Cyclops Road

by Jeff Strand

  "Not a problem," I say, flashing her what I hope is a charming smile.

  "Table for three?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She leads us to a booth and hands us menus. "Back in a sec to take your drink order," she says, walking back through the swinging door.

  Jeannie opens her menu. "I guess you wouldn't get many visitors when your town is some sort of interdimensional portal."

  "We don't know that it's an interdimensional portal," says Harriett.

  "Just making conversation."

  A couple of the customers have returned to their meals, but most of them are still staring at us. Never have I been more tempted to say, "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer!" though of course I don't, because I am not eight years old.

  I assumed the menu would contain burgers, fries, and milkshakes. Instead, it's a very limited selection of things like cucumber sandwiches, pan-fried squash, and a bowl of beets. There are no Cyclops-themed beverages.

  "How long is it appropriate for people to stare at strangers?" I whisper. It seems like they would have realized by now that they're becoming creepy.

  "Depends how long it's been since they've seen one," Jeannie whispers back.

  I wonder why the waitress went into the back room? Probably to drop off the empty tray or to get somebody else's order. That's what servers do in restaurants. I'm sure it wasn't to grab a shotgun. I shouldn't even be thinking along those lines.

  The waitress returns, not holding a shotgun, or even a meat cleaver. She returns to our table and takes a notebook out of her pocket. Her nametag identifies her as "Mary Beth."

  "What can I get you?" she asks with a smile.

  "Do you grow your own vegetables here?" I ask. "It's an interesting selection."

  Mary Beth looks unsure whether to answer. "Yes, we do. I mean, not here specifically. All through Rapport. We're self-sustained and proud of it."

  We each order a cucumber sandwich and a glass of water. Mary Beth keeps smiling, but it seems strained. I wonder if we should just come right out and ask if there have been any recent Cyclops sightings in the area.

  "Let me know if you need anything else," she says, heading back through the swinging door.

  "This place is odd," says Jeannie.

  Most of the diner patrons have finally returned to their own meals and conversations, though an elderly couple continues to stare at us as if a duck-billed platypus is bouncing on each of our heads, singing show tunes.

  "It's normal to distrust strangers," says Harriett. "And our arrival at this town does violate basic laws of physics, so they're right to stare."

  "Should we just ask about the monster?" Jeannie whispers.

  I shake my head. "I was thinking that, too, but let's not blow our cover quite yet. We're in no rush. Let's be casual."

  I wonder if Maraud is being casual. Not likely.

  We sit around, not really talking, until a few minutes later when Mary Beth returns with our food.

  "Mind if I ask you a question?" I ask.

  "Of course not," she says, still smiling, though it's clearly requiring a lot of effort. "What's your question?"

  "We're new in town, obviously," I say. "We're just passing through, so we don't know what there is to do in Rapport. Any suggestions?"

  "Passing through?"

  "Yes."

  "Not many people just pass through Rapport."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "Well, that's what we're doing. Figured we'd stop here for the afternoon, take a break from driving, see what's around."

  "Have you been driving long?"

  "All the way from Florida."

  "That's pretty far."

  "Yeah."

  "Disneyland, right?"

  "Disney World, yes."

  "Never been there."

  "It's fun. You should go."

  "I doubt I will, but it was nice of you to offer." Her smile vanishes for a second, then returns. "Is there anything else you need to enjoy your meal?"

  "No, I think we're okay."

  "All right. I'll be back to check on you."

  We eat our sandwiches mostly in silence. I feel kind of bad that we're here chowing down while Seth and Maraud are out exploring, but they'll probably stop at a pizza place or something. The sandwiches actually aren't bad, though the greasy burgers at the tavern were better, and I suspect that this meal won't end with Harriett gleefully making out with a hot guy in his truck.

  Jeannie keeps checking her cell phone and informing us that there's no reception. "This is making me nuts," she says.

  "I'm sure your grandson is fine," says Harriett.

  "Yeah, he's fine. I know he's fine. I need to stop treating him like a baby." Jeannie checks her cell phone again. "I hope he's keeping the cooler stocked. Most people who come into the shop don't even want a souvenir; they just want a cold drink."

  "The cooler is stocked," I say.

  "You have no way of knowing that."

  "I know. But I'm good at offering meaningless reassurance."

  "Fair enough," says Jeannie. "I accept your meaningless reassurance. I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure the shop is fine. Not to be selfish, but it's myself I should be worried about right now."

  "You'll be fine, too," I assure her.

  "Uh-huh. Was this a mistake?"

  "Possibly. But it's sure feeling less and less like we're wasting our time."

  Jeannie grins. "You're right about that."

  "I'm sorry," says Harriett. "I've never been skilled at meaningless reassurance. It's one of the many personality traits I'm going to try to develop once our job here is done."

  "You're fine," I tell her, popping a piece of cucumber that fell out of my sandwich into my mouth. "It's kind of nice that you babble less than most people."

  "Thank you."

  As we finish up our meal, Mary Beth walks back to our table. "Can I interest you in any dessert? Zucchini bread, perhaps?"

  I look her directly in the eye. I'm not sure what message I'm trying to convey. I guess I'm just trying to figure out if she has any message for me. "Do you recommend it?" I ask.

  Mary Beth shrugs. "Depends if you're still hungry."

  This is a really lame exchange of hidden messages.

  "I think we're set," I say. "Thanks."

  "All right. I'll go grab your check."

  This hasn't been a very productive lunch, but hopefully Seth and Maraud have more information. Mary Beth goes over to the register, prints out a receipt, and sets it on the table. I take out my wallet, because obviously I'm going to be the one paying for this damn meal. I remove my credit card and set it on the receipt.

  Mary Beth walks back over and picks up the card. She looks at it as if it's a piece of alien technology and sets it back down. "I'm really sorry," she says. "We can't take plastic. Cash only."

  Crap. That's something I should have asked about before we ordered. I wonder if she'll give us a break if I say that I used the last of my cash to finance a cage fight?

  "I've got it," says Jeannie. She opens her purse, takes out a twenty, and hands it to Mary Beth.

  "Thank you. I'll get your change."

  "Sorry," I tell Jeannie. I've seen enough bizarre stuff this week that The Diner That Wouldn't Accept Credit Cards is pretty low on the list, so I'm not sure why it's this unnerving. A couple of the people who'd stopped staring at us are now staring at us again.

  Mary Beth brings back Jeannie's change and gives us one last strained smile before she leaves. I glance down at the receipt. Upon it, in red pen, she's written: "Help us. Please."

  Wonderful.

  I tap the receipt to make sure that Harriett and Jeannie see it. Jeannie scoops it into her pocket with the rest of her change, and we get up and leave the diner.

  When we step outside, at least fifteen people are now standing on the sidewalk and in the street, watching us. They're all keeping their distance, but it's hard to imagine that they're outside for any reason except to gawk at the out-o
f-towners.

  I wave to them. Nobody waves back.

  I look around. No sign of Seth and Maraud. "The subtle approach isn't getting us anywhere. Let's just tell somebody why we're here."

  "Not with this many people watching, though," says Jeannie. "Maybe the video store?"

  We walk into the video store. It's got a pretty shoddy selection of DVDs. I take a quick glance at the New Releases section; they don't seem to have updated their stock in a few years. No customers are in the store, so we go straight up to the counter. I ring the bell.

  A thin, gray-haired man who looks like he hit retirement age a few years ago steps out from a back room. He sees us, stops, and looks momentarily uncertain whether he should greet us or run. After a few seconds of indecision, he walks up to the counter. "May I help you?"

  "My name is Evan," I say. "This is Harriett, and this is Jeannie."

  "Pleased to meet you." He adjusts his nametag. "I'm Martin. Marty."

  "Hello, Marty," I say. "What can you tell me about a Cyclops?"

  Marty sucks in a deep breath, but composes himself. "Not much, I'm afraid. You'd need an English professor or mythology expert, I suppose. I'm just a clerk."

  "But let's say I was taking a random survey of what everyday citizens knew about Cyclopses."

  "That's not a common topic for random surveys."

  "Pretend I'm a reporter. National Cyclops Day is coming up. What can your average video store clerk tell me about them?"

  "Almost nothing."

  "Almost?"

  "Nothing."

  "You have to know something. For example, how many eyes do they have?"

  "Sir, my job is to rent movies to people. If you'd like to rent a movie, I can help you out. If you're here to talk about things that simply don't exist, then you're holding up the line."

  "There's no line."

  "Then you're keeping me from taking a nap. Go away."

  "Why did you say 'things that simply don't exist'?" Jeannie asks him.

  Marty looks confused by her question. "Because they don't."

  "But why would you clarify that? If three strangers came in asking what you knew about the Trix rabbit, you wouldn't assume that they thought he was real, would you?"

  "Huh?"

  "Is there a Cyclops in Rapport?"

  Marty's eyes shift back and forth, but then he seems to relax. "Sure. There's one on every street corner. Can't walk ten feet without stumbling over one of those things."

  "We're serious, Marty."

  "And I'm serious that you're wasting my time. It's disrespectful of you to come in here and act like I'm some sort of fool. Let me get back to work. Go find another town to harass."

  "All right," I say. "We apologize."

  We leave the video store. There are at least four or five new people standing outside, staring at us. Rapport's slogan should be: The town where manners aren't really our highest priority, but hey, we've got a Cyclops problem, so give us a break.

  I wave to them again. One little kid waves back, and his mom quickly pulls his arm down and ushers him away.

  Still no sign of Seth and Maraud. There's absolutely no reason to be concerned. If Maraud were in a fight, we'd hear it.

  "Hi," I say to no onlooker in particular. "We're new in town. We've got some questions for the fine people of Rapport. Anybody in the mood for a chat?"

  Now instead of staring at us, the people suddenly avoid eye contact. It's almost comical the way they all look away at once, pretending to be very interested in the sky or ground.

  "You have nothing to fear from us," says Harriett, sounding like a Martian leader explaining that they probably aren't going to start disintegrating humans left and right. "We just want to talk."

  "I'll talk to you," says a kid, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, as he jogs up to us. He's got long black hair and a goatee that isn't filled in all the way. "The others are scared, but I'm not."

  "Thank you," says Harriett. "We appreciate that. We've come a long way."

  "No problem. Let's not talk in the street with all these mouth-breathers gaping at us. Let's try the video store."

  "We were just there," I say. "Marty kicked us out."

  "Marty's a crabby old geezer. He doesn't own the place. He can't stop us from..." The kid trails off as we notice a sheriff's car driving down the street toward us. Several people move off the street to get out of its way. The kid quickly steps away from us, looking at the ground.

  Even though there's a parking spot available, the car stops in the middle of the street. The sheriff, a very stern looking woman in her mid-thirties, gets out. The crowd doesn't exactly disperse, but onlookers do give her room.

  The sheriff walks over to us. "Hello," she says, in a voice that isn't quite unfriendly. "My name is Sheriff Lindsey McGarnet. And you are?"

  "I'm Evan Portin," I say. "This is Harriett Lancaster and Jeannie Erickson."

  "You're causing quite a stir, Evan, Harriett, and Jeannie."

  "I'm not sure why. We just drove into town and got some lunch."

  "Hmmm."

  "It's not illegal to ask questions, is it?"

  "No sir, it is not. We're a suspicious group, and we're justified in being that way, but I hope I didn't imply that you were doing anything wrong. We just have to be careful is all."

  "That's perfectly understandable."

  "Would your line of query be related to a one-eyed beast? And by that I don't mean your genitalia."

  "Yeah, actually, it would."

  Sheriff McGarnet nods. "Then your best bet is to talk to the mayor. I have a feeling he'll want to speak with you as soon as possible."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  "Perfect, thanks," I say. "Where is he?"

  "Not too far up the road," says Sheriff McGarnet. "I'll give you a lift."

  "We have to find our friends first."

  "A big hairy gentleman, and a smaller, not-so-hairy gentleman?"

  "That's them."

  "They were asking strange questions at our pastry shop. That's why I was called. I can't fit all five of you in my car, so I'll have somebody pick them up, too. They won't cause us any trouble, will they?"

  "Maraud might."

  "Maraud's the big one?"

  "Yes."

  "Our law enforcement skills don't get much of a workout in these parts. If he does give us a problem, it might be a nice change of pace. Come on, let's go get some of your and our questions answered."

  We walk over to her car. Jeannie and I get in the back, while Harriett sits up front. Metal grate protects the driver from the unsavory people in the back, which I believe is pretty outdated, but I've never ridden in the back of a police car so I can't say for sure. McGarnet does a three-point turn, then drives back the way she came.

  "So is there a Cyclops?" I ask.

  McGarnet glances up at me in the rear-view mirror. "That question is above my pay scale."

  "You've got to know."

  "I do know. And I know that if I answer it before I'm authorized to do so, I'll get demoted to a brand-new pay scale that won't cover my bills. Save that question for when you talk to the mayor. He'll be interested to hear it."

  The fact that her response wasn't, "Of course there's no Cyclops! What are you, a simpleton?" is very disconcerting. I have to admit, I'm ready for anything at this point.

  We drive a few more blocks, past various buildings that continue to look like they belong in any standard-issue small town. I almost expect to see citizens lining the streets, watching us like a parade, but after the first block or so there aren't many people outdoors. But there are enough people outdoors that the lack of them isn't weird. Basically, there are a normal number of people outdoors.

  McGarnet turns right and parks in front of a small building. It doesn't look like a place where we'd have a discussion with the mayor. It is, in fact, a Laundromat.

  "Is the mayor washing his clothes?" asks Jeannie.

  McGarnet's features soften and she gives us a sheepish gri
n. "Like I said, we don't have much opportunity to practice law enforcement around here. I forgot to check you for weapons. Can't have you armed when we go in to see the mayor. You understand, right?"

  Harriett glances at her bracelet. "I have nothing," she says.

  "No weapons here," I say, holding up my hands. "We left them in the car."

  "Good," says McGarnet. "I apologize for sounding like I don't trust you, but I had to ask."

  "What about you?" I ask.

  "I have a gun. This isn't meant to be fair."

  There's a crackle sound. Harriett cries out and then flops over. There's more crackling as McGarnet leans over her. After McGarnet opens the door and exits the vehicle, I can see that the sheriff is holding a stun gun.

  She goes around to Jeannie's side. Jeannie scoots closer to me, and twists herself around so that she can deliver a vicious kick if necessary.

  McGarnet opens the door. "Just stay calm," she says. "If you panic, it'll be worse. The best thing you can do for yourself is to let this happen."

  I try to open my door, but, not surprisingly, it's locked.

  Jeannie kicks her. Though it's one hell of a kick, it doesn't connect with McGarnet's stomach (which I assume was the target) but rather her leg. I'm sure it hurts, but it doesn't disable the sheriff enough to stop her from jamming the stun gun against Jeannie's thigh.

  As Jeannie twitches, McGarnet continues to press the stun gun into her thigh, holding it there for several seconds. When she finally removes it, Jeannie has gone completely still. McGarnet takes her revolver out of its holster and points it at Jeannie.

  "Your friends won't be out for long. If you resist me, I'll have to shoot them. I'm not going to kill them, but I will shoot them in the kneecaps, and then I'll shoot you in the kneecaps, and you'll still get zapped. If you cooperate you can save everybody a lot of pain. Make your choice quick."

  "I'll cooperate," I say.

  "Stick your leg over here."

  It seems kind of foolish to offer up my leg to somebody with a stun gun, but I'm not sure I have any choice. I certainly don't want the three of us to take bullets to the knees. If we're not being murdered outright, we probably won't be murdered later. At least that's what I tell myself as I awkwardly turn around in the seat and place my leg over Jeannie's prone body.