Immediately, she saw Hank.
He hailed her and lifted his richly stained hat. ‘Mornin’, ma’am. I figure you might be rushing to see my Dillinger Death Car, but I’ve bin told to point you in yonder direction.’ He nodded toward the cafe. ‘They’ve a nice plate of vittles waiting for ya.’
She blinked back the tears and smiled. ‘Thank you. And good morning to you. But I don’t know if I’m hungry.’
‘Good eating, my young lovely.’
‘I never bother with much. Just toast and juice.’
‘Haw! Breakfast’s most important meal of the day.’ He rubbed his whiskery old-timer jaw. The red nose quivered like it had a life of its own. ‘Then lunch, dinner and supper come a close second.’
‘I might rest up in the trailer for a while.’
‘You got the Mosby place. Mighty fine trailer.’
‘I like it.’
‘He always took pride in the thing. He brought the sofa all the way from Tucson.’
‘I slept on it last night.’
‘Work of art it is.’
‘Don’t let me keep you from your work.’
‘Nothing that’ll spoil for keepin’.’ Hank settled the hat back on his head again. ‘Don’t forget that breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘If it’s not food you’re after, then there’s good company.’
Pamela looked across at the cafe. A couple of trucks had been parked outside. She thought about Lauren and Nicki. She smiled.
‘Yes, company would be fine right now. Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
As she started to walk through the hot desert sun to the cafe Hank called after her. ‘Now, don’t you go forgettin’ the tour. See all of Pits with yours truly. There’s plenty more to the place that meets the eye.’
Pamela walked into the cafe. Straight away the aromas of bacon and coffee hit her.
Oh boy, that does smell good. She realized she did have an appetite after all. The booths were empty but three guys in denim sat at the counter tucking into plates piled high with food. These had to be the truckers that belonged to the two vehicles outside. Well, two drivers plus mate. They were too busy eating for talking.
For a moment Pamela stood by a table, wondering if she’d blush when she saw Nicki. Instead Lauren breezed from the back. She wore a gypsy-style white blouse with embroidered lapels. To that she’d added a flowing skirt in cool cotton covered with a flower pattern. Definitely the fashion spirit of ’69. Lauren smiled warmly when she saw Pamela.
‘Good morning, Pamela. Sleep well?’
‘Incredibly well. You must have something in this desert air.’
‘Well, whatever it is, it’s free.’
‘Is Nicki here?’
‘Sure. She’s out back. Shall I call her for you?’
‘Oh no, don’t bother her if she’s busy.’
‘Right, first things first. What can I get you to eat?’
‘Normally, for me it’s toast and—’
‘Not on my watch, buster.’ Lauren smiled. ‘Grab a table. Let me surprise you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Coffee?’
‘That’d be lovely.’
‘I’ll bring orange juice and water, too. You soon get a thirst in Pits.’
‘Lauren?’
‘Yes?’
‘I have to tell the police what happened. About Rodney. And what he did to Jim.’
‘Course you must, honey.’
‘There’s a telephone I can use?’
‘Not in Pits, I’m afraid. We lost the cable in a rock fall a couple of months ago.’
‘The phone company hasn’t repaired it?’
‘Low priority. We don’t make enough calls to make it profitable.’
‘But what happens when you need to make a call?’
Lauren paused as if the question surprised her. ‘Really, I don’t know. I guess none of us need to call anyone in the outside world. Funny, I just never thought about it.’
‘The police must drop in here from time to time.’
‘Oh, yes. We recharge them on coffee and doughnuts.’ Lauren looked at Pamela seriously. ‘But I know you need to report what happened to you. There’s a town a couple of hours’ drive from here. You can telephone from there. Now, make yourself comfortable. I’ll get that breakfast.’
Pamela sat at the same table she’d sat at the day before. The one with the green Formica top. Through a window she could see Sharpe using a broom to sweep the dust from the side of the bus. He wore shades and despite the heat he looked as cool and as relaxed as the moment she’d met him. Just seconds after he’d shot Rodney.
The guy must have ice cream in his veins. I’d melt in that heat out there.
Lauren brought the coffee and ice-cold juice. The juice was heaven to Pamela’s dry throat. On a hot day like this God lives in a cold drink, she thought. She watched the truckers finish up, pay their check and then amble out to their waiting vehicles.
I could hitch a ride with them, she thought. But then, what would they expect in return for transport out of here? A ride for a ride, as the old saying goes.
No, I feel at peace here. Pits is restful.
Pits is a place where I don’t have to confront the burnt ruin of my home. Or meet Jim’s grieving family. Or attend the funeral. Or start all over in a tiny apartment where I’d sit alone at night after a day’s teaching in some bad neighborhood where the next kid you scold for chewing gum in class could pull a blade on you.
‘Hi there, sweet pea.’
Pamela looked up. ‘Hi.’ It was Nicki, with her Nordic blonde hair gleaming in the morning light. The hair was neatly braided. Once more she wore the knit pullover shirt and the bright red shorts. Over those she wore the blue apron with its pockets for the order pad. Her beautifully curved figure was the image of health and vitality.
Nicki engaged her in small talk. Pamela didn’t blush. The memory of seeing Nicki rub her full breasts against Pamela’s bare feet did have a dreamlike quality to it now. In the brilliance of a Mojave Desert morning such a thing seemed absurd.
Impossible.
Yeah – just a dream.
With no customers to serve, Nicki slid into one of the seats opposite. She chatted about the massage oils she hoped to sell to the diner’s customers. ‘It’s important that Pits grows. We’ve got the beginnings of a real community here. It needs to start trading with the outside world. Then as Sharpe brings in more people we’ll have a school one day. It would be lovely to hear children’s voices again.’
‘Sharpe’s going to do that?’
‘Sure.’
‘But what makes people want to move to Pits?’
Nicki smiled. ‘Look around you. There’s space. It’s clean. There’s no crime.’
‘But . . .’ Pamela gave a little shrug, not wanting to dis Nicki’s town. ‘But it’s kinda light on facilities, movie theaters, stores and the like.’
‘True. But once you get used to it you love it.’
‘And Sharpe just goes out and picks up people to come live here?’
‘Not just like that. He saves people. Men and women who don’t have a future in the outside world.’
Pamela took another swallow of juice. ‘I do have a future. A career.’
Nicki smiled again. But this time the expression seemed disappointed, as if she was sad at the idea of Pamela leaving so soon. ‘That’s down to you, of course. You’ve got to make your own mind up about the future.’
Lauren appeared at that moment with a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and steak, plus fried potatoes.
‘Wow.’ Pamela’s mouth watered.
‘Figured you could use the protein.’
‘Figure I’ll need to be moved round on a wheel after all this. It’s a feast!’
‘Enjoy.’
When Pamela had finished Lauren went back to the counter, then returned with a folded newspaper. ‘I thought I’d let you finish up before I showed you this.’
&n
bsp; Lauren sat down beside Nicki, opposite Pamela. She unfolded the newspaper and laid it flat on the table.
The moment Pamela saw the photograph on the front page her eyes blurred with tears. It showed a row of houses with a gap between a pair of them. She recognized the street. In the gap was a charred frame.
Gently, Lauren said, ‘This isn’t pretty but you might want to read it.’
‘No.’
‘It might help clarify your plans for the future.’
‘No. Please . . .’
Lauren leaned forward and rested her hand on Pamela’s forearm.
‘There’s something you should know, Pamela.’
Pamela used a napkin to dab her eyes. ‘I know all there is to know. That bastard Rodney murdered my husband and burned my home.’
‘There is more. You don’t have to read it now but it might be best if—’
‘Okay.’ Pamela took a deep breath. ‘Get it over with.’
‘We’re here for you, Pamela,’ Nicki said softly. ‘We’re going to help you any way we can.’
Pamela looked at the newspaper but her teary eyes blurred her vision so that the newsprint became black streaks.
‘It’s no good. I can’t read it. My eyes are . . . uh . . .’ She sniffed. ‘You’d think I wouldn’t have a tear left in me.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll give you the gist,’ Lauren said. ‘It says the firefighters found two skeletons in the debris. One male. One female.’
‘Female?’
‘Yes. Pamela, they believe the remains are yours.’
Pamela made a hiccup sound. Partway between a laugh and a cry. ‘So in the eyes of the world I don’t even exist anymore.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Of course. It must have been Rodney. He killed another woman and brought her into the house before he kidnapped me. That way . . .’ She found her voice breaking. ‘Th-that way, no one would come looking for me, because . . . because the police would think husband and wife died together.’
Pamela looked from Lauren to Nicki. Both regarded her with deep sympathy. They were willing her to be strong.
‘S’easy,’ Pamela said. ‘I go to the police. Once they see me they’ll know I’m alive and . . . and—’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Lauren chose her words carefully. ‘You see, Jim’s wife flew in from New York.’
‘No. You’re mistaken. I’m his wife . . . widow.’
Lauren shook her head. ‘Jim was already married.’
‘Impossible. I married him. We honeymooned in Maui.’
Lauren reached out to squeeze Pamela’s hand. ‘It looks as if Jim had married before. Only he . . .’
‘Neglected to mention it.’ Pamela’s voice hardened. She sat up straight. Stared out of the window. The rocky hills rose into the sky. Now they looked like teeth ready to chew a piece out of it. ‘And never divorced. So it was a bigamous wedding.’ She shook her head. ‘My God. The day before yesterday I was a wife. Yesterday I was a widow.’ A bitter laugh escaped her lips. ‘Today, I’m neither.’
Chapter Twenty
Norman woke up and thought: My God. The nightmare I’ve just had. Sex with a piglike woman called Boots. Murder. Me, slaying two cops. A bad, BAD dream . . .
He opened his eyes. ‘Oh, shit!’
A large face framed by short bleached hair looked down at him. Hell of a lot of makeup, too. He was lying in the back seat of his car with his head on her lap.
Heart pounding, he sat up.
Looked round.
Duke driving.
Boots smiling at him.
‘You slept like a baby,’ she was saying.
Duke glanced back. ‘Sweet dreams, big feller?’
‘Oh God . . . oh my God.’ Norman shuffled his butt across the seat away from Boots, trying to cower in the corner with his hand over his mouth.
Repeating: ‘Oh my God. Oh my God . . .’
Should’ve stayed asleep.
‘Oh my God,’ he said for the zillionth time. ‘I thought I’d dreamed it all.’
Boots looked hurt. ‘You thought you only dreamed making out with me?’
‘Some wet dream, huh, Norm?’ Duke drove one-handed, the other arm straight out across the back of the passenger seat.
‘Oh, you mean you thought you dreamed all the other stuff? Zapping those cops. That soooo turned me on.’
‘Yeah, you were awesome, man.’ Duke gave the horn a couple of toots to celebrate his appreciation.
‘You shouldn’t do that, Duke,’ Norman warned. ‘Draws attention to us.’
‘You mean cops? Shit, Norm, everything’s dandy.’
‘Yeah.’ Boots waved her hands to point out of every window at once. ‘No one about.’
Blinking against the bright sun, Norman looked out. The road ran through wooded hills. There were no buildings he could see.
‘Bear-shit country,’ Duke observed.
‘I like cartoon bears. Don’t think I’d like to meet the real thing.’
‘No bear would dare tangle with you, Bootsy-girl.’ Duke laughed.
Boots laughed along, then: ‘Anyone hungry?’
‘We’ve got soda and some leftovers from the beach picnic.’ Duke sounded matter-of-fact.
Matter-of-fact like Jesus H. Christ we never killed four people yesterday. Norman was stunned.
Couldn’t speak.
Kept thinking what his father would say.
‘Mr. Wiscoff. Your son, Norman, is a cop-killer. He’ll get fifty thousand volts for the crime.’ Norman could hear the lawyer’s words right now. What’s worse? The murders? Or the shame that I’ll bring on my family?
He didn’t know.
What was it that Oliver Hardy said when his and Stan’s plans went awry and they were up Shit Creek sans paddle? ‘Oh, Gabriel, blow your horn.’
Ollie was inviting the archangel to bring the world to an end so he wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of whatever mess the twosome had gotten into.
‘Oh, Gabriel, blow your horn.’
‘What you say back there, bud?’
Norman sighed. ‘Nothing.’
‘Sure am hungry.’ Boots said. ‘Anyone else hungry?’
‘I just told you, girl, we’ve got leftovers.’
‘I don’t want no picnic leftovers. I want real food. On a plate. With steam coming off of it.’
Norman sat up straight. ‘If you think you can pull up at a diner, think again. The police will be looking for this car.’
‘The man’s right,’ Duke said. ‘A red Jeep Cherokee with cop brain stuck to the windshield. Dead giveaway.’ Then he said something that appalled Norman. ‘We’re going to ditch the car.’
‘Ditch it?’ Norman gasped. ‘It’s my dad’s car. He’ll be livid.’
‘Livid? Maybe the fact his loving son’s a cop-slayer will take his mind off losing the car.’
‘Besides.’ Boots patted her hair in place. ‘If it’s your daddy’s car then you won’t have had the sweat of paying for it.’
‘We can’t just leave it.’
‘Dead straight, Norm. Don’t want to walk everywhere, do we?’
‘Not me,’ Boots said. ‘Makes the skin on my heels hard.’
Norman glanced down at her thick sunburned thighs. Those feet had to ship some heavy-duty meat for a living.
‘So, this is the plan.’ Duke glanced back. ‘We find another car. Dump this one where the cops don’t find it in a hurry. Then—’
‘Then get some chow,’ Boots stressed.
‘Get some chow,’ Duke agreed.
‘I’m never gonna eat ever again,’ Norman announced with feeling.
‘Then we drive due south.’
‘South?’ Norman would have preferred to exit to another galaxy. Cops had a long reach.
‘South,’ Duke repeated. ‘Get out into wilderness country where we can lay low.’
Norman glanced back through the window at the receding road. At any second he expected to see police cruisers appear with their lights flashing.
‘Yeah, I know the one.’
‘The one where Norman stopped being a virgin.’
Boots smirked. ‘Maybe they’ll put up a plaque one day. Norman popped his cherry here.’
‘Or rename the motel,’ Duke speculated. ‘Norman’s First Hump . . . or how about this? The Cockwell Inn.’
Duke and Boots laughed.
Norman groaned, ‘Oh my God.’
Then Duke nodded at a dirt track that led from the road. ‘This is where we pick up our brand new conveyance.’
Norman began to understand the implications of the plan. ‘Jesus. We’re going to steal one?’
‘No,’ Duke snorted. ‘We’re going to stop the car. Get out. Get down on our knees, then pray to the Almighty that He should deliver a hot BMW straight from Heaven.’
Boots and Duke laughed again while Norman’s heart sank into the dark pit of his stomach.
The house. Two stories. Shingle roof. Barn. Workshop. Despite the heat of the sun-filled day blue smoke rose from the chimney.
‘They gotta car,’ Boots whispered as Duke stopped the Jeep in the shade of a tree.
‘Check out the pickup truck.’ Duke pointed to where the Ford pickup was partly hidden by the barn. ‘That’s gonna have more poke than the old rice-boiler.’
Though it was close on a hundred yards away Norman could make out that the car parked outside the front door of the house was an aged Datsun.
‘What ya gonna do, Duke?’ Boots asked.
‘I’m going backwards, that’s what I’m gonna do, Bootsy-girl.’
‘Careful,’ Norman said. ‘There’s a lake behind us.’
‘Perfect. Once we have the pickup, Norman, you roll the car into the lake.’
‘Into the lake? My dad’s car?’
‘Yeah. Gonna be no use to us now.’
‘More use to the cops,’ Boots added. ‘Fingerprints and stuff.’
Norman took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’
Duke switched off the motor and turned round, a surprised expression beneath his Elvis quiff.
‘Aren’t you forgettin’ something, Norman?’
‘Forgetting what?’
‘Forgettin’ to say shit like “Are you sure about this? Aren’t we breaking the law? Won’t we get into trouble? What if we get found out? What if we get our asses busted?”’
The Glory Bus Page 15