Part 50 (1/2)

Dad shrugged. ”It's one of those guy things.”

”Remind me never to marry one,” Sharon said, and shoved a forkful of burrito into her mouth.

”The n.a.z.is used to make lampshades out of skin,” Andy said, leaning toward her. ”Human skin.”

”I'm so glad you shared that with us, Andrew.”

”He's so gross,” Jody said.

”Guys generally are,” Sharon told her. ”But they do have other characteristics that compensate for it. Some do, anyway. I'm not so sure about Andy.”

Andy blushed and laughed as if he'd been paid a major compliment.

Jody nudged him. ”That was an insult, you dork.”

”Language,” Dad told her.

”Language? Me? You should hear what ...”

”Superb French toast,” Andy interrupted. ”I think it's the cinnamon bread.”

He and Jody stared at each other for a few moments.

I almost told on him, she realized.

She was glad that he'd stopped her in time.

She picked up her knife and fork, and began to cut into her French toast. ”So, what are we doing after breakfast?”

”I guess we'll go back to the motel and check out,” Dad said.

”Should we try to find a store first? Andy needs some new clothes.”

Dad glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. ”We'll have to see how late it is when we get done here.”

Part Eight.

Simon Says.

Chapter Thirty-four.

Here we go. When I left off, last time, I'd just hung up the phone after a chat with Ranch. A lot has happened since then. A lot of blood has been spilled. Now, I've finally got some free time to talk about it all, so here goes.

Quick as I could manage after hanging up, I drove over to Ranch's. We took his Cadillac to Dusty's place and from there we headed for Indio.

We made good time, too.

But not good enough.

When we got there, I told Ranch to pull into the Texaco. He needed the gas, anyway, so he stopped at the self-service pumps and I got out to fill the tank for him.

Pumping the gas gave me a good chance to scope out the parking lot of the Traveler's Roost motel across the street. The bozo on the phone, Frank, had said he could see Fargo's car and it was a blue Ford.

Over at the parking lot, most of the s.p.a.ces were empty. Only a couple of vans, a Jeep and three regular cars were still there. Not one of them was blue.

Hardly any wonder, when you figure it was almost eleven o'clock by then. Eleven's checkout time for most motels. So just about everyone had already hit the road-the Fargo clan included.

We'd missed them.

It made my stomach feel like h.e.l.l.

But I had gas to finish pumping, so I stood there and kept at it.

I was still Simone, by the way. I wore my brown wig, since the platinum blond from last night seemed too flamboyant for daytime and I didn't want to draw a lot of attention to myself. In the brown hair, I looked feminine but subdued.

My face had been horrid this morning (remember what that son-of a-b.i.t.c.h Henry the dog did to me last night?), so we stopped in Desert Hot Springs and I sent Ranch into a drugstore for Band-Aids and makeup. While we drove on, I fixed myself up. Just one large bandage was enough to cover the bites on my cheekbone (lucky for me that f.u.c.king Henry wasn't a Doberman), and I used makeup to hide the bruising.

I'd already gotten out of my b.l.o.o.d.y sundress before leaving Jody's house. I put on one of her T-s.h.i.+rts. Most of them looked like souvenirs from vacations or trips to Disneyland, but I managed to find a pink one that didn't have any pictures or slogans on it. Then I found a white pleated skirt.

I looked great in the outfit. Fresh and innocent and a lot younger than twenty-four, which is my real age.

Ranch sure noticed how great I looked.

It took me about fifteen minutes to drive to his place after leaving Jody's. When I got there and he opened his door, he said, ”Oooo, honey.” Then he grabbed me and hauled me up against him and squeezed one of my t.i.ts through the T-s.h.i.+rt. Ranch weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of it was fat, but he also worked out with weights so he had plenty of muscle. It's a good thing I didn't have a t.i.t inside that bra, or he would've mashed it. ”Well, s.h.i.+t,” he said when he noticed he was only squeezing tissue paper. ”What happened to my dream girl?”

”She's waiting for us in Indio,” I told him. ”And we're gonna miss her if we don't get our a.s.ses in gear, so put me down and let's go.”

He kidded around during the trip, pretending to flirt with me and reaching under my skirt. Actually, I'm not sure he was completely kidding. I think he sort of hoped or wished I'd somehow turn into the girl I looked like. You know how sometimes if you watch a movie that you've already seen, and maybe you don't like the way it ended last time, you keep sort of hoping and wis.h.i.+ng the end will turn out different? If you really get into it, you can almost convince yourself that it will change. It was probably like that with Ranch. He had himself half convinced that I'd change into a female.

I think, honestly, that I was getting him a little h.o.r.n.y.

Must be weird to be a gal and have that sort of power over guys.

Every once in a while, I had to tell him to knock it off. I even had to remove his hand from me a couple of times.

Dusty was in the back seat. He spent most of his time staring out the windows, and didn't notice the funny stuff. Or if he did, he ignored it. He was the sort of guy who never fooled around. He took every d.a.m.n thing in the world seriously. In fact, he was basically a complete paranoid.

One of those survivalist nuts. He figured the world-or at least ”civilization as we know it”-would come to an end pretty soon. Like next week, you know? And he planned to be ready for it.

He even had a hideout/bomb shelter somewhere. He used to talk about it, but never told any of us where it was. He planned to go there and live through the big thermonuclear holocaust.

He was really hoping for that holocaust.

According to him, it was on its way. He could hardly wait.

You've never seen a guy as disappointed in your life as when the Soviet Union went down the tubes a couple of years ago.