Why are those keys and personal effects in the shoeboxes?
What made me take the boy’s diary?
A little voice in the back of her head said: There’s a story in that diary. It’s got facts about Pits. About Lauren, Sharpe and the rest.
Facts you don’t know.
Pamela couldn’t wait until the cafe closed up for the night.
Then she could return to her trailer.
Read the diary.
A gut feeling told her that it was important.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘Where’d you get the car?’ Norman asked as Duke drove along the dirt track that ran between cornfields. Duke and Boots rode up front. Dee-Dee and Norman sat – bounced, rather – in the back seat.
‘It’s Darren’s car.’ Dee-Dee leaned forward in her tight nurse’s uniform. Even in the near-darkness Norman saw the curve of her back.
Sexy curve.
Sexy white uniform in cool, crisp cotton. She smelled good, too. Soap scents, maybe.
‘Darren who?’ Boots asked. She sat in the front passenger seat with her feet resting casually on the dash, like she was ready to take a nap.
Not being pursued by cops.
Norman remembered the way the bullets had flashed like shooting stars past his head.
Man, close call.
‘Who the fuck cares who?’ Duke growled. ‘We got a car. That’s the main thing.’ As he drove he looked back. ‘We saved your ass, bud.’
‘Thanks.’ Norman meant it, too. God knows what would have happened if the cops had arrested me.
I’m a cop-killer. If they hadn’t shot me they’d have pistol-whipped me.
Maced me.
Maybe kicked my jonglies black and blue.
The same jonglies that Boots had kissed and ‘Ahhed’ over . . .
Now they were in a sedan tearing through country fields.
‘Are we being followed?’ Norman asked, keeping his head down.
‘Take a look, wuss-boy. Do you see any lights?’
Norman glanced back through the rear window. Saw nothing but darkness.
‘Speaking of lights,’ Dee-Dee asked. ‘You do know you’re driving at night without headlights?’
‘Who’s the stripper?’ Duke asked.
‘Hey, I’m no stripper.’ Dee-Dee sounded stung.
Boots looked back at Dee-Dee as she sat in the back seat. ‘Looks like a stripper. That ain’t a real nurse’s uniform.’
‘It is. I am a qualified nurse.’
‘That qualifies you to query my driving methods, miss?’ Duke asked in a sarcastic-respectful voice.
‘If you don’t switch on the headlights we’ll wind up smeared over a tree trunk.’
‘Get her,’ Boots said.
‘Preferred mode of driving,’ Duke added.
‘At least the cops won’t be able to see us in the dark without lights.’ Norman risked another peek back.
‘Give the kid a doughnut.’ Duke casually teased a cigarette from a pack with his teeth. ‘Hey, miss?’
‘The name’s Dee-Dee.’
‘Miss Dee-Dee. Do you know where these tracks are headed?’
‘They run for miles. Only people who use them are farmers.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘I’m trying to help, you lummox.’
‘Lummox.’ Duke grinned back at Norman. An alarming action since he wasn’t looking where he was driving. ‘You’ve picked up a live one there, boy.’
Dee-Dee fumed. ‘He didn’t pick me up!’
‘Say, he’s not boned you yet?’
‘No!’
Boots turned round to smirk. ‘He will soon enough. Normy can’t get enough. The guy’s a fucking love machine.’
Duke laughed. ‘That’s cos he’s been saving it up for years.’
‘Hey.’ Norman didn’t like this kind of talk in front of Dee-Dee.
Too personal. Too revealing.
Too damn embarrassing.
She was beautiful. Sexy. Best girl I’ve ever seen.
No, no, no! Don’t want Boots and Duke, the gruesome twosome, ruining any chance of romance.
But:
Boots turned round so that she could look at Dee-Dee properly. Then she whispered, ‘Did you know that until two nights ago Norman here was a virgin?’
‘That’s none of my business.’
‘None of my business.’ Duke guffawed. ‘What’s your business hitching a ride with us?’
‘Yeah,’ Boots said. ‘We don’t know you. You might be a weirdo or something.’
‘Dear God, that’s rich.’ Norman couldn’t stop the words coming out.
‘Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?’ Boots was hurt.
Duke snarled, ‘You gotta show respect to your girlfriend, man.’
‘Boots isn’t my girlfriend.’
‘Coulda fooled me. The way you were stickin’ it in her the other night I thought you two were on your honeymoon.’
‘Shut the fuck up, Duke,’ Norman snapped.
He stared at the big guy’s silhouette as he drove. Then Duke did something that made both Dee-Dee and Norman shout out.
Duke floored the gas pedal. The car roared along the track in total darkness. Couldn’t see nothing but flitting shapes in the starlight at either side.
Then Duke took his hands off the wheel. Placed them behind his head.
Gazed forward just like he was the passenger.
Not the driver of this budget sedan hurtling along a dirt road.
That was when Dee-Dee and Norman shouted.
‘Hey, what you think you’re doing!’
‘You’ll kill us all!’
‘Duke, get your hands back on the wheel!’
‘You crazy fuck!’
Boots turned back to laugh at the pair in the back seat. ‘Serves you right for being rude to me.’
‘Boots, make him steer!’
Both Duke and Boots laughed and whooped. They slapped the car roof with their hands. Duke switched on the car radio.
A country-and-western song jangled out.
Shit, Norman thought. That’s the song I’m gonna hear as I die.
I hate country and western.
Boots and Duke sang along, adding cowboy yodels.
The mad fucks.
Dee-Dee moaned.
Fainted.
Leaning sideways against Norman.
‘Duke! You mad sonofabitch!’
Duke swiveled back so that both of his hands rested on the top of his seat. ‘Norman. Your lack of faith disappoints. Ain’t that right, Boots?’
‘Right, Duke.’
‘Yah think you’ve got me down as this cretin.’ The car sped on. Sixty? Seventy miles an hour?
And here was Duke, acting like the car was on autopilot or something.
‘You underestimate me, Normy, old buddy. That makes me sad. Cos I’ve done so much to educate you in the ways of the world. To change the boy to a man.’
‘Duke, steer the fucking car. Please, Duke.’
Norman felt like fainting too. Dee-Dee was a dead weight against him.
‘Now here’s another fact,’ Duke told him. ‘Dirt tracks like this always have deep ruts from where tractors and combine harvesters have gone backward, forward, backward, forward for years—’
‘Duke. In the name of God, please put your hands back on the steering wheel.’
‘—So they act like rails on a railroad. The car’s wheels lock into the ruts. The ruts steer the car. Comprende, amigo?’
Norman could only stare at Duke’s grinning face there in the gloom.
Any second the car’s gonna flip out.
Then we’ll be dead.
Norman sweated.
Sweated rivers of perspiration down his chest.
And all he could see was Duke grinning at him like a demon.
‘I trust Duke, Normy. He won’t crash us into nothin’. See? The car’s running like God’s steerin’ it.’
After what seemed a long, lo
ng time, Duke shook his head. Then, still smiling, he turned back to the business of driving the car. He slowed it. Put his hands on the steering wheel.
Norman sagged down in the back seat with a massive sigh. His muscles were locked hard with tension.
It would take a while to relax.
A long while.
Duke said matter-of-factly, ‘I’ve lost the cops. It’s time we found a highway.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘Midnight,’ Lauren said as she locked the cafe door.
‘The witching hour.’ Pamela stood with her hands in her apron pockets, making sure that no one saw the oblong bulge of the diary.
‘Couldn’t have put it better,’ Lauren said. ‘Oooh, look at the sky. You know, you don’t appreciate how bright the stars are until you see them out in the desert.’
Pamela looked up at the display of shining stars. ‘Awesome,’ she agreed. ‘And it’s so wonderfully cool after being in the diner.’
‘It was sizzling today. And you did marvelously.’
‘My pleasure.’ Pamela smiled.
‘Remember, if you want that waitressing job it’s yours.’
Pamela opened her mouth to speak.
‘No, don’t decide now. Let me know in the morning.’
‘Thanks.’
‘We did real good business today. I’ll see you get your share of the tips come Saturday.’
‘Oh, there’s no—’
‘Hush. You’ve earned it. The place was a furnace tonight.’ Lauren walked alongside Pamela as they strolled across the parking lot. The chill desert air was as refreshing as a glass of cold champagne. ‘And if you decide to join us we’ll agree a fair wage. You get accommodation, too.’
‘That’s a generous package. I really do mean it.’
‘What we’re short of is glamorous night life. What we’re not short of is peace and plenty of quiet.’ Lauren paused, looking down the road that appeared as a gray strip in the starlight. In this eerie ghost light her face, which was bony and hollow-cheeked at the best of times, could have been the face of an ancient Red Indian warrior.
‘Lauren, what’s wrong?’
‘I was just wondering about Sharpe.’
‘He drove out in his bus today, didn’t he?’
‘Hmm, looking for more people to save.’
‘How long will he be gone?’
‘You never know with Sharpe. Days. A week.’
‘You miss him, don’t you?’
Lauren sighed. ‘Sure do. But that’s the nature of Walter Sharpe.’
‘His mission?’
‘Yeah . . .’ Lauren’s forest-green eyes were far away. Then: ‘Come on, it’s getting late.’
They walked across the lot by the assortment of cars, trucks, vans and a motorcycle or two.
Never struck me as being so odd, Pamela thought. That parade of abandoned vehicles.
But in the light of those shoeboxes in the utility room. Crammed with pens, spectacles, false teeth, car keys . . .
Where did all those cars come from?
In the meager light they looked like sleeping beasts.
How easy is it to lose your car keys and eyeglasses?
Surely a darn sight easier than losing your truck?
You don’t simply forget to climb in and drive away after eating a Pitsburger, do you now? You don’t walk off along that desert road thinking: ‘I’m sure I’ve forgotten something important.’
At Pamela’s trailer she and Lauren said their good nights, then went their separate ways. Pamela let herself into the trailer. It still held the heat of the day. She was grateful to bathe in the warm air. Outside it had suddenly seemed too cold.
Too chilling.
Rodney’s just walked over my grave.
Not funny.
She closed the door behind her. Drew a bolt. Then pulled the diary from her apron pocket. She had a feeling that the contents of the little book wouldn’t be funny either.
Pamela showered, relishing the pummeling jets of warm water. After the fried-meat smells of the diner the scent of the strawberry shampoo felt pretty good, too. After drying herself she slipped on a long T-shirt that she was using as a nightshirt.
Then she went into the trailer’s kitchen where she poured herself a glass of cold milk and took it into the lounge where she’d left the boy’s diary on the coffee table.
She remembered the words in a child’s hand on the first page: Benny Loscoff, age 10 (and last will and testy mint).
Testy mint.
Clearly, he meant ‘testament’. But why would a child write their will in a diary?
Does this form part of the equation when you add in the boxes of personal effects in the utility room, plus the row of vehicles – new as well as old – abandoned in the cafe’s lot?
Pamela took a sip of milk. Cold and creamy, just how she liked it.
Settling down into the sofa, she opened up the diary and began to read.
My name is Benny. This is what happened to me and my bud, Gyp, when we ran away from summer camp.
As she took another sip of milk she heard the gasp of air brakes. Opening the drapes by a fraction of an inch she took a peek out. Sharpe’s bus had pulled into the lot. The door opened. Out stepped what appeared to be a young guy with a mass of curly hair.
Too dark to see properly. But he seemed hunched forward.
Tired? Hurt?
Pamela didn’t know.
Sharpe left the bus next. He always walked upright. Almost like a Marine, proud of his uniform and his flag, ready for parade. He closed the bus’s door behind him, said something to the curly-haired guy who nodded. Then they both went round the far side of the diner.
She watched for a moment; they didn’t come back.
Pamela let the drapes fall back into place. Took a moment to make sure that there were no chinks through which anyone on the outside could peer in.
I’m getting paranoid.
No one’ll care if they see me reading a kid’s diary.
Or am I developing a heightened sense of self-preservation?
Shoot.
She shivered. Opened the diary.
Began to read.
My name is Benny Loscoff. This is what happened to me and my bud, Gyp, when we ran away from summer camp. Mabley and his gang was going to pound us because we told Mr. Taylor about what they did with the snake. We snuck out before sunup and took the bus to Vegas. Only the bus broke down, so me and Gyp ran into the desert because the driver said we didn’t look old enough to be traveling by ourselves to Vegas, which he called Sin City. And that there were women downtown that kiss guys for money.
Anyway me and Gyp ducked off into the desert so we couldn’t be taken back to summer camp.
Pamela took a swallow of milk. It stroked a cold pathway down her throat. She glanced at the next pages of the diary. Benny Loscoff talked a lot about trying to catch birds to eat – with no success. And getting thirstier and thirstier until they couldn’t walk any further.
That was when the bus pulled up on the desert road.
A bus full of mannequins.
A bus driven by Sharpe.
The diary continued with an account of the two boys staying in a trailer in Pits. How they helped out at the diner and played in the abandoned cars in the lot. And that an old guy who looked like a prospector was going to show them the old mine workings. They were looking forward to that.
Then the diary came to an abrupt end.
Pamela read the words scrawled across the page. Words scrawled in a hurry.
THEY MADE GYP BURGERS! AND THE OLD GUY SAID THEY’RE GOING TO MAKE SAUSAGE OUT OF ME!
Chapter Thirty
Duke was still driving at sunup.
Driving south. When you need to flee, he’d told them, flee south. So he pushed the sedan hard along Oregon’s roads in the direction of California.
‘California?’ Dee-Dee had said as she woke up in the back seat to the sight of a passing road sign. ‘LA or San Francisco?�
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‘Neither,’ Duke said. ‘When you lie low you take yourself off to wilderness country.’
‘I thought you said you should drive south?’ Norman asked from the back seat of the car.
‘Yup. South into wilderness country.’
Boots awoke with a stretch and a yawn in the front passenger seat. ‘Gee, I’m hungry and thirsty.’
‘We’re gonna refuel soon,’ Duke said. ‘Us and the car.’
‘The cops will be looking for a gray sedan,’ Dee-Dee pointed out. ‘They’ll have the license plate.’
‘No sweat.’ Duke drove one-handed, scratching his stubbled chin. ‘We ditch the car, pick up a new one.’
‘Oh, shit,’ Norman said remembering the last time.
He saw that Boots was looking back at Dee-Dee. Probably getting a good look at the nurse’s uniform for the first time in the daylight.
That uniform.
Oh, boy. Still looked cool, crisp and very sexy to Norman.
Maybe Boots is finding it sexy, too.
She’s hinted that she’s seduced women, hasn’t she?
Dee-Dee was very beautiful in a dark, pixie way. Come to think of it, that sharply defined hairstyle is short as a boy’s, so maybe—
‘Quit staring at Dee-Dee’s boobs, Normy.’
Norman flushed. ‘I wasn’t.’
‘You were, too,’ Duke said. ‘Saw you in the mirror.’
‘And we can all guess what you were thinkin’, too,’ Boots said with a smirk.
‘Ah ha. Busted, Normy boy.’
‘Norman wouldn’t be the first man to stare at a woman in a nurse’s uniform,’ Dee-Dee said with a smile that was somehow prim and sexy all at the same time.
What happens if we stop at a motel again? Dee-Dee and Boots lying side by side in a big motel bed. Giggling. Inviting me to join them.
Uh . . . Something stirred in Norman’s underpants.
‘You look uncomfortable there, bud.’
Norman noticed Duke watching him in the rearview.
‘I’m fine,’ Norman grunted.
‘Don’t look that way to me. Looks like you’re sitting on something hard.’
‘Just keep watching the road, huh?’
‘Ohhh, Normy boy, that’s no way to speak to your best bud.’
Norman folded his arms and looked out at the passing scenery. There were hills. Forests. A lake beneath a perfect blue sky.
The Glory Bus Page 21