“Slow down, girlie,” Pappy said. “Where’s the fire?”
“Right here,” Dymphna said, pulling at the saddlebags. “Can’t you see Jerry Lee’s smoking?”
Professor Johnson joined the fray. “Hold on,” he said, grabbing Dymphna around the waist and pulling her back. “You don’t want to touch that with your bare hands!”
“We’ve got to get this pack off the donkey!” she said, trying to get away.
“Mule,” Professor Johnson said, holding her firmly off the ground.
While the professor and Dymphna tussled, Pappy put on a pair of rubber gloves and took the saddlebags off the mule. Dymphna stopped fighting with the professor as Pappy opened the bags. Smoke billowed out.
“Is this what you were looking for?” Pappy asked.
“Yes,” Professor Johnson said as he looked inside one of the bags. “But this should be in a cooler!”
“They didn’t have coolers,” Pappy said.
“What’s going on?” Dymphna asked.
“It’s solidified carbon dioxide,” Professor Johnson said. “Dry ice. My hypothesis is that if I put a block of it in front of the fan, it will keep the engine cool enough to get us to Spoonerville. While we’re there, we can buy enough to get us back.”
“Why not regular ice?” Dymphna asked.
Pappy winced. “Oh, don’t get him started.”
“Carbon dioxide turns solid at a temperature of minus 109.3 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s so cold you can’t handle it without gloves or tongs. You’d get frostbite! Regular ice is just frozen water that starts to freeze at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Oh.” Dymphna was at a loss.
“He means so-called ‘regular’ ice is not as cold as dry ice,” Pappy said. “He’s just long-winded.”
Professor Johnson also put on a pair of gloves. The two men hoisted a block of the dry ice, smoking like a witch’s brew, onto the shelf in front of the fan.
“Doesn’t the fan need electricity?” Dymphna asked.
“Yes,” Professor Johnson started to explain, but Pappy cut him off.
“It has something to do with attaching it to the fan belt. Trust me, you don’t have time for an explanation! It took me two-and-a-half hours to get the damn ice here, so let’s try this out!”
Professor Johnson placed the ice strategically in front of the fan, secured it, signaled to Pappy to start the engine, and switched on the fan. He hopped in the passenger seat next to Pappy. Dymphna wasn’t sure she was invited, but when Thud jumped into the back of the van, Dymphna decided to go along, too. She looked at the mule.
“What about Jerry Lee?” she asked.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Pappy yelled over the engine. “He’ll head home. He’s a smart one.”
“Let’s see if this works,” Professor Johnson said.
Jerry Lee made a beeline down the trail toward Fat Chance as Pappy took off down the road toward Spoonerville. Dymphna realized she didn’t have her purse with her. On the off chance that the bus actually made it to the next town, she wasn’t going to be able to take advantage of the situation.
“It usually overheats in about ten minutes,” Pappy said.
“It’s been eight,” Professor Johnson said, looking at his watch.
Pappy started whooping and pounded on the ceiling. Dymphna knew Pappy was going for a nice triumphant banging sound, but the canvas only made a pathetic whoosh, whoosh.
“Ten minutes,” Professor Johnson said. “I think we did it!”
“You did it!” Pappy said. “Spoonerville is only twenty minutes away. Let’s go for it!”
“I thought you said it’s only four miles,” Dymphna said.
“Yeah, well,” Pappy said. “Even the good roads are bad up here.”
Dymphna, sitting with Thud’s head in her lap, looked out the window and saw two ATVs riding up a dirt trail to her left. The sight startled her. The country seemed so isolated. She didn’t really think about other people actually being anywhere around Fat Chance—nighttime intruders to the contrary. The ATVs whizzed past the Covered Volkswagen. Pappy did a double take. He spun onto the gravel so quickly, Dymphna was afraid they’d go up on two wheels.
Is Pappy going off-roading in the Covered Volkswagen?
Professor Johnson had his own concerns. “What are you doing?” he called out, grabbing one of the roof ’s steel supports. “You’re going to lose the apparatus!”
“Hold on tight,” Pappy yelled. “Those are our outlaws.”
CHAPTER 23
Polly cleaned all the mirrors in her store. There were three hand mirrors in ornate frames on the center counter and a full-length one near the back wall. The full-length mirror was too heavy to move by herself, but it wasn’t doing her any good where it was. She needed it in the front of the store, in the sunlight, so she could use it to clean up the shaved sides of her “undercut” hairstyle. She had her scissors and comb ready to go, but didn’t want to attempt the delicate maneuver without the proper light. She was trying to position two of the hand mirrors in a way that she could see the sides and back of her head, when Wally came in.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he said.
“Can I help you?” she said, blushing.
She felt like she was faking being a saleswoman. It didn’t help that Wally was pretty damn adorable—in a hostile, emotionally shutdown sort of way.
Wally shrugged.
Polly realized she couldn’t really get back to her mission of trimming up the sides of her hair with a customer around. She didn’t want to appear pushy, so she busied herself with hatpins. She stopped, afraid she looked like a lurking security guard at a department store.
“I have some awesome hats,” she said. “And I can customize them.”
“Yeah,” Wally said. “I saw Old Bertha about an hour ago sweeping her porch. You could see her hat from the other end of town.”
Is that a good thing?
Wally walked up to the center counter and glanced at the comb and scissors. He picked up the scissors and held them up to the sun, clicking them quickly. “These aren’t very sharp. I’m making a list of things I want to order for the store. Want some new scissors? Or a scissor sharpener?”
“I don’t know.” Polly ran her fingers over the sides of her hair. “What I really wish I had was a straight razor and a barber.”
“I think I have a straight razor!” Wally said. “I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, he was out the door.
“I was kidding,” Polly called after the slamming door.
It was no surprise to Polly that Wally had a straight razor for sale in his little store. Cutthroat Clarence seemed to have stocked each store by whim rather anything that made sense. Who would ever use a straight razor in the twenty-first century? And yet she’d just asked for one.
Wally returned with an unopened package, a can of shaving cream and a towel.
“Here’s everything we’ll need!” he said.
“What do you mean, we?” Polly asked in alarm.
“Oh! Were you going to shave the sides of your head by yourself?”
He sounded so impressed, she almost decided she should give it a try. But one look at that straight razor brought her back to reality.
Wally was opening the package as he handed her the towel. “Go soak this in really hot water and wrap it around your head.”
Polly thought he’d spoken more sentences in the last ten minutes than she’d heard since they’d met two weeks ago at Cleo’s.
She left and came back with the towel around her head. Her Goth makeup was getting a little runny from the steam, but she decided to leave it on. It had been at least two years since anyone had seen her without it.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” she asked, indicating the razor.
“Do I know how to use a straight razor?” Wally looked right at her as if she’d asked the stupidest question in the history of the universe. Then he laughed. “
Before I was paroled from my last . . . gig,” he said, “I was in the middle of occupational training as a barber. I guess they thought they should make the most of my natural ability.”
Polly thought back to when Wally had pulled the switchblade from his back pocket with lightning speed and tossed it out of the RV. Should she tell him she’d changed her mind? That she’d decided to grow out her hair? She thought back to her last haircut. Running her hands over the pear-smooth sides, she’d said to her hairdresser, “I might die out there without a good haircut.” Now she might die with one. The irony made her chuckle.
Wally looked at her in surprise. “What’s so funny?” he asked, an edge creeping into his voice.
“Nothing,” she said, irritated that he’d made her defensive.
Wally seemed to take the comment at face value, because he was instantly back to the task of assembling his implements. He’d added a hair clip from her own store to his tools. He looked around the room.
“There isn’t enough light in here,” he said.
“Yeah. I hear you.”
He indicated that she should pick up the shaving cream and comb and follow him. He grabbed a chair and pushed through the door onto the boardwalk.
“Still not right,” he said, almost to himself. “Too many shadows.”
He walked into the street, looked up again, and put the chair down.
“This will work.” He took the towel off her head and tossed it over his shoulder. “Have a seat.”
Polly was mortified to be sitting in the middle of the street with a handsome guy pinning the damp pieces of her long red hair on top of her head. Titan came over from the forge and stood nearby, studying them. Wally flicked open the razor.
Titan gasped and his long fingers fluttered to his chest. “That looks sharp.”
Wally ran his finger over the blade. “Hmmm, not sharp enough. I wish I could run this over a leather strop first.”
“I was thinking that myself,” Powderkeg said, coming from out of nowhere. “Here, allow me!”
Wally handed Powderkeg the razor. Powderkeg nudged Polly off the chair and sat down. Polly juggled the comb, clip, and shaving cream as she watched Powderkeg dust off the bottom of his cowboy boot and draw the blade over the sole.
“What are you doing?” Wally asked in near panic. He reached for the blade, but the look from Powderkeg shut him down.
“I did basic training at Fort Hood, over in Killeen,” Powderkeg said. “All the old-timers used to strop their razors on their boots.”
“Badass,” Wally said, watching the movements of the blade.
Polly tried not to smile as she noticed Old Bertha sweeping her porch once again. It appeared the Creekside Inn was going to have the cleanest porch in town, if she started sweeping every time there was someone on the street.
Cleo came out of the café and watched the proceedings in a much more direct manner. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Wally Wasabi is going to shave the sides of my head and Powderkeg is prepping the razor on his boot!” Polly said.
“That is a recipe for disaster,” Cleo said. “Don’t we have enough problems?”
“If you don’t like it, you can go away,” Powderkeg said without looking up.
Cleo frowned and stormed back into the café.
Powderkeg held the gleaming razor up to the sun. It was an impressive sight. Polly thought it looked like it had a mind of its own and was ready to get to work. Powderkeg returned the razor to Wally and the seat to Polly.
Titan looked at Polly, who was now sitting quietly in the middle of the street with the can of aerosol shaving cream and a comb in her lap. He picked up the shaving cream and studied it. “This isn’t the right stuff for a straight razor,” he said.
“It’ll do,” Wally said.
“Shouldn’t you be using a shaving brush?” Titan asked. He grabbed the wet towel off Wally’s shoulder and dabbed at Polly’s makeup, which was starting to run.
“Don’t have one,” Wally said, studying Polly’s head.
“Be right back.” Titan dropped the shaving cream back on Polly’s lap. Polly watched him practically run back to the forge. In an instant, he returned with a fat, stubby makeup brush.
“A kabuki brush! Why didn’t I think of that?” Polly said.
She forgot she also owned one of the most fundamental makeup brushes of all time. She bet Cleo also owned one, but doubted that Cleo’s kabuki would ever be offered up for community service.
Wally shot a dollop of shaving cream into his hand. He slathered it onto the sides of Polly’s head and rubbed it in with the kabuki brush.
“If we ever figure out how to order supplies,” he said, “we’ll have to get the right stock. Aerosol doesn’t really cut it.”
“Let’s not use the expression ‘cut it’—OK?” Polly asked.
Titan wiped away more of Polly’s makeup.
The very air stood still as Wally held the skin behind Polly’s ear taut with his left hand. She looked into his eyes—which were inches from her own—and saw the deliberation on his face. She could hear the razor whispering along the skin near her ear. As the tension in his fingers increased, the tension in her body increased. She willed herself to relax. He was entirely focused on her and appeared to know what he was doing. She tried to look at Powderkeg and Titan, but what Wally didn’t block, the sun did. He worked quickly and expertly. In minutes, he had finished one side and was lathering up the other. Polly finally caught a glimpse of Titan, who came over and wiped away more makeup. He stood back appraisingly and gave her a thumbs-up.
“You’re a brave girl,” Powderkeg said. “But I gotta say, this guy seems to know what he’s doing. I’m thinking about a shave now, myself.”
“Damn it, Powderkeg,” Wally said, “I’m a grocer, not a barber.”
Polly could tell that the two men were as surprised as she that Wally had just made a joke.
Wally repeated the process on the other side of Polly’s head. She was aware of his fingertips on her collarbone for an instant. She felt it would be prudent to try to control the shiver that went up her spine, considering there was a straight razor gliding over her scalp.
When Wally was finished, he sheathed the razor and stood back to scrutinize his work. Without a word, he took the towel from Titan and gently dabbed at the remaining shaving cream. He also wiped away the last of her eye makeup. He took the clip from the top of her head and let the red strands fall over her shoulders. Polly stood up. She was almost Wally’s height. They were eye to eye.
She looked around and saw that Titan and Powderkeg had silently faded away. She and Wally regarded each other in the middle of the street without saying a word. Polly touched the sides of her head, shocked at how smooth they were. One thing was certain: She had never had a haircut like this before. She smiled.
Wally spoke. “You look beautiful.”
He turned abruptly, disappearing into his store. Polly stood for a minute, gathered the barber tools and put them on the seat of the chair. She hoisted the chair and returned to her own little shop. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—she didn’t have on a stitch of makeup!
She looked down the empty street. Was he making fun of her? He couldn’t possibly think she was beautiful!
Could he?
Why didn’t I say something to him before he left? Polly chided herself as she went about putting things back in place. Up until now, the thought of physical contact with any of the men in this bizarre experiment hadn’t occurred to her. They were either too old or too lame. She wasn’t sure why she’d never thought about Wally before now. He really was the bad-boy type that she sought back in the real world.
She shivered again as she played the intense look they’d shared one more time through her mind. Maybe Wally Wasabi deserved his spicy-sushi-condiment moniker after all.
CHAPTER 24
The outlaws had taken one look at the jalopy roaring toward them and zoomed out of sight. The old bus didn�
�t last two minutes off-road. Luckily Pappy had gotten the bus almost back to the main road before it wheezed its last. Whatever fine construction Professor Johnson had cobbled together to keep the bus cool had scattered within minutes. The landscape looked like a zombie apocalypse, the dry ice smoldering across the ground. Professor Johnson started collecting pieces of fan. Pappy stared at the engine, which was smoking as much as the ground, though it had nothing to do with dry ice.
“Dee,” Pappy said to Dymphna, “go on back down to Fat Chance. We’re gonna need Jerry Lee.”
Dymphna got out of the bus and started down the road.
“Take Thud with you,” Professor Johnson said. “Just to be on the safe side.”
Dymphna was used to living alone or with other women. She hated to admit Professor Johnson’s protective nature appealed to her. As much as she wanted to say “I’ll be fine,” she found herself saying, “Come on, Thud.”
She and the dog made it into Fat Chance before she realized she had no idea where the mule would be. She wondered if she should ask Titan, Wally, or Powderkeg to come lend a hand, but she spotted them huddled together around a chair in the middle of the street.
Why is everything so weird here?
She went back to plan A—find Jerry Lee.
She walked behind the false-front structures and saw a small barn on the open expanse of land between the buildings and the creek. The barn was a miniature of the one on her own property, with the slanted roof creating its own little shaded porch area. Jerry Lee was munching on the grass outside the barn. He looked up and took a step backwards. Dymphna stepped closer. She realized the mule was wary of Thud. Grabbing Thud’s collar, she approached the mule slowly. The last thing she needed was for him to bolt. She told the dog to sit and he obeyed.
Welcome to Fat Chance, Texas Page 14