Mercy sakes, son, you was asleep," the Witch Doctor said. "I seen it. That was your robot?"

"Sure was. We took our clothes off to keep the robot busy thinking we might be dead and hid in the field. I was watching from the field, and I thought maybe the robot would attack you guys looking for Mick Aloha. When I saw that it didn't, I assumed it had done a thermal inspection of your truck and discovered Mick Aloha was gone."

"They can do that?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"They can do a lot," Stall Puckett said. "Anyway, at that time I figured the safest place to be would be the one place where the robot knows Mick Aloha isn't, your truck."

Apocalypse Dowell shook his head and said, "I have a question. Now, the wrestling thing happened on Tuesday night, so you climbed on top of this truck early Wednesday morning. Is that right?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"And, it's just past noon on Thursday, now. So, you've been up there for over thirty hours?"

"No, not straight through. When you stopped at that hotel yesterday, I hopped off once it was dark. I found an old tap in the big yard behind the hotel to get me some water and then I dug through the trash a bit and found me some food. I headed back up on the truck, though, as soon as I could since I thought you guys might take off early and leave me."

"Why didn't you just take off and hide?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Where was I gonna go? I had no money, no I.D., and I was naked. I thought I might as well ride this truck until an opportunity presented itself to me. But, I got real cold on top of this thing last night, and well, this afternoon, when we were moving fast, the wind was cold and I thought I might get frostbitten or something, so I started moving closer to the front, hoping I could get you to stop."

The Witch Doctor asked, "Well, if you had friendly intentions, why'd you attack me?"

"You attacked me and I had to defend myself. You know, I tried to talk to you, but I guess you couldn't hear me."

"Mercy sakes, son, you might be right. Well, hell, do you promise you won't try to hurt us?"

"Yes, sir, I promise. And, I'll try to help you any way I can."

"What do you think, Dowell?" the Witch Doctor asked.

"Yeah, I say we give him a ride as long as he keeps his clothes on."

The three of them stepped out of the truck fully clothed and walked to the rest area. The Witch Doctor bought Stall Puckett several snacks from the vending machine and promised to stop soon for lunch. Minutes later, they were back on the highway, moving across the continent.

Miles down the road, Apocalypse Dowell said, "Witch Doctor, you never finished your story about Johnson Springs. You said there were people dancing around a fire when you got there. What happened after that?"

The Witch Doctor looked at Stall Puckett to see if he minded hearing just the end of a story, but saw that he was asleep. He glanced at Apocalypse Dowell and said: "Well, son, I was scared, and I mean real scared. They was a bunch of crazy hippies with dark makeup, even the boys, and weird looking clothes. Looked like they was all ready to go to a funeral. Anyway, son, a few of them walked up to the truck and thanked me for being on time and all that. Then, we opened up the back of the trailer and removed their cargo."

"What was it?"

"Mercy sakes, son, you gotta have a little more patience than that. Anyway, it was a big ol' box. Maybe big enough to hold a lion in, if you wanted to transport lions and such. Anyway, there was big air holes on the side, so I thought they might be getting a lion or some animal after all. Now, the Purple Diesel Eater's trailer really isn't the place for animals to stay, so I thought it a bit foolhardy to give me such a cargo, and I told em as much. They told me not to worry about it and that I was getting paid to make the delivery, not to worry about the cargo. I asked em what it was, and they said it really wasn't any of my business, but it was a dog."

Knowing the pattern that Apocalypse Dowell followed, the Witch Doctor waited for his question. Apocalypse Dowell asked: "Did you think it was a dog?"

"At that time I thought it coulda been a dog, son, coulda been a dog. Them hippies was talking so much, though, that I couldn't get me a good listen. Anyway, they all quieted up so I could hear what was in the box, and I'll be honest with you, it did sound like a dog was panting in there, so I figured they must have been a-telling me the truth. Now, here's where it gets a bit strange. You remember I told you I'd seen that man out on the road who looked like he didn't have no business being there and that he'd pointed me in the right direction? Well, I asked em if they was missing anyone or if they'd sent someone out to help me and they said they didn't know what I was talking about. Anyway, son, they asked me to describe the man and I laid out the details before em and you shoulda seen their faces."

"What did they look like?"

"They's white as ghosts, son, white as a ghost that just seen a ghost. Mercy sakes, son, they was already pale, but whoever it was I saw must have been someone they didn't care to see. They was scared as all get out."

The Witch Doctor picked up his CB and said, "Breaker breaker one nine. This here's the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town, westbound on I-40. We got us a bear taking pictures at the two seventy. Over and out."

The Witch Doctor replaced the CB on its stand and glanced at Apocalypse Dowell.

He then looked back at the road and said, "Well, son, I figured it was high time to high tail it, if you know what I mean. Once I'd locked up the trailer I jumped back in the truck and got out of there, leaving the dog or whatever it was with them hippies. And then, I went home. That's the end of the story."

"What? That's really the end?"

The Witch Doctor laughed and said, "Wouldn't be much of a story if it was, now would it, son? Mercy sakes, I went up the road about a mile or so and I started really thinking about that cargo. There wasn't no way it coulda been a dog. I don't know no dog that would just sit in a box and pant when it's getting moved about the place every which way. Any dog I know, once it heard people outside, would start barking its head off, don't you think?"

"Yeah, probably would."

"That's what I thought, too. Then, I started to get me some suspicions about what was really in that box, and I didn't like the ideas I started to get."

"Did you call the police?"

"Mercy sakes, son, they ain't no police that far out in the country. You call the police, it's gonna take em forty five minutes or so just to get out there. I didn't think I had that much time."

"What did you do?"

"Mercy sakes, son, I turned the Purple Diesel Eater around as soon as I could and started to head back toward Johnson Springs. I hadn't met any cars since I'd left the place, so I knew I had to go back on my own. I also knew they'd be able to hear my truck from pretty far off, so I pulled off onto the edge of a field about a half mile or so from the place. Then, I picked up my pipe and started walking up the road toward the hippies."

"Your pipe? The one you dropped?"

The Witch Doctor smiled and reached under his seat with his right hand and removed another two-foot metal pipe.

"There's some bad folks in the world, ol' son. You can't be too careful, so I keep two with me. Anyway, I followed the road and didn't meet anybody. As dark as it was out there, I knew if a car came I'd see it from way off and be able to hide out in the woods. Well, when I got near the place I thought I'd head through the woods so I could sneak up on em better. Now, the moon was out, it was pretty close to full, I think, so that gave me just enough light to see my way through the woods."

"How far did you have to go through the woods?"

"Not too far, son, not too far. Maybe two hundred yards or so. Anyway, I came up onto the springs themselves, and followed them until I was behind the hippies. I creeped my way up and crouched down at the edge of the woods, right beside a big ol' oak. Now, them hippies had stopped dancing, and they was all standing around the box that I'd dropped off, doing Lord knows what. Then, I could tell that some of them in the middle was struggling with something, so I decided I had to get a closer look. You ever crawled on gravel, son?"

"On gravel? Not that I can remember, no."

"Well, son, don't do it if you can avoid it. It don't feel too good if you know what I mean. Well, I crawled across the gravel roadway, army style, and made my way closer to the circle of hippies. When a couple of em moved around, I could see what had really been in the box I'd delivered."

"Was it a goat?"

"Mercy sakes, son, it was a woman. They was tying her to some kind of post. Looked like her arms and legs had been tied up already. She was probably that way when they opened the box and her mouth was gagged. She wasn't struggling against the hippies very hard, and the more I looked at her the more I realized she had to have been drugged. Mercy sakes, son, I was upset. Mistreating a young woman like that ain't no count. Bunch of pencil necks who can't get dates, tying up a poor girl. Burned me up, son, burned me up good."

"Sorry to interrupt again, but did you say the hippies were all men, or some were women, too?"

"Well, when I dropped off the cargo, only the men spoke to me. But, I could see they was some women there, too. Anyway, up there close to them, as they was all gathered together, I could get a better idea of their numbers. Looked like they was about thirty or forty of them all together. Now, me and the pipe here have taken out a number of hippies in our time, but we ain't never took out no forty at once, and I wasn't about to test our skills at the risk of losing the girl, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I backed off a bit to see what they was gonna do. I thought they might all get drunk or something and give the Witch Doctor the strategic advantage. So, I backed on out of there, army style again, across the gravel and back to the edge of the woods. Well, I waited there as they took the pole they'd tied that girl to and stuck it in the ground. When they got it up, I could see that the poor girl's feet were about six feet off the ground. Mercy sakes, it looked like the drugs was wearing off cause I could see her starting to struggle against those ropes. To no avail, son, to no avail."

The Witch Doctor paused to compose his thoughts. He worked the truck around some small cars and fell in behind another truck. The Witch Doctor thought for sure Apocalypse Dowell would ask a question, but he didn't. Apocalypse Dowell was afraid the next question he asked would cause him to lose his ride.

The Witch Doctor smiled and continued, "Well, anyway, I could see them hippies passing around some bottles of something and taking em some drinks, so I thought for sure they was getting loaded. Well, pretty soon they all lined up in a kind of formation and started chanting, son. It wasn't English, neither. Sounded like one of them old languages. Or, maybe it was something made up, like Klingon or French. Anyway, son, I sure couldn't understand it, but I could feel that it was about to lead up to something. Now, son, this is the part where you'll think the Witch Doctor's a bit crazy. They started chanting real fast and as sure as I'm sitting here right now there was an explosion near the base of the pole and lots of smoke rolling out. The first thing I thought was that the girl was dead, but then I saw that the pole hadn't been touched. All of them hippies fell prostrate to the ground, as they say in church, and standing there by the pole who do you think I saw, son? Who do you think it was?"

Apocalypse Dowell, unsure if the question was rhetorical, waited before answering. When he realized the Witch Doctor actually wanted an answer, he said, "The bloody guy you saw on the road?"

"Mercy sakes, son. You are paying attention. That's right, that man that pointed me in the right direction and got them all excited when I mentioned him. Sombuck came out of thin air, son, and stood there as the smoke disappeared. Well, all them hippies was just a chanting away, and by this time the drugs must have almost worn completely off because the girl started really struggling against her ropes and I could hear her muffled screams. Even if she didn't have the gag, I don't think anyone could have heard her screaming way the heck out there, anyway. Well, the man just stood there smiling, and I could tell he was up to no good."

The Witch Doctor downshifted as he came upon some slow traffic. The interstate was three lanes at the time, and all three were filled with slow moving cars. He blew his horn and got on the CB, trying to find out what the problem was. Minutes later the traffic had cleared and they were back up to their normal speed again. Stall Puckett continued to sleep on the floor.

The Witch Doctor glanced at Apocalypse Dowell and asked, "Well, son, you ready for the rest...of...the...story?"

"Sure."

"Well, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out this hunting knife. Looked like the kind of knife you might use to field dress a big ol' buck. Anyway, and this is the part where you'll really have to trust the Witch Doctor, the sombuck started floating."

"Floating? You mean like up in the air?"

"Where else is he gonna float, son? Of course he was a-floating up in the air. All them hippies couldn't believe it, neither, and they started chanting really loud and, well son, the Witch Doctor don't care too much for chanting or floating men. When he started floating right in front of the girl brandishing that knife, I knew I had to do something. So, with my pipe in hand, I ran across the gravel road and into the crowd of hippies, heading for the pole. The hippies didn't know what was happening until I was almost to the pole. Then, some of the hippies up front jumped up and tried to block me. Now, I hate hippies, but I'm not about to go to jail for killing one, so I gave him a few licks in the lower body with the pipe to temporarily put him down. Then, I reached the pole. Now, seeing their buddies lying there holding their legs and groins and whatnot, the other hippies weren't too eager to join in the battle. Well, the floating man, he was none too happy with me. He gave me a look of fire and held out the knife like he was going to stab the girl, anyway. Now, I told you her feet were about five feet off the ground, and this floating man's feet were about the same. So, I reached up with my pipe and gave him a lick on the feet. You ever play baseball?"

"Yeah, second base in little league."

"You know the feeling when you don't have a good grip on the bat and you hit the ball? How it vibrates your whole body."

"Yeah, it happened to me a lot."

"Well, son, that was what it felt like when I hit ol' Floaty in the feet. My whole body shook and ol' Floaty just smiled and reached back with the knife. Looked like he was aiming for the heart. Just as he was about to put the knife in her, I threw my pipe at his hand. The knife and the pipe fell to the ground behind us with a couple thuds as ol' Floaty started floating down to me. Mercy sakes, son, I was sure I was gonna die. You ever been attacked by someone who's covered in blood?"

"I thought I had, once, but it was just Mick Aloha after a trip to Denny's."

"Well, it ain't too fun if you know what I mean. Anyway, he came down to the ground and I gave him a punch in the stomach. You ever punched metal, boy?"

"I punched a vending machine once."

"Yeah, that's metal. Anyway, that's what it felt like. I punched him in the chest and it felt like the same. That's when I realized I wasn't dealing with the devil or a crazy cult leader. I was dealing with a sombitch robot."

Apocalypse Dowell sighed and said, "Well, you had me until now. I would've believed you'd fought the devil himself, but a robot? How could he be a robot?"

"Mercy sakes, son, you mean to tell me you've believed everything I've told you so far, but when I tell you there was a robot involved, you don't believe me? What's wrong with you, son? You should know robots is everywhere, hellfire, you said you fought one, didn't you?"

"Yeah, Steakzooka, but, that's different. Steakzooka was purple. No one ever confused him with a person. He was just a big block of metal."

"Mercy sakes, son, you gotta use a little imagination. Those robots you see all the time, the ones like that steak fella and the one that went after our sleepy friend, here. They're just a front, son, nothing more. They're there to keep our eyes off the real prize. If they show you robots that can jump ten feet high, you know they got ones that can go twenty. If they show you a robot that looks like a bunch of Legos, I guaran-damn-tee they got ones that look like people."

Apocalypse Dowell shook his head and said, "We're not even close to having that kind of technology."

"Wooo, son, I didn't mean to offend your scientific mind. How do you know what kind of technology they got?"

Apocalypse Dowell just shook his head and looked down.

"You read magazines, don't you? Is that how you keep up?"

"Yeah, I read magazines and books. You know, I was a science teacher before."

The Witch Doctor laughed, flashing his bright teeth, and said, "Well, mercy sakes, son. You didn't tell me that. Hell, if I'd a-knowed that, I wouldn't have even brought up the subject. Son, you studied textbooks, right. Do you think the real truth is in textbooks?"

Apocalypse Dowell replied, "I think most things in science textbooks are true. The laws of physics and whatnot don't really tend to change."

"Now son, I'll give you that. What I'm talking about is the real truth."

"No, I guess the real truth isn't in textbooks, regular books, or magazines. Where's the real truth?"

"It's out here, son. Right where you are now, on the highways of this nation. It's in the small bars and coffee shops, in the truck stops and gas stations. It's all out there, you just gotta listen."

"OK, then I'd like to know some truth. Please let me know what's going on."

"Mercy sakes, son, let me finish my story and I'll lay some truth on you. Anyway, I realized it was a robot. Now, you said before something about technology not being around that can make a robot that looks and moves like a human. Now, I don't know that it doesn't exist, but it didn't exist in this robot I saw. Up close, you could tell it wasn't no human. But, you have to remember that I saw this thing at dusk from my truck here, and then I saw it in a cloud of smoke in the dark. I didn't really study it too hard when I was punching it, but when I realized what it was it was pretty obvious. So, maybe you're right. Maybe the technology isn't there, yet."

"Fair enough. So you punched it a few times, hurt your hand, and then what happened?"

"Well, when I was punching it, them hippies didn't know what to do. I thought at the time they might not know it was a robot, so I started screaming, 'It's a robot! It's a robot!' Them hippies just stood there, then, and I knew I only had me one chance. I got me a good grip on my pipe and took a mighty swing at the thing's head."

"Word. Did you knock it off?"

"You'd think I would have, wouldn't you? But, this wasn't no ordinary robot. Most of em, you take a decent swing and the head flies off and blows up. This one stayed put. I took another swing and this time put a big ol' dent on the side of its head. Sombitch was staggering around and whatnot, and I saw a little smoke coming out its ears. Sure did look like the devil, son. Anyway, I figured third times a charm and took me one more swing, and that time it dislodged the thing's noggin and sent it flying. Mercy sakes, them hippies all gave out a big gasp and I reckon a couple of em fainted. The head landed about ten feet away, so I ran over and picked it up and threw it into the springs. Sombitch exploded just as it hit the water, and it sent water all over me and the hippies."

"Really? What did the hippies do?"

"Well, a few more fainted, and the rest just sat down in the field, not knowing what to do. I grabbed a couple of em toward the front and got em to help me get that pole down and let the girl go. They did as they was told, and come to find out the girl had been kidnapped out in Eastern Kentucky and held for a month in an old shack out in the mountains before they had her delivered by me. Now, them hippies claimed they wasn't going to hurt her and that it had all been done by the robot leader. Of course, they said they didn't know he was a robot at all, but thought he was really the devil. Stupid hippies, ain't got a lick of sense."

"OK, so you got the girl down, most of the hippies are down, and the robot leader's dead. How'd you call for help?"

"Well, son, as you've figured out, there wasn't much I could do. Some of them hippies was coming to, and I didn't want to stick around until they were all ready to come after me. So, I grabbed the girl and we made our way to my truck. Once I's in range with the nearest town, I called the bears on the CB here and told them where they could find the hippies. Then, I headed into the nearest town and dropped the girl off at the police station. The bears there told us some officers had gone out to Johnson Springs but they hadn't found anyone there. The girl told her story and I told mine. I gave em my phone number in case they needed a witness and I left. They never called me back."

"What about the girl? What happened to her?"

"Mercy sakes, I don't know, son. Probably went back home."

"What did she do? Did she thank you for saving her or try to give you some money or anything?"

"Yeah, she thanked me sure enough, but I don't imagine she had any money to give and I wouldn't have taken it, anyway. The chance to smack around a few hippies was payment enough."

"Is that the end?"

"Yeah son, that's the end. And, in there somewheres' a good moral that you should mind. Probably about the devil really being a robot, hippies being no good, and don't expect any money no matter how many people you save. And, when I first saw that bloody robot out on the road, he disappeared. That's something for you to think about, son, robot's can disappear, or at least make it look like they're something else, like a tree or an old man. Anyway, you hungry, son?"

"Yeah, I sure am."

"Well, mercy sakes, son, it's pushing past one already and we ain't had us a proper meal today. I say we stop up here at the Denny's and see if we can't rustle us up something."

"Sounds good. You want to wake him?"

"Yeah, son. See if ol' Rumpelstiltskin wants him some chow, too."

Apocalypse Dowell shook Stall Puckett's shoulder; the ex-wrestler reached up and put his hands around Apocalypse Dowell's throat. Realizing where he was, Stall Puckett released his grip and apologized.

"Mercy sakes, son," the Witch Doctor said. "You ain't never gonna get married if you wake up like that. You hungry?"

Stall said, "Sorry, it's been a weird couple days. Yeah, I could sure eat."

"You up for Denny's, ol' son?"

"I'm always up for Denny's."

After eating, they got back on the road and made a straight shot to the Texas panhandle, where traffic on the interstate came to a dead stop.

The Witch Doctor had been warned that they were going to have to stop several minutes before it actually happened, and by the time he hit the Purple Diesel Eater's brakes, he knew there were three cars involved in the accident ahead that had spread over both directions of the highway.

When the Witch Doctor looked to the floorboard beside him, he saw Stall Puckett passed out once again and Apocalypse Dowell sitting up with his eyes closed.

"You awake, son?" the Witch Doctor asked.

"Yeah," Apocalypse Dowell said, opening his eyes and looking up at the Witch Doctor. "I guess I was kind of meditating. What happened? Why'd we stop?"

"Mercy sakes, son, the word on the wire is that there's been an accident up the road a bit. Always happens to me on the Texas panhandle, so nothing to really worry about. Must be a doozy though, cause they're sayin they's only three cars, but traffic's stopped both ways."

Apocalypse Dowell leaned up to look through the windshield. He saw the early afternoon sun beating down on the people from the stopped cars in front of them, who were standing around their cars and talking to each other.

The Witch Doctor got back on his CB. After he replaced it back on its mount, he looked at Apocalypse Dowell and said: "Well, you can hear as well as me that we ain't going nowhere. Might as well go out and mingle. What do you think?"

"Sounds good," Apocalypse Dowell replied. "What about him?"

"Aw, let him sleep."

"I ain't asleep," Stall Puckett said, as he sat up and looked around. "I was just resting. What are you boys about to do?"

The Witch Doctor said, "We're going to go out and chat with these stranded motorists. You in?"

The three men exited the truck and worked their way into the crowd. There were few truckers around, so not many of the people knew what was happening or how long it would be. The Witch Doctor was happy to give out the straight facts; he didn't deal in conjectures when it came to traffic.

As they stood in front of the truck, meeting people and talking about the accident, the weather, and best places to eat up the road, someone handed The Witch Doctor a hamburger on a white paper plate.

"What the heck is this?" he asked the man who had handed it to him. The man had already disappeared into the crowd, however, and the Witch Doctor then saw several burgers were being passed around. People in the crowd around them were eating the burgers, and although he had just eaten an hour earlier, the Witch Doctor put the burger away in a few seconds.

"Woo, that's a burger, now, boys. Just right."

Stall Puckett ate one too, and Apocalypse Dowell gave the burger he had received to the Witch Doctor, who quickly ate it and looked around for another.

The Witch Doctor asked one of the men in the crowd next to him where the burgers were coming from. The man replied that there was a great chef in the crowd ahead, generously grilling for the hungry masses.

They stood in front of the truck, talking to the crowd and enjoying the free burgers for over an hour. Apocalypse Dowell wasn't hungry, but he wished they would pass around some veggie burgers so he could feel like he was fitting in. The Witch Doctor and Stall Puckett had lost count of the number of burgers they had eaten, but both claimed to be well over ten.

The Witch Doctor periodically checked the status of the accident cleanup on his CB, and when they were about to start moving he passed the information on to the crowd and they said their goodbyes.

Minutes later, traffic started moving again. Within a half hour, they were up to full speed, rolling closer to Albuquerque.

Chapter 19

Thursday 7:12am (C.S.T.)

The Kid awoke to an awful sound. From the dark spare bedroom in his grandmother's house, lying in the most comfortable bed he had ever encountered, he heard Mick Aloha and his grandmother talking and laughing together. The smell of breakfast hit him, and then he heard the clanging of forks on plates and realized they had started without him. He jumped out of bed, wearing his dark blue flannel pajamas, and hurried to the kitchen.

As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight that came through the windows in Grand's small dining room, the Kid saw Mick Aloha and Grand sitting together eating with a large spread before them. Grand was just finishing laughing at something Mick Aloha had said when The Kid entered.

Grand said, "Well, look who's finally up. Do you sleep half the day away every day, Harrison, or just when you're visiting your poor grandmother?"

"Like, what time is it?"

"It's about quarter past seven," Grand said. "Ol' Mick and I have been up since five thirty. He sure is a funny one."

Mick Aloha looked up from a slice of crispy bacon and said, "Good morning, Kid. I trust you slept well." He then looked back down at his plate and finished the bacon.

"Grab ya a plate, Harrison, before it gets cold."

The Kid picked up a plate from the small stack on the end of the table and started piling food onto it. As he looked into each bowl and onto each plate, he said: "Oooo." When his plate was completely covered, he found the basket for the fresh biscuits Grand had made from scratch. He reached under the small towel that kept the biscuits warm to find that only one biscuit remained.

Mick Aloha smiled and said, "We saved you one, dude."

"One? Pssshh. One? Like, how many did you eat?"

"Hell if I know, dude," Mick Aloha said. "Maybe three or four. Grand, what do you think?"

Grand said, "I ate two myself. You must have eaten four if there's only one left."

"Goddam it! Goddam it! Goddam it! Goddam it! Goddam it!"

"What's wrong, dude?" Mick Aloha asked.

"What's wrong is you ate all of my goddam biscuits. I've driven halfway across the goddam continent, and the only thing I've been thinking about, except killing you, is my Grand's goddam biscuits. And now, you, the jackass I've been nice enough to give a ride to, have eaten the only thing in this life that I really fucking cherish. You ate my goddam biscuits."

"Well hell, dude, you should have gotten up sooner. Then, you could have eaten as many biscuits as you wanted."

The Kid's face turned red and he said, "I shouldn't have to wake up at six in the goddam morning at my own grandmother's house to enjoy more than one of her fresh biscuits, now should I?"

The Kid placed his full plate with the one biscuit on top on the end of the table. He then walked around the table and put his giant hands around Mick Aloha's neck and squeezed.

Mick Aloha, accustomed to coming under attack during breakfast, picked up another piece of bacon and shoved it in his mouth before he stood up and elbowed The Kid in the abdomen. The Kid didn't budge.

"Like, I'm going to kill you, biscuit eater," the kid said.

Grand started laughing and said, "Boy, you fellas sure have you some spirit, now don't you? Harrison, let go of him, and watch your language around your grandmother. I was going to make you some fresh biscuits, anyway. That's why we ate so many, so you could have fresh ones."

Mick Aloha struggled for air.

The Kid said, "Like, okay. You're serious?"

"Of course I am." Grand then walked toward the kitchen as the Kid released his grip. He and Mick Aloha sat back down at the table.

"That all you got, Kid?" Mick Aloha asked. "If it is, you're in trouble."

"All I got? I could have killed you."

Mick Aloha said, "No, you couldn't have, dude. I was in control the whole time."

"Like, I was choking you. You would have passed out in a couple of seconds."

"If your grandmother hadn't been watching, I would have slipped out of your buttery grip and then put you in the figure four. Then, I would have eaten your goddam biscuit."

The Kid, knowing that reasoning with Mick Aloha was useless, started eating his breakfast. He didn't look up from his plate, and Mick Aloha took it as a sign that he didn't want to talk. Despite this, Mick Aloha kept talking.

"Hey dude, you know what me and Grand were talking about before? Aliens, dude. Aliens. You believe in aliens?"

Mick Aloha took the Kid's extended middle finger to mean no.

Mick Aloha continued, "Well, dude, I do. I was talking to Grand, like I said, about it before you woke your lazy ass up. Anyway, dude, my theory is that aliens really do come to earth, but they're not interested in talking to people. They talk to the dogs."

The Kid looked up from his breakfast and glared at Mick Aloha. He then said: "You're a goddam idiot. Why would aliens want to talk to dogs?"

"Hell if I know, dude. I'm not an alien. But, think about it. We see all of these flying saucers, but there are few personal encounters by comparison. And, most people who report alien sightings are hicks from out in the woods."

Between bites the Kid asked, "Well, how do you explain that? They go after people there, don't they?"

"Sometimes, dude, but I think they just confuse the people there for dogs. See, I think they have dog tracking devices in their ships, so they can see that there are a bunch of dogs in a certain area. Then, they land and maybe their eyesight isn't so good, so they use infrared or something."

"Pssshhhh, you mean like the Predator?"

"I never thought of it, but yeah, dude. Anyway, they take these hillbillies in their ships and once they realize they aren't dogs, they put them back where they found them. Those hillbillies always have a few dozen dogs around, anyway, so eventually they find some of them and have a talk."

"That's the dumbest fucking idea I've ever heard."

"Think about it, dude. If they want to make contact with us, why haven't they done it, yet? They could go right to the White House and knock on the front door if they want to. But no, they keep doing it in private to some poor backwoods hicks because they're not after us; they're after the dogs, dude. And, my guess is they've already spoken with the dog leader."

Grand walked back into the dining room, sat down beside Mick Aloha, and said, "Harrison, your biscuits will be ready in about five minutes. What are you boys talking about?"

The Kid said, "We weren't talking. He was talking and I was trying to eat."

Grand smiled and asked, "Was he telling you about the aliens and dogs?"

The Kid nodded.

"I think it's a pretty good idea. Go ahead, Aloha."

Mick Aloha said, "Well, Grand, I was just about to tell the Kid here that I think the aliens and the dogs are working together. Maybe they've got a plot going to destroy humans. Dogs are pretty smart, you know. I bet they could do it."

The Kid said, "Aloha, you're an idiot."

"You're just a non-believer, dude. If you ever saw a U.F.O. like me, you'd be more willing to accept that there's a plot against us. Goddam dogs. Man's best friend, my ass."

Grand looked at Mick Aloha and said, "You got any more ideas like that?"

"Yes, Grand, I have plenty. But, I don't think it would be appropriate to share them at the moment as I would like to get another ride from the Kid today, and if I keep telling these stories he might leave me at the first gas station."

Grand smiled and said, "Good idea. Oh, the biscuits are done."

By the time he finished his eighth biscuit, The Kid had almost forgotten that he wanted to kill Mick Aloha.

He smiled, looking at Grand and Mick Aloha, and said, "Now, I gotta get my digest on before I hit the road." The Kid then walked into the den and turned on the television, using his finely honed skills to quickly find the Discovery Channel. He then started watching a documentary about cheetahs.

Still sitting at the dining room table, Mick Aloha asked, "Do you think he's okay now? Is he going to kill me?"

"No, I think you're all right, Aloha," Grand said. "Just let him relax a while and then he'll be ready to hit the road like nothing happened."

"Okay, cool. I wish he'd hurry up, though. See, Grand, I have to get to California to save my girlfriend. She's being held by some sombitch in San Francisco, so I have to get out there as soon as I can."

"Your girlfriend's been kidnapped? Did you call the police?"

"No, Grand, I didn't call the goddam doughnut eaters. They'd only screw things up. Anyway, they could never find her. Only by using my expert sleuthing skills will I be able to track her down."

"When did you find out about what happened to her?"

"Let's see, must have been Monday night."

Grand shook her head and said, "You found out Monday night and now you're only to Oklahoma. It's Thursday morning, Aloha. Why didn't you fly out there? Is it too expensive?"

"Too expensive? Grand, let me fill you in on some information. I have disposable income."

"OK, well then, why didn't you fly?"

"Because, I spent all of my last goddam paycheck on comic books and electronic devices. Goddam CD burners. Why do I need two?"

"Didn't you have enough money to take a bus?"

"No, Grand, I didn't until I rolled into Memphis on Tuesday night and kicked me a lot of ass. I got paid for my ass kickings and then I had plenty of money, most of which I still have."

"Well, why didn't you buy a plane ticket?"

"Because they're still too expensive. Do you know how much a same day cross-country ticket costs? I'll tell you, a goddam lot. A goddam lot."

"What about a bus ticket, then? You can afford one of those, now."

"Yes, I can, Grand. But, when I got the money, I was riding in a big rig with a trucker who was going directly to San Francisco. So, I would have gotten there sooner in the truck than I would have on a bus. And then, when my ride took off and left me because of my son of a bitch no good enemy Apocalypse Dowell, I met the Kid here and he's going out to California, too. I figured the Kid would move faster than any bus."

"I don't know, Aloha. I think you might get there faster on a bus."

"I'm not taking a goddam bus. It's not my style."

"Fair enough."

Two hours later, The Kid and Mick Aloha said goodbye to Grand. As they stood on the front porch, Mick Aloha reached out and hugged Grand, which made the Kid cringe. The Kid momentarily felt sick to his stomach, but regained his composure as Grand came over to give him a hug. The Kid hugged no one, and stood still with his arms straight down as Grand put her arms around him.

"You're a big kid, Harrison," she said.

"Thanks, Grand," he replied.

The Kid and Mick Aloha waved as they drove away.

Back on the small roads that led to the interstate, the Kid didn't say anything to Mick Aloha. In his time with the Kid, Mick Aloha had been unable to determine when it was appropriate to address the Kid, and when to keep quiet. If he followed his instinct, he would have never said anything to the Kid based on the Kid's expressions, but he found silence more unbearable than anger and spoke up.

"She sure is a nice lady, Kid. You're a lucky guy."

"I'd be even luckier if you'd shut the hell up."

"OK, dude. I'll shut up. Hey, what were you watching on the Discovery Channel?"

The Kid pretended not to hear him and reached under his seat searching for something.

"Goddam it, I forgot I lost my sunglasses. I'll need to stop at some point and get some new ones."

The mid morning September sun shone directly in their eyes as they wound through the country lanes in search of the highway. The Kid squinted his light blue eyes and swore under his breath until they were back on the highway, heading west with the morning sun behind them.

Twenty minutes later, as they cruised west on I-40 with the light traffic, The Kid broke the silence when he said, "Pshhhh, that's crazy."

Mick Aloha looked around; he saw only cars on the highway and barren fields on either side. He thought for a moment that the Kid might be referring to the music they were listening to, but decided there couldn't be anything surprising about it since it was the same mix tape they had already listened to seven times on the trip so far.

Not wanting to miss an opportunity to win The Kid's favor, Mick Aloha asked, "What's that, dude?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about cheetahs."

"What about 'em, dude?"

"Pssshhhh, they're fuckin fast is what about 'em. That's what I was watching on the Discovery Channel this morning. They're goddam fast."

Mick Aloha said, "I hate cheetahs, dude. I hate all cats, especially goddam feral cats."

"Like, they're not really cats. I mean, I know they're in the cat family, but they're a lot cooler than house cats or feral cats. They're like machines."

"I like dogs, dude."

"OK, you don't like cheetahs. But, you have to respect how fast they can move."

Mick Aloha shook his head and said, "I don't care how fast they are, dude. You're wrong. Just because you're fast, doesn't mean you're tough. See, I can kick anyone's ass, but I can't really run for shit. I respect tough more than I respect fast."

"Goddam it, I never said anything about tough. I'm talking about fast. They're running machines. They're built to move fast, and that rules. They're a lot faster than any dog, so it doesn't matter how tough a dog is, it can't catch a cheetah."

As the Kid finished speaking, they crossed into Texas.

Mick Aloha said, "I hate Texas, dude. Bunch of washed up cowboys and big hair. Only good thing about Texas is the big portions. I favor the big portions."

"Spshhh, it's only the panhandle. Like, we'll be through it before you know it."

"I don't like panhandles either, dude. Panhandles can't even figure out if they're part of the state. And, they're always just the white trashiest parts of the state. Goddam Texas, Oklahoma, and Florida panhandles can all go to hell for all Mick Aloha cares."

"You're insane. You hate everything, don't you?"

"Just things that suck, dude, just things that suck. And, every goddam time I go through this goddam panhandle, there's a traffic accident, so I have to sit on the interstate for a couple hours waiting for the traffic to clear up."

Ten minutes later, The Kid saw the traffic on the interstate stopped in front of them.

As the black Volkswagen came to a stop, The Kid looked at Mick Aloha and said, "You're a goddam jinx." "It's not me, dude. It's Texas. Happens every time. And, you know why? Because all these people on the interstate want to get through the Texas panhandle as fast as they can. No one wants to stop in Amarillo. They just want to high tail it to New Mexico as soon as they can, and dude, I don't blame them. Anyway, that's what causes the accidents."

"You're a goddam genius, Aloha," the Kid said, as he stepped out of his car and onto the highway to see if he could spot the accident in front of them. People from the other cars were doing the same thing, but no one could see anything because of the small hill in front of them. Several people were lying on the hoods of their cars asleep. The Kid looked across his car to see Mick Aloha looking all around himself, probably seeking out escape routes in case there was trouble.

People around them were talking about what they'd heard about the accident, and a large man who had exited from an R.V. reported that he had heard on the scanner that there was a ten car pileup and traffic wouldn't be moving for hours.

The Kid swore under his breath, got back into his car, and turned on the radio to see if there was any more news about the accident. From the inside of his car, The Kid could see Mick Aloha walking among the surrounding cars, talking to people and shaking hands. Goddam politician, The Kid thought. Well, let them deal with him for a while. I could use the break.

The search of the Texas radio stations proved fruitless. Finally, The Kid just left it on the clearest Country/Western station, hoping they would break in with news soon.

Mick Aloha worked the crowd with the grace of Bill Clinton. He tried to keep up with all of the states the people he met were from, but lost count around twenty. The stranded people took to Mick Aloha because he let them know his opinion about the situation.

"This goddam sucks," he said to two college-aged girls who were standing beside their blue Japanese sedan. "You ladies like meat?"

"What?" one of the girls asked.

"If traffic doesn't start moving in the next twenty minutes or so, we're going to have us a barbecue, and I'm cooking. You see that Winnebago up there?" Mick Aloha pointed to an R.V. three cars ahead of the Kid's Volkswagen.

"Yeah," the girl replied.

"Well, that's Ernie. See, Ernie's from West Virginia and he's traveling with his wife, Esther, and his dog, Bartholomew. The dog's a bastard faced bastard, but Ernie and his wife aren't too bad. Anyway, ol' Ernie has himself a grill in there and he said I could use it later if I wanted."

"Okay."

"Well, anyway, if you see me cooking, know you're invited to come have something to eat."

"The girls just stared at Mick Aloha as he approached the Kid's car and got inside. The Kid continued to look straight forward when Mick Aloha sat down. An old country song that Mick Aloha had never heard played on the radio."

"You gone country on me, Kid? I was only gone a few minutes."

The Kid looked over at Mick Aloha and said, "Goddam you, no, I'm listening for the news. I want to see when we'll be out of here."

"Dude, I think you should sit back and make yourself comfortable. The word on the street is that we won't be moving for a long time."

"What street?"

You know what I mean, dude. The buzz. The buzz is that there were ten cars in this thing, a few of them exploded, and its covering both directions of the interstate. Of course, that would explain why there aren't any other cars on the other side.”

"Psshhh, exploded? You really believe those cars exploded?"

"No dude, I don't think they really exploded. But, when you hear the word from the street, you have to know how to distinguish truth from fiction. I also heard there were some aliens in one of the cars, some bank robbers were caught in a van and that's what started the whole thing, and that the goddam Sasquatch had made an appearance. I find those a bit hard to believe, but I do believe that there were ten cars involved and that we're not moving any-goddam-where any-goddam-time soon. You want steak or hamburger?"

"Steak. What?"

"I'm grilling out, dude. Ol' Ernie's got a freezer full of meat and I have some money to give him, so I'm going to use his grill to fire up some meat. I like that flame-broiled taste, dude."

"You're grilling steak?"

"Hell, dude, I'm grilling whatever ol' Ernie has in his freezer."

"All right, then I'd like a steak if you're going to make it anyway."

"Okay, dude. I don't know the sauce situation. Maybe he has some A-1 or Heinz. I'll let you know when it's ready. Or, you could come hang out with Ernie, he's a nice guy."

"Like, I want to hear the real news about this, so I'll wait in here."

An hour later, there had still been no news from the radio station. The Kid had always hated country music, and after listening to it for over an hour he was sure he'd made the right decision. He sat in the car, wondering if he should start it just to charge up the battery, as he watched Mick Aloha cook meat on a charcoal grill in the middle of Interstate 40.

Mick Aloha had borrowed a chef hat from Ernie that read, "I'm the god damn cook." As people walked by and asked what he was doing, Mick Aloha just pointed at his head. Sometimes, he repeated the phrase to the passersby so they all knew who was in charge.

Smoke billowed from the rectangular grill past Mick Aloha's face, giving him a magical look. As the Kid watched Mick Aloha through the smoke, he tried to remember the name of the wizard on the Bozo Show. What was that guy's name? It was something that ended in "-zo," but he couldn't remember what it was. Growing up, he'd always wanted to be on the ball toss game. It looked so easy on TV, but those stupid kids sure could miss those buckets. Stupid kids.

The winds shifted, causing Mick Aloha to run semicircles around the grill, trying to avoid the smoke. The small crowd surrounding him didn't move. They all wanted to be the first to get a free meal and the smoke couldn't deter them.

Eventually, Mick Aloha served up the first hamburger on a white paper plate and handed it to the nearest person, who happened to be a big trucker with a long mustache. The trucker smiled, ate the burger in two bites, and slapped Mick Aloha on the shoulder. He then got back in line.

"Trucker's going to eat the whole lot," the Kid said to himself, as he stepped out of his car and got in line.

When Mick Aloha spotted the Kid he announced, "Okay, folks. The only reason I'm here to serve you some tasty burgers and steak is because of this man right here. So, the next burger goes to the Kid, who's hauling my ass all the way across the country."

The Kid expected the crowd to be upset with him for cutting in line, but people thanked him as he moved up the line and accepted the second burger. He stepped aside and ate the burger, which was good, as he watched Mick Aloha go into overdrive and serve up seven burgers in the next minute.

The crowd, which had turned a simple three car injury accident into a ten car pileup with aliens and the Sasquatch, turned the story of Mick Aloha's grill into something magical. Word spread forward and backward across I-40 that a master chef was serving up fillet mignon and lobster from a barbecue pit that he had dug by the side of the interstate. Pilgrims came from all directions, and after twenty minutes of serving up some of the best burgers the folks in the crowd had ever had, Ernie's freezer went dry. There hadn't been any steak.

A happy crowd can turn into a riot in seconds, and Mick Aloha prepared to kick the whole interstate's ass. Since the rioting mood could spread through all of the stranded onlookers and result in more damaged vehicles and a longer wait, a man stepped up beside Mick Aloha and took charge. Mick Aloha looked up at the man, who stood at least a foot taller than he did, and wondered if the man wanted to save him or kill him. The man dressed like a truck driver, but his smooth skin and youthful face led Mick Aloha to believe he was really a suit.

"Okay, calm down," the man said. "Listen, we've heard the rumors that we might not be moving for a while, and I know you're all hungry. Hell, I'm so hungry right now I think I see the Sasquatch standing over there in that clearing by the woods."

The crowd turned to check the clearing just as the Sasquatch made its way into the woods and out of sight.

"Now, I've got a truck full of meat about a quarter of a mile back. If a few of you will help me, I think we can unload enough of it to give everyone here a pretty good meal. How's that sound?"

The excitement in the crowd reached a crescendo and then died out. One of the college girls that Mick Aloha had met earlier asked, "What's in it for you?"

The man smiled and said, "Well, you can probably guess I'm not really a truck driver. My driver's still in the truck and I'm just traveling with him, to see what it's like for our drivers. Anyway, the meat we're carrying is for a meat show in Albuquerque this afternoon, and by the looks of things we're not going to make it. We were going to give it out as samples, anyway, so I'd be happy to give it to you guys if you'll remember to buy Pete's Meats the next time you go shopping."

Mick Aloha nearly fainted as the words meat show kept repeating in his head. He smacked himself in the face and regained control, wondering if he should try to run to Albuquerque.

"Fair enough," a man called out from the middle of the crowd.

Mick Aloha looked at the man from Pete's Meats and asked, "Are you Pete?"

"Sure am. Pete Haskins."

Pete then reached out and shook Mick Aloha's hand.

Pete asked, "Well, should we move the grill back by the truck, or bring the meat up here?"

Mick Aloha said, "Well, dude, since this is Ernie's grill, I imagine we should keep it up here close to his recreational vehicle."

At least fifty men and women from the surrounding vehicles made the trip back to the Pete's Meats truck. Pete led the way, and when they approached the truck the driver stepped out brandishing a metal pipe.

"It's okay, Sammy, we're going to share the cargo since we can't get to Albuquerque."

The driver reluctantly replaced the pipe under his seat and then climbed down onto the interstate to help. Pete walked to the back of the truck and unlocked the trailer, revealing a meat paradise. The meat came in twenty pound boxes; he and the driver stood in the cab handing them down to the people who carried them the quarter mile back to Ernie's grill.

Pete and Sammy grew too weary to keep unloading after thirty boxes. The boxes had stuck together in the cooled trailer, and breaking them apart was more difficult than handing them down. When they could do no more, a couple of the men from the crowd stepped up and took over. Eventually, everyone in the crowd had a box to carry. Left alone, Pete and Sammy finally closed the door of the trailer, which was still half full.

They walked back to Ernie's grill, and by the time they got there a large portion of the crowd was already enjoying Pete's Meats. The crowd ate the grilled hamburgers with their bare hands; Ernie had long ago run out of buns.

Pete pushed his way through the crowd to the grill, where he saw Mick Aloha working the meat like a magician.

"How's it going?" he asked.

Mick Aloha smiled and said, "We have nearly limitless meat. How do you think it's going? I wish that bastard sombitch Apocalypse Dowell was here. See, Dowell is a wuss and doesn't eat meat. He'd probably be sick if he saw what was happening here."

"Don't you have any buns?"

Mick Aloha laughed and said, "Buns? Yeah, Ernie had some earlier that we used, but of course we ran out. It doesn't matter, dude, because there's plenty of meat and that's what's important. Myself, I prefer the all meat taste to the bun taste, anyway. Hell, dude, I don't know why they use buns in the first place. They just take away from that meat taste. Like ketchup. Do you like ketchup, dude?"

Pete watched smoke engulf Mick Aloha until he almost disappeared. The wind picked up and Pete could only make out Mick Aloha's head. He looked like a ghost. A meat-loving ghost who cooked for everyone.

Pete said, "Yeah, I like ketchup."

The reply from the cloud of smoke was, "You're wrong, dude. Ketchup is evil, like all condiments. Buns and condiments work together to distract your taste buds from that good meat taste. Hell, dude, if you're going to pile on ketchup and mustard and a goddam thick bun, you might as well be eating a goddam vegetarian burger. Goddam hippies."

Pete stepped away from the cloud, hoping Mick Aloha wouldn't see him leave. He had to find some buns for these people, despite Mick Aloha's protests. People liked hamburgers, not wads of meat in their hands. He started asking in the crowd, hoping someone had seen a bread truck. Finally, he heard a rumbling in the back of the crowd and within minutes, buns were arriving from a bread truck that was headed to the same meat show.

Mick Aloha reluctantly accepted the buns and started making hamburgers instead of wads of meat. No matter how quickly he made them, the crowd still took in more and more burgers. The grill needed to be cleaned, and the heat was making him lightheaded, but Mick Aloha's eyes were on the meat prize. The prize was the spread of the love of meat amongst the crowd, which would later disperse and share that love with the rest of the country. Mick Aloha was saving meat.

Eventually, large men in the crowd were assigned to protect Mick Aloha so he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the people waiting in line. Then, Mick Aloha started just handing them down the line. It looked like a giant Thanksgiving dinner, as people passed food around the crowd.

As word of the free meal spread along the interstate, the crowd grew in size. There were people everywhere, filling in all of the gaps between the parked cars, relaxing in the grassy median, and even resting on top of their cars and trucks.

Mick Aloha took a break. He had to. The heat was making him sick and the smoke was making him cough. He let the charcoal in the grill burn out so that the smoke finally cleared. When he could finally see the crowd he couldn't believe it. This must be what goddam Woodstock looked like, he thought. Goddam dirty hippies. What have I done?

Mick Aloha weaved through the crowd, trying to avoid the pats on the back and the desperate pleas for more burgers. He then made his way to the Kid's car, entering through the passenger-side door.

When he finally got the door closed, The Kid looked over at him and said, "You smell like a goddam house fire. How many burgers did you make?"

"Hell if I know, dude. Hundreds, I think. That's one goddam insatiable crowd. It's like feeding a bunch of me. Goddam hungry bastards."

"Your face is all covered in soot. You look like a goddam chimney sweep."

Mick Aloha said, "Dude, that would be a shitty job. A chimney sweep. There ain't no telling what you'd find up there in the goddam chimney. Lots of secrets up the chimney, dude."

As Mick Aloha finished speaking, the car started rocking. The crowd outside wanted more meat, and they trusted no one other than Mick Aloha to prepare it.

He turned to the Kid and asked, "Any idea when we'll be moving again?"

"Yeah, they said on the radio it shouldn't be too long."

"Goddam. I don't think we can hold out."

"Hold out? You better get out there and cook. Those bastards are touching my goddam car. That won't do at all."

"You're right, dude," Mick Aloha said. "I have a duty."

Mick Aloha then stepped out of the car to the cheers of the hungry crowd.

The wizard went back to work behind his magic cloud of smoke. He served the burgers with more speed and dexterity than before, keeping the crowd busy passing the burgers around. People in the crowd didn't want the traffic to move again. Some of them were having more fun than they'd ever had, and some people remarked that it was like going to the state fair without having to pay to get in.

As Mick Aloha cooked the burgers, the smoke filled his throat and lungs, making him have strange thoughts. He imagined that with every burger he cooked, he moved one step closer to destroying Apocalypse Dowell.

With each finished burger he said things like, "How do you like that, vegetarian?" or "In your pipe and goddam smoke it, Apocalypse Dowell."

He started seeing Apocalypse Dowell's face in the smoke, and twice he reached out with the tongs to stab his arch enemy in the eye. Each time he did so, however, Apocalypse Dowell disappeared and then immediately reappeared, laughing.

When Mick Aloha thought he might collapse, he heard a strange sound from the interstate ahead of him. Starting engines. Traffic was about to start moving.

Pete ran up to him and said, "Thanks for cooking for us, Mick Aloha. I can't carry all of that meat back, so we'll just have to leave it out here." Pete then ran back toward his truck.

"Goddam it!" Mick Aloha said, with a new fire in his eyes and a desire to cook every last ounce of meat. "You can't goddam waste it! It's meat!"

He flipped burgers and placed them on buns like a man possessed. Pounds of meat sat on the road beside him in neatly stacked boxes. A voice inside him said that he could never cook all of the meat. He told the voice to fuck off.

"Meat. Meat. Meat," he said, as he continued serving up the tasty burgers to the dispersing crowd. People took the burgers back to their cars and ate them as they waited for the traffic to start moving.

Ernie approached and said, "It's over, Aloha. You gave it a good effort, and I know everyone here really appreciates it. But, sometimes you just have to look at the meat and let go. Help me pile it in the back of my R.V. and I'll promise you it'll be taken care of."

Mick Aloha didn't listen to Ernie's reasoning. He didn't want to listen to anything as his focus was completely on serving up the rest of the meat. Ernie was a demon, probably a vegetarian demon that would steal the meat and turn it back into cows. Goddam hippies.

Traffic started moving around him. The grill's position on the dividing line between the right and center lanes kept him from getting hit by the slow moving cars and trucks. People rolled down their windows and grabbed burgers as they passed. A few people yelled for him to get moving or it would get too dangerous soon. He didn't listen to them. Bunch of goddam hippies.

The Kid passed him in his black Volkswagen. He rolled down the passenger side window and said, "Aloha! It's goddam over. We're starting to move. Pretty soon we'll be up to full speed and you'll be left standing here on the goddam interstate. Give that guy in the Winnebago his grill back and let's get moving."

Mick Aloha eyed the Kid and said, "Ah, so you're one of them now, too, are you? You're a goddam vegetarian hippy. Well, I'm not listening to you, vegetarian. Go eat some tofu with your brittle ass bones. Goddam hippies, the whole goddam lot!"

More cars pulled up beside Mick Aloha, asking for burgers and advising him to get off the highway. They weren't moving fast, yet, and Mick Aloha could still see the Kid's black Volkswagen ahead, so he felt he still had time.

He opened the last box, shaped the meat into burgers with his grimy hands, and threw them on the grill. He'd thrown extra charcoal on the grill, and the higher flame nearly burned the fresh meat. Mick Aloha managed to get it all cooked and served up on buns in two minutes. Then, he handed out a few of the burgers and wrapped the rest in the paper towels a driver had supplied earlier.

Mick Aloha lifted the grill up onto its two back wheels and ran toward Ernie's RV, which was almost out of sight and moving at a good pace.

He reached the RV and knocked on the side door; Ernie stopped. Mick Aloha then helped him load the dirty grill into the back of the vehicle and thanked him for letting him use it. Then, hanging out the side door of Ernie's RV, Mick Aloha looked for the Kid's car. He couldn't see it, and knew that the Kid might have already maneuvered his way to open highway.

Holding five burgers in paper towels, Mick Aloha sprinted through the slow moving traffic in an attempt to find the Kid. His meat delirium had passed, and now he just wanted a ride out of there. Mick Aloha had been a track star in high school, at times competing in six events at the same meet. In recent years, however, his steady diet of meat and French fries had slowed him down.

Holding the burgers with his left hand, Mick Aloha beat his chest with his right hand, trying to push himself harder with each step. The traffic was picking up, and he doubted that the Kid would even stop if he did catch up with him. When he was about to give up hope, he spotted the familiar black Volkswagen ten cars ahead of him. He weaved through the moving cars and finally came up to the Kid's driver's-side door. The Kid didn't look over.

The Kid, still hindered by the slow moving traffic around him, was moving barely faster than Mick Aloha. He heard the pleas, and it would have been easy to pull over and let him in, but Mick Aloha knew when he was cooking that they would be moving soon and he had chosen to continue cooking. It was his choice. Why should I pull over and inconvenience myself when he should have already been in the car when traffic took off?

The cars in front of the Kid slowed down to a near stop, finally giving Mick Aloha the chance to catch up. He beat on the passenger side door after trying to open it and finding it locked. The Kid looked over at him through the window and raised his shoulders as if to say, "What?"

The cars started moving again, and eventually the Kid's Volkswagen reached a speed that matched Mick Aloha's maximum running speed. Mick Aloha felt several pains around his chest, and used his right hand to beat them away. He called out some more, but it didn't help. The Kid had given up on him.

"Trump card," Mick Aloha said to himself. "Play your goddam trump card."

"No!" Mick Aloha replied to himself. "They're ours!"

"If you don't play the trump card, you'll have to run to California because no one else will pick you up. You have a direct personality, Mick Aloha, and you usually offend people within the first minutes of meeting them. He's your only hope."

"Goddam you, voice in my head! You're right."

Using his reserves for one last burst of speed, Mick Aloha caught up with the black Volkswagen again. He waved his arms several times and, finally getting the Kids attention, showed him the burgers he held in his left hand. The Kid slowed his car and came to a stop long enough for Mick Aloha to get in.

Mick Aloha wheezed for over a minute, making the Kid laugh at first but then wonder if he was going to need to drive to a hospital.

"Like, do you have asthma?" the Kid asked.

Mick Aloha shook his head, still gasping for air.

"Psshhh, sounds like asthma to me. Like, I knew this fool who had asthma before. See, like, he lived in Japan and he forgot his asthma medicine one night. Well, like he was running for the last train and when he got on it he started wheezing like crazy. He started to walk home after he got off the train, and it was so bad he stopped at a hospital. But, like it was late and they couldn't help him for some reason. So, they like drew him a map to another hospital that could help him and like, while he was waiting for a cab, psssshhhh, he fell down on the sidewalk and then the fools from the hospital called a goddam ambulance. Goddam Japan, man. They'll let you pass out in front of a hospital and call an ambulance to take you to a different hospital. I blame the H.M.O.s. You sure it's not asthma?"

Mick Aloha nodded. As his breathing became more regular, the Kid was able to speed up and within minutes they were back to full speed, passing the scene of the accident which was only marked by several tire marks on the ground and some scattered broken glass.

Finally regaining the ability to speak, Mick Aloha said, "See, dude, the doctors are afraid to work on foreigners over there because of the language difference. They don't want to get a malpractice suit because they misunderstood some fool's English. Now, your friend's story was pretty bad, but these people are given strict rules to follow and they'd rather put someone in a cab than break a rule. Crazy shit, dude."

"Like, I thought you were going to die."

"No, dude, just needed to catch my breath. It felt pretty good. Opened the old lungs up a little bit. Thanks for stopping."

"Like, no problem. Like, you gonna share those burgers or no?"

Mick Aloha handed the Kid the burgers, which he immediately started eating. The Kid made quick work of the five burgers as Mick Aloha, exhausted from the heat of the grill and the run, fell asleep to the sounds of the Kid's mix tape.

Chapter 20

Thursday 10:04am (C.S.T.)

Priscilla awoke from a restless sleep with the fear that she was in Oklahoma. She sat up in bed, spotted Bugaboo in the twin bed beside her, and realized it was true. The digital clock on top of the TV said it was after ten o'clock; feeling hungry and bored, she decided Bugaboo should be awake, too.

She stood beside Bugaboo's bed, tapped her on the shoulder, and said, "Whatcha doin'? Whatcha doin'?"

Bugaboo rolled over and said, "I'm trying to fucking sleep."

"Oh, you're awake," Priscilla said, and jumped into bed with her friend. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I was sleeping great until you woke my ass up. How long have you been awake?"

"I just woke up. We're in Oklahoma, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we're still in Oklahoma," Bugaboo said through a yawn. "What's wrong with Oklahoma?"

"It's full of cowboys."

"Well, the next state is Texas. It's full of cowboys, too. What do you have against cowboys?"

"They're dirty," Priscilla said. "I don't like them."

"What if there was a clean cowboy. Would you like a clean cowboy?"

"Is he nice?"

"Yeah, he's nice but simple."

"Okay, yeah, I like him."

Bugaboo said, "See, there's no reason not to like Oklahoma. Now, what the fuck are we gonna do?"

Priscilla stretched before answering, "We have to go to California, right?"

"Yeah, but we're driving a goddam stolen van. I don't think the odds of crossing the country in a stolen vehicle are very good."

"We didn't steal it. We borrowed it. And, those boys are dead, anyway. The van's like a going away gift. It's like we inherited it."

"It might not even be theirs," Bugaboo said. "They might have stolen it. Or, well you know how boys in bands are. They don't own vans, they borrow them from their moms. One of their mothers is probably on the phone with the police right now, trying to find the van."

"So, what are we going to do?"

Bugaboo thought for a moment and replied, "We need a patsy. Let's use the van, but we need to pick up some sucker who we can blame it on. If the police pull us over, we can tell them the guy picked us up and well, it'll be two against one. We'll win. We're girls."

"No cowboys," Priscilla said. "I don't want to pick up any cowboys."

"Okay, we won't pick up any cowboys, but that makes it a lot harder for us."

Priscilla showered first, and then Bugaboo. Two hours later, they were on the road. The girls stopped at a small diner and ate breakfast before getting back on the road.

Bugaboo drove fast. She weaved through the interstate traffic, drawing more attention to the stolen van than Priscilla liked. Priscilla knew, however, that when Bugaboo was driving, there was no chance of talking any sense into her.

Priscilla watched for hitchhikers, but the only ones she saw looked too dirty to pick up. The police would never believe they had gotten in the van with some dirty guy. It had to be someone hot, or at least clean. She wouldn't let Bugaboo stop to pick any of them up.

By late afternoon, the sky was clear and they were nearing the Texas panhandle. They began to think that the police might not be after them after all, and they both considered the possibility that they had gotten away with it.

Priscilla sat in the passenger seat, with her feet on the dash and her dress pulled back enough to give her a tan without giving the passing truckers a show. Bugaboo drove with cool intensity, wearing her Elvis sunglasses and listening to the '68 Comeback Tour CD on the van's CD player. They both sang along with every song.

They stopped and ate just across the Texas border, and by nightfall they were halfway across the Texas panhandle. Bugaboo continued to drive, refusing Priscilla's hourly requests to switch. They had passed the scene of an accident earlier; there were still a handful of investigators checking out the scene, but traffic had since picked up.

As they neared the end of the Texas panhandle, Priscilla said, "Okay, you've driven all day. I want New Mexico."

"You can't have New Mexico," Bugaboo replied.

"Why not? I want New Mexico."

"Because, I've driven all day and we've had good luck. If we switch now, we might jinx ourselves. Anyway, your eyesight sucks and you never wear your contacts or your glasses."

"Contacts just don't work with me," Priscilla said. "And, I hate my glasses."

"Well, I don't trust your night vision," Bugaboo said. "So, just sit back and relax. I'm going to stop at this rest area."

"You stop at every rest area."

"I'm a human with a human bladder. We can't all hold it all day like you. I'm stopping."

Bugaboo pulled into the last rest area in Texas. A few cars were scattered throughout the parking lot; several trucks sat with their lights off and their motors running.

Bugaboo opened the door and started to step out of the van when she saw that Priscilla wasn't moving.

She looked back and said, "You coming?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't have to go."

"Well, you should at least stretch your legs."

"Okay."

They both exited the van and locked the doors behind them. The girls walked across the poorly lit rest area to the bathrooms, where Priscilla stood outside and waited.

As Priscilla stood under one of the few overhead lights, several travelers passed her entering and exiting the bathrooms. She avoided eye contact with everyone, hoping Bugaboo would hurry. Priscilla hated rest areas: she considered them havens for weak people with no control over their bladders. She had been known to drive for six hours at a time without stopping, while her passengers complained and begged her to take a break.

A man walked up and stood in front of her. He looked her in the eyes and smiled, waiting for her to say something. Priscilla eyed his short brown hair and Hawaiian shirt before looking at the ground, hoping he would disappear. When she looked back up he was still there, smiling.

"What? What do you want?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," the man said. "I was just admiring your beauty. I prefer the brunettes, myself, and I couldn't help noticing you when I walked by."

"Really?"

"Why, yes, of course. I'm surprised every man within a ten mile radius hasn't stopped to look at you."

"Well, yeah, I think so, too."

Bugaboo walked out of the restroom and said, "What's going on here?"

"Well, there's another," the man said. "Two beauties in one rest area. This has to be a record."

"Who's this jackass?" Bugaboo asked.

"He's nice," Priscilla said.

"Who are you?" Bugaboo asked.

"Me? I'm just a stranger lost in the middle of the country, that's who I am. The guy I was riding with left me here about an hour ago, and I've been hanging out here since. I don't know what I'll do."

"Sounds familiar," Bugaboo said. "Where are you going?"

"San Francisco. I have to save my girlfriend."

"Aww, that's sweet," Priscilla said. She looked at Bugaboo, who gave her a shrug of affirmation, and said, "You want a ride?"

"What are you driving?"

"A van," Bugaboo replied.

"Hmmm, sounds good," the man said. "Is it a Ford?"

Bugaboo and Priscilla shrugged.

"Goddam it, you don't know what kind of van it is?" the man said. "Let's go check it out."

They walked to the van together; the stranger smiled when he saw that the van was a Ford.

He said, "You knew it all along, didn't you? You were just messing with me. Can I really have a ride? I have disposable income, which I can use to put gas in the van, decreasing the total cost of your trip."

Bugaboo said, "Get in."

The stranger opened the sliding door and sat in the back seat. Bugaboo started the engine; seconds later, they were on the interstate heading west.

The stranger said, "Ladies, let me introduce myself. I am Mick Aloha, known in some circles as the King Cobra, and I'm at your service."

"I'm Bugaboo, this is Priscilla."

"Nice to make your acquaintance. Why are you ladies heading to San Francisco?"

"Oh, we're on vacation and we have flights from San Francisco back home, so we're crossing the country."

"I see. I see. Well, I'm glad you gave me a ride. Staying at that rest area was starting to become a pain in the ass. I don't have any luck at rest areas. Goddam dirty places. Before you came, there was this family from Pennsylvania. They kept asking me for directions and wanted to know the best places to eat on the interstate. I goddam hate Pennsylvania and everyone from there. It's too goddam long. If it were up to me, I'd blow up the Pennsylvania Turnpike and divide Pennsylvania into four or five states. Let's see, I'd have Penn State and the State of Sylvania. Philadelphia can merge into New Jersey, and Scranton, well hell, Scranton can be its own state."

Priscilla said, "My family's from Pennsylvania."

"I don't hate your family," Mick Aloha said.

"You said you hated everyone from Pennsylvania. My family's from Pennsylvania, with me included. That means you hate me."

"I don't hate you," Mick Aloha said. " I don't know you well enough to hate you."

Priscilla said, "Give it time. Now, why do you hate Pennsylvania?"

"Like I said, it's too goddam long. They shouldn't make states that long, especially near New England. See, that's the charm of New England. In a few hours, you can drive through all of those goddam states. But Pennsylvania is just too goddam long. It makes the trip from New York to Kentucky way too long."

"That's the dumbest logic I've ever heard," Priscilla said.

"Well, miss, I have much worse logic than that on a variety of subjects."

"Miss?"

"Oh, sorry. Madam?"

"Madam?"

"Goddam it. Why don't you ladies tell me your story? Better yet, I'll tell you mine. I started from humble beginnings, and when I was five..."

Bugaboo interrupted, "We don't want to hear your life story, so shut it. We're being nice and giving you a ride, and all you've managed to do since we got in the van is talk constantly and offend Priscilla's family. You're not really getting off to a good start."

Mick Aloha said, "Ah, I see how it is. You'd like me to sit in the back and keep quiet, would you? Well, no problem. The last guy I rode with, he wouldn't shut up. Blah blah blah blah blah. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. All he talked about was surfing, tattoos, the Discovery Channel, his car payments, and his goddam Visa bill. You want to know how much he owes on his Visa?"

Bugaboo said, "One thousand seven hundred and twenty two dollars?"

"You're goddam right. How the hell did you know that? You must have E.S.P. What am I thinking right now?"

"You're thinking about that flap from the Kid's surfboard mount that hangs in the passenger's face."

"Goddam E.S.P.! I hated that goddam thing. No matter how you adjust it, it goddam flaps in your face. So, you know the Kid?"

Priscilla said, "Yeah, we were riding with him until he left us at Graceland."

"Goddam! That was you?" Mick Aloha said. "Yeah, that's right. He said two chicks were riding with him. I'll be damned. Huh, that was you. He talked about you two. He said he thought you would understand."

"Would understand?" Bugaboo said. "What's there to understand? He went looking for a parking space and never came back. I can't understand that."

Mick Aloha said, "He said there weren't any spaces, so he left. That's how the Kid thinks. It's Kid logic."

Priscilla looked back at Mick Aloha and asked, "Well, where is he now?"

"Hell if I know, dude. I went to the restroom at the rest area back there, and well, without going into too much detail, it took me a little longer than expected."

Bugaboo said, "That was too much detail."

"Well, anyway, when I came out, the goddam Kid was gone. I guess he got tired of waiting."

"Yeah, sounds like him."

"Anyway, I'm glad I'm with you now and not with the Kid. You don't yell at me like he did."

As Mick Aloha finished speaking, he spotted a sign ahead that read Welcome to New Mexico.

"New Mexico, I goddam hate it," Mick Aloha said.

Bugaboo said, "You hate every place. Why do you hate New Mexico?"

"See, most places I hate because of my whimsical nature. But, I have a good reason to hate New Mexico. It's the home of Albuquerque, which is the home of one of my arch enemies, The Smoothie King."

"Why do you have arch enemies?" Bugaboo asked.

"Because, I'm a superhero and you can't be a superhero without archenemies. One of my archenemies is Apocalypse Dowell, an unworthy adversary, and another is the Smoothie King. I have other archenemies throughout these United States, and even a couple in other countries. Australia. I have an archenemy there. Goddam boomerangs hurt if you catch 'em in the jaw."

"Who's the Smoothie King?" Bugaboo asked. Priscilla had lost interest; she found the roadside billboards more entertaining than Mick Aloha's story.

Mick Aloha replied, "Oh, he's this big, tall sonovabitch. Really tall. All of my goddam archenemies are tall. Anyway, you know smoothies, right?"

"The fruit drinks?"

"Yeah, you know they throw in any fruit they can find and then mix it up, and then they charge you a lot for it. Goddam con is what it is. Anyway, this Smoothie King, he owns a smoothie shop and sells these worthless drinks."

Bugaboo said, "I've heard of the Smoothie King chain. Is that him?"

"Goddam, you have almost as much useless knowledge as I do. No, that's not him, and that's how he tricks people. He's not associated in any way with the Smoothie King franchise, so his shop is actually called something simple like Smoothies or I Got Smoothies. But, when you walk in, he screams, "I am your highness, the Smoothie King!" Then, he breaks out the fruit and rips everyone off. A pretty bad deal if you ask me. I can't believe anyone in their right mind would drink a smoothie. I hate all smoothie drinkers, because that's just one step from being a vegetarian."

"I drink smoothies," Bugaboo said.

"I don't hate you."

"I didn't think you did. So, is this Smoothie King someone we need to worry about?"

"No, I can kick his fruit slurping ass," Mick Aloha said.

"What I mean is, will we see him? I mean Albuquerque is a big city. Maybe we can pass through without him knowing."

"He'll know. He always knows when I'm around, so I expect we'll see him before we see Arizona. But, don't worry; he's harmless. He lives on goddam smoothies. I live on beef."

Hoping the conversation was over, Bugaboo turned up the Elvis CD. Priscilla was asleep, and Bugaboo hoped Mick Aloha would soon fall asleep, too.

"Is this goddam Elvis?" Mick Aloha called out from the back seat.

Bugaboo said, "You're goddam right it's Elvis. Do you have a problem with Elvis?"

"I don't think I have a problem with him. I like him for what he is."

"And what is he?"

"He's a showman. He's flashy and can sing pretty well. I like the fat Elvis. Burnin' Love and all that. That stuff's not too bad. But, I just can't respect singers who don't write their own songs."

"You don't have to write songs to be a good singer. Back then, it was normal for singers and songwriters to be separate. The goddam Beatles fucked that all up."

Mick Aloha said, "I don't much care for the Beatles, either, but at least they wrote their own songs. They weren't very flashy, though, and myself, I prefer the flash when it comes to performers like that. Might as well have some bright lights and jumpsuits and whatnot. Is Elvis your favorite?"

Bugaboo didn't answer, telling Mick Aloha it was time to be quiet. He leaned his head back against the headrest, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

With Priscilla and Mick Aloha asleep, Bugaboo finally had some time alone with Elvis. She sang along with the '68 Comeback Tour CD, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake anyone.

They reached the first of the 22 Albuquerque exits just after ten o' clock. Bugaboo was tired of driving, and she knew neither Priscilla nor Mick Aloha would want to drive.

"Time to wake up," she said. They didn't wake up.

"Hey, get up!"

Mick Aloha asked, "Where the hell are we?"

"Albuquerque. I don't want to drive anymore."

"I'll drive."

Bugaboo said, "No, I want to stop." She reached over and shook Priscilla, who finally woke after several shakes.

"What? I don't wanna wake up."

"We need to stop," Bugaboo said. "You guys care which motel I stop at?"

Mick Aloha said, "Myself, I prefer the cable TV. I like the Cartoon Network and sometimes I take a look at the pay cable channels, like HBO or Skinimax. But, I prefer the local motels, not the big chains. Oh, and the funnier the name, the better."

Bugaboo looked at Priscilla, who said, "I don't care, as long as it isn't dirty."

Bugaboo took the next exit, following the directions from a billboard, which led to The All-But-Quirky Motel.

The All-But-Quirky's parking lot was half full when Bugaboo pulled the van onto the small carport beside the main office. They stepped out and went inside.

They passed through the lobby, which had two sofas and a small wooden chair facing a tiny television. An old woman sat alone behind the main counter against the far wall, reading a book as they approached.

Mick Aloha walked to the front desk and said, "We'd like one room, please."

"The damn we would," Bugaboo said.

Mick Aloha smiled and said, "Oh, yes. What was I thinking? Of course, we'd like two rooms, preferably with a connecting door."

Bugaboo leaned across the counter and said, "Look, we need two rooms, and the farther away they are from each other, the better."

The woman smiled, punched a few keys on her dusty computer, and asked them for ID.

"I don't carry ID," Mick Aloha replied. "Never did me any good."

"Here," Bugaboo said, taking her driver's license from her small black purse. Priscilla stood behind them, trying not to get involved.

"Two rooms, that'll be eighty-four dollars and seventy-two cents. Will this be cash or charge?"

"Cash," Mick Aloha said, pulling a roll of money from his pocket. He peeled a hundred dollar bill off the top of the roll and handed it to the woman.

"Here," he said, "keep the change, madam."

The woman said, "I can't do that. Fifteen dollars and twenty-eight cents is your change."

She then took the change out of the register and handed it to Mick Aloha, along with two keys. Each key had a flat, orange keychain attached with a number written by a thick black marker. One of the keychains read 315 and the other read 121.

Bugaboo reached into his hand and took 121.

"We'll stay on the first floor. You can have the third," she said.

"Doesn't matter to me," Mick Aloha said. "Being on the third floor gets me closer to the roof, which will give me more escape routes."

They got back in the van and parked in front of room 121. The girls told Mick Aloha they were going to bed and said they would call him in the morning when it was time to leave.

Mick Aloha climbed the stairs to the third floor and found his room. He stepped inside and saw that it looked like every other motel room he had ever stayed in. It wasn't hot outside, but Mick Aloha liked his motel rooms freezing, so he turned on the air-conditioner. It reminded him of summer vacations with his family.

On the TV, he found an all cartoon network that he liked, and sat on one of the two twin beds. Mick Aloha considered taking his shoes off and going to bed, but decided he needed to go out for supplies before he got too comfortable.

Mick Aloha walked up the main road back toward the interstate, where he had seen a liquor store on the way in. The Albuquerque air was thin and dry, making it difficult for him to walk fast. He pushed through, remembering his high school track days, and made it to the liquor store.

Mick Aloha bought a fifth of gin, a bottle of sour mix, and a bag of potato chips. He went back to his motel room, made a gin sour in one of the plastic cups he found by the sink, and ordered a pizza.

He got drunk as he watched cartoons and waited for the pizza to arrive. By the time the knock came on the door, Mick Aloha could barely walk. He staggered to the door, gave the guy a ten dollar tip, and took the pizza.

Mick Aloha ate the entire meat pizza in less than twenty minutes. He then downed his fourth gin sour and tried to think of a plan.

He knew the girls were going to try to leave him. They would use him for the free motel room and then leave him in the morning with no ride. Mick Aloha didn't like that. He stepped out the door and went down the steps to the first floor.

When he passed the girls' room, he saw that the light was on and he heard the TV. He wondered if he should wait until he knew they were asleep, but realized he would probably pass out before they fell asleep.

The girls hadn't locked the van's doors; Mick Aloha reached inside and popped the hood. While inside the van, he also reached into the back seat and took a roll of fishing twine that he had spotted in the floor earlier. Mick Aloha then raised the hood and removed the van's eight spark plugs. He closed the hood with a loud bang and ran upstairs.

Back in his room, he stashed the spark plugs in his backpack and drank more gin sours. After a half hour, when he was sure the girls' suspicions about the slamming hood would have passed, Mick Aloha crept out of his room again. He tiptoed down the steps and up to the girls' room. The lights were off, but the TV was still on. He tied one end of the fishing twine to the door handle and threw the roll of fishing line over the railing of the third floor. Mick Aloha then ran upstairs, picked up the twine, and took it into his room, running it under the door so it would have some play. He then cut the twine and tied the loose end to the big toe on his right foot.

As Mick Aloha thought about an idea he could use for his theme song, he fell asleep.

That night, Mick Aloha dreamed he was in an old, abandoned house at night. The flashlight he used to navigate through the house revealed tiny blue monsters, about the same size of rats. They chased him through the house, lashing at him with their claws. He then ran into a back bedroom with no exits. He stood in the corner waiting for the blue monsters to kill him.

They approached, and when the leader singled himself out of the crowd, Mick Aloha said, "What do you want, you blue bastard?"

The blue leader replied, "We want your toes, you son of a bitch."

Hundreds of the little monsters then jumped on Mick Aloha's feet, removed his shoes, and started pulling at his toes.

Mick Aloha awoke in darkness. Something was pulling at his toe.

He started slapping at his foot, trying to take out some of the blue guys before they got his toes. As he slapped, he felt the fishing twine tied to his toe and realized the girls were trying to get away.

Mick Aloha cut the twine, put on his socks and shoes, picked up his backpack, and then ran outside. He hadn't checked the time, but it had to be before six o'clock. The air was cold; running down the steps, Mick Aloha wished he had brought some thicker clothes on his adventure.

He found the girls sitting in the van. Bugaboo sat in the driver's seat, turning the ignition. It wouldn't start. Mick Aloha smiled, waved at the girls, and walked up to the driver's side window.

"Hello, liars," Mick Aloha said, "looks like you're having a little trouble. That's what happens when you try to out fox Mick Aloha. Hmm, I like the sound of that. That's what happens. That could be the name of my new theme song."

"We weren't trying to leave you," Bugaboo said. "We wanted to get some coffee, and the breakfast here doesn't start till six-thirty. There's a coffee shop just up the street."

Mick Aloha said, "You can't trick me. I know you were going to leave me."

Priscilla leaned across Bugaboo and said, "Mick, why would we leave you? We're two girls traveling the country alone. We need us a big man to protect us, don't we? Why would we give that up, especially after you were nice enough to pay for our hotel room?"

"That's true. You do need a man around," Mick Aloha said.

"Yeah, and now that the van won't start, we sure could use a man to take a look at it," Bugaboo said.

Mick Aloha laughed and said, "This is when you learn you can't out fox Mick Aloha. The engine trouble is my doing, easily solved with a quick flick of my strong wrist. If you'll pop the hood, I'll get this van going before you know it."

Bugaboo popped the hood, allowing Mick Aloha to get under the hood to replace the spark plugs. He screwed them back in place, slammed the hood down, and stepped into the back of the van through the sliding door.

"It's ready," he said.

Bugaboo turned the key and nothing happened.

"Goddam it, I thought you said it was ready," Bugaboo said.

"Hmm, that's odd," Mick Aloha said, "I've done that many times, and never with any negative consequences. Maybe I'm not privy to some other ailment which has afflicted this vehicle."

Bugaboo said, "Fix it."

Mick Aloha stepped out of the van and began working under the hood. Occasionally, he asked Bugaboo to turn the key, but it didn't work. Priscilla fell asleep.

Two hours later, Mick Aloha's jeans and t-shirt were both covered with oil and grease. Streaks of oil ran across his face, causing Bugaboo to laugh the final time he emerged from beneath the hood.

"Turn it," he said.

Nothing.

"Goddam it, Aloha. I thought you said you were a mechanic," Bugaboo said as she leaned out the window.

An elderly couple on the way to the free continental breakfast looked over at Bugaboo, shaking their heads.

Bugaboo said, "What the fuck are you looking at?" The couple continued on to the front office.

Mick Aloha stood beside Bugaboo's door, running his dirty hands through his hair. She glared at him and considered killing him.

Mick Aloha said, "Hell if I know what's wrong with it. Maybe the starter's out. Goddam starters go out all the time."

"You fucked it up," Bugaboo said.

"I didn't mean to," Mick Aloha said. "Anyway, you were going to leave my ass here. I couldn't have that."

"We were going for coffee."

"Where's your room key? If you were coming back to the goddam room, you'd have a goddam room key."

Bugaboo shook her head.

"See," Mick Aloha said, "you already turned your key in because you weren't coming back. Isn't that right?"

"You broke the fucking van," she said.

"Does it have gas?" he asked.

"Of course it does," Bugaboo said, trying to remember the last time they had stopped for gas. She couldn't remember. Bugaboo looked at the gas gauge, which read empty.

"Turn the key forward a little, so the panel lights up," Mick Aloha said. "Good. Now, what's the gauge doing?"

Bugaboo replied, "Nothing. It's not moving."

"It's out of goddam gas. See, it wasn't my fault at all," Mick Aloha said.

"Goddam it," Bugaboo said. She stepped out of the van and walked to the back, with Mick Aloha close behind. Bugaboo opened the back door and started digging through the spare equipment Buckshot Vocabulary had left, looking for a gas can.

Mick Aloha asked, "What the hell are you doing with all of this stuff, anyway? You girls have a band?"

Bugaboo looked back and said, "Yes, we do."

"What kind of music is it?" he asked.

"Elvis," Bugaboo replied.

"Elvis music?"

"Yep."

Mick Aloha said, "I don't get it. Does your band do Elvis covers?"

"No, we don't do goddam covers. We're Elvis' backup band."

Mick Aloha said, "Well, fair enough. I used to be in a band. We were called Mickey's Acoustic Dream. We had some songs about real life. Our most famous one was called Fat Wease. You ever heard it?"

"No, never did," Bugaboo replied. "Look, Aloha, I don't think there's a gas can back here. We'll just have to buy one at the station."

"No problem," Mick Aloha said. "I have disposable income."

Priscilla joined them and they walked to the nearest gas station.

Thirty minutes later they were back on the interstate.

Chapter 21

Thursday 7:24am (C.S.T.)

The morning sunlight woke Jimmy Riggs as he hung on the cross in Arkansas. He pulled at the restraints on his arms, desperate to scratch his legs. After a few seconds of struggling, he gave up, took a sip of water, and waited.

Mother and Joseph arrived thirty minutes later. Joseph pushed a wheelbarrow full of supplies in front of the cross as Mother put the stepladder in place.

They both said, "Good morning."

"Good morning," Jimmy replied.

Mother looked up at him. "How you doing?"

Jimmy said, "Not too good. I'm itchin' like crazy, especially on my legs."

Mother smiled. "I think we can do something about that." She then stepped up on the ladder and took off Jimmy's pants, after removing the electrodes from his feet. Mother took off his diaper and repeated the process from the night before, washing his legs with soapy water and then rinsing them with clean water before applying lotion.

Jimmy felt much better.

He looked down at Mother. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Jimmy," she replied. Mother then reached into her knapsack and removed a pair of white tights.

Jimmy couldn't take his eyes from the tights. "What're those for?"

"Well, you said you was itchin' from the straw. This'll keep that ol' straw away from your skin."

Jimmy shook his head. "Don't those things itch, too?"

"A little bit at first, but not nearly as bad as straw. And, you'll get used to it."

She put a fresh diaper on him and gave him time to exercise his legs. When he had finished, Mother then rolled the tights up his legs and over his diaper.

"See there, that ain't so bad," she said, running her hand up Jimmy's left leg, stopping at his thigh. Mother then stepped off the ladder and stood beside Joseph, who had been looking through the contents of the wheelbarrow the whole time.

Mother looked up at Jimmy. "I think they quite favor him."

Joseph looked up and said, "Yeah, I reckon he takes right to 'em. Well, we better get his pants on him."

Mother put Jimmy's pants back on and stuffed them full of straw. She then gave him a chance to exercise both arms. Finally, she fed him ham and eggs with a slice of buttered toast before leaving.

After they had left, Jimmy tried to relax and let his breakfast digest. His legs felt much better without the straw against his bare skin; the tights didn't itch at all. Jimmy liked the way they felt. He tried to think of them as Shakespeare clothes, not girl clothes.

He shook his head and said, "I'm gay. Have to be if I like this."

Jimmy watched the interstate traffic for hours, wondering if anyone ever looked over and noticed the scarecrow out in the field. As noon approached, he saw some crows land in the field to his right and begin to peck at the tobacco. Jimmy called and scared them away.

Mother and Joseph returned at lunchtime and again at dinnertime, each time repeating the same routine. Jimmy watched them carefully, trying to find any flaw in their routine that would give him a chance to escape. So far, he saw none.

After the sun went down, Jimmy watched the black field and the lights from the interstate traffic. The night wind was cool, and Jimmy was happy that Mother had draped a blanket over him before leaving him for the night. When Jimmy felt himself falling asleep, he looked up at the interstate and saw the headlights of a car parked in the emergency lane.

The car had stopped in the same spot that Jimmy's car had caught fire. Jimmy considered yelling, but knew they wouldn't hear him over the traffic. He watched as two figures moved in front of the headlights, wishing he could see what they were doing. One of the figures then stood in front of the car for a few seconds and then started walking through the field toward Jimmy.

"Goddam it, goddam it," Jimmy said. "It's a goddam robot. Goddam it, what can I do? What can I do? Joseph will never get here in time."

Jimmy then tried to bury his face under the blanket, which was attached to his flannel shirt with metal clips, hoping to hide any parts of his body the robot could spot with its infrared. It didn't matter; the robot knew where he was.

Jimmy heard the robot's steps approaching and looked up from beneath the blanket.

The robot walked up to the small clearing in front of Jimmy, scanned him quickly, and stopped ten feet in front of Jimmy's cross.

"What the hell do you want?" Jimmy asked. "If you want to kill me, just do it you fuckin' piece of shit robot."

Jimmy heard some soft clicks and static coming from the robot; the robot was communicating with someone.

"Who you talkin' to, you piece of metal, um, you piece of shit metal robot? Who you talkin' to? Your momma?"

Jimmy then heard a low hiss, like the sound before a public announcement.

A voice from a speaker on the robot said, "Calm down, Jimmy, you're not going to be hurt. I need you now as much as you need me, it looks like. What the hell happened to you? Well, anyway, this robot's going to free you and bring you back to the car. If you resist, it'll kill you."

The robot removed Jimmy's restraints, freed him from the cross, and threw Jimmy over its shoulder. The robot then began walking back to the interstate as Jimmy held on, trying his best not to resist.

When they reached the interstate, Jimmy saw Jake Bastion standing beside a black Cadillac, wearing a gray Italian suit with a light blue tie.

The robot put Jimmy down, allowing him to stand on his own in the emergency lane.

Jake Bastion smiled and said, "Where's the fuckin' Tin Man?"

Jimmy, sure he was going to die regardless of his actions, replied, "I don't know. Let's call your momma and find out."

Jake's face reddened, but he didn't attack. He didn't have to; he had a robot. When he wanted Jimmy dead, he would just say the word and it would be done. He didn't have to ruin his new suit over a washed up thug.

"Look, Riggs, I need to know what happened here. The first robot stopped transmitting and we lost touch with you boys."

Jimmy, finding it hard to stand after remaining motionless for two days, knelt to the ground and then sat down on the asphalt.

Jimmy said, "Sorry, I'm not in much shape to stand right now. Before I tell you everything that happened, I want some answers."

Bastion shrugged and said, "Go ahead."

"Well, first, why'd you have that first robot try to kill me and Stall?"

"I did no such thing," Bastion replied.

"Bullshit," Jimmy said. "You know, we had that guy you're after. That Mick Aloha fella. We had him. We was right up next to the truck. But, that sombitch robot passed him right up and came after us. He was tryin' to kill us, Mr. Bastion, not Mick Aloha."

"Hold on a second," Bastion interrupted, "why did you and Puckett pass Mick Aloha's truck?"

"I was testin' my theory like a goddam scientist, and it proved to be true."

Bastion shook his head. "You're an idiot. That robot was programmed to kill Mick Aloha, not you two. If I wanted you dead, I'd have you killed. That's no problem."

"Then, why'd that sombitch run past its target and chase us? Huh? It even dug through the wreckage and looked for us. Then, that sombitch came after me out in the field."

"Jimmy, you're a goddam idiot. Why do you think the robot passed the truck? Why would it do that?"

"Cause it was after us."

"No, it wasn't after you. It had two duties. One was to kill Mick Aloha. The other was to take care of you boys. Now, if it took off after you, it was apparently trying to help you. So, it must have known Mick Aloha wasn't on that truck."

"How'n the hell could it have known that?"

"It's a goddam robot, Jimmy. It has more senses than you do. It can see in infrared, it has super hearing, and lots of stuff I don't understand myself. That close, it must have picked up on the life patterns in the truck and realized Mick Aloha wasn't there. Then, it knew it had to protect you and Puckett, so that's why it chased after you."

Jimmy shook his head and said, "Ain't no way. That sombitch came out to the field and tried to kill me. It was standing over me, menacingly."

"Menacingly? Goddam, Jimmy, somebody been reading the dictionary to you? What the hell happened to the robot?"

"Goddam farmer over there knocked its head off," Jimmy replied.

"While it stood over you...menacingly?"

"That's right."

"That still doesn't tell me why you're dressed like a goddam scarecrow."

Jimmy said, "Sombitch farmer and his wife drugged me. When I woke up, they had me tied to that cross dressed like this. They told me to scare the birds away. They came out three times a day and fed me."

"How'd you use the bathroom?" Bastion asked, smiling.

Jimmy lowered his head and said, "Goddam adult diaper."

"You wearin' one right now?" Bastion asked.

"Yeah."

"Let me see."

"Hell no." Jimmy didn't want him to see the diaper or the tights he was still wearing.

"Yeah, I guess I don't really want to see, anyway. Well, get that goddam straw cleared out so you won't get it all over my interior."

"Where are we going?"

"Instead of chasing Mick Aloha across the continent, we're going to meet him at his destination: San Francisco."

"How'd you find that out?"

"I bribed a waitress at a restaurant back near the border. She told me everything she'd heard from him. Sombitch sure does talk a lot."

Jimmy cleaned most of the straw out of his pants and then sat in the passenger seat of the Cadillac. The robot got in the back. Jake Bastion drove.

As they merged into the interstate traffic, Jake Bastion looked over at Jimmy and asked, "You ever been to San Francisco before?"

"No, I never have," Jimmy said.

"Well, get ready, son. They got some wild ducks out there. They all got their hair dyed or something pierced. Hell, a lot of the men out there dress up like women. Can you believe that?"

"No, I cant," Jimmy said.

Chapter 22

Thursday 4:17pm (M.S.T.)

Apocalypse Dowell saw a clear blue sky through the truck's passenger side window when he awoke. He looked over to see Stall Puckett sleeping; Apocalypse Dowell was beginning to worry that Stall had a sleeping disorder.

The Witch Doctor looked down from his seat. "Look who's up. We're almost to Albuquerque, son. I gotta get this truck unloaded, and then loaded up again this evening. So, I reckon we'll stay right here in this Albuquerque town tonight. You ever had a smoothie?"

"Yeah." Apocalypse Dowell yawned. "I'm a vegetarian, remember? We all drink smoothies."

"Well, I never cared for them that much, but there's this feller down here in this Albuquerque town who can make 'em up right nice. Healthy, too."

"The Smoothie King?"

The Witch Doctor slapped his thigh with his right hand. "Mercy sakes, son, that's right. You know his Highness?"

"Yeah, I've met him a few times. He does make a mean smoothie."

The Witch Doctor shook his head. "Sounds like you ain't a loyal subject. You got something against the King?"

"Is he related to you or your best friend? Anything like that?"

"No, son, I just like his smoothies."

"Good. Yeah, I think he's an ass. I've met him a couple times, and he thinks we should be best friends because I'm a vegetarian."

The Witch Doctor nodded. "Mercy sakes, sounds like a good combination to me, too."

"But, he's such an arrogant bastard. And, even though I like his smoothies, they're not the best I've had."

"Really?" The Witch Doctor looked hurt.

"No, I mean, I know they're healthier than most smoothies because he doesn't use any frozen yogurt or ice cream. He just uses frozen fruit. But, I like the frozen yogurt taste. His smoothies are too fruity."

"You're fruity if you don't like his smoothies." The Witch Doctor laughed to himself.

"Well, I guess his one redeeming quality is his hatred of Mick Aloha."

"Who's that?" the Witch Doctor asked.

"The guy who was riding with us. The guy we left at the rest area. Don't you remember him?"

"Oh yeah, the scrappy fella. The wrestler."

"Yeah, anyway, he and the Smoothie King hate each other. Their philosophies just don't mesh."

"What are their philosophies, son?"

"Well, the Smoothie King's philosophy is that people should drink smoothies and be more natural, kind of like a hippy. Mick Aloha's philosophy is humans are at the top of the food chain and everything else is fucked."

"Mercy sakes, son, I can see both sides. I can see both sides. Pardon me, son." The Witch Doctor picked up the CB and asked for a traffic report from the eastbounders. When he was satisfied with the traffic information, he replaced the CB on its mount.

Thirty minutes later they exited the interstate at the fifth Albuquerque exit. The Witch Doctor easily weaved the truck through the Thursday afternoon traffic, taking the turns as if he knew the way well.

Apocalypse Dowell sat up on his knees to look at the city. He had only been to Albuquerque once before, when he was on a family vacation the summer before he began high school. Apocalypse Dowell's family had passed through the place quickly, leaving him with few memories of Albuquerque, but he hadn't forgotten the dry air. He already felt light headed. The adobe-style houses were cute, but Albuquerque was so spread out he thought it looked too much like an adobe Los Angeles, complete with strip malls and liquor stores.

They drove for twenty minutes, finally reaching a nearly deserted area, which held the truck depot. The Witch Doctor pulled through the front gate as Apocalypse Dowell tried to wake Stall Puckett. The truck stopped and the Witch Doctor stepped out, leaving the engine running. Stall Puckett finally awoke and followed Apocalypse Dowell out of the truck.

The place looked more like a junkyard than a truck depot. Junk cars and trucks lined the outer fence; sporadic vegetation tried to push through the rusting metal and desert floor. A lone metal building, large enough to house a 747, sat in the middle of the place. Several automatic pallet jacks and forklifts lined the building, which had no windows. Apocalypse Dowell saw no people.

The three men stood in front of the truck under the failing sun, waiting for someone to greet them.

"This the right place?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Right place? Mercy sakes, son. What do you think? Of course it's the right place. They're a little shy about new people, so it might take 'em a while to come on out, kind of like them Munchkins."

Stall Puckett, speaking for the first time since hed woken up, said, "Where the hell are we?"

"Mercy sakes, sleep master, we're in that Albuquerque town. I gotta unload and load up here."

One of the randomly placed doors on the building opened and two men, wearing outfits that made them look like gas station workers, walked out. The two men stopped just outside the door, talked to each other, and then the taller of the two approached the truck while the other remained behind.

Halfway to the truck, the tall man stopped and called out, "Witch Doctor!"

"What?" the Witch Doctor replied.

"Why aren't you alone?" the man asked.

"Mercy sakes, son," the Witch Doctor said, "these are my friends."

The tall man looked back at his partner by the door, turned back around, and continued toward the truck.

He walked up to the three men, staring directly at the Witch Doctor the whole time, and said, "Witch Doctor, you should have told us you had company. We could have set some extra places at the table."

"Mercy sakes, son, there wasn't no point in it. How long you boys gonna be with the Purple Diesel Eater?"

The man spit some chewing tobacco on the ground. "Shouldn't be more than three or four hours. You can take the sedan over there if you want to go to town."

Apocalypse Dowell eyed the man; he had grease all over his face and his exposed arms. The man was ugly, possibly the ugliest man Apocalypse Dowell had ever seen. He looked like he had taken steps to ugly himself up, wearing his hair in a mullet and growing a long, dirty mustache with no other facial hair.

The tall man spotted Apocalypse Dowell staring and asked, "You see somethin' you like, jackass?"

Apocalypse Dowell, unable to think of an appropriate answer to the question, said nothing.

The man then looked back at the Witch Doctor and asked, "You want the car?"

"I reckon we might take it into town and get us some smoothies. You want one?"

"Hell no," the man said, "I hate that queer ass shit."

"Fair enough," the Witch Doctor said. Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett followed the Witch Doctor to the small car.

The Witch Doctor drove with Apocalypse Dowell in the passenger seat and Stall Puckett in the back. It felt strange for Apocalypse Dowell to be in a car again after spending the last several days in a truck. The car felt too low.

As the Witch Doctor punched the gas to take them out of the depot, he looked over at Apocalypse Dowell and said, "Mercy sakes, son, this little sedan's got some zip in it, don't it. Doesn't feel right being so close to the ground, does it?"

"No, it feels weird."

"Sure does, son, it sure does. It feels weird. We can't look down on nobody now, can we?"

"No, we can't."

The Witch Doctor looked in the rear view mirror and said, "You ever met the Smoothie King?"

Stall Puckett replied, "No, who's that?"

"Well, to answer that, I gotta know if you know what a smoothie is. You know what a smoothie is, Puckett?"

"Is that like when you got the shits?" Stall Puckett asked.

The Witch Doctor took a sharp turn on one of the back roads and then replied, "Mercy sakes, son, it doesn't have anything to do with that. It's a drink. It has lots of fruit in it. Really healthy for you and tasty to boot."

"No, I never had anything like that," Stall Puckett replied.

"Well, son, get ready to be enlightened."

The Witch Doctor merged back onto I-40 and then headed east toward Exit A21B. They took the exit ten minutes later, moving past the strip malls and adobe buildings until they came to an area that might have been downtown. It looked like the downtown area of a small Eastern Tennessee town, with quaint, overpriced shops and sidewalks lined with trees and American flags. The Witch Doctor parallel parked on the busy street and they started walking up the sidewalk to find the Smoothie King.

The Smoothie King's shop sat on the first floor of a five-floor office building. He had been sued several times over the name of his shop, so when The Witch Doctor, Apocalypse Dowell, and Stall Puckett approached the shop the sign they saw simply read, "Smoothies."

They entered the shop, which reminded Apocalypse Dowell of an ice cream shop. The white tile floor shined, giving the place a sense of sterility. Five small tables with chairs, which were bolted to the floor, lined the wall to their right; it was covered with photographs of famous people drinking the Smoothie King's smoothies.

The Smoothie King stood behind the green-topped counter; an assortment of mixers and fruits covered the metal tables behind him. There were no other customers, so the Smoothie King focused his attention on the three men.

"Gentlemen, you're in the presence of greatness, for I am his highness, the Smoothie King." The Smoothie King stared at the men, but seemed to look through them.

"Hello, Smoothie King," the Witch Doctor said, "remember me?"

The Smoothie King continued as if he hadn't heard the Witch Doctor, "I make the finest smoothies in the kingdom, and they're the healthiest, too. Why? Because, I make them with one hundred percent fruit. No yogurt. No ice cream. None of that junk to make the smoothies unhealthy. For, I am the Smoothie King!"

The Smoothie King looked much older than Apocalypse Dowell had remembered. His gray, bristly hair curled around the edges of his pink baseball cap. He had thick military glasses and a bright white apron, which covered most of his clothing.

"Hey," the Witch Doctor said, "you remember me? The Witch Doctor."

The Smoothie King continued, "I have mastered the smoothie, a formidable, unforgiving beast. The smoothie thought it could take me, but it couldn't. Now, I reign over all smoothies with a steady hand of understanding. The smoothie is a dish best served cold."

"Mercy sakes, son, you gone bonkers. You remember me, Smoothie King? I'm the Witch Doctor. I been here at least ten times in the last five years. Remember me?"

The Smoothie King broke from his spell. He shook his head slightly and stared at the visitors, as wheels of recognition started to turn in his head.

"Just a moment," he said. The Smoothie King then ran through a back door and returned pushing a black leather office chair with gold foil taped to the arms. He placed the chair behind the counter, reached into one of the upper cabinets, and removed a paper mache crown. The Smoothie King then placed the crown on his head and sat on his throne.

He looked at the three men, smiled, and asked, "Who seeks audience with his highness, the Smoothie King."

"Let's go," Apocalypse Dowell said. Stall Puckett stood dazed, unsure if he should punch the Smoothie King or bow.

"Not till I get my smoothie," the Witch Doctor said. "I seek an audience with his highness. My name is the Witch Doctor, and I've been a loyal subject for the last five years."

"I am the Smoothie King!" The Smoothie King pointed at himself. "State your business with the king."

The Witch Doctor replied, "I'd like a Strawberry Slide, what do you boys want?"

"I'd like the Pina Coolada," Apocalypse Dowell said.

Stall Puckett said, "I reckon I'll have the Go Bananas."

The Smoothie King said, "His highness has heard your requests, and in his benevolence, he has decided to make your smoothies and lift your hearts with their fruity goodness. Let it never be said that the Smoothie King isn't good to his subjects."

The three men stood and watched as the Smoothie King made their smoothies. Two young girls came into the place and waited completely ignored for several minutes before leaving. The Smoothie King didn't multi-task; when he made smoothies, he only made smoothies.

Ten minutes later the Smoothie King handed his subjects their smoothies.

"Prepare for heaven," he said. He handed them their smoothies, took their money, and gave them their change.

Apocalypse Dowell thought his smoothie was mediocre at best.

Stall Puckett took a drink and said, "You know, this ain't too bad for being all fruit. But, it sure could use some ice cream, or at least some of that frozen yogurt."

The Smoothie King, who had been standing behind the counter watching his customers drink their smoothies with a smile on his face, frowned and jumped over the counter.

Stall flinched and dropped his smoothie, spilling it on the white tile. The Smoothie King stopped in front of Stall, looking down at the fallen smoothie as if he'd lost his own child. He looked up at Stall Puckett and punched him in the chin.

As Stall Puckett laughed, the Smoothie King punched him in the face again. The Smoothie King had once been able to knock most men out with his first punch; however, years of eating nothing and drinking only smoothies had weakened his punches to uselessness.

Despite his weak punches, the Smoothie King could still swing a baseball bat. He jumped back behind the counter, bent down, and came up with a Louisville Slugger. Apocalypse Dowell and the Witch Doctor moved to the door.

The Smoothie King stood on the counter and said, "His highness convicts you of high treason for speaking against his smoothies." He then jumped off the counter with the bat above his head and brought the Louisville Slugger down on Stall Puckett's right shoulder. Stall's hands went up to his shoulder, leaving his stomach exposed. The Smoothie King took another swing.

Stall doubled over, holding his stomach with his left hand and trying to cover his head with his right arm. The Witch Doctor stood dazed; he couldn't believe the Smoothie King's violence. Apocalypse Dowell crept behind the Smoothie King.

When his Highness put the Louisville Slugger over his head to take another swing, Apocalypse Dowell grabbed the bat, removed it from the Smoothie King's grip, and threw it into a far corner of the shop.

Stall Puckett hit the ground and crawled under one of the four top tables. The Smoothie King looked at his hands and then at Stall Puckett, apparently wondering if Stall had telekinetic powers. He then turned to see Apocalypse Dowell behind him.

The Smoothie King said, "Apocalypse Dowell, where did you come from?"

"I've been here, jackass," Apocalypse Dowell replied. "I got a Pina Coolada. It sucked."

"But, you're a vegetarian."

"Just because I'm a vegetarian doesn't mean everything without meat tastes good to me."

"Well, what the hell are you doing with these omnivores?" the Smoothie King asked. "I thought we were a team."

"We were never a team. Just because we don't eat meat doesn't mean we have anything else in common."

"Oh, but we do have something in common," the Smoothie King said. "We have a common enemy: Mick Aloha."

"Yeah, so what?"

"I happen to know that Mick Aloha is heading this way right now, and I plan to surprise him, if you know what I mean."

The Witch Doctor sat down at one of the tables; he could tell by all of the talk that there wasn't going to be another fight unless Stall Puckett did something stupid.

Apocalypse Dowell and the Smoothie King stood facing each other, circling slightly in the middle of the shop. They had never fought each other; their previous arguments had all been verbal and mostly about their compatibility as superhero partners.

"Mick Aloha and I aren't really enemies anymore," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Well, hang around tonight and you'll get to see me destroy your new best friend, then."

"How do you even know he's coming?"

The Smoothie King motioned to one of the four-tops in the back corner. Apocalypse Dowell nodded and they sat down. Stall Puckett crawled from beneath the four-top at the other end of the shop and sat by the Witch Doctor, who was enjoying his smoothie.

The Smoothie King turned to the Witch Doctor and asked, "You like that?"

"Sure do, your highness," the Witch Doctor replied.

"Good."

The Smoothie King then looked back to Apocalypse Dowell. "You remember that fight me and Mick Aloha had in Louisville, what was it, five years ago? Remember that?"

"Of course I remember," Apocalypse Dowell replied, "I was there."

"That's right. Well, since that day, I've had some kind of connection with that guy. Something happened to us, and I can tell when he's close. He's coming. Did you know he was coming?"

"Yeah, I was traveling with him," Apocalypse Dowell replied.

The Smoothie King shook his head and said, "I'm going to kill him. I can feel it."

"Good luck." Apocalypse Dowell stood and walked to the door. Stall Puckett and the Witch Doctor stood and followed him.

"We'll meet again, Apocalypse Dowell," the Smoothie King called out the front door. From inside the sedan Apocalypse Dowell gave the Smoothie King the finger.

When they were back on the interstate, Stall Puckett leaned forward between the seats and said, "That ol' boy was crazy. What's wrong with him?"

"You just answered your own question, Stall. He's crazy," Apocalypse Dowell replied.

The Witch Doctor said, "Sounds to me like that ol' boy has it in for your wrestlin' buddy. Why's that?"

"They're just arch enemies. See, everyone has arch enemies, even nice old people who never bother anyone. It's just a matter of going out there and finding those arch enemies. See, they've met several times, and every time they've fought, it's ended in a draw. The Smoothie King's a tougher bastard than he looks like."

"Makes a good smoothie, too," the Witch Doctor said.

"Yeah, or at least he used to," Apocalypse Dowell said. They made their way under the star-filled sky back to the depot, where they picked up the truck and then found a motel away from the interstate, just to keep a safe distance from the approaching Mick Aloha.

Chapter 23

Thursday 9:12pm (M.S.T.)

The Kid cut through the late Thursday night traffic with no difficulty. He had almost forgotten about Mick Aloha, the guy he had left at a rest area 100 miles back.

"Spshhh," he said to himself, "he knew I was on a schedule. It's his fault, not mine. I was tired of listening to him anyway; I couldn't hear the tape player."

He liked driving, especially by himself. The Kid wondered why he ever let anyone else in his car; it was never as fun as driving alone. Passengers usually just had stupid ideas that they wanted to share and they always commented on his driving. He knew his driving was perfect; he didn't need anyone to tell him about it.

The Kid had passed Albuquerque without stopping. He hated Albuquerque. No place names should be that difficult to spell. After some thinking, he had decided a better name for Albuquerque was Albertville. He could also change Mississippi to Mrs. Lippy. Jackson, Mrs. Lippy.

The Kid stopped at a rest area near the Arizona border. Although he had left him hours earlier, the Kid looked around the parking lot to make sure he didn't see Mick Aloha. He saw only a handful of cars and no sign of the most annoying person he had ever met.

As he walked back to his car carrying snacks, he heard a voice from the far end of the parking lot.

"You have to be joking. Oooohhhhh. Ooooohhhh. You piece of shit. You know what I'm gonna do? I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm gonna push you off a cliff. How do you like that? Sound good? I hope so, because that's what's going to happen."

The Kid never liked to get involved with other people's affairs, but he had to help if he heard physical threats. He tossed his snacks into his open driver's side window and headed for the voice.

The Kid walked to the other side of the parking lot to find a small SUV with the hood up. From beneath the hood he heard a string of profanity. He walked around the vehicle to find a man standing in front of the SUV with his arms folded. The man wore denim shorts, a navy golf shirt, and a Nike baseball cap.

The Kid smiled when he saw the man. "Like, are you Tiger Woods?"

"No, I'm not goddam Tiger Woods," the man replied. "You think Tiger Woods would drive this piece of shit? Hell no. Tiger Woods would buy a new car; if it broke down, he'd buy a new one. You know what, I bet Tiger Woods doesn't even have a car. He probably has a hovercraft or a rocket pack, anyway. Flies his ass around to different golf courses while I'm pushing this piece of shit car around."

"Sspssshh, like relax. I'm pretty good with cars, so maybe I can give you a hand."

"I'd sure appreciate it," the man replied. "Sorry about freaking out there, I just don't have much luck with cars. My name's Rice."

"The Kid," the Kid said as he shook Rice's hand. "You know what Rice, this reminds me of a story. Me and Rick were down at Ocean Beach in S.F. See, you're not really supposed to rip there because, well, like people die."

"Who's Rick?"Rice asked.

The Kid looked at Rice as if he should know Rick. "Oh, he's just this guy I surf with. Anyway, we met this guy down at O.B. and he said the funniest goddam thing I've ever heard. God, what was it? It was so funny. I can't even remember his name. But, this guy, whatever his name is, his car broke down and he did something that was fuckin' funny. God, what was it?"

Rice put his hands on his hips. "Kid, you're about to get on my damn nerves. Now, you got some car skills?"

"Spssshhh, let me take a look at it," the Kid said. He moved under the hood and looked at the engine with Rice's flashlight.

"What's it doing?" the Kid asked.

"Well, it was shootin' out black smoke for the last couple hundred miles. Then, it started shaking like a mechanical bull and the smoke turned more of a gray color. The radio stopped working, too."

"The radio stopped working at the same time?" the Kid asked.

"Yeah, but I don't think it was related. See, I have this CD player my friend was going to throw away; it works, but you have to tap it sometimes to get it to work good. Well, it stopped working so I tapped it for about five hours and I couldn't get anything out of it."

"I see." The Kid stepped back from the car and rubbed his hands on his jeans. "Well, I don't think this thing's ever going to run again. I'm surprised it made it this far. Where'd you get it, anyway?"

"I bought it from this woman who advertised it in the paper." Rice ran his hands over the top of his head. "Now, what am I going to do? If I don't get to work the day after tomorrow, I'll lose my job."

"You work on Saturday?”

"Yeah, Saturday morning.”

"That sucks. Like, I've never worked on a Saturday. Actually, I haven't worked in the last couple of years, but when I did work, I didn't work on Saturdays. That's my day. What do you do, anyway?"

Rice said, "I make cheese."

"That fucking rules," the Kid said. "You make pepper jack?"

Rice said, "You know I make some pepper jack. See that cooler in the back? I have a block of pepper jack back there on ice."

"Ooohhhhh." The Kid raised his hands to his chest and wiggled his fingers. "Where are you going?"

"Turlock."

"Where's that?"

"Near Modesto, where they filmed American Graffiti," Rice replied.

The Kid said, "Well, I'm going to San Francisco. If you bring that pepper jack, I can drop you off in Modesto."

Rice nodded. "Thank you, thank you. But, what about my car?"

"Just let it go, man. Just let it go. That thing's never going to move by its own power again; and if it does, like, it won't go far. You'd better just forget about it."

Rice said, "Well, hell. I guess you're right. Let me get my stuff out of there."

"Like, I'll get the cooler."

Rice moved his two suitcases and 74 CDs to the Kid's car. He cleared out the glove compartment, where he found 12 more CDs, an electric razor, two spark plugs, and a box of fuses.

Rice then stood beside his car and said, "Goodbye, you no good piece of shit car." He then stepped into the Kid's black Volkswagen, where the extra line from the surfboard mount slapped him in the face.

"What the hell is this thing?" Rice asked as he tried to move the line out of his face.

The Kid pulled out of the parking space and said, "Like, that's the strap for my mount."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"My mount, man. For my surfboard."

"Aw, damn. You got a surfboard? You surf."

"Like, of course. You didn't see my surfboard on top of the car?"

Rice ignored the question and said, "Now, I understand why this strap runs through the car, but what I can't understand is why all the slack is right here in front of my face."

"Spsshhhh, like, it can't go in front of me, man. I have to drive."

"It could go in the damn middle."

"Spshhh, that would totally ruin my view through the rear view mirror, now, wouldn't it? Why don't you bust out some of that pepper jack?"

Rice reached into the backseat after he had tied up the strap's extra slack and moved it out of his way. Using the knife that he kept in the cooler, he cut off a chunk of the pepper jack and handed it to the Kid.

The Kid put the whole piece in his mouth and said, "Oohhh, that's some pepper jack, now. You made this?"

"Sure did," Rice replied. "At least, I was there when it was made. I work the vats."

"That's cool. See, that's the kind of job I would want it I ever worked again. Make me some cheese. That's all right. Cheese me up, sucka."

Rice cut out two pieces, handed one to the Kid, and took one himself.

"This rules," the Kid said. "Like, you have the best job ever."

"Are you crazy? You think working in a cheese factory's a good job? You're crazy. For one thing, there's no air conditioning down in the vat area. You know how hot it gets in Modesto in the summer? It gets so hot, people go out of their minds. Sometimes I look around, on one of those hot summer days, and I can't believe people are just going on with their lives just walking around going to work. It's too damn hot. And, everybody that works at a cheese factory is crazy. You sign up and you lose your mind, start sleeping with everybody and having babies with everybody. Don't ever work in a cheese factory, Kid. Promise me."

"Like, do you get free cheese?"

"No, but I get a discount."

"Oh, I need me a discount, now. I think I'll work there with you."

"The damn you will, Kid. It's not the life for you. What the hell's your deal, anyway? You're a surfer, but you're in the middle of the country, about as far away from the ocean as you can get."

"Like, I bought this sweet, sweet board in Nashville. A guy there, who used to live in San Diego, had taken it with him when he moved to Nashville. I stopped there on the way from Kentucky."

"Kentucky?" Rice said. "You from Kentucky?"

"Like, I sure am."

"Why are you going to San Francisco?"

"Psshhhh, I live there. Hey man, you need to be at work Saturday morning?"

"Yeah, Saturday at eight o'clock sharp. Why?"

"Like, I was just thinking we might have a little time for some sightseeing. You ever seen the Grand Canyon or Meteor Crater?"

"No, I sure haven't," Rice replied. "We have time for that?"

"Like, I drive fuckin' fast, man."

"Sounds good, then. I love seein' me some sights. Where we going to sleep tonight?"

"I was planning to sleep in the car. What do you think?"

"Sounds good. I don't like paying for motel rooms, anyway."

They drove on for three more hours and stopped at a rest area near Phoenix to sleep.

Chapter 24

Friday 8:45am (M.S.T.)

"What do you guys want to eat?" Bugaboo asked; she knew she would have to make the final decision, anyway.

"Burger," Mick Aloha replied from the back.

Priscilla said, "Smoothie, smoothie, smoothie!"

"Goddam smoothie? For breakfast? Smoothies aren't meals; they're snacks," Mick Aloha said.

Priscilla looked back at Mick Aloha. "They're healthy meals, but you wouldn't understand that."

Mick Aloha replied, "Goddam it! I'm healthy. The meat's good for me. We're all made of meat. Whenever my heart hurts, I just beat my chest and pound it out. No problem. A burger, with the proper potato product, is a real meal. A smoothie won't even fill you up. I could drink ten smoothies and not get full."

"Smoothies it is," Bugaboo said. "Let's go see the Smoothie King."

"Goddam it. I told you before that he's my arch enemy. If you take me to see the sombitch Smoothie King, I'm going to get in a fight. You don't like violence, do you ladies?"

"Ladies? What the hell?" Priscilla said.

"Sorry. Women," Mick Aloha said.

Bugaboo said, "Jesus, Aloha. You need to learn some manners. If you're going to get in a fight, that's your choice and if it's your choice, it's your problem. We're going to get some smoothies."

As they continued down the interstate to the Smoothie King's exit, Mick Aloha's breathing grew heavier and more rapid.

"What the hell's wrong with you? You think the Smoothie King's going to kick your ass?" Bugaboo asked.

"What? Hell no. I'm not worried about that vegetarian. I'm just trying to prepare my body for kicking ass. I can kick ass without notice, but if I know I'm going to kick ass, I can get ready so I won't be as tired afterward. Kicking ass tends to take a lot out of me."

Priscilla said, "How about this. Why don't you just not fight him? You don't want a smoothie, anyway. Why not just stay in the car. We can stop at McDonald's right after we get our smoothies."

Mick Aloha replied, "McDonald's doesn't start serving burgers until 10:30, that's almost two hours from now. Also, it doesn't matter if I go into his shop or not; the Smoothie King will feel my presence and come out to fight me. We have a history."

Priscilla turned back around.

Bugaboo said, "He'll feel your presence?"

"Yeah, the sombitch is in tune with his surroundings. Goddam hippie."

"What kind of history do you have?" Bugaboo asked.

Mick Aloha said, "We had a fight a couple years back. We just don't agree on anything; I can't even remember what the fight was about. Anyway, when we locked horns I put him in the Crippler Cross Face and he tapped out. Right when he tapped out something happened; somehow, we became connected. And, that's when I realized what it feels like when you have an arch enemy; you not only hate him, you can sense him and understand his feelings. That's even worse."

"Sounds like you were lovers," Bugaboo said.

"What? Damn it, I'm not gay. I have a girlfriend in California. I can't speak for the Smoothie King, but I can speak for myself. I like the goddam ladies."

Minutes later they arrived at the Smoothie King's shop and got in line behind the rest of the mid-morning crowd.

The Smoothie King announced, "You are in the presence of greatness. I am the Smoothie King."

As he made the smoothies, he continued to ramble about his better qualities.

"You are now in the kingdom of good health and tasty beverages. The King has signed a decree; today will now be known as Your Lucky Day, because only luck and a little good sense could bring you this far, to this place, to enjoy my perfect smoothies."

"Just make the goddam smoothies, hippy!" a voice called out from the back of the line.

The Smoothie King placed his smoothie making equipment on the counter and looked at the back of the line. "Mick Aloha, I overestimated you, again. I thought you could keep your big mouth shut while I made my loyal subjects some smoothies. It doesn't take much talent to keep your mouth shut, but you aren't even that skilled. How's your heart?"

"Still ticking," Mick Aloha replied. He stepped out of line and walked toward the Smoothie King.

"Not for long," the Smoothie King said. "I should have finished you last time."

Standing across the counter from the Smoothie King, Mick Aloha said, "You tapped out. When you tap out, that means you give up. You tapped out, and then you attacked again. The match was over."

The Smoothie King replied, "There was no match, Aloha. This is real life. People fight to the end in real life."

"You ready to fight to the end?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Hold on a second," the Smoothie King said. He took a smoothie from the back counter and squirted a vitamin boost into it. He then took a drink and said, "Now, I'm ready."

The Smoothie King jumped onto the front counter and Mick Aloha jumped up beside him. The crowd moved away from the counter; some people left the shop.

Priscilla looked at Bugaboo and asked, "You think we're going to get our smoothies?"

"Probably not," Bugaboo replied.

"I can make smoothies. Maybe he won't mind if I go back there and make our smoothies while they're fighting. We can leave money for them."

Bugaboo shook her head. "No, I don't think we're going to get any smoothies today. Let's go somewhere else."

Mick Aloha and the Smoothie King struggled on the counter, trying to throw each other to the floor. The Smoothie King tried to knee Mick Aloha in the groin; Mick Aloha blocked the shot with his right leg and then brought his elbow down on the Smoothie King's back. The Smoothie King crumpled to the counter and then down to the floor.

"Who's the king now, bitch?" Mick Aloha asked as eight police officers stormed the shop.

The crowd ran out the front door. The officers, New Mexico State Troopers, surrounded the counter on both sides. Mick Aloha thought about fighting his way through them, but then decided he didn't want to get shot again. He hated getting shot.

As the troopers held their guns steadily on Mick Aloha, he raised his arms and said, "OK, you got me. They send state troopers out to break up fights in New Mexico? Aren't there any local pigs you can send out for something like this?"

"This isn't about the fight," one of the troopers replied. "Now, get down from there, slowly, and don't step on the King here. We're hungry."

When the first trooper entered the shop, Bugaboo grabbed Priscilla by the short sleeve of her dress and pulled her outside. They walked toward the van and when they reached it, Bugaboo's ideas about what was happening were confirmed. State Troopers and local police officers surrounded the van.

"What the hell's happening?" Priscilla asked, as Bugaboo guided her away from the van and then around a corner, which led them to a narrow street lined with small shops.

"The fucking van," Bugaboo said. "It's stolen, remember? We have to get out of here before Mick Aloha tries to turn us in."

"What about the smoothies?" Priscilla asked.

Bugaboo said, "Fuck the smoothies."

"Fuck the smoothies? I want a smoothie."

Bugaboo said, "Let's just keep walking. There has to be a smoothie shop around here somewhere." She pulled at Priscilla's arm and led her to the end of a quiet street, where they found another smoothie shop.

"This is my best side," Mick Aloha said, as he turned for the mug shot at the police station.

The officer who was taking his picture said, "Face forward." Mick Aloha faced forward, wondering if the officer had any other duties. When he was young, had he wanted to be a photographer? Had his parents forced him to be a police officer?

"Punch me in the face," Mick Aloha said to the officer.

"What?" the photographer asked.

"I asked you to punch me in the face," Mick Aloha said. "See, I'm plenty privy to having my mug shot taken, as you'll soon find out when you run my prints. You'll find that I have quite a record, and every single time I've been arrested my face has been a mess; if not from a fight with a robot, then from a car wreck, like the time I got drunk and stole the sheriff's car. This'll be my first clean-faced mug shot, and I don't know that I care for it too much. So, punch me in the face, sissy."

The photographer snapped the picture.

The New Mexico State Police interrogation rooms were the nicest Mick Aloha had seen. He sat at one end of a wooden table, which rested in the middle of the room, looking at the cheap paintings on the white walls and wondering why there were no mirrors. There had always been mirrors before. There were no hot lights, either; low wattage fluorescents ran the length of the ceiling.

The room's only door opened and a man of medium build, wearing a short-sleeved New Mexico State Trooper uniform and carrying a briefcase, entered the room and sat down opposite Mick Aloha. Trooper Davis had a thick black mustache, just the kind Mick Aloha had been trying to grow for the last seven months. Mick Aloha eyed the trooper and wondered if he could take him. Not with these handcuffs, he thought.

Before the officer could speak, Mick Aloha said, "I'm privy to these interrogations, Trooper Davis. I'm privy to the procedures and the liberties that can be taken with prisoners, although I can't say that I'm up to date on the New Mexico system. It can't be too different from the rest of the country. And, I think I seen some of your troopers in action on one of those reality shows. So, go ahead and unlock these handcuffs and give me my goddam candy bar."

When Mick Aloha had finished speaking, Trooper Davis' eyes narrowed and he asked, "What candy bar?"

Mick Aloha shook his head and said, "Dude, I'm privy to the candy bars. I seen them on TV. When I'm in here, under the goddam hot lights, spilling my guts and ratting out my buddies, you have to give me whatever I goddam want, and I want a goddam candy bar. And a coke, come to think of it."

"These lights aren't hot," the trooper replied.

"I'm privy to that, dude."

"OK, well, there's no candy bar. We might be able to get you some food later. Depends on how well you cooperate," Trooper Davis said.

"Dude, nothing happened. Sure, I was going to kick the Smoothie King's ass, but your boys got there and broke it up before anything happened. You guys must have E.S.P."

Trooper Davis put both of his elbows up on the table and said, "You're clueless, aren't you? We told you back at the shop that this wasn't about the fight; it's about the van."

"What van?" Mick Aloha asked.

"The van outside the smoothie shop. The one several eyewitnesses saw you exit with two girls this morning before you almost started a fight with the Smoothie King," Trooper Davis replied.

"Oh that van. That van's not mine."

"Yeah, we know that. Whose is it?" Trooper Davis asked.

"Hell if I know, dude. I was just catching a ride with those girls. See, my girlfriend out in California's in trouble, and I'm trying to cross the country to help her. Well, I lost my first ride thanks to that no good sombitch Apocalypse Dowell. And, I lost my second ride because of, well, do you know the Kid?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, you'd understand if you did. I don't think he meant to do me any harm by leaving me; I think he just left. That's what he does. And, now you're telling me I've lost my third ride because something's wrong with the van. Damn it, damn it, goddam it."

"Did the girls tell you anything about the van?"

"No, they didn't talk to me much," Mick Aloha replied. "I think they were sweet on me and therefore embarrassed to say anything. You know women, Trooper. I just assumed it was one of theirs."

"One of their what?" the Trooper asked.

"The van. I thought it belonged to one of them. I didn't ask many questions; they weren't so much into talking, if you know what I mean," Mick Aloha said.

"What do you mean?"

Mick Aloha raised and lowered his eyebrows.

"Do you mean you slept with them?"

Mick Aloha replied, "I'm not privy to that information."

"Well, what the hell are you privy to?" the Trooper asked.

Mick Aloha struggled with the handcuffs. He wanted to rub his chin with his right hand; that was what he always did when he was thinking.

"I'm privy to many things, dude. But, I'm not sure which of those things, of which I am privy, you'd be interested in. Let's see, I know Kurt Cobain's death wasn't a suicide. I also know that the Internet is going to be the downfall of this great country. Hmmm, let me think, dude. Oh, I also know that the government directly affects the comic book industry by altering storylines to better fit with their needs."

"What needs are those?" the trooper asked.

"The need for everyone to think everything is OK," Mick Aloha replied.

Trooper Davis placed the briefcase on the table, opened it, and removed a zine. He slid it across the table toward Mick Aloha, who recognized the cover; it showed him dressed as the King Cobra along with some of his friends. The title read "Common Since."

"What do you know about that?" the trooper asked.

"Well dude, I know that's not a very good picture of me. And, my friends standing around me in that picture kind of bring down the mood since they're wearing normal clothes."

Trooper Davis stood up and walked to Mick Aloha's end of the table and took a seat beside him. The trooper then picked up the zine and started to flip through it.

"I'm not so concerned about the picture," Trooper Davis said. "What I want to know is what it is. Looks like hippie propaganda to me."

"Well dude, I'm privy to your feelings as such. But, I know Sir Timothy, the guy who makes that zine, is not a goddam hippy. He's as blue-blooded an American as you've ever seen. He just made this when he was in college and had some free time. It's just for fun. How the hell did you get a copy of it anyway? He said he only made about fifty copies of it."

The trooper smiled, showing the teeth he had been whitening every night for the past three weeks, and said, "You must not really believe all that stuff you say, cause if you did, you'd know already. The federal government collects all of these, at least all of the ones that are distributed to more than a couple of people. They keep them on file and then relay them to folks like me when we arrest folks like you and we make a match."

Mick Aloha said, "Goddam."

"Yeah, you'd be shocked what the Feds have on all of us. Especially you, since you have a record. You can forget about any secret life. For example, I know you ate hamburgers for breakfast on Monday morning."

"You'll have to do better than that, dude. I eat hamburgers for breakfast every morning."

"Just know everything you do is monitored. Now, do you know where this Sir Timothy is?" Trooper Davis asked.

"Hell if I know, dude. He went underground."

"How the hell do you go underground in Kentucky?" the trooper asked.

"Hell if I know, dude. There's lots of caves in Kentucky. That's karst land, you know. Anyway, that's just what I heard, about him going underground, I mean. He made a couple of those zines. The second one had a different name, something about a monkey. Then, he went away. I guess no one knows where he is."

"What if I told you he was spotted in Albuquerque yesterday?"

"Who?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Sir Timothy. The guy who made this zine. Your old friend. He was spotted in Albuquerque yesterday. That's why we were on the lookout for anyone associated with him. We felt we'd really lucked out when we could bring you in on charges about the van. It was our lucky day," the Trooper said.

"I didn't steal that goddam van," Mick Aloha said.

"I know that. Before I came in here to talk to you, we got a report from Oklahoma City. One of the guys who was riding in the van said two girls took it. That van is not only wanted because those girls stole it, but also because it was being used to rob convenience stores around the country."

"Interesting story, dude, but I think some of my rights are being violated if you don't have a reason to keep me here," Mick Aloha said.

"We had some good reasons to bring you in. For one, you were about to fight the Smoothie King, and that's a big no-no around here. People love his smoothies. Also, you were in a van that was stolen, and at the time we thought you had stolen it. And now, we know you're connected to Sir Timothy, and he's in the area, so we need to find out if it's a coincidence that you're both here at the same time cause if it's not, you might be in danger."

"I can handle Sir Timothy," Mick Aloha said. "I'll give him the Big Boot."

"Well, just in case, we'd like to hold you in here for a couple days, just to make sure."

"I'm privy to my rights, dude. You can't do that," Mick Aloha said.

"We can do whatever the fuck we want. You have a record," the trooper said. As he finished speaking, the lights above them started to shake. Then, they heard a thumping sound from behind one of the walls. The sound grew louder until a large section of the wall collapsed, revealing a metallic blue humanoid robot. The robot scanned the room and used one of its arms to pick up Mick Aloha, who tried to kick it without effect. As the robot exited the room through the hole in the wall, Trooper Davis fired four rounds. They bounced off the robot's back.

Mick Aloha hated robots, and although he didn't know if he was being saved or kidnapped, he didn't like it. He hit the robot several times with his fist, stopping only when he realized it hurt his hand. They moved quickly through the police station, running through walls and dodging bullets as the robot made its way to the front door and outside.

Mick Aloha squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight; he hated bright lights, especially natural ones.

Chapter 25

Friday 8:14am (M.S.T.)

When Rice awoke, he wondered if the Kid was dead. He had heard the Kid's heavy breathing the entire night they had spent in the car, which was now parked in the far corner of a rest area parking lot. Rice kept his eyes closed; he didn't want to look.

I can't hear him, Rice thought. If he's dead, I can take his car. It sounds like it runs pretty good. You don't have to tap the tape player. I didn't smell any fumes. That's good.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the seat beside him; the Kid was gone. After struggling for several seconds to find the controls, Rice adjusted his seat, moving it to the upright position. Rice didn't wear a watch; his last watch, which had lasted over twelve years, had died the year before and Rice still hadn't bothered to replace it. Judging from the sun, though, Rice assumed it was mid-morning. The lot surrounding the Kid's car was half-full, and Rice watched as some tourists exited their cars and walked to the rest area while others returned from the rest area. Rice needed to use the restroom.

If I leave this car, it might not be here when I get back, he thought. This Kid character doesn't strike me as the reliable sort. He rolled down the window, letting a cool breeze run through the car, and waited.

Twenty minutes later Rice spotted the Kid returning from the rest area. The Kid squinted his eyes as he crossed from the shade of the rest area's trees to the bright parking lot. He flashed the shout at the devil sign at Rice when he saw that he was awake and got in the car.

"Like, good morning, Rice. How'd you sleep?"

"Not bad, not bad. What have you been up to?"

"I was just checking out the little park back there. It's pretty cool. I thought I saw a deer, but this guy back there told me there weren't any deer for hundreds and hundreds miles. I don't know. Anyway, you ready to rock? I want to go check out Phoenix, see what all the talk is about, and then we can head up to Meteor Crater. We should get there before noon if we hurry."

"Sounds good. You mind if I run to the restroom?"

"Psshhh, go ahead."

Rice ran up to the rest area. When he returned to the car two minutes later, the engine was running and the Kid was tapping his steering wheel impatiently.

The Kid, who had thought about leaving after waiting for a minute, took a couple deep breaths and waited for Rice to get in the car. Seconds later, they were back on the highway.

After he had merged onto the interstate, the Kid asked, "What day is it, anyway?"

"It's Friday, man. I have to be at work tomorrow.”

"Oh, yeah. Well, I better step on it, then." The Kid punched the accelerator, pushing the Volkswagen over eighty-five miles per hour.

"Damn, you're not afraid of getting a ticket? I don't know about these Arizona police.”

"I never get pulled over," the Kid replied.

"Never?"

"Nope, not once. And, I always drive fucking fast. Until I get pulled over, I'll drive as fast as I please."

"Well damn, Kid, you got some nerve.”

"Should be there in an hour," the Kid replied.

Rice closed his eyes. Although he had slept well in the Kid's car, Rice could always sleep more. The odd hours at the cheese factory had thrown off his Circadian rhythms, making him perpetually sleepy. A minute later, he was asleep.

Rice awoke to the sound of the Kid's voice. He tried to ignore the Kid, hoping he could fall back to sleep, but the Kid wouldn't give up.

"Like, wake up. You have to fucking see this."

Rice opened his eyes. "What is it?"

"Oh shit, you won't believe it. Gooo. I can't believe it. It's fucking crazy."

"What the hell is it?"

"You see this truck in front of us? Well, you won't fucking believe who's driving it."

"Who's driving it?" Rice asked as he looked at the back of the truck.

"Like, I passed it, then I slowed down so it could pass me just to be sure, and it's fucking him. OK, I'm going to pass him right now."

"Who the hell is it?" Rice asked.

"You'll see. You'll see."

The Kid stepped on the gas and moved into the left lane, which was clear behind him for a half mile.

He moved up beside the truck and said, "Tell me you don't see Mr. T driving that truck. It's him."

Rice looked into the truck, trying to spot Mr. T. What he saw instead was an old, white truck driver who didn't resemble Mr. T at all.

"Mr. T's a truck driver," the Kid said. "Used to be one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, nows he's a truck driver."

"Damn, Kid, you must be blind. That's not Mr. T; that's just some old white guy.”

"Psshhh, when I looked before, it was Mr. T. I know it was him."

"Well, look now," Rice said. "That's a white dude."

The Kid said, "Like, they must have changed seats. Maybe Mr. T's taking a break."

Rice said, "There's no Mr. T. You're crazy. You didn't see Mr. T driving anything. Now, I'm going back to sleep. Wake me up at the fucking hole."

Rice awoke at the fucking hole.

"Like, wake up, man. We're at the crater.”

Rice sat up in his seat, looking around the car. He saw a parking lot and a small building.

"I don't see any holes," Rice said.

"Psshhh, like, you can't see the hole for free, man. This is private property. Some fool owns this place, man. So, we have to pay to see the crater. They can't be letting fools drive up and take a peek without paying.”

"Well, let's get our monkey asses on up there, then," Rice said.

They walked through the parking lot, which was only a quarter full, toward the lone building.

Rice asked, "How much you think this'll be, Kid? A dollar?"

The Kid shook his head. "Dollar? You know how far away we are from anything else? You think people are going to come all the way out here and leave if it's too expensive? I'm guessing its seven or eight dollars."

"Seven or eight dollars!" Rice said, as they stepped onto the sidewalk that led to the building. "I could dig my own hole for seven or eight dollars. Shit. I could dig the hole and still have money left to go to Big Lots. No way it's seven or eight dollars."

An elderly couple walked out the main doors of the building as Rice and the Kid walked in. The inside of the building felt like a museum. There was a ticket counter along the right side; pictures of the crater covered the left wall. In the back, they saw the gift shop, which sold pictures and postcards of the crater along with the other junk sold at gift shops around the country.

Rice quickly walked to the ticket counter and said, "Aw, hell no. Hell no." The customers in line at the counter turned to look at him. He stood in front of the counter, looking at the sign with the prices and shaking his head.

When the Kid walked up beside him, Rice turned to him and said, "Hell no. You believe this shit? Seven or eight dollars my ass. Twelve dollars. Hell no. Can you believe this shit? Twelve dollars. It's a hole, right?"

"Yeah, it is, man. A big fucking hole."

"I don't care how big it is. The Grand Canyon's bigger than this, right?"

"Pssshhhh, yeah, like, much bigger.”

"How much does it cost to see the Grand Canyon?" Rice asked.

"Like, it's free.”

"Let's go," Rice said. He started walking toward the door.

He stopped when the Kid said, "Like, I want to see this. I know it's twelve dollars, but how many chances are we going to have to see a real meteor crater?"

"I don't know, but we don't even know if this thing's for real. Maybe somebody just dug it up. One time, this fool in Turlock tried to dig his own swimming pool. Problem was it rained, and then it was all mud and when he went down there to dig, he kept getting his ass stuck. I saw that hole at least twenty times, and never once did I pay twelve dollars to see it." Rice screamed the words twelve dollars, attracting the attention of the customers in line and the girl behind the counter.

"Like, I'm going. You can wait in here if you want," the Kid said. He then got in line behind the three customers at the counter. Rice stood several feet behind him, tapping his feet and trying to decide what to do.

When the Kid had bought his ticket, he walked up to Rice and asked, "You coming or no?"

Rice walked up to the counter. The girl behind the counter, a college student who only worked at the crater from Friday to Sunday, smiled when he approached.

Rice said, "You have a nice smile. How much is it going to cost to see this thing?"

"Twelve dollars, unless you're a student or over the age of sixty-five," the girl replied.

"It's my lucky day, then. I'm seventy-four years old," Rice said.

"No, you aren't."

"I's just messin' with you, girl. Damn, can't Arizonians take a damn joke? I'm a student."

"OK, I'll have to see your student ID, sir."

Rice dug through his wallet, which weighed two pounds because of all of the cards and papers he'd crammed into it, and produced a California State University at Stanislaus ID. He slid the ID across the counter.

The girl checked the ID and said, "I'm sorry, sir. This ID expired three years ago."

"It's OK," Rice replied. "I'm still a student."

The girl pushed some of her brown hair away from her face while she thought. The manager was on a break, and the last time she had bothered him during his break he had yelled at her. She didn't like being yelled at, so she decided to take care of Rice herself.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but we can't accept expired IDs, even if you are still a student."

Rice nodded his head and said, "I understand that. You gotta follow policy. Now, what you're telling me is, if I pay twelve dollars, I get to see all of this hole. I'll be honest with you, I'm not all that interested in seeing this thing. You see that big guy behind me with the blond hair? He's my ride, so if I let him out of my sight, he might take off on my ass and leave me here and there ain't no way I'm waiting out in that hot ass parking lot. Now, I know that neither of us wants that. So, all I'm asking for is a peek. I just want a peek, girl. I'll give you two dollars for a peek."

The girl shook her head. "I can't do that, sir. It's the whole thing or nothing at all."

Rice stood in front of the ticket counter with his arms crossed, tapping his feet. He looked up at the board with the ticket prices as if he was trying to decide what to eat at a fast-food restaurant.

A line had formed behind him, and after several seconds of silence the man standing behind Rice said, "You gonna get a ticket or not?"
Rice turned around and faced the man, who stood a foot taller than he did, and said, "Everybody has to wait their turn. I got in line before you, so you're gonna have to deal with that. Now, that hole's been out there for thousands of years and it ain't going nowhere. So, hold on a damn minute and let me think about this."

The Kid, who had been standing by the door the whole time, asked, "Rice, you coming or no?"

"All right, I'm coming, I'm fucking coming," Rice said. He turned back to the counter and took money from his wallet. "Twelve dollars. I could buy a CD for twelve dollars. Hell, I could buy three in the bargain bin. That's where all the hits are, anyway."

Rice placed his money on the counter. The girl smiled and took the money, which totaled nine dollars. She thought about giving Rice a ticket and paying the difference herself. She had fought this hard already, though, so she felt she should fight to the end. After this, maybe she could transfer to the gift shop. No one ever complained about the prices in the gift shop; everyone expects the gift shop to be overpriced.

"Sir, do you have three more dollars?"

"Why, did the price jump up to fifteen dollars while I was thinking?" Rice asked.

"No, sir," the girl replied, "that was only nine dollars."

"Really? I coulda swore I counted out twelve dollars there. Here you go. Twelve dollars. Damn, I just want to look at it, I don't want to buy it." He placed three more dollars on the counter. The girl took the money and handed him his ticket.

"Better be a golden ticket," Rice said. "In fact, you all must be making a lotta money taking in twelve dollars for every person. What kind of money do they pay here? They got benefits? I need me some benefits."

Before the girl could answer, the Kid called out, "Let's go, Rice. You already have a job."

"That's it?" Rice asked, as he and the Kid stood beside Meteor Crater. "It doesn't even have water in it. Hell, if they put some water in that bad boy, we could take us a little swim. It's damn hot enough. Twelve dollars for this?"

"Spssshhhh," the Kid said, "like, I think it rules. It's millions of years old. Spshhh, like, goddam dinosaurs and shit saw this thing."

"Dinosaurs? Bullshit. Dinosaur's got more sense than to pay twelve damn dollars to see this thing. That's why you don't see any around here; they must've took their monkey asses on over to the Grand Canyon."

They stood for several minutes looking into the crater as new tourists passed them to walk the circumference of the hole. One of the tourists, a man who had entered the ticket line just as Rice had left it, held a camcorder in his hand.

As the man passed them, he said into the camcorder, "What we got here is a big hole."

"You're damn right," Rice said. "And, that's all we got."

The Kid said, "Hey Rice, like, I'm walking around this thing. You coming or no?"

"Aw, hell, I'll come. Might as well try to get a little bit of my money's worth out of this. Twelve goddam dollars. I could buy a damn Scooby Doo video for twelve dollars and watch it twice a day. Twelve dollars."

"Let's go," the Kid said. He started off onto the dirt path that circled the crater. Rice followed close behind.

The crooked path led them through large, red rocks, which occasionally blocked their view of the crater. They passed several slower tourists, most of whom had stopped to rest.

A quarter of the way around the crater, the Kid leaned against one of the rocks while he looked at the crater and said, "Goddam it. Like, it doesn't feel right. We're taking this thing counterclockwise. I prefer running clockwise."

"That's all right," Rice said as he tried to catch his breath. "We're not running, so it doesn't matter."

"Like, let's go around the other way.”

"Hell no. Now I know you've lost your mind. We're almost a quarter of the way around this thing. So, if we go back, and then go around the whole thing, that means well have taken our monkey asses around this thing a time and a half. How many miles is that?"

"Like, that would be four and a half miles," the Kid replied.

"Aww, hell no. We keep going. I might die if we go around the other way. I ran track in high school, but that's been a while back. Hell, I used to run my warm-ups with a jambox on my shoulder. Used to play me some Another Bad Creation and get my warm up on. What the hell happened to that jambox? It's probably still good. It only had one button on it, and it wasn't play, so I was the only one who could figure out how to use it.”

"Like, OK, we keep going this way. Let's pick it up, though. I want to see the Canyon before the sun's down."

Rice struggled to keep up with the Kid, who picked up the pace after their rest. They hadn't brought any water and the heat caused Rice to see things that weren't there. When they reached the tourist center again, Rice leaned against the outside wall of the building in the shade.

"Like, are you going to die?" the Kid asked.

"If I do, I'm going to come back as a ghost and haunt your monkey ass. Walking around that goddam thing in this heat. Did you enjoy it?"

"Like, I thought it ruled," the Kid replied. "You want some water?"

Large, dark blobs covered Rice's field of vision. He sat down on the grass beside the building and said, "Yeah, if you don't mind."

Minutes later, the Kid returned with a bottle of water, which Rice drank in several seconds.

"You all right, man?" the Kid asked.

Rice looked up at the Kid from the ground and said, "Yeah, I'll be all right. Happens all the time. But, now I have an ice cream headache. I drank that water too fast."

A few minutes after one o'clock, the Kid and Rice were back on the road, heading for the Grand Canyon.

Chapter 26

Friday 5:12am (M.S.T.)

Apocalypse Dowell awoke in a dark motel room. From his cot, which he had requested to avoid sharing a bed with Stall Puckett or the Witch Doctor, he could hear the other two men breathing. No sunlight broke through the thick curtains, making Apocalypse Dowell think he had much more time to sleep. He closed his eyes again; just as he was almost asleep, the phone rang.

On the second ring, the Witch Doctor awoke and answered the phone. He hung up without speaking and sat up in bed, turning on one of the overhead lights. The light caused Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett to cover their eyes with their arms.

The Witch Doctor turned on the TV with the remote control. "Rise and shine, boys. We gotta get to Vegas this afternoon."

A news reporter's voice blasted from the TV.

"How far is it to Vegas?" Apocalypse Dowell asked, keeping his right arm over his eyes.

"Mercy sakes, son, it's about five hunnerd and seventy miles. Should take us about eight hours, factoring in lunch and rest stops. It'll take 'em a while with the truck once we get there, so we'll have all evening to check out the sights there.”

From under his sheets, Stall Puckett said, "I never been there before. Anything to do there 'cept gamble? I ain't got no money, you know."

"Mercy sakes, son," the Witch Doctor said as he flipped through the channels, "that's the city where anything goes. They got prostitutes, but I guess they got those everywhere. And hell, they cost money, don't they? See, they're legal there, but you have to be outside the city proper. Oh, you know what they got, son? They got this thing outside the city where you can hunt naked girls with a paint ball gun. You ever heard the like?"

"You kill 'em?" Stall asked.

"No son, I said, paintball. You shoot these naked girls with paint balls. They run around in the desert and you hunt em down. I never did it, but it might be something to look into.”

"I heard that wasn't real," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Where'd you hear that, son?"

"I read it somewhere on the Internet."

"Mercy sakes, son. You can read just about anything on the Internet. I read that the Sasquatch was gonna run for president on the Internet..."

"He's got my vote," Stall Puckett said.

"Anyway, son, we'll go see that Vegas town and if it's real, I'll take all you boys out for a hunt."

Apocalypse Dowell sat up in his cot. “Won't it cost a lot?”

"Don't you worry about the cost. The Witch Doctor has himself a little disposable income."

Disposable income, Apocalypse Dowell thought. This guy's turning into Mick Aloha.

They were on I-40 West before 6:00am. The Witch Doctor, who always looked wide awake, drank coffee from a thermal cup and talked on his CB. Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett, after a brief argument over floor space, took their positions on the floor and fell asleep. On the way to Vegas, the Witch Doctor stopped only twice; first to eat lunch and second to get gas. They arrived at the truck depot, ten miles from the Vegas city limits, just after 2:30 in the afternoon.

The Witch Doctor, Apocalypse Dowell, and Stall Puckett took a cab into the city because the men at the depot had told the Witch Doctor he couldn't pick up the truck until the next morning. The cab driver, who spoke a language none of them could understand or identify, dropped them off on the strip.

Stall Puckett looked up at the Man Pants Hotel and Casino. "We stayin' there tonight?"

"Mercy sakes, son," the Witch Doctor replied as he stared up at the hotel, "I don't think we can afford that place. We might have to find us a little bit more economical place, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we gotta get on out to the naked girl hunt."

Apocalypse Dowell motioned for them to follow him off the crowded sidewalk. They walked to a small fountain and sat down on a set of steps.

"How do we get to this place?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

The Witch Doctor put his arms behind himself on the concrete and leaned back. "Mercy sakes, son. They can't just put an ad in the newspaper that tells you where to go to do business like that. They gotta be discreet, son. Lucky for you boys, I have a phone number that a fellow trucker gave me when I was up around that Boston town, Bean Town they call it. You boys wait here, and I'll be right back."

The Witch Doctor stood up and walked away to look for a pay phone. Sitting together by the fountain, Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett realized they had nothing in common. They sat silently, staring at the fountain, when the Witch Doctor returned.

The Witch Doctor sat down. "They're on the way, boys. Said they'd pick us up in a black van right here in about twenty minutes. It's all taken care of; we go a-huntin' this afternoon."

Nineteen minutes later, a black van stopped on the street in front of them. The Witch Doctor jumped up and ran to the van, with Stall Puckett and Apocalypse Dowell following. The van's sliding back door opened automatically, letting them inside.

A man wearing a dark suit sat in the driver's seat. His hair was combed straight back and he wore dark sunglasses. Without saying anything, the man stepped on the gas and merged back onto the street.

The van moved through the busy streets, merged onto the interstate, and headed to the desert. On the interstate, the Witch Doctor tried to speak to the driver, who remained silent. The Witch Doctor gave up after the second attempt and sat back in the seat.

After thirty minutes on the interstate, the driver took an unmarked exit. They moved through small, deserted streets, only occasionally seeing a gas station or grocery store that was open. The driver took them deeper into the desert, until they could see no buildings. The van shook when the road turned from asphalt to dirt. They drove along the dirt road for twenty minutes, until they came to a small hut surrounded by several palm trees and a small yard. A sprinkler system sprayed water on the lawn and trees.

The van stopped and the driver got out and opened the sliding door for them. The three men stepped out into the shade of the palm trees.

"Follow me," the driver said. He led them into the hut.

The driver left them sitting on a wooden bench in the lobby. Paint ball guns and camouflage equipment hung from the walls. Several pictures hung behind the wooden counter; they showed pictures of men, who looked to be the proprietors, standing beside half-naked girls. Apocalypse Dowell thought the girls were hot.

A short, stocky man with a black t-shirt and dark denim jeans entered the lobby from the back door. The man, who looked like a small troll, eyed the three men when he entered and looked at each of them briefly before speaking.

"Call me Duke. Here's the rules. No touching the girls. No asking for the girls' phone numbers; they ain't interested. No shooting each other with the paint balls; we ain't responsible if you do. No pictures. No outside weapons. Don't fuck with the nature out there, so no cutting the trees, no slicing up the cacti looking for water. No using the bathroom out there. The next people don't want to step in your shit. There'll be five girls out there. You'll have thirty minutes to hunt them down. After thirty minutes you come back here. When the alarm goes off, your time is up. If you fire a round after the time limit, you're fucked. We'll fucking kill you. Any questions?"

The Witch Doctor, Apocalypse Dowell, and Stall Puckett shook their heads.

Duke said, "Good. Now, who's paying for this?"

"I am," the Witch Doctor replied.

"You got cash?"

"Yeah, son, I got your cash. I heard you don't pay until after you play. Ain't that right?"

"Yeah, that's the motto, I guess," Duke said. "Let's get you boys suited up."

The man opened a cabinet behind the counter and removed three orange hunting vests. He threw them to the Witch Doctor, who gave one each to Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett.

"You boys want some makeup?" Duke asked as he reached back into the cabinet and brought out a can of green face paint.

Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett shook their heads. The Witch Doctor walked up to Duke, took the face paint, and started applying it to his face.

Duke walked to a large, metal cabinet in the far corner of the room, removed a small key from his pocket, and opened the cabinet, revealing rows of paint ball guns. Duke took three of the guns and two boxes of paint balls out of the cabinet and closed it.

He loaded the guns and handed one to each of the men.

They walked outside through a back door. Open desert lay before them, with sporadic green spread among the brown. They passed through a metal fence and stood on sand that had been marked with a large, red X.

Duke said, "The girls'll be out here in a minute. While were waitin', I need to give you a few more of the rules. Remember, you can't touch the girls. I don't care if one of those girls falls in quicksand and you're the only one around to save her, just let her go. Don't touch the girls. You'll have thirty minutes to hunt the girls. We sound the siren when time's up. No shooting after times up. When a girl is hit, she'll come back here to this spot. Don't shoot a girl who's already been hit. Now, the girls get paid more if they don't get hit, so they're going to do everything they can to not get shot. Whoever gets the most hits wins. Green face, your shots are blue. Slim, you've got red. And, big guy, you're shootin greens. Any questions?"

"Let's like this candle," the Witch Doctor said as he rubbed his face with his right hand, trying to smooth out the face paint he had applied.

They heard the gate behind them open and turned to see five girls, wearing only sneakers and goggles, walking into the perimeter. The Witch Doctor, who hadn't seen a live naked girl in seventeen years, controlled his breathing to avoid passing out. They look like dancers, the Witch Doctor thought. I can't shoot those pretty things.

Duke gave more instructions, but Apocalypse Dowell couldn't listen. One of the girls, a brunette who wore glasses under her goggles, kept his attention. He wondered if she would marry him.

Stall Puckett, who had never been lucky with women, stared at the girls, trying to decide which one to ask out. Maybe if I show one of 'em mercy, I'll have a chance, he thought.

Duke said, "And, if you're thinking about showin' them some mercy for a little action, think again. The girls are strictly forbidden from having relations with any of the clients. If they do, they forfeit their wages. So, don't even think about it."

The late afternoon sun beat down on them, making Apocalypse Dowell wonder if the girls would sunburn. No, they're too tan, he thought.

The girls walked past the men without looking at them and approached a white line, which had been painted in the sand. They toed up to the line, facing the desert.

Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett stared at the women; the Witch Doctor checked his weapon.

"One last rule," Duke said. "Don't touch the fence; it's electric. It'll shock your goddam balls off. The girls get a two-minute head start. Girls, go ahead."

The five models ran straight ahead for several seconds and then fanned out and separated. The men stood watching them until the girls disappeared over a small hill seconds later.

"Boys, when I fire this gun you have thirty minutes to hunt 'em down. When you hear the siren, come on back to base."

The Witch Doctor, Stall Puckett, and Apocalypse Dowell walked up to the starting line. When Duke fired the gun, the Witch Doctor started running after the girls. Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett walked.

"No way I'm runnin' in this heat," Stall Puckett said. "Hell, those girls ain't got far to run, and they ain't nothin but a little brush to hide behind. I don't know what that trucker's doin'."

"You think those girls will put out?" Apocalypse Dowell asked as they reached the bottom of the small valley and began to work their way up the hill.

"You don't want them girls," Stall Puckett replied. "Them's Vegas sluts. A Vegas slut ain't too far off from a trailer park slut, and well, hell, most of em are trailer park sluts. I got enough of those back in my wrestlin' prime. Hellfire, they used to follow us from city to city. Same girl would work her way through all of us wrestlers, then work her way back. Good times, to say the least. But, you don't want none of that."

"Why not? It's no good?"

"Naw, it's good. I just don't see you as the type that would go after a girl like that. Thought you might like a girl who likes to read or something. Anyway, those girl's probably got crabs. You ever had crabs?"

"Can't say that I have."

"You don't want 'em," Stall Puckett said, shaking his head. "Trust me, you don't want it."

From the top of the hill, they saw the Witch Doctor at the bottom of the next valley digging though some brush.

The Witch Doctor spotted the men on the hill and called up, "They goddam disappeared, boys! They goddam disappeared!"

Apocalypse Dowell followed the line of the fence surrounding them, unable to find any traces of the women.

"He's right," Apocalypse Dowell said, turning to Stall Puckett. "They're gone."

"That's where they get you," Stall Puckett said. "They probably have a secret hiding place out here, an underground bunker or something like that, and hide until the time's up. Everything in this state's a goddam con." He then started walking down the hill to join the Witch Doctor, with Apocalypse Dowell following him closely.

The Witch Doctor, who had continued searching the light brush, looked up when they approached. "Mercy sakes, boys, I hate to say it, but we've been had. Sorry it ain't turned out any better for us. They plum disappeared. What do you boys think happened here?"

"Secret bunker," Stall Puckett replied.

"They're ghosts," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Mercy sakes, I think the wrestler's right. They must have 'em a secret bunker out here. This whole thing smells false."

The Witch Doctor raised his paint ball gun, aimed it at the nearby brush, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"Try your guns, boys," the Witch Doctor said. Apocalypse Dowell and Stall Puckett's guns didn't work, either.

"That settles it. Well, they've got another thing coming if they think I'm gonna pay for all this. Let's head back."

As they started back up the hill, they heard the siren, indicating the end of the thirty minutes.

From the top of the hill, they saw Duke standing by the main gate with four fully-clothed women.

When they were within five meters of Duke and the women, Duke pointed a gun at them and told them to stop moving.

"Mercy sakes, son, what the hell is this?" the Witch Doctor asked.

Duke smiled and said, "These women are from Amagasaki. Do you know where that is?"

"Oh, shit, it's in Japan," Apocalypse Dowell replied. He looked at the women and thought, I should have known they were from Amagasaki. Only Amagasaki madams would wear skirts and fishnets in the desert. All four of the Japanese women looked to be at least fifty years old, but they were all still attractive. They each held a paint ball gun.

"Why'd you say, 'Oh, shit?' Something wrong with that place?" the Witch Doctor asked.

"Yeah, there's something wrong with it," Apocalypse Dowell replied. "They're nuts. Amagasaki is like the Beverly Hills of Japan. Everyone's rich and crazy. The husbands work all day and the women shop all day. After work, the men go to hostess bars. The women usually have boyfriends."

"You know very well," one of the women said.

"All right, we're wasting time, here," Duke said. "Take your clothes off, boys. You're about to be hunted."

"Shit, not again," Stall Puckett said. He looked at Duke, hoping it was a joke.

"Strip, boy," Duke said.

The women giggled as the men stripped.

"Put your shoes back on," Duke said when the men had finished removing their clothes. The men put their shoes on and stood facing Duke and the women.

"Toe up, boys," Duke said. "You'll have a two minute head start." The men walked up to the white line. Duke fired the gun into the air; the men ran.

Running down the hill beside the Witch Doctor and Apocalypse Dowell, Stall Puckett thought about killing the women. I could kill everyone here, he thought. I can't abide being naked again. The men spread out, running in different directions once they had cleared the hill. They each wanted to find the secret hiding place.

As he hid in the brush near the bottom of the valley, Apocalypse Dowell saw the Amagasaki madams approaching two hundred meters away. He couldn't see the Witch Doctor or Stall Puckett, but knew both men had continued past him. Apocalypse Dowell hoped the thick brush would hide him for the entire thirty minutes.

Minutes later, Apocalypse Dowell heard the women approach and speak together in Japanese for several seconds, and then he heard sounds that made him think they were leaving. Seconds later, he heard the sound of a paint ball shooting through the brush. Then, he heard giggles, which were followed by several more shots that barely missed him. Another shot nearly hit his head, causing him to jump up and run.

The brush cut at his legs as he ran. When he had cleared the brush and hit the open sand, he thought he was going to get away without getting shot. A paint ball hit him in the small of the back, causing him to fall down. He heard more giggles. Apocalypse Dowell lay face down on the ground.

He heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see one of the women standing over him.

The woman knelt over Apocalypse Dowell and said, "Daijobu? OK? Is your back hurts?"

"I'm OK," Apocalypse Dowell replied.

The woman smiled and patted Apocalypse Dowell on the head. She offered him a hand to help him stand up.

"What happens now?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Nani? Etoh, what do you say?" the woman asked.

"Now. What now?"

"Oh, ima," the woman replied, smiling. "Ima...um, now, you mine." She raised the paintball gun and pointed it at him, motioning for him to walk up the hill. Apocalypse Dowell looked back to see the other women in the distance, firing their guns and chasing the Witch Doctor and Stall Puckett.

As they walked back to the gate, the woman asked, "What's your name?"

"Apocalypse Dowell."

"Apakaripusu Dawaru. Hajimemashite. Watashi wa Nanako desu."

"Nanako-san. Nice to meet you." Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Nice meet you, too," Nanako replied.

They walked on silently, until they reached the starting line. Duke met them there, and spoke to Nanako in Japanese. Against the background of the setting sun, Apocalypse Dowell saw the other three women on the top of the hill walking with the Witch Doctor and Stall Puckett.

Duke held his gun on the three men and gagged them before they had a chance to speak to each other. The only woman who hadn't caught one of them returned minutes later with a small leather case. She opened it and removed three syringes. Apocalypse Dowell wanted to run, but knew he would be shot on the first step. He watched the girl give Stall Puckett an injection; she then held Stall and helped him drop to the ground. She then moved to the Witch Doctor. Finally, she approached Apocalypse Dowell. After she had given him the injection, the edges of his field of vision turned black: darkness spread until it covered his sight.

Apocalypse Dowell awoke on a hard metal floor. A blindfold covered his eyes, and after struggling for several seconds, he realized he couldn't free himself from the restraints that held his hands behind his back. The vibrations of the floor and the stale air made him think he was inside the trailer of a big rig. Probably not the Purple Diesel Eater, he thought.

Apocalypse Dowell tried to stand; a rope holding his legs together kept him on the floor. The gag in his mouth tasted like medicine. He tried to bite through it with no luck. Apocalypse Dowell then decided to save his energy and pretend he was asleep.

While trying to pretend he was asleep, Apocalypse Dowell fell asleep. He heard voices in his sleep; he thought he heard something about someone getting away. A hand on his shoulder shook him from his sleep.

"Wake up, boy. We're almost there," a deep voice said. Apocalypse Dowell had never heard the voice before. He wanted to ask where they were going, but the gag kept him silent. As he wondered what day it was, he fell asleep again.

Chapter 27

Friday 2:12pm (M.S.T.)

Priscilla and Bugaboo sat on a small wooden bench outside the smoothie shop. After two smoothies each, they didn't feel like walking.

As they watched the light traffic pass, Priscilla looked over at Bugaboo. "Well, did you think of a way to get to San Francisco, yet? We have to be there by Sunday night."

"I know when we have to be there," Bugaboo replied. "I think we should worry more about getting out of Albuquerque without getting caught for stealing that van."

"We didn't steal it."

"Yes, we did. We took it and it wasn't ours. That's stealing. Look, we have to get out of these clothes; they're too easy to spot."

"Your clothes are too easy to spot, not mine," Priscilla said. "I'm wearing a black dress. You're wearing a bug dress. You should change clothes."

"You should, too," Bugaboo replied. "You stink, anyway."

"I don't stink."

The girls sat silently, watching people walk in and out of the tourist shops on the street.

Bugaboo looked at Priscilla and said, "Well, sitting here isn't going to get us out of Albuquerque. We could hitch another ride. We're pretty."

"That's what worries me. We're too cute to hitchhike. We should fly."

"How the fuck are we going to fly?" Bugaboo asked. "We don't have any fucking money."

"I want to fly," Priscilla replied. "Let's go to the airport."

"What the fuck are we going to do at the airport?" Bugaboo asked. "We don't have any money. We can't fly without money."

"Airport."

"OK, let's fucking go. How we going to get there?"

"Airport."

"All right, let's fucking walk. Let's expose ourselves to half of the Albuquerque police force."

"Cab," Priscilla said.

"All right, we don't have much money, but let's take a fucking cab."

"Credit card."

"OK, put it on your fucking credit card. Mine are all almost maxed out."

"Your credit card," Priscilla said.

"OK, I'll use one of my fucking cards, but you're going to pay me back," Bugaboo said as she stood up. They walked two blocks to the next big street and caught a cab to the airport.

Bugaboo and Priscilla sat in the front waiting area of the Albuquerque International Airport trying to think of a plan. They watched people greet the arriving passengers. Both of the girls loved watching people arrive. Arriving passengers always casually look around at the crowd, as if they don't want to admit that they are expecting anyone. The girls knew they were guilty of doing the same thing.

"OK, so we're here. What are we going to do?" Bugaboo asked.

"I have a plan," Priscilla said. "Remember those cute flight attendant boys we met at the Friday's in the Dallas Airport?"

"Yeah, they were cute."

"Well, we just need to do the same thing here. All we have to do is convince them to quit their jobs."

"How are we going to do that?" Bugaboo asked.

"We're cute, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but a lot of those guy flight attendants are gay."

"I know that," Priscilla said. "We just have to find straight ones. Where can we find some straight flight attendants?"

"Well, there's usually a lounge where the airline employees hang out. We probably couldn't get in there. Sometimes they hang out at the bars, although they can't drink," Bugaboo said.

The girls passed through several of the airport bars, finding mostly drunk business men. Priscilla thought the drunk business men might be plan B if they couldn't find any flight attendants.

"There are a couple of flight attendants," Bugaboo said, pointing to the back corner of The Watering Hole.

"Those are girls," Priscilla said.

"Yeah, but they're flight attendants."

"Yeah, but we can't seduce girls."

Bugaboo said, "I bet we can seduce those girls."

Priscilla said, "Yeah, we probably could, but I don't wanna. Let's keep looking."

They searched more bars and finally came to The Putting Green, a golf-themed bar, where they found two young men who worked for New Mexico Airlines. Priscilla and Bugaboo stood in the open doorway of the bar, watching the male flight attendants in the back corner and the other patrons scattered throughout the bar.

Priscilla motioned to the bar and said, "Let's get a drink. We need to look drunk." Bugaboo followed her to the bar, where they each bought a pina colada with little umbrellas. They then walked between the high wooden tables until they came to the male flight attendants.

"These seats taken?" Priscilla asked, pointing to the two empty seats beside the flight attendants.

"No, please," one of the men replied. Bugaboo thought they looked too young; if they hadn't been wearing flight attendant uniforms, she would have thought they were under 20. Bugaboo thought they were cute, but she wasn't interested in cute boys; she preferred the bad ones. She knew Priscilla would love both of them.

I love both of them, Priscilla thought as she sat down with her drink. They both had short hair; one had blond hair, the other dark hair. Priscilla loved uniforms, even flight attendant uniforms.

"My name's Matt...," the dark haired flight attendant said.

"Doesn't matter, Mattie," Priscilla said. "Look, my friend here and I, well, we're really drunk. What are you guys drinking?"

"Cokes."

"Cokes?" Priscilla laughed. "Not old enough to drink? You want us to buy you some real drinks?"

"No, we're old enough, but we can't drink before we work. We have a flight going out of here this afternoon."

"Where you going?" Priscilla asked. Bugaboo took a drink of her pina colada.

"Tampa. It sucks, but we'll only be there a few hours, and then we come back."

"Yeah, Tampa sucks ass. Look boys, my friend Bugaboo and I, well, did I tell you we're drunk?"

"Yeah, you mentioned it," Matt replied.

"Good. Well, you boys ever seen any hot girl on girl action?" Priscilla asked. Bugaboo gave Priscilla a dirty look. Matt's friend's knees raised and hit the bottom of the table, shaking the drinks. Matt smiled.

"Can't really say that I have," Matt replied.

"Your friend here talk at all?" Priscilla asked, looking at the other flight attendant.

"Yeah, I talk," the man replied.

"What's your name again?"

"It's Andy, but I didn't..."

"Shut up, Andy," Priscilla said, as Bugaboo took the last drink of her pina colada. "I'm going to talk now. Andy, I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer by shaking or nodding your head. You ever seen any hot girl on girl action?"

Andy shook his head.

"I thought not," Priscilla said as she took a sip of her pina colada and then passed the drink to Bugaboo. "Do you want to? Do you want to see some hot girl on girl action?"

Andy nodded his head.

"I thought you would. Now, think about this. What would you do to see some hot girl on girl action? Huh?"

Shit, they're hookers, Matt thought. The idea repulsed and excited him. He had never met real hookers.

"Sorry," Matt interrupted. "But, I don't think Andy and I have the kind of money you'd be looking for."

"Didn't tell you to talk, now, did I, Matt? Now, you've offended me, and I might have to drop my offer. There'll be no exchange of money, but I do need you to get something for me."

"What's that?" Matt asked.

"Well, Bugaboo and I have always had this dream to get it on in front of two male flight attendants. And, part of that dream was that we would be flight attendants, too. Now, we're not really flight attendant material, if you know what I mean. Our minds are too dirty. We always think about sex. Now, if a couple young flight attendants with connections to a major airline were able to get us a couple of those cute uniforms, you know, the really short dresses. Now, if they could get us those, I'm sure we could repay them."

Bugaboo finished Priscilla's pina colada and looked around the table. She had never seen Priscilla so confident. The two men looked like they had seen ghosts; they couldn't move.

Finally, Matt said, "We're guys. They don't generally let us wear the dresses."

"Yeah, but you could tell the uniform people you're picking them up for your friends. Make up a story," Priscilla said.

Andy shook his head. "We have to pay for the uniforms if we lose them.”

"Yeah, then fucking pay for them and bring them back here," Priscilla said.

"We'll be right back," Andy said. He stood and motioned for Matt to follow him.

Priscilla and Bugaboo bought fresh drinks and returned to the table.

"I don't think they're coming back," Bugaboo said.

"They'll be back.”

"How can you be so sure?" Bugaboo asked; she took the first drink of her mai-tai.

"Girl on girl action. No man can resist it, especially seeing it in person with two cute girls."

They drank and watched people come in and out of the bar. The patrons couldn't figure out where to put their luggage; it usually went under the table.

The girls were finishing their fourth drinks when the young flight attendants returned, each holding a black garment bag. They sat back down at the table.

"Mission accomplished," Matt said. He smiled and looked down at the garment bag on his lap.

"Yeah, it's about time. Hand 'em over," Priscilla said as she took the bag from Matt's hands; Andy handed his bag to Bugaboo.

"What now?" Matt asked.

"Now, you go to Tampa," Priscilla said. "When you get back tonight, come to the Honey Spot Inn at exit 78F. Room 312. Got it?"

"Got it," Matt replied. They all sat at the table, unsure of what to do next.

"Leave," Priscilla said. "We'll see you tonight." The boys stood up and walked out of the bar. Priscilla watched them leave. They're really cute, she thought. I wish there really was a Honey Spot Inn at exit 78F.

"Well, we have the uniforms. What now?" Bugaboo asked.

"We get dressed."

"Yeah, but we don't have airline I.D. You know I used to work for an airline. I know how this works. Without I.D., we can't go anywhere. All of these airport workers have seen Catch Me If You Can. They know that wearing a uniform doesn't necessarily mean you work for the airline.”

"Yeah, I know they're careful. But, we're not some guy in a pilot's uniform. Were two very cute girls, who are about to be wearing two very short dresses. That'll get us a long way."

The girls walked to the women's restroom to change clothes. When they opened their garment bags, they found that the boys had picked up the smallest uniforms available. Bugaboo and Priscilla were both slim (and attractive), but they both had trouble fitting into the dresses. When they finally got them on, they both thought the dresses were too revealing.

Standing together in front of the mirror in the restroom, Bugaboo said, "Fuck it. We'll catch a ride somewhere wearing this." They walked out together, carrying garment bags with their clothes in them. Everyone stared at them.

"Everyone's staring," Priscilla said as they walked.

"Fuck 'em. They're just jealous," Bugaboo replied. "Where should we go?"

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe we could get into the employee's lounge. Maybe steal some I.D.s."

Bugaboo shook her head and said, "We can't steal anything. If we get caught, this has to look like more of a joke than a crime. Stealing someone's I.D. is a crime. Now, we're wearing these uniforms, which we're technically not supposed to have, but at least we didn't take them from anyone. I think we should get to an N.M.A. gate. Then, maybe I can get on the computer and make some arrangements for us."

"You know how to do that?" Priscilla asked.

"Yeah, I should be able to. Most of these airlines use the same software, and the proprietary stuff usually isn't very different from anything else. If I can get on the terminal, I can probably add two phantom trainees to a flight. Then, we can show up at the gate right before they take off. We'll probably get to watch the whole flight; we might not even have to work. It could work," Bugaboo said.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Priscilla asked, as they approached the passenger security check.

"You were doing such a good job, I didn't want to interrupt," Bugaboo replied. "Now, walk past the passengers; we're staff, so we get to go through security first." The passengers all stepped aside when the girls approached the security check. They passed through the scanner without breaking stride and continued on toward the gates.

"That ruled. I wish I could get through like that every time," Priscilla said, as they started passing gates.

"We're staff to them. We get special treatment. And, we're girl flight attendants. We're every guy's fantasy. That's why I never wanted to be a flight attendant; the guys on the flights just dream of taking you home. That and I don't like serving people food."

They passed several small clothing shops, some bars, and a few more gates before coming to gate 25. The sign at the gate told them a N.M.A. flight was leaving for Chicago in thirty minutes.

"Why are we stopping here?" Priscilla asked. "This flight's going to Chicago."

"Yeah, I know. I just need to use the computer. I can't use the computer and then say, Oh, look. We're on this flight. That would be suspicious. I was thinking I might just ask to use the computer. They might let me. Let's go."

Bugaboo approached the desk at Gate 25 with Priscilla close behind her. A young woman stood alone behind the desk talking to a customer and typing on one of the two computers; Bugaboo thought she looked like a typical idiot airport worker. She had dark hair that she pinned up and too much makeup, especially foundation. Bugaboo hated people who wore too much foundation.

The girl saw Bugaboo walk behind the desk but then returned to her customer, who seemed upset. Bugaboo waved her hand to get the girl's attention. When the girl looked, Bugaboo motioned to the extra computer. The girl gave her a wave telling her to go ahead and use it. When Bugaboo started typing, half of the girl's line moved and stood in front of her.

Bugaboo looked up and said, "I'm sorry. I'm not open. I just have to check something, and then I have to get on my flight. Sorry."

The customers waited in disbelief and then reluctantly returned to the other line. Some of the people who had stayed in the original line grumbled when the others returned.

Priscilla walked to the front of the counter across from Bugaboo to stop people from forming another line. Bugaboo worked her way through the New Mexico Airlines system, first exiting from the gate check-in screen to reach the main menu. After some missteps, she found the training section of the website. The training section was blocked by a password, but Bugaboo knew there were only a couple of options for airline passwords. On the third attempt, she entered the correct password and entered the training intranet. Bugaboo found a flight going to San Francisco at 6:00pm with no trainees aboard. In the empty trainee list, she added her name and Priscilla's, leaving the employee numbers blank. She knew this would cause an error, but their names would remain on the list.

Bugaboo exited out of the program and left the computer as she had found it. She thanked the New Mexico Airlines girl; the girl didn't look over at her when she left. Bugaboo and Priscilla walked away.

"Did it work?" Priscilla asked when they stopped in a waiting area full of passengers watching professional wrestling.

"Hell yeah, it worked. We're listed as trainees on the six o' clock to SFO. The system has our names, but I had to leave the employee number section blank. We can just tell them we haven't gotten our I.D. cards, yet. Maybe tell them there was a problem with the card machine or something," Bugaboo said.

"Well, what do we do now?" Priscilla asked.

"We keep a low profile and watch some wrestling. The flight leaves in an hour, we should get there right before they shut the door."

"I don't wanna watch wrestling."

"Look, we can't walk around and have people see us. Someone from New Mexico Airlines might want to see our I.D.s or something. Let's watch some wrestling."

"I hate wrestling. They're all so dirty, and they have bad haircuts."

"Some of them have mullets. Those are pretty funny, huh?"

"I guess so," Priscilla replied, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Fifteen minutes before departure time, Priscilla and Bugaboo approached Gate 28. A man in an N.M.A. uniform greeted them and told them they were late.

"Sorry, we got lost," Bugaboo said.

"You girls have your I.D.s?" the man asked.

"That's another reason we we're late. We were trying to get our I.D.s made, but the machine broke. The guy down there, what's his name? Eric?"

"Tony?" the man said.

"Yeah, that's right. Anyway, Tony said it might be a week before they get the equipment ready," Bugaboo said.

As she finished speaking, a young man in a flight attendant's uniform came out of the tunnel and said, "You're late. Let's go. We have to get going."

They followed the man through the tunnel as he told them why they should never be late.

He stopped in front of the plane's entrance and asked, "Either of you know what kind of equipment we're on today."

Bugaboo smiled. "793. Two hundred and twenty seats. Thirty in first class, a hundred and ninety in coach. Six toilets. Eight emergency exits. Tends to burn more fuel than the 783," Bugaboo replied.

"Yeah, that's right," the man said. "Look, my name's James. I'm the head flight attendant on this flight and you're just trainees, so do what I tell you. You understand?"

The girls nodded.

"OK, the first rule on my team is you're all smiles. I don't care if a passenger tells you to fuck off and die, keep smiling. They don't pay for lip. Now, tonight we have five people on the team including you two. I'll handle first class with the other two team members. I want you two to handle coach."

"Coach?" Priscilla said. Bugaboo gave her a dirty look.

"Yeah, that's right, trainee. Coach. We all start in coach. Now, this is a short flight, around two hours, so there's no meal service. You'll just need to go through and serve drinks a couple times. Think you can handle it?"

"We can handle it," Bugaboo said.

They followed James into the cabin. He stopped near the cockpit and motioned for them to go back to coach. The girls moved through the first class cabin, looking at all of the sophisticated people reading the Wall Street Journal and drinking wine. Seconds later they entered the coach cabin, where they were immediately greeted by a screaming baby.

Bugaboo and Priscilla hated coach. They weren't rich, but they had been bumped up to first class enough to know coach cabins were the slums of flying. They had taken twelve-hour flights in first class; at the end of the flights, they had felt great. After three-hour coach flights they always felt like they needed to sleep for a day.

Coach was full. Less than half of the passengers were seated even though the plane was about to leave; they were all cramming their carry-on baggage into the overhead bins.

A middle-aged woman walked up to the girls and asked, "Where's the toilet?"

Bugaboo pointed to the back of the plane and said, "Back there."

"Where? I didn't see it."

"In the back. Do you see the picture of the man and woman? That means there's a toilet there."

"Yeah, I saw the sign," the passenger replied. "But, when I went back there, I didn't see any toilets."

"OK, follow me," Bugaboo said. She walked down the aisle, weaving through the passengers with the woman behind her. Bugaboo showed the woman one of the four toilet doors; the passenger thought they looked too much like the wall. When Bugaboo returned to the front of the coach cabin, she found Priscilla handing out pillows and blankets.

"What are you doing?" Bugaboo asked.

"They kept asking me for these fucking things. It's a two-hour flight and its only six o' clock. But, I thought if I got rid of all of the pillows and blankets, then we could just tell everyone there aren't any left. That'll help us later, I think," Priscilla said.

"Good idea." Bugaboo took several of the blankets and pillows and threw them around the cabin. Passengers quickly picked up the items; several of the passengers fought over some of the pillows.

Swine. They're all swine, Bugaboo thought as she watched the arguments.

When the plane started to move away from the gate, seven passengers were still trying to find room for their carry on bags.

"Plane's moving. You'll have to put those under the seat," Priscilla called out to the passengers.

"There isn't enough room," one of the men replied.

"That's what happens when everyone carries on. See if you can shove it under the seat in front of you."

"I won't have enough legroom," the man replied.

"Two-hour flight. You can do it, buddy. If not, we'll have to kick it out the emergency exit," Priscilla said.

The man gave her a dirty look and returned to his seat; the other carry-on passengers followed his lead. Priscilla and Bugaboo each took an aisle and started closing the overhead bins. As she walked down the aisle, an old man in an aisle seat got Bugaboo's attention.

"Excuse me, miss. Can I ask you something?"

Bugaboo knelt beside the man and asked, "How can I help you?"

"I have back problems," the man said. "I had surgery on my slipped disc last year, and this seat's killing my back. I noticed first class wasn't full, so I was hoping I might be able to sit up there just for a little while to relax."

"Sorry, sir, I can't do that," Bugaboo said. She stood up and started to move back down the aisle.

"Wait a minute," the man said. "It wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?"

"Cant' do it, sorry," Bugaboo replied. She moved down the aisle, continuing to close the overhead bins.

Bugaboo and Priscilla walked back to the front of the coach cabin. The head flight attendant came on the P.A. and announced the safety features of the plane. As the man read through the standard safety procedure notices, Bugaboo pointed to the appropriate emergency exits and safety features. After almost a hundred flights, Priscilla still didn't know any of the safety features of the planes; she usually read a book through the announcements.

Priscilla said, "You're pretty good at this. Did you do this before?"

"Shhhh, I'm trying to do this from memory," Bugaboo said. "See if you can find the loose seat belt they always use."

Priscilla looked around but couldn't find the sample seat belt. As she looked, she found the small flight attendant area between coach and first class. She had always wondered what it looked like inside. When the flight safety video started, she passed through the curtains and went inside.

It looked like a small Japanese kitchen without the appliances. The drink cart sat in the middle of the small room, with a tiny refrigerator on one side and a microwave oven.

Bugaboo entered the room behind her and asked, "Where the hell did you go?"

"I went right here," Priscilla replied. "We're allowed in here,"

"Why'd you leave me?"

"You had it covered and I couldn't find that loose seat belt. Anyway, the video was starting and I've always wanted to see what was in here. Looks like a Japanese kitchen, don't you think?"

"Yeah, this whole plane is like fucking Japan. Now, don't leave me out there with that rabble by myself again. They creep me out."

"Sure. You want to microwave something?"

"Not really. Look, we're about to take off. We have to figure out where we're going to sit. Follow me."

They walked out of the small room and looked around the cabin, trying to find the fold down seats. Bugaboo couldn't remember where they were located; Priscilla didn't believe they existed. The girls continued to struggle with their uniforms, which kept moving up their thighs as they walked. As the plane sped up for takeoff, they found the fold down seats in the back of the plane near the toilets.

They pulled down the two seats and sat facing the front of the plane. The seats were too low for the short dresses they were wearing. The girls tried stretching their legs straight forward, but found this caused them to slide out of the seats. When they sat in the normal position, their knees were several inches above their hips.

"This sucks," Priscilla said over the screaming engines. "We're giving them a show."

"It's OK, as long as no one looks back," Bugaboo said.

A teenage boy sitting five rows up from the back heard them speaking and looked back at them. His eyes widened.

"Turn around you little perv!" Priscilla called out, causing most of the passengers along the aisle up to the middle of the cabin to look back at her.

Priscilla turned to Bugaboo and asked, "What are we going to do?"

"We're too cute. They can't help it. Hold on, I have an idea," Bugaboo said. She then moved her hands away from her dress and gave the men who were still staring the finger.

"Turn around, or you won't get any pretzels!" Bugaboo screamed. The passengers turned around as the plane left the ground.

As the plane continued to ascend, one of the passenger service lights came on, accompanied by a loud ping.

"What the hell is that?" Priscilla asked.

"One of those jackasses is requesting service. We don't have to get up, though, since the plane's still going up," Bugaboo replied.

The needy passenger turned off the light and then turned it on again, causing another loud ping. The girls remained seated. Then, the passenger turned the light off and on again.

The aisle passengers looked back at Priscilla and Bugaboo. Bugaboo pointed at them and mouthed the word pretzels, causing them to turn back around.

"Fuck it, someone could be dying. I better go check it out," Bugaboo said. Bugaboo unlatched her seat belt and walked up the aisle, fighting the force of the rising plane. She held onto seats as she made her way forward until she reached the second row.

She looked down at the row of five seats in the middle of the plane and asked, "Who needs help?"

"Me," a middle-aged man sitting in the middle seat said. "I need a drink."

Bugaboo reached up and turned off the passenger service light and then replied, "Sir, the plane's still ascending. We'll start the drink service as soon as the plane levels off and the captain says it's safe."

The man ran his hand through his dark receding hair and said, "I'll have a glass of red wine."

Bugaboo forced a smile and said, "I'm sorry, sir, but we're not serving drinks, yet."

"Yeah, but you already came all the way up here. It wouldn't hurt you to go in that little room and bring me a little wine, now, would it," the man said. He smiled at Bugaboo, revealing a set of yellowed teeth.

Bugaboo saw the other passengers around the man, even those in the rows in front of him and behind him, look to see if Bugaboo would serve him. She knew people in coach are afraid they'll miss part of the service and be left out. As soon as they hear the drink cart, they lean down the aisle to make sure they haven't been passed. Bugaboo knew if she brought the man wine, the rest of the cabin would demand drinks, too.

"Sir, you'll just have to wait," Bugaboo said and turned away from the man.

"It's not fair. I want my wine," the man said.

Bugaboo turned back to the man and said, "You're in coach, why don't you act like it. With your middle seat there, I'm going to bet you got your ticket through some cheap ass website. Now, wait a few minutes and we'll bring you some wine when the captain says it's OK."

The man's cheeks and forehead flushed and he said, "That's no way to talk to a paying passenger. I want to talk to your superior."

"My superior's in first class, and he doesn't come back here anymore. You'll have to wait till we've landed," Bugaboo replied as she walked away. Some of the surrounding passengers laughed as she left.

Bugaboo sat down beside Priscilla again, hoping the captain would forget to announce when it was safe to move around the cabin. Five minutes later, the captain came on the P.A. system. He made some jokes, and then let the passengers know it was time for their drink service.

Priscilla looked at Bugaboo and said, "I don't wanna serve drinks."

"We have to.”

"No we don't. What are they going to do? Kick us off the plane?"

"Well, if they want to fire us when we land, they might find out we don't work for the company. Then, they might arrest us," Bugaboo said.

"OK, let's serve some drinks. No alcohol, though."

They walked to the front of the coach cabin, passing several passengers who tried to get their attention. In the small service room, they stocked the drink cart with sodas, juice, and ice. When they started pushing the cart down the starboard aisle, passengers in the other aisle started complaining.

One of the passengers, an old woman with over-sized, fake jewelry, said, "That's not fair. You should start over here."

"We have to start somewhere," Bugaboo said. She stared at the woman until she sat down again.

They started serving drinks and small bags of pretzels. The passengers told them either how much they hated pretzels or asked for extras. The girls served soft drinks in the regulation plastic cups; most of the passengers asked for the can, but the girls refused. The girls told the passengers they were out of alcohol, causing several of them to swear. Bugaboo and Priscilla just laughed at them. They finished the starboard aisle in ten minutes and then moved to port, finishing it in seven minutes.

The girls ignored the grumbles of the dissatisfied passengers as they returned the drink cart to the secret room, where they each drank three of the tiny airplane bottles of red wine. With a slight buzz, they walked to the back of the plane, again passing needy passengers, and sat in their fold-down seats.

An announcement from the captain over the P.A. system woke the girls. The captain told the passengers they would be landing in San Francisco soon and then he asked the flight attendants to secure the cabin for landing.

Priscilla rubbed her eyes. "Woops, we missed a drink service. Fuck 'em. How do we secure the cabin?"

Bugaboo ran her hands through her blond hair, trying to make it presentable for their exit from the plane, and replied, "Shit, um, I guess we need to make sure all of the seats are in their full upright position. Oh, we need to pick up the trash."

"Trash? No one said anything about trash."

"The cups and pretzel wrappers. We never picked them up. They're probably all in the seat pockets by now anyway, but we need to make a quick run through the cabin to pick it all up," Bugaboo said.

"I don't wanna pick up the trash," Priscilla said.

"We have to. Now, get up."

Priscilla followed Bugaboo to the secret room, where they found the trash bags. They each took a bag and walked down an aisle; Bugaboo took the starboard and Priscilla took the port. As they picked up trash from the passengers and asked them to put their seats up, several passengers asked them for more drinks.

"Jack and coke," an old man in a window seat said to Priscilla.

"Yeah, no," she replied. "We're landing."

"I know," the man said, "that's why I need it. I have money."

"No more drinks. You can get as drunk as you want in San Francisco." Priscilla continued down the aisle. She was surprised when the man said nothing else to her.

Bugaboo found the coach passengers reluctant to return their seats to their full upright positions. They want to take advantage of any comfort they can, even though they're in one of the least comfortable places on earth, she thought. I hate them.

The girls deposited their trash bags in the secret room and returned to their seats for the landing. They thought the head flight attendant might come back and yell at them, but he never did.

The plane landed at San Francisco International Airport. As they taxied to the gate, the girls remained in their seats. They knew the aisle would fill quickly with passengers who weren't smart enough to realize the line for the door wouldn't move for five minutes. The girls didn't talk about it, but they each watched the passengers, wondering who would be the first to stand and move to an overhead compartment. Even though the captain announced that the passengers should stay seated until the plane had stopped, the girls knew there were always a few coach passengers who got up before the plane stopped because they felt they deserved special privileges, even though they were the same as everyone else.

The first passenger stood when they were still taxiing, not even close to the gate. Half of the coach cabin followed him, filling the aisles in attempts to open the overhead bins. They stood for ten minutes, waiting for the plane to stop and then for the first-class passengers to exit the plane. Bugaboo and Priscilla remained seated.

When the plane had cleared, the head flight attendant walked back to the coach cabin.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, pointing at the girls in their fold down seats.

"We're sitting," Bugaboo replied.

"Well, get your asses up and clean this plane," he said.

"You clean it. We quit," Bugaboo said.

"What?"

"We quit," Priscilla said. "This job sucks."

The head flight attendant's face flushed. He glared at Priscilla and Bugaboo as they stood up and said, "If you quit now, I'll make sure you don't get paid for this flight."

"Fair enough," Bugaboo replied.

Priscilla and Bugaboo walked past the head flight attendant and exited the plane.

Chapter 28

Friday 2:15pm M.S.T.

In the hot afternoon, a bright figure moved through the streets of the tourist area of downtown Albuquerque, followed closely by police officers on motorcycles and standard patrol cars. Some tourists dropped their bags when they saw the thing; others fumbled through their backpacks and fanny packs for their cameras. Most of them had seen robots before, but none of them had ever seen a robot holding a human and being chased by the police.

The local and state police agencies in Albuquerque, when combined with the standard afternoon downtown traffic, were so predictable the robot had been pre-programmed with an escape route, which resembled a pattern its programmer had used to clear the 256th board of Pac-Man. The robot's burden kicked as they moved through the streets, trying without luck to take off the robot's head. The programmer had considered the burden's weight when calculating the pattern, but he hadn't considered the burden's stubborn desire to fight.

The robot's pattern caused several of the patrol cars to crash into each other, leaving just a few motorcycles behind them. People stayed out of the way; the programmer had known they would.

The robot left the downtown area and moved through a more suburban part of the city, where it jumped a low metal fence and ran onto a small college campus. The students tried to ignore the robot, assuming it was a fraternity prank or the new mascot for the campus bookstore.

By the time the four motorcycle cops found a way around the fence, the robot had disappeared behind the only administrative building on campus. They rode across the grass, tearing up the yard and scaring several students. None of the officers had ever been in a high speed, off-road chase; all four of them were trying to remember what they had seen on Chips, the show that had inspired them all to be police officers. When they got to the other side of the administration building, they saw a large parking lot but no robot. Several classroom buildings sat on the other side of the parking lot; the officers assumed the robot was hiding there. They rode through the parking lot, passing the students' cars, trucks, motorcycles, mopeds, and a large Winnebago. The officers searched the other side of campus for hours before deciding the robot must have escaped back into the city.

Mick Aloha had kept his eyes shut most of the way; he hadn't been afraid, he just hated bright lights, especially sunlight. When he opened his eyes he saw complete darkness. Mick Aloha waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust, but he still couldn't see anything.

"Goddam it, I'm blind. Goddam robot took my sight," he said. "I'm like that goddam guy in the bible. What's him name? Shit, I don't know."

"Don't worry, Mick Aloha. You're not blind," a voice said from the darkness.

"How do you know, you goddam robot? I might be blind, the way you carried me. Goddam it, haven't you ever played football? You have to cradle the ball, like it's an egg. You don't squeeze it. I'm a goddam egg, you goddam robot."

"Robot? I'm not a robot, Mick Aloha. Don't you know my voice?”

"Sound like a goddam robot to me," Mick Aloha replied.

"Just listen," the voice said. "Can't you place my voice?"

"This is Your Life went off the air thirty years ago, dude. To answer your question, I'm not privy to your identity."

The voice said, "How 'bout this. Do you have that Dr. Pepper?"

"Tim?"

"Sir Timothy. But yes, it's me. The cops told you I was here, right?"

"Oh, yeah. What the hell are you doing with a robot?" Mick Aloha asked.

"I've been tinkering with them for a few years. Thought I'd get me one to take care of my dirty work."

Mick Aloha asked, "Where the hell are we?"

"Winnebago."

"Why the hell is it so dark?"

"Cops. I can't have them looking in here, even though they're so predictable I knew there'd be no chance of that."

"How'd you know that, dude?"

"A lot's changed since you saw me last, Mick Aloha. See, I've been training myself for years now to look for patterns in everything. That's how I beat Pac-Man. When you look at things from far enough away, you can predict everything."

"I'm privy to your way of thinking," Mick Aloha said. "It's detourism. I read about it. I'm privy."

"Determinism," Sir Timothy said. "Anyway, my mind's kind of like a computer..."

"You're a goddam robot," Mick Aloha interrupted.

"No, I just think more analytically now. That's what I've been training to do."

They heard the sound of motorcycles outside the vehicle.

When the sound had faded, Sir Timothy continued, "Anyway, that's why I'm so good with robots now."

"Why'd you break me out of jail?" Mick Aloha asked. "You been following me?"

"Yeah, I've been following you for a while, now. You're not hard to keep up with, really. I wanted to ask you, did you ever score with those girls?"

"Yes. Wait, which girls?"

"The ones you was riding with that had on them short dresses."

"Oh, them," Mick Aloha replied. "No, I didn't. I think they're lesbians. Now, why'd you break me out of jail? If they catch me, I might end up doing some real time."

"They won't catch you as long as you're with me. I need you for a job, and if you help me out, you'll be rich," Sir Timothy said.

Mick Aloha laughed and asked, "That's what this is about?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"I'm already privy to being rich. I have disposable income, dude. Didn't I tell you?"

"You probably mentioned it," Sir Timothy said.

"Well, it's true. I have disposable income, so I can buy anything I want. It's the good life, and I like living it."

"How much do you have on you right now?"

"Damn you, Tim. I have twenty-eight dollars and seventy two cents. Damn it. Damn it. I had to leave my house in a hurry. It's that goddam Apocalypse Dowell's fault; he's behind my financial shortcomings."

"So, you want to make some money?"

"I have disp...damn you, Tim. Yeah, I do. What's the plan?"

Mick Aloha could hear Sir Timothy drinking something from a can. He waited for an answer, but only heard Sir Timothy continue to drink.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Drinkin' that Dr. Pepper. You want one?"

"No, dude. Myself, I prefer the Coke. You have any Coke?"

"Naw, just that Dr. Pepper. Now, here's the plan. I have it from a confidential source that a new search engine technology has been developed over there in San Francisco. It's in some place called South of the Market. Not sure where that is, but I'm sure we can find it. I guess this technology's going to change the way we use the Internet and make it easier to find information."

"We're going to steal it?"

"Naw, we won't steal anything. You remember the article you wrote in Common Since, where you said the Internet would be the downfall of this country?"

"Yeah, Apocalypse Dowell also said God started the universe in motion. That jackass will believe anything."

"Nevermind him. Anyway, I've been working with a group who believes the same thing you believed once; that the Internet is the beginning of the end of the world. We want to stop it."

Mick Aloha laughed for several seconds; it was one of those Mick Aloha laughs that he couldn't control. When he finally stopped, he said: "Dude, you can't stop the Internet. It's too powerful and spread out."

"So was that Roman Empire," Sir Timothy said.

Mick Aloha said, "Well, what's the plan then, dude?"

"We're going to find that search engine technology and destroy it."

"What good will that do, dude?"

"It'll stop the Internet from advancing," Sir Timothy replied.

"So what, dude? There'll still be search engines. I can't see that you'll do much damage."

Sir Timothy said, "That's why we want to do it like that; it'll look like little damage has been done. But, if we keep it up, Internet technology will stagnate, people will get bored and find something else to do. See, it doesn't matter how good technology is: what matters is how new it is. There were programs and websites on the Internet back in '95 that were solid, and we should still be using them today. But, they're not new, and people like new stuff."

"Can't you turn the lights on, guy? I'm sick up talking to the dark," Mick Aloha said.

"Not, yet. We can't move for another five minutes."

"OK, guy. The way I see it, if you want to destroy the Internet, you should write viruses and worms. Those seem to do a good job."

Sir Timothy took another long drink of his Dr. Pepper and said, "What do you think I am, Mick Aloha? Some punk programmer? A disgruntled teen? You ever seen a virus that did any real damage? And, I mean damage that could stop the Internet. You can't do that. You can't make a full frontal attack. The way to bring it down is to ease in so that the Internet doesn't even see it coming."

"Guy, you could get someone to write a real virus, not these high school pranks we've seen in the papers recently," Mick Aloha said.

"No viruses, Aloha. That's not the way to do it. Now, are you in or not?"

"You'll take me to San Francisco?"

"Yeah, in two minutes and twenty-one seconds I'm going to start the Winnebago hear and then we'll head west."

"OK, guy, but when we get to San Francisco, I have to save my girlfriend, so we'll have to make this quick."

"Fair enough, Mick Aloha. You sure you don't want any of that Dr. Pepper? It's my favorite, you know."

"I'm privy to that, guy. No, I don't want any Dr. Pepper."

"Why do you keep saying guy?"

"Because guy is the new dude."

The lights came on, revealing Sir Timothy sitting on a large cushion. A black headband held his dark red hair out of his eyes; his red beard looked like it hadn't been trimmed in months. Sir Timothy had a set of sharp blue eyes that stared at Mick Aloha.

The stripped interior of the Winnebago had no chairs; it was covered with scattered junk and comic books. A red curtain blocked the front of the Winnebago from view.

Mick Aloha pointed at the streak of lightning on Sir Timothy's red t-shirt and said, "What the hell is that, guy?"

"Lightning."

"Why do you have lightning on your shirt, guy?"

"What do you think?" Sir Timothy asked.

"Isn't it time to go?" Mick Aloha asked.

"One minute, twenty-two seconds. Now, why do you think I have lightning on my shirt?"

"Hell if I know, guy. Why'd you cut the sleeves off? And, where'd you get them cutoff shorts? They look like Daisy Dukes, guy."

"One question at a time, Alex Trebek."

"Alex Trebek gives answers, guy, not questions. Now, I don't know what the lightning means. What is it?"

The Winnebago's engine started and they began to move through the parking lot.

"Who the hell's driving this thing, guy?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Robot."

"What?"

"Robot. Now, I want you to guess about the lightning," Sir Timothy said.

"Guy, I can't ride in a vehicle driven by a goddam robot. It goes against everything I believe in. Is it American or Japanese?"

"American. A Japanese robot would drive on the other side of the road, now, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I guess it's OK, but, why the hell do you have a robot driving?"

Sir Timothy reached into the small refrigerator beside him and took out a fresh Dr. Pepper. He opened it, smiled, and took a drink.

"You know I'm wanted by the law, right?" Sir Timothy asked between drinks.

"So am I, I think. Well, I usually am, at least. They took my license three years ago," Mick Aloha said.

Sir Timothy smiled and said, "See there, I can't drive and neither can you. If we get pulled over by the police, we're stuck. So, the robot's driving."

"Guy, I'm privy to the Robot Legislation and I know they're not allowed to drive. If the cops see a robot driving, it would be worse than seeing one of us."

Sir Timothy laughed. He then finished his can of Dr. Pepper, placed it on the floor beside him, and said, "They won't see a robot; they'll see an old couple. The man's driving, the old woman's looking at a map in the passenger seat. It's the new holographic technology. Perfected it myself."

"Really, guy? I want to see it."

"You have to be outside to see it. From behind, it looks like a robot. Now, guess about my shirt."

Mick Aloha said, "It really looks like an old couple's driving this thing?"

"You still don't have much faith, do you, Mick?"

"Damn you, Tim. I want to see it."

"Later. Just trust me; it works. Now, guess about my shirt," Sir Timothy said as he pulled the bottom of his t-shirt down to smooth out the picture of the lightning bolt.

Mick Aloha lowered his eyebrows and moved his lower jaw forward. He thought about giving Sir Timothy the Big Boot, but decided the free ride was more important than his anger.

He said, "OK, guy, I'm going to guess." Mick Aloha then rubbed his chin with his right hand, stared at the lightning bolt and thought hard.

"OK, guy, I'm ready to guess. That t-shirt represents the Flash, everyone's favorite quick moving comic book character."

"Naw, it ain't that Flash. Guess again."

"It has something to do with Storm from the X-men."

"Naw. Again."

"Damn you, Tim," Mick Aloha said. "OK, guy. Is it your own design? Is it about you?"

"Sure is," Tim said. "Now, you have to guess why I, Sir Timothy, am represented by a lightning bolt."

"You got struck by lightning?"

"I sure did," Sir Timothy said as he opened another Dr. Pepper. "I got struck by that lightning, but it hasn't given me any superpowers. But, I'm waiting."

Mick Aloha laughed for several seconds before asking, "How'd it happen, guy?"

"I don't see what's funny about it, Mick. It like to killed me," Sir Timothy said as he leaned back on his cushion. The Winnebago was at full speed, and he could tell from a small monitor on the side of refrigerator, which Mick Aloha couldn't see, that they were moving west on I-40.

"Sorry, guy," Mick Aloha said; he wondered why Sir Timothy kept looking at the refrigerator. "It's just, I've never met anyone who was struck by lightning before, least not that I knew of. What happened?"

"Well, Mick, see I's down at the mall a couple months back to return a book a friend gave me for my birthday. It was in the afternoon, and since it was June, you know it was pretty hot outside. Anyway, I was walking back to the Red-mobile, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, when I got struck by lightning."

"No clouds? Guy, how could there be lightning without clouds?"

"I'm not a scientist, Mick. I'm just telling you what happened. Well, the lightning prostrated me and..."

"It hit your prostate, guy?"

"No, not my prostate," Sir Timothy said. "Knocked me down. I don't know how long I was on the ground, but when I looked up there was a big rebel flag in front of me. I thought maybe I'd gone back in time, but then I saw this guy standing beside me talking on his cell phone. Anyway, it was Clovis Riggs. You know him?"

"Yeah, I went to high school with that no good son of a bitch."

"Well, he's a cowboy, now. He almost ran me over with his truck. They took me to the hospital up the street from the mall, but I was OK. So, ever since then I've been waiting for those superpowers to kick in."

"What superpowers?"

"My superpowers. I'm waiting for them."

"Yeah, I know, guy," Mick Aloha said. "But, you said those superpowers. What do you mean by those?"

"I mean my superpowers."

"Damn you, Tim. What are the superpowers?"

"That's what I'm waiting to find out," Sir Timothy said. He finished his can of Dr. Pepper. "I don't know what they are, yet."

The Winnebago shook violently for several seconds and then stabilized, continuing on its way.

"What the hell happened?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Aw, don't worry about that. Except for those semi rigs, we're the biggest thing on the road. I guess buses are bigger, too. Anyway, I have a direct link with the robot, so if there's any real trouble, it'll let me know."

Mick Aloha shook his head and looked around the interior of the Winnebago. He asked, "You have a bathroom in this thing?"

"I have a toilet, it's in the back there. No solids, Aloha."

"OK, guy. Now, I see you have a refrigerator, but do you have anything else that can hold food?"

Sir Timothy slapped the top of the refrigerator with his left hand and said, "Refrigerator's all I need."

Mick Aloha crawled across the floor and looked into the refrigerator, which Tim had opened. It was full of 12 ounce cans of Dr. Pepper.

"What do you eat?" Mick Aloha asked.

"I just get food along the way and drink that Dr. Pepper on the road," Sir Timothy said. He closed the door and leaned back on his cushion. The single light bulb that hung from the middle of the ceiling rocked when the Winnebago hit more bumps. Mick Aloha returned to his seat across from Sir Timothy.

Mick Aloha ignored the bumps and said, "Myself, guy, I prefer the Coca-Cola. It's a real American brand, and I prefer the flavor over the rivals. So, can I have some space in that refrigerator?"

Sir Timothy sat silently for several seconds, thinking about the question. Maybe I'll just have to kill him, he thought. No one will know. I could get the robot to do it, that way there won't be any blood on my hands.

"What are you thinking about, guy?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Just thinking about your question. Yeah, I guess I could part with a little space. We can pick you up some Cokes at the next stop."

"When's that going to be?" Mick Aloha asked.

Sir Timothy looked down at the side of the refrigerator and said, "Forty-two minutes. We'll stop and get some dinner."

"Where are we stopping?" Mick Aloha asked.

"We always stop at Denny's."

"Cool," Mick Aloha said. "Now, back to my previous point. Why do you think getting struck by lightning will give you superpowers?"

"Cause that's what happens. You ever seen a movie, read a comic book, or watched a TV show where someone got struck by lightning and didn't get either killed or special powers?"

"I'm not privy to a case like that," Mick Aloha said. "I guess you're right, but usually the powers come right after it happens. You tried bending anything with your mind?"

"Yeah, I've tried everything. Reading minds, moving things, running fast, flying. I've tried it all. I'm still the same old Tim. So, I figure it must be on a timer."

"Yeah, it might be," Mick Aloha said. "Guy, I'm tired. You mind if I lay down and relax before we stop for dinner?"

"Naw, help yourself. There's a futon in the corner back there you can use. Should be a pillow folded in with it."

Mick Aloha dreamed about Denny's. He saw himself eating countless plates of fries, which were stacked so high they burst through the ceiling. In his dreams, the burgers were plain: no one ever added any unnecessary ketchup or pickles.

"Wake up, Mick," a voice said. "Denny's time."

Mick Aloha awoke to see Sir Timothy standing over him. He looked behind Sir Timothy to see the robot, barely illuminated by the single light bulb, sitting on the floor.

Mick Aloha looked up and said, "Hello, robot. Genki desuka?"

The robot replied, "Hello Mick Aloha. I'm sorry, I don't understand what you just said."

"Majide? Honto desuka?" Mick Aloha said.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," the robot said.

"We'll see if you do," Mick Aloha said as he followed Sir Timothy out of the side door and into the Denny's parking lot.

Mick Aloha ate two plain burgers and four plates of fries at Denny's. When they returned to the Winnebago, he asked Sir Timothy to have the robot sit in the driver's seat and turn on the hologram.

Staring at the hologram, Mick Aloha thought, He's right. It looks just like an old couple. I need this technology.

Sir Timothy walked up beside him and said, "Looks real, doesn't it. Looks just like an old retired couple cruising the country."

Mick Aloha looked down at the grill of the Winnebago, where he saw what looked like blood.

"What the hell is that?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Blood."

"Whose blood, guy?"

"Don't know," Sir Timothy replied.

"How'd it get there, guy?"

"How'd what get where?"

"The blood," Mick Aloha said. "How'd the blood get on the grill there?"

Sir Timothy replied, "Aww, don't worry. It's not human, at least I don't think it is. See, Mick, that's animal blood. Probably small animals, squirrels and the like. Maybe a deer or two. When I first tried the robot out behind the wheel, I programmed it to avoid all animals and people. But, do you know how many animals there are out there? There are a lot. And, the robot can't really distinguish between an ant and a deer."

"It can tell by size, can't it?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Naw, robots don't have much depth perception. Anyway, it tried to avoid everything, and almost ran off the road every few minutes. We ended up in a ditch once, so I reprogrammed it to just run over everything. If anything gets in our way, it's gone," Sir Timothy said.

"Kind of like my philosophy, dude. I avoid nothing."

Sir Timothy looked down at his watch and said, "We're behind schedule, let's go."

Mick Aloha laid back down on the futon. From one of the back windows he could see highway lights flash by when they neared exits and on-ramps. He felt the Winnebago hit something else, which caused him to sit up and look around for several seconds. Mick Aloha lay back down, heard Sir Timothy open another Dr. Pepper, and fell asleep.

Chapter 29

Friday 5:04pm M.S.T.

Rice awoke to the sound of the Kid eating cheese. He opened his eyes to see the Kid sitting in the driver's seat with the block of pepperjack in his lap. The Kid continued cutting up the cheese with his pocketknife and eating it without noticing Rice had woken up. Rice turned the knob on the right side of his seat, slowly raising himself up.

"Look who's awake," the Kid said as he chewed on a piece of pepperjack. Small pieces of cheese covered the Kid's black t-shirt and the white letters that read "New York: I'm OK with it."

"What time is it?" Rice asked as he stretched his arms. He looked around to see they were in a small parking lot in front of a country store. Sunlight reflected off the side view mirror and into his eyes.

"Like, its a little after five."

"Where the hell are we?"

The Kid cut another chunk from the block of cheese and said, "Like, we're in front of the Old Tyme Country Store."

Rice looked up and read the old sign over the store's front door.

"Yeah, I can see that," Rice said. "But, where the hell are we?"

"Like, we're at the canyon, man. The grand one."

Rice sat up in his seat, looked around the parking lot, and said, "I don't see any canyons."

"It's up the road, man. I took some sweet pictures with my Nikon 29X34. See, like, I just got it last year, and they have the 29X99 now, but, like, this one has a better F-stop, and like, the 29X99 isn't worth the extra price, man."

"We going to go back?" Rice asked.

"You want to?"

"Yeah, we dragged our asses all the way out here, I might as well get a look at the thing."

"Like, you should have been awake."

"You should have woken me up."

"Like, I'm not your alarm clock. You should have told me to wake you up if you wanted to see it," the Kid said.

"You should have known; I shouldn't have had to tell you," Rice said.

"Like, OK," the Kid said. "I wouldn't mind getting some dusk shots of the canyon, anyway."

"Good. Now, can you wait for me while I run into this store and get me some Jolt?"

"Like, have at it, man," the Kid said.

"You won't leave me?"

The Kid thought for a moment and said, "No, I think I'll just eat some more of this cheese."

The Kid was putting the cheese away when Rice returned to the car with four Jolt colas.

They wound along the narrow road that ran beside the Grand Canyon, occasionally getting a good view.

"Like, is that enough, man?" the Kid asked.

"Can't we pull over and get a good look?"

"All right, man." The Kid stopped at the next small parking area. He and Rice stepped out of the car and moved between some other tourists to look down into the Grand Canyon.

Rice finished his second Jolt and said, "See there, that's a bigger hole than the one we saw earlier." The fading sunlight sparsely lit up the canyon, creating long shadows and brilliant colors. "Look down there, it even has a river," Rice continued. "This thing has it all, and I didn't have to pay anything. Hell, where's my bathing suit? I might have to go down there and take me a dip. Got a river and everything."

"Like, the river made it," the Kid said as he adjusted his camera and snapped another picture.

"The damn it did. How's a river going to make a hole like this?" Rice asked.

A young boy, who had been standing beside them with his mother, looked up at Rice and said, "The river cut the land like a knife. It took millions of years. Didn't you know that?"

Rice looked down at the kid and said, "No one asked you, Doogie Howser." The kid's mom grabbed his arm and moved to another spot.

"Bad ass kids," Rice said under his breath. He opened his third Jolt and started drinking.

They stared at the canyon for almost an hour; the only sound that interrupted the silence was the click of the Kid's camera and the occasional talk of the other tourists. When the sun started edging below the horizon, the Kid put his camera back in its case, walked back to his car, and started the engine, leaving Rice standing alone beside the canyon.

The Kid waited a couple of seconds and then began to back out of his parking space. As he pulled out of the space, he saw Rice, who continued to face the canyon, raise his right hand and motion for the Kid to join him. Rice then turned around and yelled something the Kid couldn't understand, motioning the whole time for the Kid to join him. The Kid considered leaving, but decided Rice might have seen something that would make a good picture; he pulled back into the parking space and joined Rice beside the canyon.

"Like, what is it, man?" the Kid asked.

"Shhh, get your monkey ass over here and take a look," Rice said.

"Like, I'm here, man. What is it?"

Rice pointed at the rock face below them; dark shadows covered most of the wall below.

"Like, what are you pointing at, man?" the Kid asked.

"You don't see it?" Rice asked. "About halfway down, look where my finger's pointing. You see that?"

The Kid looked at the area indicated and replied, "No, man, I don't see anything. What you got on you, eagle eyes?"

"I might. Take another look, you have to see it. It looks like something's moving up the cliff," Rice said.

The Kid looked again. This time, he saw what Rice had been pointing at. A dark figure was carefully moving up the rock cliff, easily negotiating the steep wall. It looked human.

"Like, I see it now. What the hell does he think he's doing?"

"Get your camera, Kid. I don't think that's a he. Maybe you can get a better look with the zoom." The Kid looked around the now empty parking lot as he removed his camera from its case.

With his camera's zoom lens, the Kid saw the mystery climber more clearly.

"It's a robot, isn't it, Kid?" Rice asked.

"How'd you know, man? Like, it sure is, and it's moving fucking fast."

"I could tell by the way it moved when I first saw it," Rice replied.

"Fuckin' Eagle Eye Rice. Well, let me see if I can get some shots of it. You ever seen a robot before?" the Kid asked.

"Not one like that," Rice said. "I've seen 'em at shows, you know like when they bring a robot into Wal-Mart or K-Mart for the kids to see. I've never seen one by itself like that. I think it's Japanese."

"Spshhhh. I just saw a Japanese robot a few days ago. My Grand thought it was a ghost. This jackass I was traveling with kicked its head off. That was the first one I'd ever seen. We think it was Japanese. At least, it spoke Japanese."

"Oh, it's on, now," Rice said, as he continued to watch the robot climb the cliff. "Two Japanese robots in a few days means one thing: invasion. The Japanese are coming."

The Kid snapped some pictures, lowered his camera, and said, "Like, there's no invasion. Japan's our ally."

"The damn they are. They've just been playing a waiting game; a long ass waiting game. Now, they're making their move, and they're using the robots to do it. Ooh, it's on, now."

"Spshh, let's go. There's nothing we can do about it; we can call someone from a pay phone up the street. Anyway, it's almost dark, so we'll lose sight of it before it gets up here, anyway."

"What kind of American are you?" Rice asked.

The Kid said, "A sane one. There's no invasion, man. That's probably a government robot doing some surveying."

"You got that right, Kid. It's a government robot; it's a goddam Japanese government robot. And, it's doing some surveying; it's surveying places to start the invasion."

"Spshhh," the Kid said as he continued to watch the climbing robot with his camera.

"Damn hell, let me see that thing," Rice said.

The Kid reluctantly handed him the camera and said, "Don't drop it, man."

Rice watched the robot with the Kid's camera, following along its path up the rock cliff. He said, "It's Japanese, all right. American robots can't climb like that. You can't tell me Japanese robots aren't always up to no good, Kid."

"Spsshhh, a lot of them are. But, that's not Japan's fault, man. People get those things and use them for their own purposes. They're not made for those uses."

"The damn they're not," Rice said. He held the camera steady. "Why do their heads explode? Huh? If they aren't made to do some evil shit, why do their heads explode?"

Watching his camera carefully the Kid replied, "Like, that was just a flaw with the design. They didn't mean to give them exploding heads."

"All I'm saying is American robots' heads don't explode when you knock 'em off. At least, that's what I've heard. Now, you said you saw a Japanese robot?"

"Yeah, man," the Kid said. He reached over and took the camera from Rice. "Where is it?"

"It's about a hundred feet down," Rice replied. He then turned and walked across the dark parking lot toward the Kid's car. The Kid followed.

"What happened to the robot you saw the other day?" Rice asked as they approached the car.

The Kid stopped beside the driver's side door and said, "The jackass I told you about. Well, he kicked its head off."

Rice grinned and said, "Exploded, didn't it?"

"Yeah, man. It exploded. Blew a hole in my Grand's yard. That doesn't mean it had to be Japanese, though. You could rig an American robot to explode."

"Shit," Rice said. "You don't really believe that's what happened, do you?"

Rice and the Kid both turned toward the canyon; they heard the robot approaching the end of its climb.

"Like, let's go," the Kid said. He opened the car door.

"Nope," Rice said. "We have to stop it. Now, help me get this thing down. Rice reached up and started tugging on the straps holding the Kid's surfboard to the car.

"What are you doing, man?" the Kid asked. He put his camera on the backseat and walked around the car.

Rice continued pulling on the straps and said, "Well, I need a weapon, and I'm fresh out of swords, so this board's going to have to do."

"Spshhh, you're not using my board, man. Like, I bought that thing from Mike Callahan."

"Who the hell's Mike Callahan?" Rice asked as he loosened the final strap and pulled the surfboard from the top of the car.

"Like, who's Mike Callahan? Like, it's Mike, from SF Hoards of Boards, man. Mike."

"I don't know who that is, but I think if Mike was here, and if Mike's a patriotic surfboard peddler, he'd want us to use this thing to mark up one for the good guys."

"Like, you don't know Mike, do you? He'd tell you to get your hands off the board."

The robot climbed over the edge of the cliff and walked across the parking lot toward the Kid's car.

"Goddam you," the Kid said. "Like, now it's coming over here. We could have been halfway to the California border by now."

"Shhh," Rice said. The robot had stopped beside them, turning its sensor from one to the other of them.

"Like, it's trying to decide which one of us to kill first, man," the Kid said. "If you're going to do something, do it. But, if you damage that board, you're going in the canyon."

Rice leaned the surfboard against the Kid's car and said, "Damn hell, they're short, aren't they. I heard about that, but I thought they'd look bigger. How tall is it?"

"Looks like it's at the max. Five-six."

"And it's black," Rice said. "I thought it might have been the low light down in the canyon, but now, under this security light, I can see it's black. Not navy. Not dark green. This thing is black."

"Yeah, man, it is," the Kid said.

"And, I'm black," Rice said.

"Yeah, man, you are," the Kid said.

"You ever seen a black robot before?" Rice asked.

"No, man. The white one I saw earlier this week was the first for me."

"Rice said, "The last black robot I saw did the weather on Good Morning America."

The Kid stared at the robot.

"That's a joke, Kid," Rice said.

"I know, man. It wasn't funny. Maybe we can just leave. It doesn't seem to be doing anything."

"Leave it to do no good? I don't think so. I'm going to fight it. Can you wait for me?"

"I guess so, man. Make it quick. I'll be in the car," the Kid said. He then got in the car and took the cheese block from the cooler.

Rice walked up to the robot and stopped a couple of meters in front of it. The robot didn't move.

"You want to fight?" Rice asked. The robot didn't reply.

"Cat got your tongue? Shit, I know some Jackie Chan Kung-Fu shit, too. You're not the only one. Come on, try something. See, what it is, I'm like Scooby Doo, and you're one of the villains. Which one are you? There were so many robot villains, I can't decide. If Don Knotts was here, he'd probably tell me to kick your monkey robot ass."

The robot didn't move; Rice thought it might have turned itself off. He walked up to the robot and kicked it in the right knee. A soft blue light shone from the robot's optic receptor on its forehead, illuminating Rice's face. Rice could hear the Kid laughing from inside the car. Rice turned to the car and motioned for the Kid to roll down his window.

"Nice one," the Kid said when he had lowered his window.

"What's this blue light mean, Kid?" Rice asked.

"It means there's a sale at K-mart," the Kid said. He then put a chunk of pepperjack in his mouth.

"Fuck you, Kid," Rice said. "Really, what's it mean?"

The Kid swallowed the cheese and said, "Blue light's a scanner, man. It's scanning your face. It must be looking for someone. I think you're safe, man."

"Lookin' for someone? Who?"

"I don't know, man. But, if it was you, it would have probably killed you already. It's probably going to come over and scan me next."

Rice kicked the robot in the knee again. It raised its left arm, moved Rice out of the way, and walked to the driver's side door of the Kid's Volkswagen. The Kid chewed on a piece of pepperjack and smiled at the robot as the blue light scanned his face. Seconds later, the light disappeared and the robot stepped away from the car.

Rice kicked it again.

"You're really teaching it a lesson," the Kid said. "Kick it! Kick it!"

"Shut up, Kid. No one asked you. This thing's tough."

"Spshhh, like, it's metal, man. You can't beat metal."

"I know it's metal," Rice said. "But, I thought I could dent it or something. All my kicks are doing is knocking some of the dirt off the thing. Any ideas?"

"Yeah, man. Get in the car and let's hit the rickey-road. That thing's after one person, and that one person probably did something bad. We don't have any weapons to take its head off, so let's just leave it. We can call the cops up the road, man. Get you some more Jolt colas when we're there."

"You're starting to make sense, Kid. Let's get out of here," Rice said. The robot had started walking across the parking lot and approached the road when Rice started to get in the car. Rice watched the robot as he opened the door and stopped moving when he saw the robot stop beside the road.

"What's it doing?" he asked as he stood behind the car's open passenger-side door.

"Fuck it, man. Let's go," the Kid said.

They saw headlights approaching the robot; two county police cars screeched to a stop and blocked the robot's path.

A voice coming from the P.A. of one of the police cars said, "On your knees, robot. We have you covered."

Rice stood frozen. The Kid reached into the cooler on the backseat and took the cheese back out.

"This is going to be good, man," the Kid said. "Get in here before you get shot."

"How'd they know it was here?" Rice asked.

"That's why they're the police and we're just citizens, man. Someone in the cars that passed must have seen it and called it in. Now, get in here and get you some cheese. I feel like sharing."

The robot stood motionless for several seconds, and then turned and ran toward the Kid's car. Two police officers jumped out of each car, aiming their guns at the robot. They didn't fire.

The robot grabbed Rice before he could get in the Kid's car.

"I told you, man," the Kid said, as the robot pulled Rice into the middle of the parking lot.

"Fuck you, Kid!" Rice called out. Rice looked at the police officers and said, "Shoot it!"

"It's too dangerous," one of the officers replied. "We might hit you."

"Might hit me? Don't you have a sharpshooter?" Rice asked.

"No, we don't."

"Then, don't shoot, then," Rice said. "Thought you guys were supposed to have sharpshooters."

"You've been watching too many movies, sir," one of the officers replied. "Now, just remain calm."

"Calm? How the hell am I supposed to remain calm. I'm being held hostage by a goddam Japanese robot."

The Kid laughed from his car.

"Fuck you, Kid," Rice said. "You're on my list. Once this monkey ass robot is taken care of, you're next."

The Kid laughed again, stepped out of his car, and strapped his surfboard back to the top of his car.

Rice tried to shake himself out of the robot's grip; the robot just held him tighter. He stepped on its foot, but it didn't help.

"Damn it," Rice said as he looked at the police officers. "Aren't you supposed to do something?"

"We can't do anything with the situation like this. Can't shoot, cause we might hit you. Can't run up there, cause it might kill you. Really, we can't do anything until we know what it wants."

"Well, why don't you ask it what the hell it wants, then?" Rice asked.

"We don't know how to do that. That thing's the first robot any of us have seen."

"Damn hell," Rice said. "Let me try."

Rice thought for several seconds, and then said, "Robot! What do you want?" The robot made no reply.

"Kid, do you speak Japanese?" Rice asked.

The Kid leaned out of his car and replied, "Chotto dakeh, man."

"What the hell's that mean?" Rice asked.

"Only a little, man."

"Well, that's no good. What else can you say?"

The Kid replied, "Watashi wa gaijin ichiban! That means, I'm the number one foreigner. That's about all I know."

"Lotta good you did me, Kid. Maybe this thing can speak some English."

When he said the word English, Rice heard something click in the robot's head. The robot said, "Good evening. What are your hobbies?"

"Good, you speak English. What do you want?" Rice asked.

"How many people are in your family?" the robot asked.

"What...do...you...want?" Rice asked.

"Police officers closer," the robot said.

Rice looked at the officers, who were hiding behind the open car doors of their cruisers, and said, "All right, you heard the thing. Get your monkey asses over here."

"We don't want to," the closest officer said. "We can't trust that thing."

"Trust it, fool, trust it. Get on over here before I sue your asses for letting this thing kill me. It's a robot. It can kill you over there just as easy as it can kill you over here. Now, get over here."

The four police officers stood up with their guns firmly aimed at the robot. They walked single file until the first officer stood directly in front of the robot. The robot's blue scanner shined in the first officer's eyes and then disappeared.

The robot said, "Tsugi."

"Kid, what does tsugi mean?" Rice asked.

The Kid put his head back out of his window and said, "It means next."

"Shit, well, move out of the way, Barney, and let the next officer up here." The police officers all filed up to the robot.

After scanning the last officer, the robot released Rice and said, "Sayonara." It then ran across the parking lot and onto the road. The officers fired several rounds at the robot; the bullets that hit the robot bounced off without leaving a mark. Seconds later, the robot was out of sight.

The officer who had done most of the talking said, "Sombitch sure can run. I don't guess we can catch him."

"Y'all are a bunch of monkey-assed jackasses," Rice said as he stared at the officers and rubbed his right arm. "Aren't you going after it?"

The lead officer shook his head and said, "First off, you should watch your mouth. We're officers of the law, and we'll throw your ass in jail if you keep it up. Second, you ever tried to catch a robot when it has a mind to run away from you?"

"No, I haven't," Rice replied. "But, I've never let one just run away, either."

"Well, if you'd ever tried to catch one, you'd understand. There's no point in even trying. At least, that's what I heard. They can run almost as fast as we can drive a car, and they're so much more agile they barely slow down when they cut through fields and city streets. No, I reckon the sombitch is about halfway to Fresno by now. Now, we're going to have to ask you some questions."

The officers questioned Rice and the Kid for several minutes. When they finished at 6:48, Rice got back in the Kid's car. The Kid had almost finished the block of cheese.

"Damn, Kid, you've almost finished it."

"You think you can get me another in Modesto?"

"I'll see what I can do. Speaking of which, I have to be at work in 13 hours. You think you can get me there?"

The Kid put the small piece of cheese back in the cooler and replied, "Yeah, man. I looked at the map. It's about 700 miles."

"700 miles? There's no way we can make it."

"Spsshhh," the Kid said and stepped on the gas.

Chapter 30

Saturday 10:43am P.S.T.

Mick Aloha studied the blueprint on the floor in front of him. He moved his right index finger along the outline of the corridor he was going to follow, noting possible escape routes. He then looked up at Sir Timothy and nodded.

"What's that mean?" Sir Timothy asked.

"It means I'm privy to this map, guy, and I have all the escape routes in my head. You can burn it if you want."

"Your head? Why would I want to burn your head?"

"The map, guy, you can burn the map. I'm privy to it; I have it in my head now," Mick Aloha said. He grabbed a handle on the wall when the Winnebago shook, assuming the robot had run over something again.

"That robot can't drive for shit, Tim," Mick Aloha said.

"Sir Timothy, Mick, Sir Timothy. Yeah, he hits a lot of stuff, huh? But, he gets the job done. Speaking of getting jobs done, are you ready? We'll be there in five and a half minutes."

"Yeah, dude," Mick Aloha said. "Oh, I mean guy. I'm privy to the plan."

"Well, let's go over it again. It's Saturday, so no one's there. Sometimes, the hard workers come in on Sundays, but they don't come on Saturdays."

"I'm privy to the work habits of dotcommers, guy. I read Red Herring every month."

"All right, then. Now, we're going to get there at exactly 10:48. At 10:50, the front door will unlock automatically."

"Guy, I'm privy to the plan. The door opens, I go to the terminal in the far back corner. Login ID is BigStud and the password is upside69. I click through the folders until I get to the search engine program. I erase the program, and then erase the pink floppy disk beside the computer. I'm privy, guy."

"You didn't tell me the folder order," Sir Timothy said.

"Damn you, Tim. It goes Programs, Letters, Mystery, SuperNatural, Crap, Junk, NoGood, This. That's it, dude. Uh, I mean guy."

"Good. Now, do you have any questions?"

"Yeah, guy, I have a question. If this technology can change the Internet, why does he have the backup right beside his computer? Shouldn't it be locked up? Or, shouldn't he keep a copy for himself?"

Sir Timothy's face flushed and he said, "Because, he's a stupid coder with no sense of what security really means. And, he's too dumb to know what he has. He thinks some of his other work is better than this, which it isn't."

The Winnebago stopped.

"You have two minutes to get to the front door. Good luck," Sir Timothy said.

Mick Aloha stepped out of the Winnebago into the bright sunlight, shaded his eyes, and saw a large, empty parking lot in front of an office complex.

As he walked to the FindItFast Technologies office, he thought So, this is South of Market, in the Silicon Valley. Where's the valley? I'm privy to these dot coms. I bet they have a big refrigerator full of my favorite drink, Coca-Cola.

He stood in front of the door for several seconds before hearing a soft click, signaling it was unlocked. Mick Aloha then opened the door and illegally entered the offices of FindItFast Technologies. A small reception desk, which looked more like a kitchen table than a desk, sat on the left side of the entrance. He walked past the reception desk to the rows of terminals that filled the rest of the office. Three long rows of tables with no partitions held the computers. Candy wrappers and empty soda cans covered the tables; a foosball table sat in the back corner. Mick Aloha spotted his terminal and then looked around for the refrigerator.

Where's the goddam refrigerator? he thought. I can't work if I don't have a Coke.

He walked past his terminal to the small hallway in the back of the office. The hallway led to the bathrooms and the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen, where he spotted four small tables, a microwave, a full range and oven, and a large refrigerator. Mick Aloha opened the refrigerator. It was full of Pepsi.

Goddam it, goddam it, he thought as he dug through the Pepsis, looking for a Coke. He found molded slices of cheese, something that looked like a science experiment, and a green plastic container full of pasta. There was no Coke.

"Damn it! Damn it!" he screamed as he kicked the refrigerator. "Goddam hippies. Goddam Pepsi drinking dot com goddam hippies!" Mick Aloha slammed the refrigerator door, walked back into the office, sat at the designated terminal, and turned it on.

"Goddam Pepsi," he said as he waited for the computer to boot. He looked around the desk and found the pink floppy disk under a half-full bag of potato chips. Taking a magnet from one of his front pockets, he erased the floppy disk and replaced it under the potato chips.

"Goddam messy hippies," he said. "They can't even clean up after themselves. Myself, I keep my goddam place spotless. It doesn't take any goddam special talent to clean up after yourself. Goddam dirty bastard Apocalypse Dowell can't even clean up after himself." Mick Aloha didn't like the feel of the empty office; he wondered if there might be a ghost there. He felt a presence.

When the computer was finally ready, Mick Aloha felt a hand grab his ankle. He shook his ankle loose and started kicking under the desk, unable to see what he was hitting.

A voice from beneath the desk called out, "Stop it, man. Cut it out!"

"Shut up, ghost. You're getting the Big Boot, you goddam spirit. I'm privy to you specters, and I don't care what dimension you're from--I don't care if you're a goddam time traveler or a real spirit--you're getting the goddam Big Boot Mick Aloha style."

The phantom grabbed Mick Aloha's foot and pulled him out of the chair. Mick Aloha landed on the carpeted floor as his chair rolled backwards. He saw a nerd under the desk holding his leg.

"Let go of my leg," Mick Aloha said. The nerd let go.

"Who are you?" the nerd asked.

"That's enough questions, poltergeist. Now, are you a good ghost or an evil one. Tell the truth; I can tell. I'm privy to ghosts; I seen three myself."

"I'm not a ghost," the nerd said as he crawled past Mick Aloha. He stood up and sat on the edge of the desk.

Mick Aloha stood, too, and said, "No use lying, I know you're a ghost. You've been figured out, so you might as well come clean, guy. I'm privy."

"Dude, I fucking work here."

"They hire ghosts here? Goddam dot coms," Mick Aloha said.

"I'm not a fucking ghost. I'm a programmer."

Mick Aloha lowered his fists, wanting to believe the story, and asked, "What the hell were you doing under the desk, then, ghost? Answer me that."

"I work here," the nerd said. "I've been working on a project and I stayed late last night. I ended up falling asleep at the terminal, and early this morning I woke up with my head on my desk. The sun was shining on my eyes, so I got under the desk. That's why I'm here. Now, who the hell are you and why are you here?"

The question caught Mick Aloha off guard; his brain started processing scenarios.

He thought, I've never met a ghost who asked so many questions. If he is a ghost, I'm OK, because he can't really hurt me. Now, if he's telling the truth, and he really does work here, then I might have to kill him. I guess that would mean he would become a ghost soon, huh? Either way, he's a ghost.

"Well?" the nerd asked.

"Hold on, ghost. Let me think. I'm here to do repairs, yeah. I'm the computer repairman and your CEO told me to come here and fix this terminal. So, now I'm here and it looks like it's working well, and..."

Mick Aloha took a swing at the nerd, who dodged the punch and elbowed Mick Aloha in the back. Pain shot throughout Mick Aloha's body, causing him to back away to catch his breath.

"What the hell are you doing?" the nerd asked.

"I can see there's no fooling you, ghost, so I'm going to have to kill you, guy. Get ready to enter the land of wind and ghosts."

The nerd, who had been studying karate since he had been in elementary school, laughed and asked, "Why do you have to kill me?"

"I can't tell you, guy. If I told you, I'd have to...wait, I guess I can tell you. I'm here to destroy your search engine technology."

"Which one?" the nerd asked.

"The good one. Now, I'm privy to the fact that you're working on several projects, and you don't realize the importance of your search engine technology."

"My search engines are the only things I am working on. I've almost got it, too. That's what I was doing last night. I can show you, before you kill me, if you'd like. I think it's ready for a test run."

"OK, guy. But, don't expect any sympathy from me after you show me. I'll still have to take care of you, if you know what I mean there, guy."

"Fair enough," the nerd said as he sat at his terminal. He then removed a form from his desk and handed it to Mick Aloha, who had pulled up a chair beside him.

"What the hell's this?" Mick Aloha asked as he took the form from the nerd.

"N.D.A. Non-disclosure..."

"I'm privy. You want me to sign this thing?"

"Yeah, this is new technology. I can't have you stealing it," the nerd said. He clicked through folders on his computer.

"Damn you, ghost. You expect me to sign an N.D.A.? I told you, I'm going to kill you and destroy this technology. So, it doesn't matter if I see it or not, because it won't exist in a few short minutes."

The nerd pushed his black glasses up on his nose, ran his right hand through his short black hair, turned to Mick Aloha, and laughed. As the nerd laughed, Mick Aloha's face reddened until he looked like he was having a heart attack.

"Relax, man. No harm intended, but, well, you're a funny guy. Please sign the N.D.A. before you kill me."

Mick Aloha took a Cross pen from a metal pen holder on the desk and signed the N.D.A. He replaced the pen in the holder and handed the N.D.A. to the nerd.

"There, ghost. I hope you're happy. By the way, that N.D.A. will never hold up in court."

"Well, you're going to kill me anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Now, check this out," the nerd said. He opened his new search engine. The web page was simple; it had a search box in the middle of the soft blue screen, with a large button that read "Find It Fast!" under the box. There were no extra buttons or graphics.

"Looks simple, guy. You sure this is the right one?"

"Try it out," the nerd said. He pushed his chair away from the desk. Mick Aloha moved up to the computer, typed "kickass wrestlers," and pushed the button. The search engine returned twenty relevant websites.

"So what, guy? This is just a normal search engine.”

"Look at the results. What do you see?" the nerd asked.

Mick Aloha checked the screen and said, "No porn."

"That's right, no porn," the nerd said. "You typed the word ass and there are no porn results."

"I see that, guy, but that's not new. There are plenty of anti-porn programs."

"There are programs that stop people from accessing porn sites, but not programs that stop them from even coming up in search results. It's all about making every result relevant."

"OK, guy. I see your point. How do you stop porn results?"

"The search engine checks the sites for pornographic words and pictures. It can recognize the shapes of pornographic images. That was the tough part, and it still hasn't been perfected."

"Why only twenty results, guy?"

The nerd smiled and said, "Because, if all twenty are relevant you don't need any more."

"Makes sense, guy," Mick Aloha said. "What if someone wants to find porn?"

"They'll have to use another search engine. I don't think finding porn on the Internet is ever going to be a problem for anyone. The biggest problem with finding information on the Internet is getting through the irrelevant crap, the porn and the debt consolidation services. If you can get past that, it becomes a useful source of information. Otherwise, it's frustrating and eventually it would go away."

"That's pretty cool, guy. You did good work. Now, I have to kill you." Mick Aloha stood and pushed his chair away. He tried to kick the nerd, who avoided the kick by leaning back in his chair. The nerd then jumped on the computer desk and landed on Mick Aloha, putting him in a headlock when they hit the floor.

"Damn you, ghost. You have a firm grip. Where'd you learn to fight?"

"Thailand," the nerd replied.

"Damn it," Mick Aloha said as he struggled for breath. "Thailand? Damn you, ghost."

The nerd tightened his grip and said, "I have a proposition for you. One that won't result in me killing you."

"I'm the one who's going to kill you," Mick Aloha said between gasps for air. "There's only one Mick Aloha, and that's me."

"There's about to be no Mick Aloha if you don't listen. Now, I want to offer you a job."

"A job? Guy, I have disposable income," Mick Aloha said, as the edges of his peripheral vision turned black.

"We need a tech support guy here. I can see you know your way around computers, and instead of trying to stop this technology, you can help build it. You can change the world."

"No way, guy. I'll never turn," Mick Aloha said.

"We can pay you sixty grand a year, with full health insurance and a 401(k)."

"Health insurance? Guy, I've never had health insurance before. I'm getting on up there in the years; I'll be 32 next year. Yeah, guy, I think I'll take your offer. And, I won't kill you."

The nerd released his grip.

Mick Aloha rubbed his neck and said, "Guy, you have a firm grip. I'm privy to Thai fighting styles, and I've never had a headlock like that put on me. Think you could teach me?"

"Yeah, I can teach you if you promise not to try to erase my search engine."

Mick Aloha rubbed his chin and said, "OK, guy. Now that you're giving me health insurance and paying me, I don't want to destroy your product."

"Good. It won't do you any good, anyway, since I have several extra copies that you could never find."

"Is that a challenge, guy?" Mick Aloha asked as they returned to their seats.

"No, it's just the truth. I always keep copies in several places, in case there's a fire or something."

"Good thinking, guy. There's no telling how many people like me there are out there."

"Speaking of which, why were you trying to destroy my search engine?"

"I can't tell you, guy. Let's just say I thought the Internet was evil and needed to be stopped."

"The Internet's not evil; people are evil. So, was someone paying you to do this?"

"Guy, I'm privy to the answers to your questions, but I'm not inclined to answer them. Let's just say it's over and leave it at that. Now, I work for you, and it's my job to protect your work, so it's safe because there's only one Mick Aloha, and that's me. Now, I have to be going, ghost, so when do you want me to come back?"

"Come in Monday morning around ten-thirty and we'll get you signed up and started with the tech support team," the nerd said.

"10:30? Why so late, guy? Myself, I prefer to start at seven a.m."

"The office doesn't open till ten, and I'll need a little time to get the paperwork in order."

"Ten o'clock? That's too late, guy. You have to get up early and get things done," Mick Aloha said.

The nerd smiled and said, "Not at a dot com, you don't. And, don't eat breakfast before you come, we'll have something for you. We take care of breakfast and lunch here."

"OK, guy," Mick Aloha said as he shook the nerd's hand. “And, there better be some Coke in that fridge when I get here.” The nerd nodded. Mick Aloha then walked out the front door and into the irritating sunlight.

When he entered the Winnebago, Sir Timothy was sitting on his cushion drinking Dr. Pepper. As Mick Aloha closed the door the engine started and the van left the parking lot.

"Well, how'd it go, Mick?" Sir Timothy asked.

"Pretty good, dude," Mick Aloha said. "I mean guy. Except, they only had Pepsi. Can you believe that shit? It's a goddam dot com and they only have Pepsi."

"Must get a deal or something," Sir Timothy said. "They need that Dr. Pepper in there. Well, did you find the software?"

"Yes, guy, I found the software and I took care of it," Mick Aloha said.

"Took care of it? Did you give it a bottle? Come on, Mick. Did you erase the software?"

"I handled the software effectively and efficiently," Mick Aloha said. He knew if he lied his hands would shake and Sir Timothy would know he hadn't completed his task.

"Yes or no, Mick. Did you erase the software?" Sir Timothy asked. He then took another sip of his Dr. Pepper.

"Yes," Mick Aloha replied, with a stone look on his face. He clasped his hands in his lap, trying to stop the shaking.

Sir Timothy noticed Mick Aloha's hands, smiled, and said, "Good work, Mick Aloha."

The shaking stopped and Mick Aloha said, "Thanks, guy. Now, can you take me to the Richmond District?"

“Yeah, just hold on a while,” Sir Timothy replied. They rode for over a half hour before the Winnebago stopped.

“Is this the Richmond District?” Mick Aloha asked. The sliding door opened automatically and Sir Timothy kicked Mick Aloha out of the Winnebago.

“Naw, Mick, it's Palo Alto. Have fun trying to get back to San Francisco.”

"What the hell?" Mick Aloha screamed from the hot asphalt. He looked up and saw a train station with the words Palo Alto written across the top.

The Winnebago's door closed and it sped off.

Sitting in his Winnebago with his favorite drink, Sir Timothy smiled and sat back on his cushion.

"All part of my plan, Mick Aloha. All part of my plan," he said as he took a fresh Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator.

Mick Aloha walked through the nearly empty parking lot, blocking the sun from his eyes with his hands, and stood in front of the Caltrain station, a small wooden building with an office and a waiting room. A disgruntled man wearing a faded blue uniform stood in the ticket window, staring blankly at the parking lot. A few people stood beside the track, waiting for the next train to San Francisco. The waiting room was empty.

Mick Aloha looked for escape routes.

He approached the ticket window and said, "Excuse me, sir. I, Mick Aloha, would be privy to going to San Francisco this fine day. I now work at a company up there and I will soon be seeking accommodations in that fair city. Do you have any suggestions for a young man like myself?"

The man, who had continued to stare at the parking lot as Mick Aloha had spoken, looked up at Mick Aloha and said, "Fair city? You said you're going to San Francisco?"

"Yes, sir. San Francisco is my destination. I have to save my girl."

"Eight dollars and twenty cents," the man said.

"Eight twenty? How far is it to San Francisco?"

"You mean the distance, as the crow flies, or do you want to know how long the train takes?"

"How long's the train take?"

"About forty-five minutes."

"Goddam it. Eight dollars for forty five minutes? That's too much."

"You have a car?"

"In Kentucky," Mick Aloha said. "But, it doesn't have any seats. Or, an engine."

"Well, a cab's going to cost you fifty to sixty bucks depending on the traffic. This is the cheapest way."

"Damn it. It's a goddam ripoff," Mick Aloha said as he took a wad of money from his pocket and laid out nine dollars on the counter. The man handed him his ticket and the change.

"What do I do with the ticket, guy?" Mick Aloha asked.

"The conductor will come through the train and take it," the man replied.

"I don't need it to get on the train?"

"No, just when the conductor comes along," the man said, resuming his position staring at the parking lot.

Mick Aloha could see that the man's mind was drifting off. Long hair, sideburns, shitty job. He must have wanted to be a rock star, Mick Aloha thought as he walked past the ticket counter to the tracks.

Mick Aloha stood on the northbound platform. To reach the southbound platform, passengers had to walk downstairs to a tunnel, which led to the other side of the tracks. Mick Aloha stared at the people on the other platform, wondering why they would want to go south of Palo Alto on a Saturday.

Mick Aloha looked down the tracks but didn't see a train coming. He checked the posted schedule and found that the next train was coming at 1:00. It was 12:18.

"Damn it," he said. "Goddam Caltrain. Goddam it. I hate this goddam train already, and I've never even been on it."

Mick Aloha walked to the waiting room where he found a vending machine with Coca-Cola. He bought three cans, sat alone on a small couch, and watched TV. The TV's dial had been broken off a year earlier; Mick Aloha was forced to watch a golf match. Mick Aloha hated golf.

Thirty-five minutes later, Mick Aloha was surrounded by several golf fans, who had crowded onto the couch to watch the match. He finished his fifth can of Coke and walked back onto the platform to wait for the train.

Mick Aloha was surprised when he stepped onto the train. It was nice. There were restrooms and big, comfortable seats with drink holders. Each car had an upstairs and a downstairs. Upstairs there were also several rows of single seats; Mick Aloha rushed to one of these seats, so he wouldn't have to sit by anyone. He then took his sixth Coke from his pocket and put it in his drink holder.

"This is the good life," he said as he sat back in the chair. Seconds later, Mick Aloha fell asleep.

Mick Aloha awoke as the train was pulling into its final stop in the South of Market District of San Francisco. Damn it, he thought. They didn't even take my goddam ticket. I could have manipulated the system for eight dollars and twenty cents.

Mick Aloha got off the train and looked at his surroundings. Goddam hippies, he thought. Get a job. Like me.

He walked into the Caltrain station, which was much larger than the one in Palo Alto, and approached one of the ticket counters.

He looked at the middle-aged woman behind the counter and asked, "Can I get my money back on this ticket? They didn't take it."

"What?" she asked.

"This ticket. See, I bought it in Palo Alto, but no one checked it, so I didn't really have to buy it and well, although I have disposable income, I'm new to this city and I hear it can be expensive. So, can I have my eight dollars and twenty cents back?"

"No refunds," the woman replied. "Anything else?"

"Yes, how do I get to the Richmond District. See, I have disposable income, but I hear cab rides in San Francisco are expensive. I'd like to check out all this public transportation I hear about."

"Cross the street and take the N-Judah downtown. Then, change to a bus, either the 38, the 31, or the 5. Next." The woman looked at the customer behind Mick Aloha.

"Thank you for your time and information," Mick Aloha said. "I'm now privy."

Mick Aloha crossed the street and approached the N-Judah stop, which sat in the middle of the road. It was just a small concrete platform with a glass awning with N-Judah printed on it. Mick Aloha couldn't find a way to buy a ticket.

He approached the only other person waiting for the train, a teenage girl with green hair, and said, "Excuse me, miss."

"Miss?" the girl said.

"Sorry, ma'am. Umm, how does one go about acquiring a ticket for this train. I'm not privy."

"You talk funny," the girl said, smiling. "Where are you from?"

"Myself, I'm from Kentucky," Mick Aloha replied.

"Like the fried chicken?"

"Yes, like the goddam fried chicken, which I favor myself. It's damn fine fried chicken, if you ask me. I eat it when I can, but myself, I prefer Burger King, I like that flame-broiled taste."

"Oh," the girl said.

"How do I purchase a ticket for said train?" Mick Aloha asked.

The girl kept looking forward when she replied, "If you don't have a pass, which I assume you don't, you have to go in the front door. You can buy a ticket there. There's a machine. Just put your two dollars in and a ticket will come out."

"Thank you for your information," Mick Aloha said. He could tell she didn't want to talk anymore, so he just watched the traffic on the street in front of them. When the train came, five other people were waiting to get on. The train was packed, but after buying his ticket Mick Aloha managed to find a place to stand. He was surprised when the train went underground and got off at the first downtown exit because he hated being underground. It limited his escape routes.

He worked his way through the underground MUNI maze, which connected with the BART maze, and found his way above ground. An afternoon wind ran up Market Street, making Mick Aloha wish he was wearing more than a Hawaiian shirt. The afternoon sun reflected off the skyscrapers along Market, causing Mick Aloha to block his eyes.

Goddam bright lights, he thought. They're everywhere.

People pushed Mick Aloha as he stood on the sidewalk, looking at all of the tall buildings and people. Market Street was lined with flagship stores and shopping centers, making it even more crowded on the weekends than during the week. Mick Aloha walked along the sidewalk, looking for his bus stop.

As he moved through the crowd on the sidewalk near 4th and Market, an old, desperate looking woman with long gray hair said, "Can you spare a dollar?"

Mick Aloha stopped and said, "What?"

"Can you spare a dollar?" the woman asked.

"A dollar? You want a dollar?"

"Can you spare a dollar?" the woman repeated, staring at him.

"Why do you want a dollar?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Can you spare a dollar?"

"Goddam it. Don't you say anything else?"

The woman said, "Can you spare a dollar?"

"Ma'am, I'm privy to the plight of the homeless. I've seen plenty of TV shows and read plenty of newspaper articles about the matter to understand your struggle. See, the problem is, I don't have a dollar to spare. Now, I have disposable income, which I can use at my whim, and I just got a job at a technology company down in South of Market. But, for now, I'm afraid I don't have a dollar to spare. Are you listening to me?"

The woman was looking past him, repeating the line, "Can you spare a dollar?"

Mick Aloha moved on. He found a bus stop on the other side of the street. He could see from the sign beside the stop that several buses stopped there, and he decided the 38 Limited would be the best bus for him because it didn't make all of the local stops.

While Mick Aloha waited for the bus, a homeless man with a red nose and no neck approached him and asked, "Can I have a quarter? I'm trying to make a down payment on a cheeseburger."

Mick Aloha started laughing and said, "No, guy, I can't give you any money. I once heard a comedian, I think it was Chris Rock, say If a homeless guy has a funny sign, he hasn't been homeless too long. Now, I know you don't have a sign, but I think I can extrapolate the Chris Rock reference to the situation here."

The man leaned closer to Mick Aloha and said, "You know what the problem is? It's the rich people. See, there's only so much money in this country, tied up in investments, company holdings, people's savings and the like. Now, if there's only so much money..."

"Guy, the government prints money everyday. I seen it myself when I was in D.C. They keep putting more out there," Mick Aloha said.

"Yeah, but most of that's to replace the money that's too worn to use anymore," the homeless man said. "But, overall, there's generally about the same amount of money in circulation each year. So, if someone keeps money in a savings account or under their mattress, that means there's that much less money out there for a fella like me to get. So, you get a bunch of those rich people holding a lot of money, and that leaves less for the rest of us." The man smiled after he spoke.

"That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard, guy, and I'm the king of dumb ideas. See, I was thinking about a travel toothbrush with the paste in the handle."

"They already have those," the man said.

"Damn it. Goddam it. Every time I get a good goddam idea, someone beats me to it."

"Probably a rich guy that beat you to it," the man said.

"You're right. Goddam rich bastards."

"Yeah, the same ones who are keeping me down. So, can I have some money?"

"No way, guy," Mick Aloha replied. "I work hard for my money and can't give it away, especially when rich bastards are trying to bring me down."

The man shook his head and walked away. Seconds later, Mick Aloha could hear him asking someone else for a down payment on a cheeseburger.

The bus arrived and Mick Aloha found a seat in the back. He looked around for someone to talk to, but saw that most of the people were reading or listening to headphones. Mick Aloha was disappointed in the people he had seen in San Francisco; he had expected to see more goddam dirty hippies. Some of the men he had seen actually looked straight. Mick Aloha wondered if the media had lied to him. Goddam media, he thought. Liberal, my ass.

The bus crept through the downtown traffic, moving into the dilapidated Tenderloin, known as the Theater District to people who lived there or didn't know better, and then on to Nob Hill. When they reached Van Ness, almost half of the passengers exited while many more people got on. Mick Aloha was happy to be sitting when he saw the standing passengers pressed against each other.

As they rolled through the Inner Richmond district, Mick Aloha spotted a KFC. He hadn't eaten at KFC in almost a week, and he knew he had some extra time, so he pushed through the crowd and exited the bus at Geary and 5th Avenue.

The neighborhood was much quieter than downtown. Several specialty shops, Irish bars, and a supermarket lined Geary while apartment buildings sat on the cross-streets. Mick Aloha spotted a Walgreens, which made him miss Kentucky , before he stepped into the KFC.

After waiting impatiently behind a slow family for a couple of minutes, Mick Aloha stepped to the counter and ordered six pieces of chicken--all white meat--and mashed potatoes with gravy. He wanted to drink Coca-Cola, but knew Pepsi owned KFC.

"I guess I'll have the Mountain Dew," he said to the girl behind the counter. He thought she was cute, but knew that asking for her number might slow down his order. Mick Aloha was hungry.

He took his food to the upstairs dining room. Mick Aloha had only seen one-story KFCs; the second story worried him, but he didn't have a choice. He made quick work of his meal and returned downstairs three more times for more food and refills on his drink. Since the few customers in the place paid little attention to Mick Aloha, the only person who noticed how much he had eaten was the girl behind the counter.

It was dark outside when Mick Aloha felt a strange sensation in his stomach. He'd heard about it, but had never actually experienced it.

"I'm goddam full," he said as he sat at his table in the KFC dining room. A mother, sitting with her young son, glared at Mick Aloha after he said it.

Mick Aloha looked at the boy and said, "Sorry about that, kid." The boy smiled.

Mick Aloha looked at his KFC box and saw three pieces of chicken that he couldn't eat. He wanted to cry. It must have been that goddam trip across the land, he thought. I didn't eat enough and my stomach must have shrunk. Goddam it, I might die if I don't get enough calories. Kilocalories with a capitol C, not plain calories with a lowercase c. I better take this with me and try to force it down later. He closed the box and carried it out onto the sidewalk, where he waited for another bus.

It was cooler than Mick Aloha had expected; the fog had started to roll in, bringing with it a cool chill from the ocean.

He had been waiting by himself for several minutes when a man put his hand on Mick Aloha's shoulder. If he hadn't been holding the chicken, Mick Aloha would have flipped the stranger; he'd always wanted the chance to flip someone in a real life situation, not just in the wrestling ring. Instead, he turned around to see an old man covered in grime. The man's clothes were so worn and dirty the original colors had all been lost; they were now a dingy gray. He had long gray hair that emerged from a brown derby hat.

The man eyed Mick Aloha's box and mumbled, "That's my chicken. Give it to me."

"Whats' that, sir?" Mick Aloha asked.

The man said, "That's my chicken, you son of a bitch. Now, hand it over."

"You must be mistaken," Mick Aloha replied. "I bought this chicken just moments ago from this KFC that you see right here. Now, have a good evening."

"Give me that fucking chicken," the man said, glaring at Mick Aloha.

Mick Aloha looked around, spotting only a few pedestrians who hadn't noticed his situation. He wanted to stay out of trouble, so he thought about walking back into the KFC and waiting for the man to leave. As he thought about his options, the man grabbed the box.

Mick Aloha held the box tight with his left hand and used his right hand to deliver a right hook to the man's nose. The movement was so automatic Mick Aloha didn't have time to think about it. The man released the box, knelt to the ground, and held his bleeding nose.

"You broke my nose, you son of a bitch," the man said. "I'm going to sue your ass for everything you've got."

"You shouldn't have touched my goddam chicken. It's mine."

Mick Aloha checked the sidewalks; some people had walked out of the shops to see what was happening, but he didn't think anyone had seen him hit the man. Knowing another arrest would lead to real jail time, he ran.

Mick Aloha ran up 6^th Avenue and took a left on Clement. As he ran up Clement, he held the box of chicken with his right hand and pounded his heart with his left hand, hoping he could fight off a heart attack. Clement was more crowded than he had expected.

When he passed the Bitter End, one of the patrons smoking outside the bar yelled, "Go, chicken man, go!"

"Thanks, guy," Mick Aloha said as he continued up Clement. Goddam it, he thought. I shouldn't have said anything, I'm almost out of breath as it it. Chicken man, huh? In Japanese I'd be called niwatori ningen. Doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I can use that name when I hit the Japanese wrestling circuit.

Mick Aloha had to stop at Park Presidio because of a red light. He knelt and tried to catch his breath as he waited for the light to change. Looking around, he thought, This place looks like Chinatown. I thought Chinatown was on the other goddam side of the city.

When the light changed, Mick Aloha was off again. He considered stopping to hide, but doubted he could find a place with sufficient escape routes. He knew his heart couldn't handle much more hard running, so he slowed to a trot and then a walk, holding the box of chicken against his left side, hoping to conceal it from any police officers who might drive by. He knew the box would give him away to the police, but his principles refused to allow him to ditch it. It was his chicken.

He turned left just past a Mexican restaurant; Mick Aloha hated Mexican food and any other food that came from other countries. When Mick Aloha reached Geary, he looked to his right and saw a large crowd of young men and women standing on the sidewalk outside a bar called Trader Sam's. He thought about ignoring it and walking straight to Golden Gate Park to hide among the trees, but the stress of the chase had shaken his nerves. Mick Aloha needed gin.

Fuck it, he thought. No one saw me do it, anyway. The police probably won't look very hard since they probably won't believe that guy. And, hell, if I hid in the park, it would look like I knew I had done something wrong.

He pushed through the crowd, showed his Kentucky State ID to the doorman--his license had been revoked--and stepped inside the smallest bar he'd ever seen. A U-shaped bar sat in the middle of the place and booths resembling huts lined the walls. Each hut had the name of a different Pacific island written in bamboo over the top of it.

Mick Aloha liked the island theme; it worked well with his Hawaiian shirt.

As he worked his way toward the bar through the customers who looked like college students, a guy who looked like he was in a fraternity said, "Hey, chicken man! Give me some chicken!" Mick Aloha stopped his reflex that would have caused him to punch the guy and realized he was gaining more control over his powers.

Aloha smiled and said, "Sorry, guy. I went through a lot to get this chicken, so I can't just go and give it away." Without speaking the guy gave Mick Aloha a high five and moved past him, away from the bar.

After several more minutes of pushing through the crowd, Mick Aloha reached the bar. Two bartenders, both men in their mid-thirties, were busy making island concoctions for the customers. The selection of drinks upset Mick Aloha, because it took the bartenders too long to make the drinks. He just wanted gin sours.

When he finally got the attention of one of the bartenders, he ordered two gin sours. Mick Aloha had chosen gin sours as his signature drink years earlier after graduating from Tom Collins. He just didn't care for the soda water anymore. Mick Aloha's signature was also to always order two at the beginning; he always downed the first one quickly and savored the second.

He placed his chicken box on the bar and started drinking.

Mick Aloha was drunk when he heard people start saying there was a cable car outside. He knew cable cars didn't come to the Outer Richmond district and after seven gin sours, he was ready to argue. Mick Aloha slammed his empty glass on the bar, picked up his box of chicken, and moved to the door. When he looked outside, he saw a cable car sitting on Geary in front of the bar.

Several people were exiting the cable car when Mick Aloha walked up to it and said in a slurred voice, "What the goddam shit is this? I'm goddam privy to the goddam cable cars, and they don't run out this goddam far. I looked at a map earlier today. I read the goddam newspapers. I watch documentaries. There aren't any goddam cable cars out here, so get this goddam thing out of here."

The passengers laughed as they walked past Mick Aloha and into the bar.

"What the goddam are you laughing at? Did someone tell a goddam joke, cause if they did, I want to goddam hear it. I goddam love jokes. And, gin sours. That's my signature drink. Goddam gin sours and jokes, and I'm goddam set. Where you all going? I'm not finished."

When all of the passengers had exited the cable car and entered the bar, Mick Aloha walked up to the driver, who had remained in the cable car, and asked, "What the hell is this, cause it can't be a goddam cable car?"

The driver smiled and pointed at the wheels at the bottom of the cable car.

Mick Aloha said, "What the goddam shit is this? Cable cars don't have big goddam wheels like these. Is this a goddam Transformer? If it is, I want you to transform it."

Mick Aloha waited for several seconds; the cable car didn't transform. Some of the smokers on the sidewalk laughed. Mick Aloha ignored them and kicked the cable car.

"Transform! Transform and roll out! You ain't shit, Transformer. I'm the shit; I'm goddam Mick Aloha, and there's only one. And, that's me. You must be a goddam no good Decepticon. Transform, so I can kick your ass!"

The driver leaned out of the cable car and said, "Hey, man. This is a bus. It's just made to look like a cable car, because, well, this is San Francisco. People hire me to drive them around from bar to bar in this thing, usually for birthday parties. It's not going to transform."

"You drive from bar to bar?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Yeah, we usually start out down in North Beach and then work our way out here. Usually pick up a few ladies along the way."

"Well goddam, that's pretty smart. They pay you pretty good?"

"Yeah, not too bad. It's easy work, I just have to stay sober," the driver replied.

"Shit, I couldn't do that, not with all the gin sours out there. I'm just starting a new job, and I have disposable income. Once I've been working there for a while, I should have a lot of disposable income, and I might want to hire you. Do you have a card?"

"Yeah, just a minute," the driver said and looked through his wallet for a business card. When he found one, he handed it to Mick Aloha.

"That's goddam great, man. It's goddam great. Thank you," Mick Aloha said as he looked at the card. "Rick? Is that your name?"

"Yeah, man," the driver replied.

Mick Aloha shook Rick's hand and said, "My name's Mick Aloha. There's only one, and that's me."

"Aloha? You Hawaiian?" the driver asked.

Mick Aloha rubbed his chin and said, "You're the first goddam person to ask me that. No, I'm not Hawaiian. I'm American. Aloha is just my wrestling name. You've never heard of me?"

"Sorry to say I haven't," the driver said.

"Well, you have now," Mick Aloha said. "Soon, my name will..."

Some of the people who had been riding the cable car ran out of the bar and jumped into the cable car bus.

One of the girls from the group said, "The bartender got a call from his friend who said there was something crazy happening at Ocean Beach. Let's go!"

Mick Aloha jumped into the cable car bus and screamed, "Autobots, roll out!" The cable car was only half full when the driver hit the gas, leaving half of his customers behind. Some of them chased the cable car for half a block before giving up and walking back to Trader Sam's to get drunker. Most of them would never remember that the cable car bus had left them when it returned an hour later to pick them up.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the tougher guys on the cable car bus asked Mick Aloha. He had hired the cable car bus for his best friend's birthday. His best friend was still at Trader Sam's.

Mick Aloha replied, "Goddam, you don't know who I am, either? Don't you have TV in San Francisco? I am Mick Aloha, wrestler and superhero. There's only one, and that's goddam me."

"What are you doing on our cable car?" the guy asked.

"Your goddam cable car? I don't see your goddam name on it. You see the driver up there? Well, his name's Rick and he's my goddam best friend. And, if something crazy's happening, I should be there."

The guy turned away from Mick Aloha.

The cable car bus sped up Geary Street and then around the curve of El Camino Del Mar, passing the Cliff House and then coming to Ocean Beach.

From the edge of the beach they saw a soft blue light a hundred meters ahead. Rick parked the cable car bus in the parking area closest to the light, where several people had congregated under a streetlight. They were all staring at the blue light on the beach.

Mick Aloha recognized the blue light and immediately knew there would be trouble. He stepped off the cable car and stood at the edge of the parking area, staring at the beach. Slightly illuminated by the blue light and the streetlights that lined the parking area, Mick Aloha saw a robot holding a girl with its right arm. Lying on the beach beside the robot, Mick Aloha saw a familiar figure.

"Goddam you, Dowell," Mick Aloha said to himself as he jumped down the steps leading to the beach.

Chapter 31

Saturday 5:49am (P.S.T.)

"Shpshhhh. That's some crazy shit. Like, shspshhhh, I can't believe it."

Even with his eyes closed, Rice could tell the sun was about halfway over the horizon. He tried to pretend he was still asleep, hoping The Kid wouldn't notice the change in his breathing. Rice didn't want to talk; he wanted to get more sleep before work.

"Like, I do it. Spshhh, it's something I do," the Kid continued as the same mix tape played on the car stereo. Rice desperately wanted to look around to see if they were close to Turlock; however, he knew he couldn't show he was awake without staying awake the rest of the drive.

Shit, I should try snoring. That'll really make him think I'm asleep, Rice thought. Rice started snoring.

"Like, Rice. Rice, like, you're snoring, man," the Kid said. "Like, you're snoring."

Rice stopped snoring but kept his eyes shut.

"Like, get this, Rice," the Kid said. "Like, I have this mayonnaise, right, and like, shit, you won't believe it."

Shit, he's going to talk to me with my eyes open or shut, Rice thought. Rice then opened his eyes, sat up in his seat, and looked around. They were on a highway, but he couldn't tell where they were.

"Well, rise and shine, man," the Kid said.

"Where are we?" Rice asked, as he looked at the barren land surrounding them, wondering if they were still in the Nevada desert.

"California, man. We're in California. Like, you start work in a little over two hours, and we're about an hour out of Turlock, so I think we're in like Flynt, man."

"Aw, nice. Good work, Kid," Rice said as he stretched and adjusted his seatbelt.

"Like, thanks, man. Did you hear what I said about the mayonnaise? Like, you won't believe it," the Kid said.

Rice, happy knowing he would make it to work on time, replied, "No I didn't, but I'd love to hear it."

The Kid turned down his stereo and said, "Like, I have this mayonnaise, right."

"What kind?" Rice asked. "I mean, is it real mayonnaise, or is it that salad dressing everyone thinks is mayonnaise. I don't know why they call it salad dressing, anyway; I've never seen one person put that stuff on salad."

"Like, goddam it, let me tell my story," the Kid said, as he passed an old green pickup truck with a loose muffler. "It's mayonnaise, Helman's, I think. Anyway, I've had it in my refrigerator for like, two years, and like, it's still there."

The Kid stopped speaking, making Rice wonder if he was supposed to ask a question. They sat in silence for over a minute; Rice looked out the window while the Kid continued to move through the light Saturday morning traffic.

Rice turned to the Kid and asked, "Why did you have old mayonnaise in your refrigerator?"

"Spssshhhh, I used it, like, just one or two times, and then I forgot about it. It got pushed to the back, and I kept missing it when I cleaned my refrigerator. After about a year I saw it and showed it to Tony, and he laughed his ass off.”

"Who's Tony?"

"Like, he's a friend of mine I met surfing one day. Like, he's funny as shit. One day, God, he said the funniest fucking thing. What was it? Shit, what was it he said? It was so fucking funny. I can't remember, but I'll tell you when I do. Anyway, once I knew it was in there, I decided to keep it."

Rice shook his head and asked, "Why in the hell would you want to keep old mayonnaise? Shit, that stuff will kill you. I've seen what happens to cheese after a while, and I know mayonnaise has to be worse."

"Like, this is the best part. I kept it in case, you know, I needed it to like, kill someone."

"Who do you want to kill?"

"Like, no one. But, if like, some fool came into my place and wanted to tangle, I could just say, 'How about a sandwich?' Take his ass out with mayonnaise."

"You're crazy, Kid. You still have it?"

"Like, here's the deal. About a month ago, I made a sandwich and accidentally put the old mayonnaise on it. Somehow, it got pushed to the front, and I thought it was the new mayonnaise that I'd bought the day before. See, it looked fine, so I didn't notice when I put it on my sandwich."

"What kind of sandwich?"

"Dixie loaf and cheddar. Anyway, like, even though it looked fine, I just had this feeling that something was wrong. Then, I checked the bottle and there was a yellow tinge around the edge."

"A yellow what?"

"A yellow tinge," the Kid said.

"What the hell's a tinge?" Rice asked.

"A hint, man. A hint of yellow. Anyway, that let me know the mayonnaise was bad. Almost killed myself with my own weapon."

Rice shook his head and asked, "What did you do with the mayonnaise?"

"Like, spshh, I told you it's still there. I just know to be more careful, now," the Kid said.

"What if you accidentally eat it?"

"Oh, I've learned my lesson, man. Don't tell anybody that story, though. I don't want to get attacked by someone who knows not to eat one of my delicious sandwiches. Anyway, let's talk about this pepperjack.”

Rice shook his head again and said, "No, I'm not through with the mayonnaise, yet. You ever been attacked?"

The Kid thought as he held the wheel steady, adjusting the rear view mirror because of the glare from the rising sun behind them. He said, "No, I can't think of a time I was ever attacked."

Rice asked, "So, what, are you planning on being attacked?"

"No, but, like, I want to be ready if it happens."

"Shit, you're crazy, Kid, all thinking you're going to get attacked and things."

"Spshhhh, like, I'll be ready, man," the Kid said, nodding to himself. "If it comes, I'll be ready. Now, let's talk about this pepperjack."

"What pepperjack?"

The Kid adjusted the rear view mirror again and said, "The pepperjack you promised me. You said you could get me a block if I took you to Turlock."

"Oh, that pepperjack. Yeah, I should be able to get you something."

At 7:18 a.m. on Saturday morning, the Kid pulled his black Volkswagen into the Turlock Cheese parking lot. Five large, randomly placed rectangular buildings with aluminum siding made up the cheese factory. Gravel covered the land between the buildings and a pristine lawn, complete with hedges and a small flower garden, sat between the parking lot and the front building. As the Kid parked in the front lot, he saw several large semi-trucks rolling away from one of the back buildings, kicking up gravel dust as they went. The lot was almost empty.

"Never thought I'd make it," Rice said as he removed his seatbelt.

"Pepperjack," the Kid said.

"I know. Damn, that's all you think about is pepperjack. Hold on, I'll be back out in a minute."

The Kid sat in his car, watching Rice walk to the front door of the main building. It looked like there might be a gift shop inside; the Kid considered going in to look around, but decided against it in case he needed to leave quickly. He didn't know how Rice would get the cheese.

After twenty minutes, the Kid thought he might have been tricked. He was considering going inside to look for Rice when the front door of the main building flew open. Rice ran out the door, pushing a man in a wheelchair. The man, covered by a thin green blanket and wearing a fat guy hat and big glasses, bent over the side of the wheelchair as Rice pushed him.

When Rice and the old man reached the Kid's car, the Kid opened his door and stepped outside.

"Like, who's this?" the Kid asked.

The old man took his hat off and straightened up, showing he was actually in his thirties. He removed the blanket to reveal a block of pepperjack on his lap and said, "I'm Fred. I'm the cheese man." Fred handed the Kid the block of cheese, covered himself with the blanket, and put his hat back on, resuming his old man posture.

Rice looked at the Kid and said, "We've had those fools in the gift shop tricked for years thinking there's an old man who works in accounting. That's how we get the cheese out."

"Like, thanks, man," the Kid said as he placed the block of pepperjack in the cooler on his back seat.

"Well, thanks for the ride," Rice said as he handed the Kid a small slip of paper. "Here's my number, if you're ever down this way, I'll show you some real Chinese food. Lets go, Fredrick." Rice pushed Fred back across the parking lot and into the main building, where they disappeared.

Less than two hours later, the Kid arrived at his apartment in Half Moon Bay. The Kid had a sweet deal; he lived in a three-bedroom condo, paying rent to the owner, Jeremy, who lived in one of the other bedrooms, meaning the Kid hadn't been required to sign a lease when he had moved in. A girl, whose name the Kid always forgot, lived in the other bedroom.

The place was cheaper than anything the Kid could find in San Francisco, a half hour north, and it was only a five minute walk to the beach. Also, the surfing in Half Moon Bay was much better than the surfing in San Francisco. The Kid liked to surf.

When he entered the apartment late Saturday morning, everyone was asleep. He dropped his bag in his room and changed into his wet suit. The Kid then stepped outside, removed his surfboard from the top of his car, and walked to the beach.

The Kid preferred surfing at sunrise; he was usually back home and in bed by noon. If he had missed the morning surfing on any other day he would have stayed home, but the Kid hadn't surfed in over a week and it was making him edgy. When he reached the beach, he looked out to see no other surfers. They had already gone home. The kid worked his way through the random families along the beach and stepped into the water.

Although the day was warmer than an average fall day, the water was freezing. It was always cold; the Kid thought he might move down to San Diego soon, just so he could surf without wearing a full wet suit.

The waves were low that day, so the Kid paddled out and waited, hoping something decent would come in. Ripples passed for several minutes, offering the Kid nothing to ride. Lying on his surfboard, he lay his head down and waited some more.

The Kid awoke in darkness, completely surrounded by ocean with no land in sight.

"Goddam it, this is Rice's fault cause I couldn't sleep last night," the Kid said to himself as his surfboard bobbed slightly in the water. "I'm fucking hungry, man.”

Chapter 32

Saturday 4:18pm (P.S.T.)

Priscilla and Bugaboo were bored. After running off the plane and changing back into their regular dresses, they had spent the night at San Francisco International Airport. Their flight back home was the next day, but they needed to get out of the airport. They decided to take a Super Shuttle into the city.

The girls were cold; their thin dresses offered little protection from the wind that curled around the front entrance of S.F.O. They had told the Super Shuttle coordinator that they wanted to go to downtown San Francisco, because they didn't know another place to tell him.

The Super Shuttles, blue vans that hold up to seven passengers and promise no more than three stops, were much cheaper than cabs. It didn't matter; the girls didn't plan to pay, anyway. They had both maxed out their credit cards and the cash they had would be needed to eat and maybe find a hotel that night. The Super Shuttle offers the greatest opportunity to run away without paying.

When they moved to the front of the line, a strange, tall man with messy, dark hair stepped into line behind them. He was wearing a black jogging suit; the top read "San Francisco." The man carried no bags.

He stared at the girls for several minutes until Bugaboo turned to him and said, "Stop fucking staring at us."

"Can you help me?" the man asked. "I need your help."

"Why the fuck should we help you?" Bugaboo asked.

"Because I need help," the man replied.

Priscilla kept looking straight ahead; she didn't want anything to do with the guy. She knew thirty-something men with dark hair and no luggage were trouble.

Bugaboo said, "That's not a reason. Just because you need help, doesn't mean we should help you. You have to tell us what's wrong, so we can tell you we don't want to help you. Who the hell are you?"

"My name's Apocalypse Dowell."

The name was familiar. Bugaboo and Priscilla thought for several seconds, trying to place the name. Then, Priscilla turned to Apocalypse Dowell and said: "Wait a minute. Were you traveling with that wrestling guy with the Hawaiian shirt?"

"Mick Aloha? Yeah, I was," Apocalypse Dowell replied. "How do you know him?"

Bugaboo said, "He almost got us arrested. We're going to kick his ass. Where is he?"

"How do you know him?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"We fucking picked him up at a rest area. We took him to Albuquerque and he almost got us arrested," Bugaboo said.

"Arrested for what?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"For being too cute," Priscilla replied.

Bugaboo said, "Look, it doesn't matter why we were almost arrested. We want to get the guy. Are you after him, too?"

"Not really. I try to avoid him as much as possible, but he always shows up no matter where I am. We're both headed to the Outer Richmond district tonight, but if you left him in Albuquerque, he might not have made it. What was he doing when you last saw him?"

"He was surrounded by police officers when we left him. There were so many of them, they must have arrested him," Priscilla replied.

Apocalypse Dowell said, "You know, he always looks for escape routes, so he might have gotten away. Even if they took him in, he's pretty good at escaping. I bet he'll be there tonight."

"Then we're going," Bugaboo said.

"Yeah," Priscilla added.

Apocalypse Dowell, Priscilla, and Bugaboo stepped into the back of a blue Super Shuttle van. The van moved along the front of S.F.O. and pulled up to another Super Shuttle stop a few hundred meters away. The driver told them they would wait there five minutes for more passengers going to the Richmond or Sunset districts.

Bugaboo, who sat between Apocalypse Dowell and Priscilla, turned to Apocalypse Dowell and asked, "What's up with that jogging suit?"

Apocalypse Dowell cleared his throat and said, "Yeah, I stole it. It's the first thing I've ever stolen, at least that I can remember."

Priscilla leaned against Bugaboo, looked at Apocalypse Dowell, and said, "Just because you didn't pay for it doesn't make it ok that you're wearing it. If you were going to steal something, why'd you have to steal that?"

"Because I needed something to wear fast," Apocalypse Dowell replied. "Look, I didn't have any clothes."

"No clothes? Why were you naked in S.F.O.? You some kind of perv?" Bugaboo asked.

Apocalypse Dowell watched a couple step into the van and sit in the seat in front of them. He wondered if he should wait and tell the story in private, but knew no one would believe him anyway, so he told them about the hunting range outside Vegas and the Japanese woman who had decided to take him back to Japan.

The driver started the van and pulled onto the road, heading for San Francisco.

Apocalypse Dowell continued, "So, that's how I ended up naked. Then, they drugged me and put me in a box and I guess they were really planning to ship me to Japan. They must have thought the drugs would keep me out all the way to Japan, but I've developed a tolerance to sleep-inducing drugs, especially the ones that are most readily administered by needles or darts."

The driver merged onto the 101, weaving through the early Saturday evening traffic. He found Apocalypse Dowell in the rear view mirror and asked, "How'd you do that?"

"How'd I do what?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"You know, build up a tolerance," the driver said. The couple in the seat in front of Apocalypse Dowell turned around to hear the rest of his story.

"Oh," Apocalypse Dowell said, "it's this jackass who lives next door to me. He has it in his mind that we're arch enemies, although I only consider him a lesser enemy-- just an annoyance, really. Anyway, sometimes he shoots me with sleep darts. It's usually when I'm taking out the trash. They really knocked me out at first, but now I guess I've gotten used to them. So, anyway, I woke up in a box, broke my way out of it to find I was on one of those little trucks they use on the tarmac to move luggage around. I jumped off the back of the truck and onto the back of a truck that was going back toward the airport, and hid among some big, black duffel bags. The truck pulled into the airport and the throwers started taking the bags off the truck. It wasn't very well lit in there, so I jumped off and ran to the nearest conveyor belt. I ran up the conveyor belt and out to the baggage claim area, where a lot of nice families were waiting for their luggage."

"Did they see you?" Priscilla asked.

"Yeah, they saw me. I waved and ran past them, up this long corridor lined with shops. I hid behind a trash can for a while, and then I went in and stole this fine jogging suit that you've both been admiring."

"What a minute," Priscilla said. "I find it hard to believe that you ran naked across the conveyor belt, past a bunch of people and down a corridor with shops in it completely naked and no one called security."

Apocalypse Dowell smiled and said, "This is San Francisco; it was normal for them. Most of the people there were too cool to look at me, anyway. If they called security, it would show they were shocked, and they couldn't have that. So, I got the clothes and then I walked farther up the corridor, trying to decide if I should tell the police what had happened to me. The sleeping drugs started to come back, so I sat down in the middle of the walkway and fell asleep. I woke up with 57 dollars in small bills and change lying on top of me. Then, I pocketed the money and walked out to the Super Shuttle pick up area, where I met you."

The Super Shuttle driver laughed and shook his head. He looked in the rear view mirror and asked: "Any of y'all believe that shit?" Everyone, with the exception of Apocalypse Dowell, laughed.

"You know what would have made that story better?" the driver asked. "A poisonous snake. Maybe a rattlesnake or something. See, then you could be trapped in that box with the rattlesnake. You and rattlesnake duke it out in the box from Vegas to San Francisco, and then, once you get the best of the rattlesnake, you open the box to find that the guy driving the tarmac truck is the goddam Sasquatch. Then, you could make a joke about how they'll let anyone drive those things. So, you dig through the luggage on the truck beside you and find a video camera cause, you want to get a shot of the Sasquatch and send it to your hero, Robert W. Morgan. Just when you've got the camera ready to shoot, the battery dies, and Ol' Sasquatch notices you back there. Well, it gives him an awful fright and the Sasquatch, see, he has a pacemaker that a human doctor put in him to regulate his heartbeat. Well, Ol' Sasquatch goes into cardiac arrest and the truck starts swervin' out there on the tarmac. Then, you run up to the front of the truck and stop it before it gets hit by a plane that's taking off--no, landing, that's better. Yeah, it's landing. Then, you have to make a decision. Do you want to give mouth to mouth to a goddam Sasquatch? See, that's the question. Every story needs a binding moral issue to bring it together. Well, then you lean over and..."

As the driver told the story and the sun dropped fully below the horizon, Apocalypse Dowell fell asleep in the back seat of the Super Shuttle van.

Apocalypse Dowell awoke when the Super Shuttle stopped at 34th and Geary at 6:37 p.m. The couple in front of him had disappeared. Priscilla and Bugaboo ushered him out of the van and onto the sidewalk, where he paid the driver for himself and the two girls.

They stood on the dark sidewalk, watching the Super Shuttle move down 34th Avenue and disappear over a hill just past Balboa. The girls looked around at the residential neighborhood with disappointment; they had expected hippies and well-dressed people to cover the entire city. They saw clean, empty sidewalks and houses that touched each other. Across 34th Avenue they saw a Japanese restaurant and across Geary they saw the Pacific Cafe.

Bugaboo looked at Apocalypse Dowell and said, "Well? Where's the wrestler?"

"Look, I said I wasn't sure if he'd be here. Our message said to be here at 7:00 p.m. so we can help our ladyfriend. I'll go check it out if you want to wait here."

"Wait where? On the sidewalk here? It's freezing out here. How long do we have to wait?" Priscilla asked.

Apocalypse Dowell looked around and spotted the Pacific Cafe. "It should be at seven, which will be in just a few minutes. If you go over there to the Pacific Cafe and tell them you're waiting for someone to join you, they'll give you free wine while you wait."

"What do you mean by free wine?" Bugaboo asked as she stared at the Pacific Cafe, a small red building with large windows and good lighting. Several people walked out of the place as she stared.

"You get free wine while you wait," Apocalypse Dowell replied. "At least, you did the last time I was there."

"What happens if you wait a long time?" Priscilla asked.

"I guess you get lots of wine," Apocalypse Dowell answered. The girls crossed the street without saying goodbye.

Apocalypse Dowell walked a half block down 34th Avenue and found the building Katy's message had told him to find, a three-story house that looked like all of the other houses on the block. In the poor lighting, Apocalypse Dowell couldn't tell if the house was blue or gray. The place was dark except for a dim light on the top floor. He thought about ringing the doorbell, but decided he should just wait until 7:00 to see what would happen.

At 7:01 by Apocalypse Dowell's watch, the front door flew open and a dark figure ran out of the house. Apocalypse Dowell recognized his ladyfriend and opened his arms to hug her when he saw what was chasing her; a yellow robot stepped out the door and probed the surroundings with its blue sensors.

Katy jumped behind Apocalypse Dowell and waited. The robot spotted the girl behind Apocalypse Dowell and walked toward them. Apocalypse Dowell kicked the robot in the leg, breaking his own foot and doing no damage to the robot, which reached around him and grabbed the girl. Carrying the girl with its right arm, the robot began its retreat to its fall back position, Ocean Beach.

Apocalypse Dowell tried to hop after them with his good foot, but fell in the middle of 34th Avenue.

He heard a voice say, "You gonna get killed if you stay there. It's not busy street, but if you wait long enough, you get splatted."

Apocalypse Dowell turned to see an old man walk out the building's front door. He stood in front of the building and looked around, as if he had lost a penny or a key.

Apocalypse Dowell crawled back to the sidewalk and asked, "Was that your robot?"

"Yes, was is the word to use, it was my robot. I guess, if you want to get technical and go into details, it is mine. But, it went crazy a couple of weeks ago, took over the whole house, wouldn't let us out. Then, a few minutes ago, crazy white girl ran out the door and robot chased after her. That's all I know," the man said.

"Who are you?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"My name's Bob, nice to meet you thank you very much how are you not bad and you? I own this house. I built it with my brother long time ago, when I was young man and strong. That girl, she rented the second floor. See, the first floor is just the garage, the second floor is an apartment, and I live with my devil wife and ugly daughter on the third floor. You married? You want nice wife?"

"No, I'm good, Bob. What happened to your robot to make it go crazy?"

"I don't know, it just did," Bob replied. "Look, I'm not hero, but I think if you're here to save her, which I think you are, you better get going. Robot's getting away with your girl."

Apocalypse Dowell looked around at the empty street and sidewalk and asked, "Where'd they go?"

"Not sure, but robot has fall back location in case of emergency. Ocean Beach. Maybe it took her there."

Apocalypse Dowell nodded and managed to stand up by leaning against a car parked on the side of the street.

"You get going," Bob said. "You go be hero. I have to go back upstairs, explain to my crazy wife why robot went bad. She'll blame me. Always blames me. Not my fault. I got robot to help her. Held us hostage. She's gonna be mad. See, she thinks..."

"Bob," Apocalypse Dowell interrupted. "Look, my foot's broken. You know some crazy Chinese secrets to help me out here?"

"Yeah, buy low, sell high. Oh, and don't fight robots. You can't win." Bob ran back inside his house and closed his front door.

When Apocalypse Dowell arrived at the Pacific Cafe, after hopping from Bob's house, the girls were drunk. They each sat in the small waiting area in the front of the restaurant, holding glasses of white wine and laughing loudly.

Bugaboo spotted Apocalypse Dowell and said, "You lied to us. You said it would be red wine. Well, it's not. It's white. I hate white wine, but it's free, so I'm drinking it anyway."

"Yeah," Priscilla added. "White wine sucks."

"I didn't say what kind of wine they had," Apocalypse Dowell said. "Now, we have to go. I have to get to Ocean Beach and my foot's broken, so I'll need you to help me."

"We'd help you if it was red wine, but it's white. White wine, no help. Red wine, help. I have spoken," Bugaboo said. She took another drink of the white wine. Priscilla passed out; Bugaboo laughed. Apocalypse Dowell hopped out of the Pacific Cafe, turned right, and hopped up Geary.

People made fun of him as he hopped; some drivers slowed down to throw things at him. He hopped past the Walgreens at 42nd Avenue and reached the top of the hill at 46th Avenue, where he began the descent to Ocean Beach. Apocalypse Dowell's good leg ached as he hopped past Lou's Diner and the Cliff House.

He hopped on the sidewalk that ran along the edge of Ocean Beach, looking for any signs of the robot. A blue light told him the robot was near the water. Apocalypse Dowell hopped across the dark, empty beach and confronted the robot at the water's edge.

Katy lay on the beach beside the robot and said, "I'm sorry I got you into this. It's just, I thought you and Mick Aloha could help. You're both good guys and always looking to help someone out. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"What's it want?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"I don't know. It's gone crazy. It hasn't asked for anything, but it won't let me go," Katy said. “Maybe the revolution's finally on.”

"Robots don't just go crazy," Apocalypse Dowell said. "Yeah, could be the revolution, though. What should we do?"

"I don't know," Katy replied. "You ever killed a robot before?"

"Yeah, but I don't have what you'd call a streak of luck with them. And, I've always had weapons. The only person I've ever seen take one out barehanded was Mick Aloha."

"Where is he?" Katy asked. "I thought he'd be with you."

"Yeah, we kind of got separated."

"Well, it doesn't matter. You're just as good as Mick Aloha, so go over there and teach that thing a lesson," Katy said as she pointed at the motionless robot standing beside them.

Apocalypse Dowell thought about all of the times he'd seen Mick Aloha kill robots. He knew he had to do it with one quick kick with his good leg. The robot didn't move when Apocalypse Dowell stepped over to it and faced it. With a sharp snap, he flung with left foot into the air and broke it against the robot's head, which didn't move. Apocalypse Dowell fell to the cold sand screaming.

From the sand, Apocalypse Dowell saw the robot grab Katy by the neck. It started choking her, making Apocalypse Dowell wonder why it didn't just kill her. Apocalypse Dowell tried to stand, but fell back to the ground. As Katy's gasps became lower and lower, Apocalypse Dowell was sure she was going to die.

Then, Apocalypse Dowell heard a voice say, "Goddam it. Goddam robots are goddam everywhere, like the goddam mosquitoes. Those sombitches get everywhere, the bastards."

Apocalypse Dowell looked up to see Mick Aloha standing over him.

"You the one making all that goddam noise, Dowell?" Mick Aloha asked.

"Some of it, Aloha," Apocalypse Dowell replied. He motioned to the robot and asked, "You want to take care of this problem here, you drunk bastard, before it kills her."

"I was just getting to that," Mick Aloha said. He took a swing at the robot's head with the Big Boot. The robot loosened its grip on the girl and blocked Mick Aloha's kick with its right arm.

Mick Aloha fell to the ground holding his foot. "I be goddamed, Dowell, that sombitch is reinforced."

"What the hell did you drink, Aloha?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"You should know my signature drink, vegetarian," Mick Aloha replied as the robot threw Katy to the ground and picked up Mick Aloha.

The robot held Mick Aloha by his neck, hanging him a foot off the ground. Mick Aloha struggled for several seconds and then stopped moving to conserve his energy, a trick he had learned watching wrestling. The lack of oxygen to his brain caused Mick Aloha to start to black out. Apocalypse Dowell tried to stand and fell again.

A faint sound came from the ocean. At first, Apocalypse Dowell thought it might have been a bird, but it grew louder until he could make out some words.

"Like, you won't believe this," the voice said. Against the moon that was rising over the ocean, they saw the outline of the Kid on his surfboard, surfing into shore.

The Kid stood in the shallow water and said, "Like, you're that dude. I know you. What are you doing with that robot?"

Mick Aloha couldn't reply; he had to save his breath.

"Like, you guys playing some kind of game or something? Like, can I play?" the Kid asked.

Apocalypse Dowell asked, "Think you could take that robot out for us?"

"Like, sure," the Kid said. “But, if I damage my board, you're paying for it." He swung his long board at the robot's legs. The robot fell to the ground, losing its grip on Mick Aloha, who immediately stood and kicked the robot's head into the ocean, where it exploded.

"Like, you're a polluter, man," the Kid said as he looked down at Mick Aloha, who continued to gasp for breath. The Kid examined his board and said, "Like, goddam it, it nicked my board. I wouldn't have done that if I'd known it would nick my board."

After they were all introduced, Katy thanked them and disappeared into the darkness of Ocean Beach, never to be seen by any of them again.

"That's goddam gratitude for you," Mick Aloha said. "Goddam women."

"Let's get out of here," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"OK, vegetarian, I have a ride for us," Mick Aloha said. He pointed to the cable car bus in the parking lot.

As the Kid, Apocalypse Dowell, and Mick Aloha crossed the beach, a long black car pulled up beside the cable car bus. A gray robot jumped out of it and ran toward the three men. Mick Aloha kicked its head off. There was no explosion.

Jimmy Riggs and Jake Bastion then stepped out of the car.

Mick Aloha walked up to them, after passing his friends in the cable car bus, and said, "What do you want?"

"I want what's mine," Jake Bastion replied. "I want that money back, Mick Aloha. The money you took from me."

"We've already had this conversation and I'm drunk, so I don't really want to talk about it. But, I'll tell you one thing: I'm not giving you a goddam dime."

"Get him," Jake Bastion said to Jimmy Riggs.

Jimmy Riggs charged Mick Aloha and then stopped a few paces away. The crowd on the cable car bus cheered, hoping to see a fight.

Jimmy turned back to Jake Bastion and dropped his pants, revealing the tights he still wore.

"What the hell is this?" Jake Bastion asked. "You gone queer on me? Get him! What the hell are you waiting on? Queer or not queer, I want you to get him!"

Jimmy Riggs turned to the people on the cable car bus and said, "I like to wear tights. It feels nice."

"You're in San Francisco," a drunk college student on the cable car bus replied. "Get in line, sassafras."

"People round here don't mind something like this?" Jimmy asked.

The people on the cable car bus shook their heads.

Jimmy pulled his pants back up, turned to Jake Bastion, and said, "That's it. I'm moving here. I quit."

"You can't quit, you queer son of a bitch. You work for me."

Mick Aloha walked up to Jake Bastion and kicked him in the head. Bastion's head stayed on, but the blow knocked him out. The crowd on the cable car bus cheered.

"I like this city," Mick Aloha said. "I might have to stick around here."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. And, I know a place for rent with a cool ass landlord," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Like, I'm sick of commuting up here every day, like, count me in, too. Oh, and my credit rules," the Kid added.

They attached the Kid's surfboard to the top of the cable car bus and then squeezed onto the bus, leaving Jimmy Riggs sitting by himself on the steps that led down to the beach.