Lunatic's Game

by Margaret Lashley

  “Is this enough to buy your freedom?”

  I blanched. “What? Why would you do that for me?”

  “I’m not doing anything for you. It’s payday, Drex. You and Earl earned this money. You wouldn’t believe how much Mothman scat goes for on the black market.”

  My mouth fell open. “You mean ... I could be free?”

  “Sure. As long as money’s the only thing holding you back.”

  I chewed my lip. “Well, I also need to get my full P.I. license.”

  Grayson grinned. “I think I can help with that. What do you say? You ready to play the game?”

  “The game?”

  “Yes. The game for lunatics, as you put it. The Lunatic’s Game.”

  I smiled up at Grayson. “Yeah. I’m ready to play. But unlike you, I don’t care about winning. I just want to find the jerks who’re running the show and rip ’em a new one.”

  Grayson laughed. “Hey. To each his own.”

  AFTER THE SHOCK WORE off and my legs were able to hold my weight again, Grayson and I emerged from the RV to find Earl pacing around the wrecked chassis of my father’s vintage Mustang.

  He wagged a finger at me. “You sure did a number on your dad’s car, Bobbie.”

  I shot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I did. You might want to check the air filter while you’re under the hood.”

  Grayson laughed.

  Earl opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Listen, Earl. The parts to finish off the RV are on the front seat of Bessie. Grayson wants to leave tonight, so I suggest you work on his vehicle first.”

  “Yes, boss man.” Earl surveyed the massive damage to the Mustang and let out a low whistle. “Looks like I’m gonna need me a bigger bag of Fritos, Bobbie.”

  I shrugged. “Is that so? Well, you’re gonna have to go to the A&P all by yourself, Earl. I quit.”

  My cousin’s eyes grew wide beneath his shaggy bangs. “What? You can’t quit on me, Bobbie. You’re the boss man.”

  “Watch me.” I handed him a paper sack.

  He took it absently. “But you’re a born grease monkey, like me.”

  “No, Earl. I thought I was. But turns out, I am so totally not.”

  Earl pouted. “You just gonna up and leave me here all alone, holding this sack of poop?”

  “Look inside, Earl.”

  He shot me a wary glance, then opened the sack. One peek inside and his face turned as green as the stacks of money filing the bag. He looked up at me, his mouth hanging open like a screendoor off its hinges. My heart pinged.

  Man, I thought it would feel better to finally win a round with him.

  I scowled. “Earl, just finish up the repairs on Grayson’s RV. And you can have Dad’s Mustang. I won’t be needing it anymore. I’m going with Grayson.”

  Earl took a long look at Grayson, then at me. “You sure about this, Cuz?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m a lousy mechanic. And a lousy boss. Dad was right to pick you over me. I’m going upstairs to finish up some stuff.”

  “But—”

  I whirled around, suddenly angry as a plucked hen. “Don’t you get it? You win, Earl. You win everything. You can have this whole stinking place! I’ll give you the keys when I leave.”

  “Win? Wait,” Earl said. “You got this all wrong, Bobbie. Your dad didn’t pick me over you.”

  “Yes he did! You stole him away from me!”

  Earl looked stunned. “How could I do that?”

  “Because you’re a guy, dimwit! Dad always wanted a son. I turned out to be a lousy girl. Well, screw you, Earl Shankles!”

  Earl shook his head. “Your dad didn’t reject you because you were a girl, Bobbie. Don’t you think he kinda figured that one out the day you were born?”

  I scowled in confusion. “Then why? Why else would he turn his back on me the day I hit puberty?”

  Earl’s mouth fell open. “I thought you knew why.”

  “Yeah. Because I turned into a girl.”

  “No, Bobbie. That ain’t it at all. On your eleventh birthday, your mom got drunk as a skunk and finally told your dad the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That your daddy ain’t your daddy. Your real father’s a man named David Applewhite.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “YOU AIN’T NEVER COMING back, are you?” Earl asked as he handed me another tissue.

  “Back to where? This whole place ... my whole family has been nothing but a lie, Earl.”

  “Not all of it, Bobbie. I’m still your cousin, blood or not.”

  I smiled through my tears. “You’re right.” I stood up and gave him a hug. “Never is a long time. I’ll stay in touch. I promise.”

  Earl nodded. “Good. All right, then. I suggest you get your fat butt in gear before Grayson changes his mind.”

  I laughed. “Had to get the last zinger in, didn’t you?”

  Earl winked. “Who says it’s the last?”

  As I turned to head up the stairs, Earl called after me. “Hey Cuz, don’t forget to turn out the lights when you leave. I’m the boss man, now, you know.”

  “Right. I know.”

  AFTER CALLING BETH-Ann to give her the news, I glanced around the bedroom I’d inhabited for the past six months. Unlike the ghostly memories of my parents, I hadn’t made enough of an impression for it to linger here after I was gone. And for that, I was glad.

  On the nightstand, the picture of my unhappy family glared at me, frozen in a time better off forgotten.

  I picked up the framed photo and studied it. Dad was still frowning in his shiny, new Mustang. Mom still offered up her dour, distant countenance. And Grandma Selma still held me in her arms, her eyes glazed-over with a faraway stare.

  How many secrets were held behind all those eyes? How many lies?

  I blew out a breath.

  Who needs to go off chasing monsters when they’re already lurking in my own backyard? Under my bed ... in my parents’ bed .... inside my own, screwed-up brain, for crying out loud?

  Then something caught my eye I hadn’t noticed before.

  Me.

  The baby in the photo. Her lips were curled ... ever so slightly. She was smiling. Had the picture itself changed, or just the way I perceived it? I shook my head.

  Grayson’s crazy ideas must be contagious.

  I set the photo back on the nightstand. From under the bed, I grabbed a duffle bag and stuffed in a few clothes. On top of them, I placed Grandma Selma’s afghan.

  I stripped off my father’s shoes and mechanic coveralls for the last time. Carrying them across the room, I realized just how heavy they actually were.

  Suddenly, the skin on my arms pricked. A smile worked its way onto my lips. I marched across the room and flung the boots and coveralls out the window. As they hit the asphalt of the parking lot below, the thud made me grin.

  Naked, I stepped into the shower, and let the warm, soapy water wash me clean.

  IT WAS DUSK WHEN I climbed into the passenger seat next to Grayson. Earl waved at us from the service bay as the old RV rumbled out of the parking lot. I waved back at him.

  “You’re going to miss him, aren’t you?” Grayson asked.

  I smiled. “Yep. Every chance I get.”

  Grayson laughed and tipped his fedora to Earl.

  I looked over at Grayson. “So, Mister Private Investigator, what now?”

  Grayson shot me a thoughtful smile. “Mothman may be played out for now. I think it’s time we look for a new game.”

  “Sounds good. Any ideas?”

  “I’ve heard reports of something strange going on down near Plant City.”

  I laughed. “What? A killer weevil infestation?”

  “Close. Possible alien invasion.”

  “Huh. And it’s not even strawberry-picking season yet.”

  Grayson grinned. He shifted gears and steered the RV out of the parking lot and into the southbound lane of Obsidian Road.

  I reached
over and touched Grayson’s arm. “Wait. I forgot something.”

  Grayson hit the brakes. “What?”

  “This.”

  I rolled down my window, pulled the Glock from my purse, aimed, and fired. The flashing yellow light between oblivion and nowhere shattered into a million pieces.

  Grayson flinched. “What’d you do that for, Annie Oakley?”

  I smiled and faced the road ahead. “Just putting out the lights, like the boss man said. Okay, Grayson. I’m ready. Let’s roll.”

  THE END—OF THE BEGINNING ....

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  Dr. Prepper: The Drex Files Book 2

  The Drex Files 2: Dr. Prepper

  Prologue

  LIFE IS SO MUCH STRANGER than I ever gave it credit for.

  Last week I discovered that not everything we imagine is an illusion. Well, at least it’s not for me. My figments become figures. And not all of them are easy to look at.

  Seven days ago, I got shot in the head. The doctor said I didn’t have brain damage. But the things I did after leaving the hospital made me question whether I should’ve gotten a second opinion.

  First, I let a complete stranger stay in my grandmother’s apartment.

  Okay, not so crazy.

  Then I spent a week with that stranger, rambling around the county chasing after Mothman.

  Yes, Mothman.

  When I realized the guy I was running around with might be a raving lunatic, I did the only sensible thing.

  I ditched my entire life, climbed into the man’s RV, and headed off with him to Plant City to save the world from an alien invasion.

  You’re welcome.

  Chapter One

  “ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR ever-loving gourd?”

  My friend Beth-Ann’s words echoed in my mind like an alarm bell.

  I’d just woken up.

  And I’d just smelled the coffee.

  But it was way too late to turn back now.

  The runaway train I’d boarded last night was blazing down the tracks full steam ahead. Jumping off at this point would only add more cuts and scrapes to my already ample supply.

  Besides, the conductor had a really nice caboose.

  YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, my cousin Earl hit me with a family secret that turned my life as I’d known it into a dumpster fire. Everything I thought I knew about myself and my family was a lie. But with my father dead and my mother MIA, there wasn’t anyone around to point my angry finger at. And, to be honest, I was damned tired of playing the blame game anyway.

  So, at the age of 37, I did something that a mere week ago I’d have considered totally irrational. Insane, even.

  I ran off and joined the circus.

  To be more specific, I joined a traveling, monster-chasing circus led by a man I knew even less about than I had my own family. From what he’d told me, Nick Grayson was a private investigator, an alternative healer, and a noted—albeit somewhat disgraced—physicist.

  If any part of that were true, his credentials blew mine out of the water. All I brought to the table was a bachelor’s degree in art appreciation, a fairly limited knowledge of antiques, and a fairly unlimited distrust of ... well, pretty much anything that talked.

  But I could shoot a gun better than anybody I knew. Including Grayson. I hoped that would be enough to convince him to keep me on as his intern.

  Otherwise, I was totally screwed.

  Last night, after leaving my cousin in charge of running my family’s auto garage business, I’d jumped out of my old life and into Grayson’s RV. But I hadn’t started my life over with a clean slate. Not even close. I’d climbed aboard toting enough baggage to lower the overall gas mileage... significantly.

  A carpetbagger in search of carpe diem.

  Woohoo. Let the good times roll ....

  IT WAS WAY PAST MIDNIGHT when Grayson pulled his dilapidated RV into the parking lot of a Walmart in Inverness, Florida. Exhausted, I’d climbed out of the passenger seat and passed out on the couch. It was still dark when I woke up. Coffee was on the stove. Amy Winehouse was on the radio.

  I fumbled for my cellphone. It was 7:03 a.m. and we were already rolling.

  Ugh.

  I dragged myself to sitting and touched the scab in the middle of my forehead. It was almost healed. Not bad for being the target of a ricochet bullet a little over a week ago. I scratched the itchy stubble growing in where my long auburn locks used to be. My new hairdo was a memento from the overzealous staff at the hospital. They’d shaved my head all the way to my ears, leaving me with a bald spot no comb-over could hope to cover.

  It wasn’t a great look for a guy, much less a girl.

  I scanned the RV’s tiny kitchen/living room area for Lucky Red, the Redman chewing tobacco ball-cap my cousin Earl had lent me to cover my billiard-ball noggin. I found it perched atop the head of ET, the extraterrestrial. Or in this case, ET, the world’s ugliest lamp.

  Good one, Grayson.

  I snatched the cap off ET’s gray plaster skull.

  “Sorry, bud. I need this worse than you do.”

  Lucky Red was my fallback until I could procure another wig. My last one had met its fate at the hands of a frisky Mothman. But that was another story ....

  I yawned and pulled the cap over my stubble. My body reminded me I was in dire need of a shower and at least a gallon of coffee. The shower was down the short hall. But the coffee pot was just across the room. I stretched a sleepy arm toward it, but it remained irritatingly out of reach.

  I sat up and scowled. Why couldn’t I have gotten some useful skill out of getting shot between the eyes? Like The Incredibles’ stretchy arms, maybe? But no. All I got were lousy visions that blindsided me, usually at the worst possible moments.

  Uh, no offense, universe. But I want my money back.

  I grunted, hauled myself off the couch, and poured myself a jittery mugful of coffee. After gulping half of it down, I refilled my mug and wormed my way up to the cab. A slim man dressed in black tipped his vintage fedora at me, giving me a glimpse of his own shaved dome.

  “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”

  Grayson’s cheery tone made me cringe. “Yeah. Like a balloon animal in a cactus garden.” I flopped into the passenger seat next to him and rubbed my sore neck.

  Grayson laughed. “I told you to take the bed.”

  “Chivalrous of you, but no thanks.”

  The bedroom in Grayson’s RV moonlighted as an electromagnetic monster trap. Call me paranoid, but I wasn’t keen on the idea of losing consciousness inside a strange man’s small, padded, soundproofed bedroom with enough locks on the door to restrain Godzilla. I already had enough trust issues, thank you very much.

  I blew out a sigh. “What happene
d to Walmart? I was gonna buy a wig.”

  Grayson fiddled with the knobs on some electronic contraption mounted to the underside of the dash. It looked like an old CB radio.

  “I wanted to get an early start. Last night I got an update on that incident in Plant City. And, as you country folks are fond of saying, ‘Time’s a-wastin’.’”

  I shot him some side-eye.

  “I’ve never heard anybody say that.” I shook my head. “Use that awful country accent one more time and I can’t be held responsible for where the contents of my coffee mug fling themselves.”

  Grayson smirked. “I see you’re not a morning person. Duly noted. And ... uh ... thanks for the warning.”

  I looked out the window and almost smiled. Despite the crick in my neck and the grayish weather, it felt good to see the distance widening between me and my dead-end life back in Point Paradise. I took another slurp of coffee. It was damned good. I’d give Grayson that much.

  “So, what’s so interesting in Plant City?” I asked.

  “Not so fast, intern. First order of business is to get the boss a refill.” Grayson handed me his empty coffee mug.

  “Is this part of my P.I. training?”

  Grayson shrugged. “Only if you want to continue your P.I. training.”

  I grinned. I’d met Grayson a week ago. A few years older than me, he was already a seasoned private investigator. I was just a P.I. wannabe with a brand-new intern license. I needed two years of on-the-job training to qualify for a full-fledged Class C license. Thanks to Grayson and his traveling paranormal investigator show, I only had 103 weeks to go.

  I grabbed his coffee mug. “Pinch of salt, right?”

  Grayson’s eyebrow ticked up. “Gold star, cadet.”

  I tumbled back to the kitchen, threw a couple of Pop-Tarts in the toaster, and poured us both more coffee. After delivering the mugs to the cup holders on the dashboard, I grabbed the pastries and parked my rear in the passenger seat again.