Part 5 (2/2)
After eating a simple breakfast of raisin bran, toast, and orange juice, Brock systematically went through every room in the apartment and switched off appliances. He refilled the automatic feeder on the zebra tetra tank. ”You guys be good while I'm out.” He pointed at the biggest tetra. ”Fred, I want you to keep them busy. Water aerobics. Meals at noon and seven o'clock sharp. And keep trying to get into Nancy's pants. A tip, Fred, if you want to score, let Nancy's sister beat the s.h.i.+t out of you. It always works. Sympathy s.e.x is still s.e.x in my book.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. ”You get to milk your beating for,” she thought hard, ”two or three more days, and that's it.”
”Ah, come on, at least until I get my st.i.tches out. That's fair.”
Hannah cleaned out their cereal bowls and silverware in the sink and packed them into the dishwasher. ”We'll see how far you get to take it.”
”Fair enough.”
Brock sat on his couch and unrolled the map he had purchased and traced the red line, the way they'd go to get to Blue Hills, Virginia. Hannah shook her head. ”You're behind the times, Brock.” She strapped on her purse and patted it down. ”Haven't you heard of a GPS?”
”Where's the adventure in that? You have to get lost, or turned around. That way, you might see something cool on accident.”
Hannah folded up his map, grabbed both his hands, and urged him from the couch with a hearty kiss. ”Wouldn't you rather pay attention to me than worry about where to go next? Maps are a waste of time.”
Brock kissed up and down her neck, then nibbled on the edges of ear. It made her tense, then laugh, then shrill with ticklish delight. ”Brock-oh Brock, stop! That tickles.”
Done playing around, Brock went about re-checking the apartment to make sure everything was locked up and safe. He carried their bags to the door, Hannah lugging her own, and he locked the door behind him. It was nine o'clock, later than they had planned to set out, but with a trip like this, there was no hard deadline. They had made a reservation at the Piedmont Inn, and he asked for his sister's phone number in her room, but they said they couldn't give out that information, but in saying that, he had confirmed that Angel was in fact staying at the inn.
After loading up the Honda Civic, they were ready to set out on their expedition.
After five hours of driving, they were deep into Nevada, riding the main interstate, when Hannah dug out her script for Dust Devils. ”I really want to nail this thing. It's been so many years since I've worked.” She lowered her eyes on the script, trailing her finger down the page. ”I know what people will think when they see me in a movie again. 'Look at that washed up woman. The years haven't been kind to her. Drugs sure do that to them.'”
Brock couldn't listen to the self-berating. ”Sure, they might think that, but others will think it's cool a movie star is wanting to be in movies for the sake of acting. f.u.c.k them, Hannah. You've done more with your life than most, and you've survived the kind of hards.h.i.+ps many would fail in a heartbeat. You're back baby! Sheryl Flynn is back fighting the evils in the sand! You still look fabulous. Everybody has their critics, but they also have their fans. They're out there, Hannah. You'll see. And I'll be there to cheer you on too.”
Hannah shook her script as if knocking off the dust. ”I'll do a solo read-through, and I'll mimic the other voices myself so you can drive, okay? You just tell me if my performance is too jilted.”
”You got it.”
Hannah cleared her throat, then spoke in her cowgirl accent, ”These bodies have been ravaged from the inside out.”
Deepening into Detective s.h.i.+rley's voice, Brock said, ”I want you to stay out of this investigation. This is none of your concern. If news of this leaks out to the press, you can forget about the Jelly Fair this year.”
Hannah poured on her intensity, ”Listen up, Detective, do you want everybody at the Jelly Fair to be Suisse cheese?” She pointed down at who Brock a.s.sumed to be the corpse on the ground. ”His stomach exploded. Image that a thousand fold, maybe ten thousand fold. And once they escape the body, they grow, and grow, and grow. You don't want that, sir. You don't want that one iota.”
”Bah, you're a scientist who wants funding for research. I never cared for naysayers, or rebel rousers, or roustabouts in my town, and lady, you're one of them. I want you out of my crime scene. I want you out of my hair, so get out of my hair!”
Hannah's character wasn't backing down. ”Listen, they hide in sugary food, and many know that this dead carnie at our feet had a thing for cotton candy. Let me take a sample of the cotton candy. I'll show you the dust devils' eggs are inside it. Somebody's planted them there.”
”Terrorists at a Jelly Fair, give me a break lady. Go shove off before I get really mad.”
”I'm warning you, you'll have more dead bodies on your hands. Let me do my research. Shut the Jelly Fair down. Reschedule it. If you love this town, you'll do it.”
”Get her out of here, Officer. She's grinding on my nerves. Make sure she gets nowhere near the county fair. What's next, killer snake eggs in the popcorn? Jesus hiked a football to Moses.”
Hannah paused at that line, eying Brock with guilty pleasure. ”See, the script is hilarious. It's so much fun.”
”I can't wait to see it in the movies.”
”Ah, well, it'll hit a few movie festivals, but otherwise, it's straight to DVD.”
”Look on the bright side, that's less time I have to wait to see you in action.”
”You'll see me in action soon enough.” Hannah rubbed the inside of his thigh and kissed his neck, whispering the dirty things he liked to hear.
After cooling off, she asked, ”How much longer are we driving today?”
Brock checked his watch. ”It's two o'clock. We can stop for a burger and get as far as we can after that. Once it gets dark, we'll have to start looking for a hotel with vacancies.”
Hannah's stomach growled at the mention of burgers. ”I'm starving.”
”All right, so where do we eat?”
Hannah's cravings changed from burgers to breakfast food, so they stopped at a restaurant called ”The Waffle King” where a giant waffle replica stood atop the roof. It was packed with customers, and they had to wait fifteen minutes before being seated. Brock ordered blueberry waffles, two sausage links, and an orange juice. Hannah ordered a specialty item called ”The King's Sandwich,” what was two waffles as the bread of a sandwich with whipped cream, strawberries, blueberries, and bananas stuffed in the middle with chocolate chips. She ordered a tall gla.s.s of chocolate milk on the side.
Sitting in the booth, they ate hungrily. Afterwards, Brock patted his stomach when he was finished. ”Now that was a meal. I'm about to nod off. The old man needs a nap.”
”I'll drive,” Hannah said, stabbing a blueberry with her fork and dipping it in whipped cream. ”Food perks me up.”
Brock read from the menu, ”Ted Waffler was dubbed the ”The Waffle King” in Belgium by ”Ms. Oostende 2000” after winning over the super model and actress with his recipe for pigs in a waffle blanket, a daring sandwich creation of sausage links, maple syrup, and waffles created from Mr. Waffler's super secret batter ingredients that have won him over eight ”Waffle of the Year” compet.i.tions and a guest spot on David Letterman. So take it from the king himself, ”These waffles are worthy of seconds and thirds, so chow down friends!””
Hannah finished her plate and wiped her mouth clean on the napkin and reapplied her rouge lipstick. ”Well, if ”Ms. Oostende 2000” says Ted Waffler's got some d.a.m.n good waffles, I believe it.”
A man came by to drop off their bill, saying cheerily, ”She's really a nice lady. Cla.s.sy. She could eat waffles like there was no tomorrow. She could cram five into her mouth at once.”
Brock smiled at the man with the nametag ”Charlie.” He didn't mean to be so blunt. ”You're not Ted Waffler.”
”Oh, but I am.” The man adjusted his comb over. He'd been busting tables in the background during their entire conversation. ”You're new around here, but you see, many senior citizens come here daily hoping to meet me. They're nice and all, but I've got a business to run. They'll want me to make all of their waffles personally. It's not easy being ”The Waffle King.” Imagine if Kenny Rogers made a personal appearance at one of his chicken places. It'd be Armageddon.”
Brock paid the bill and thanked the man for his wonderful waffles, and after visiting the bathroom, they hit the road once again with Hannah at the helm. After five more hours of driving, they finally stopped at a lodging called ”The Big 12 Motel” to sleep for the night.
Brock rested on top of the bed, once again feeling the places where Brandy punched and kicked him. He took stock of the purple-yellow bruises, counting thirteen total. The pattern created a wicked looking rash. Brock was about turn off the lamp, but he was still waiting for Hannah to come out of the bathroom. When she did, she was naked except for two towels tied together in a sash.
He smiled. ”Who are you supposed to be?”
Hannah pouted her lips, giving herself a Swedish accent, though it was Belgian she was shooting for. ”I'm Ms. Oostende 2000.”” She posed as a Miss America pageant contestant, smiling big with her pearly whites showing. ”I could eat your waffles all day, Mr. Waffle King. When can I start eating? I'm very hungry.”
Brock wasn't sure why he was aroused, but something was stirring down below. ”Mr. Pancake sent his goons to beat the h.e.l.l out of me. They don't like the way the waffle has been dominating the breakfast market these days. I can only do what I was born to do. I work so hard and n.o.body appreciates me.”
Now she was talking like Marilyn Monroe, every word provocative and dripping with s.e.x. ”Oh, you poor, poor man. You deserve so much, Mr. Waffle King. You only do good things. It's about time somebody rewarded you for being such a nice man to everybody.”
”That's why I made you ”Ms. Oostende 2000.” You have certain...sensibilities.”
Hannah sashayed to the bed, committing four stiff waves of the hand to an invisible crowd. Then Hannah rested beside him, peeling off his boxers. She began rubbing him down, easing the tension in his body, and kissing his pectorals. ”Tell me where Mr. Pancake's goons hurt you.” Whispering under her breath and licking his nipple, gracing her tongue seductively against the skin, she said, ”Oh, tell me where it hurts, King. I'll kiss it and make it better. Just tell me where it hurts, King.”
Brock pointed south.
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