THE GLORY BUS 5 страница

‘Us? ’ Norman asked. He smiled and hoped that his disappointment didn’t show. Despite his negative feelings for Boots he wanted very badly to stay – to stand ‘guard’ outside the Jeep and sneak glances at Boots while she stripped butt-naked in the back seat.

She knows that’s what we want, he realized. Maybe she isn’t as stupid as she looks. Or sounds.

‘You guys just go on and take all the goodies with you, and I’ll be along in a minute. ’

‘Let’s go, Norm. ’

Norman frowned over his shoulder at Duke. ‘Are you sure it’ll be safe to leave her alone? ’

‘Aah, nobody’s around. Come on. ’

‘Don’t go and worry about me, ’ Boots told them. ‘Any fool tries to jump on me, he’s gonna die screaming. ’

The words shocked Norman. ‘Jeez, ’ he said. ‘You’re a mighty tough little thing, Bootsy-girl. ’

‘I ain’t so little, but I’m plenty tough. ’

‘We better haul ass, Norm, ’fore we make her mad. ’ Then Duke reached over the seat-back and mussed her hair.

She laughed. ‘Quit it! ’

After raising the windows, Norman shut off the engine. He pulled out the ignition key and stuffed the key-case into the front pocket of his shorts.

Then they all got out of the car. After the paper sacks were unloaded, Boots climbed into the back seat. Duke started to shut the door for her, but she stopped it with her foot.

‘You want me to smother to death in here? ’ she asked. ‘Norman rolled up the windows, you know. It’s not that I’m fond of having a door open while I strip down bare-ass, but I sure don’t aim to bake to death. ’

‘Roll your window down, ’ Duke told her.

She thumbed the switch. Nothing happened. ‘See? I can’t. ’

‘It doesn’t work when the key isn’t in, ’ Norman explained.

‘See? ’ she said again to Duke.

‘So put the key back in, ’ Duke told Norman.

‘I can’t. Not if I’m leaving. You know? Somebody might steal the car. ’

‘Not with me in it, ’ Boots said. ‘I’ll just lock up and bring you the key when I’m done. ’

‘I don’t. . . uh, think that’d be a very good idea. ’

‘He’s scared you’ll take it, ’ Duke said.

‘Me? ’

‘No, ’ Norman said. ‘It’s not that. ’

‘Like hell it’s not. ’

‘I’d just be awfully nervous. I mean, somebody might come along and. . . ’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s my dad’s car. If it was my car, you know. . . but it isn’t. ’

‘Norman’s a very nervous guy, ’ Duke pointed out.

‘I could stay until you’re ready, ’ Norman offered. ‘I could just sit in the front seat, you know, and run the windows for you. And I wouldn’t have to look at what you’re doing back there. I could even do something like cover the rearview mirror, if you want, or. . . ’

‘Cover the mirror with what? Your underpants? Never you mind about that, ’ Boots told him. She didn’t seem angry. Smiling, she flapped a hand at him. ‘You just take your keys with you and go on. I’ll be just fine here with the door open. ’

‘I’d like to help. ’

‘I know. That’s all right. Everything’s dandy. You guys, get! ’

‘Come on, ’ Duke said.

Arms loaded with the paper sacks from the store, Norman and Duke turned their backs to the Jeep and headed for the beach. Norman had an urge to look over his shoulder, but he fought it. What was the point

, anyway? He wouldn’t be able to see anything, not with Boots in the back seat.

As they walked onto the sand, he said, ‘Don’t you think we should’ve stayed? ’

‘Nah. She knew we wanted to get our jollies watching her strip. She just don’t trust us enough yet. For all she knows, we might be the sort who’d jump her. ’

Norman forced himself to smile. ‘If we did that, she’d make us die screaming. ’

‘Tough little bitch. Love it. You get a look at her eyes? ’

‘You mean the makeup? ’

‘I mean the whole nine yards, buddy. She’s not a gal you’d wanna piss off, if you know what I mean. What we gotta do is play along with her. She’ll loosen up, once she gets to know us. Before we know what’s hit us, we’ll be fucking her lights out. ’

‘You think so? ’

‘I know so. ’

‘Jeez. ’

‘You bet. ’

Not me, Norman thought. I’ll be jumping in the Jeep and taking off, first chance I get.

They walked a distance farther before Duke said, ‘Here looks good to me. ’

‘Me, too, ’ Norman agreed.

They were about fifty feet from the water; the sand was dry and soft. They put down the sacks, spread out the towels, and sat down. Right away, Duke peeled off his T-shirt. He had a very good tan, for April in Oregon. He’s probably been traveling around, Norman thought. Out in the sun a lot. Lifting weights, too.

On Duke’s left upper arm was the tattooed slogan BORN TO RAISE HELL.

Figures.

The only real surprise was that a guy like Duke didn’t have more tattoos. He must’ve decided that BORN TO RAISE HELL said it all.

Unless he’s got others somewhere I can’t see them. Norman decided to keep his own shirt on, at least for now. A cool breeze was blowing, so he didn’t feel hot in spite of the bright sun. And he knew he wouldn’t look good, shirtless next to Duke. He had no tattoo, no tan, and no prominent muscles. He did remove his shoes and socks, though. He looked at Duke’s heavy black motorcycle boots. The side buckles gleamed like silver.

‘Are you a biker? ’ he asked.

‘Not anymore. Not since I totaled my Harley. ’

‘You had a Harley? ’

‘You gotta be kidding. What else is there? ’

‘Hondas. . .? ’

Duke sneered at him. ‘I look like the kinda guy’d get himself caught dead on a rice rocket? ’ He tossed a can of Budweiser to Norman and took one for himself. They popped open the beers. As they started to drink, Boots came striding toward them.

‘Whoa, mama, ’ Duke muttered. Norman stared at her.

She smiled and waved. He returned the wave. Doesn’t she know how awful she looks? Her shoulders and hips seemed even broader than he remembered them – her arms and legs thicker. She also had a bit of a paunch. She had no business wearing such a skimpy bikini. It was black, which made her skin look very pale and pasty. As she swaggered closer, Norman saw that the bikini was knitted. Its top looked tired and loose. Limp strings held triangular patches of black yarn across her breasts. The patches bobbed and jiggled and swayed as she walked.

Black cords strained down over her hips to pull at a V of yarn that came up from between her legs.

‘Bitchin’ bikini, babe, ’ Duke said.

‘Yeah, ’ Norman added. Hideous! he thought.

‘You like? ’ Boots asked. Stopping in front of them, she flung up her arms and cocked a hip. ‘Da-dahhh! ’

Her bikini top was too small and too loose. Half an inch of skin showed under each breast. Before Norman could get a good look, however, she turned around.

Black cords were tied in bows behind her neck and back.

‘Da-dahhh! ’ she proclaimed again, and swished her butt to one side.

Her ass cheeks were wide, white and smooth – and mostly bare. A couple of cords slanted down from her hips. They met a narrow patch of yarn that stretched tautly down the center. Through the tiny holes in the knitting Norman glimpsed the crack between her buttocks. His heart thudded.

If the front’s like that. . . Boots continued her slow turn. Seconds later she was facing him again.

Oh, my God, Norman thought. The view ripped his breath out and pumped heat into his groin. He didn’t want to be caught staring, so he forced himself to look at her face.

‘Very nice, ’ he said. ‘Is it. . . is it homemade? ’

Boots beamed. ‘How’d you guess? ’ Not waiting for an answer, she pranced over to the third towel. She sat down on it, cross-legged, one knee pointing at Norman and the other at Duke. Duke tossed her a beer.

As she snatched it from the air, Norman watched her breasts. There was no doubt about it: her nipples were actually jutting out through artfully contrived small holes in the knitting. Their tips were sunlit and pink as tongues.

I’ve gotta stop looking, he told himself. Gotta. Gotta! He raised his beer. The top of the can flashed in his eyes. It blocked his view of Boots while he drank. When he lowered the can, he tried to keep his gaze on her face.

She was smiling, her attention on the beer that she was about to pop open.

She really is ugly, Norman thought. Very piglike.

Boots tilted back her head and drank, so he dropped his gaze to sneak a look between her legs.

Doesn’t she know? he wondered. My God, it’s sticking out like she’s got it mashed up against a tiny little chain-link fence.

She knows, all right. She has to know. She’s just some sort of weird pervert, or nympho, or something. Or maybe she doesn’t know, or doesn’t think it matters. Any way you slice it, Norman thought, she’s definitely not operating with a full deck. She wears a thing like that in front of us. Why the hell didn’t she let us watch her change? She’s showing off everything she’s got anyhow.

She’s nuts, that’s why.

‘You lookin’ at me? ’ Boots asked.

Norman couldn’t believe it. She’d caught him! Heat surging to his face, he met her stare and shook his head.

‘No, ’ he said. ‘I wasn’t looking at anything. ’

‘You were, too. ’

‘No. Honest. ’

Duke smirked. ‘Busted. ’

Suddenly grinning, Boots said, ‘Well, don’t. ’ She reached out and gave Norman a playful slap on the knee. ‘Ain’t polite to stare at a lady’s cooz. ’

She burst out laughing, and so did Duke. After a moment or two, Norman joined in. He wasn’t amused, but he laughed with a mixture of relief and nerves. And gratitude.

She isn’t so bad, he thought. Most gals would’ve torn me apart for doing something like that.

Most gals don’t wear a bikini like that.

She doesn’t mind me looking, he told himself. That’s the thing. She likes it. She wants me to do it.

All the more reason to get the hell out of here.

Norman took a few more swallows of beer, then set his can on the towel by his hip.

He shoved it to make it stand upright.

‘I’m getting pretty hot, ’ he said.

Duke and Boots laughed about that.

‘Yeah yeah yeah, ’ Norman said, grinning. ‘Anyway, just watch my beer for me, okay? I’m gonna get into my trunks after all. You guys can go ahead and break out the food if you want. I’ll be right back. ’ He got to his feet and stepped off the towel. ‘Either of you need anything from the car? ’

Boots shook her head. Duke waved him off.

‘Right back, ’ Norman said, and started toward the parking area. Halfway there he had a strong urge to glance over his shoulder. Don’t! You’ll blow it. Duke’ll come running. Just play it cool. Walk slow. Don’t look back.

He listened but he didn’t look. He heard the squeal of seagulls, the rush of the surf, but he didn’t hear anyone coming.

What’s to hear? Footsteps in the sand? The click of a switchblade spring?

They aren’t coming, he told himself. They bought my story. Hook, line and sinker.

Maybe.

Then he was so close to the Cherokee that he knew he’d made it.

Unless they’re right behind me. . . He’d heard that gals like Boots made trophies out of fellas’ gonads. His shriveled up tight.

As Norman reached into his pocket for the keys, he leaned toward the driver’s door and turned his head.

They were both still sitting on the towels! Not even looking at him!

Head down, Duke was reaching into a grocery sack on his lap. Boots appeared to be watching him.

I made it!

Norman unlocked the door, swung it open, and climbed in behind the wheel. Hand trembling, he slid the key into the ignition. A buzzer sounded. The noise made him cringe, but he told himself that Duke and Boots couldn’t possibly hear it. They might hear the door thud shut, though, so he left it open.

Don’t close it till the engine’s going, he told himself. You’ll be outta here before they can even get off their butts. On the beach, Duke took something out of the sack.

A brown bottle. The coconut oil. For a full, rich tropical tan.

Norman felt a tightness in his throat. He’d wanted to be there when she slicked herself up with that oil. Wanted to watch, and smell it, and maybe give her a hand.

Boots took the bottle of oil but didn’t open it. Instead, she set it on the towel by her side.

Of course, Norman thought. She’s gonna wait till I get back. She doesn’t want me to miss the show.

Little does she know. . . He started the engine. Their heads turned.

‘Sorry, ’ he muttered. He shifted to reverse. Duke and Boots stayed sitting on their towels, staring at him.

They aren’t even gonna try to stop me, he realized. It’s like they don’t even care.

Why should they care? Three’s a crowd, right?

That isn’t it, he told himself. The thing is, they know there’s no point. They can’t possibly stop me. They wouldn’t stand a chance. That’s why they aren’t trying.

As Norman started to back up, Boots raised a hand. The same hand that had patted his knee after she’d caught him looking. It flapped up and down, waving good-bye.

Chapter Ten

Pamela sat up. She’d spent long enough stretched out on the seat, sometimes gazing up at the ceiling of the bus, sometimes sleeping. She didn’t mind the

sleeping. But she was wide-awake now.

If she stayed on her back, she would start dwelling on Jim and Rodney – Rotney! – and all the terrible things that had happened. Or she might start wondering about Sharpe again. What was his problem? Where was he taking her?

She sat up, swung her legs off the seat, and gently placed her feet on the floor. Leaning forward, she peered through the windshield.

Still in the middle of nowhere.

It looked nice out there now. The bright, hot glare of the sun had mellowed. The pavement, the whole desert landscape, was awash with a rosy glow.

Must be almost sundown, Pamela thought. Her mouth was dry.

Sharpe had given her a plastic bottle full of water after they’d finished dumping Rodney’s body. She’d been sipping at it, off and on. Between drinks, she’d kept it trapped between her hip and the seat-back. It must’ve rolled against her rump when she sat up. She could feel it there now.

Reaching behind herself, she picked it up. She twisted off the cap and took a drink. Her stomach growled. She looked at Sharpe. From where she sat, she could see only the top of his head. So she stood up. Wincing with each step, she limped across the aisle. She swung around and dropped into a seat. Now she had a side view of Sharpe. She took another sip of water.

‘Where are you taking me? ’ she asked.

He didn’t so much as glance her way. ‘No talking to the driver while the bus is in motion, Pamela. ’

‘Oh, give me a break. ’

‘Company policy. ’

‘What company? This is your bus, isn’t it? ’

‘Sorry. ’

‘Okay, okay. ’ Pamela sighed. Turning her head, she gazed down the aisle. Back there, the bus was dim with murky golden light. She could make out the blurred shapes of the mannequins. They seemed to be bouncing and swaying a little with the motions of the bus.

She faced Sharpe. ‘Is it against the rules if I chat with the other passengers? ’

This time, his head tilted back. Checking her out in the rearview mirror. Pamela saw the reflection of his face. He still wore the sunglasses.

His thin lips didn’t smile. ‘They don’t say much, ’ he said.

‘What are you doing with them? ’

‘Driving ’em. ’

‘Why? ’

He shook his head.

‘None of my business? ’

Sharpe didn’t answer.

‘You’ve got to admit, ’ she said, ‘it’s pretty strange. ’

‘Quiet, now, ’ he said. ‘That’s too much talk already. ’

‘I’m a little hungry, you know. ’

‘Can’t be helped. ’

‘You don’t have any food in here? ’

He shook his head again. ‘We’ll be stopping by and by. Now, cut out the talk. ’

‘Okay. ’ Pamela settled back in the seat, sipped water, and wondered what he meant by ‘by and by. ’ To her, it meant ‘soon. ’ But maybe it didn’t mean that to Sharpe.

Maybe it’s like ‘In the sweet by and by. ’ She tried to sing the old hymn in her mind.

In the sweet by and by, we will come to that beautiful. . . something. Shore? Cross? Sky?

That sort of ‘by and by’ – the hymn sort – didn’t seem to mean ‘soon’ at all. It had to do with when you’re dead; she was pretty sure.

Terrific, Pamela thought. We’ll all just gather at the river.

‘I know, ’ she said. ‘Those things aren’t mannequins back there. They’re just former passengers you starved to death. Petrified passengers. ’

Sharpe didn’t look at her, but his back seemed to stiffen slightly. A jaw muscle bulged.

Uh-oh, Pamela thought.

‘Just kidding, ’ she said.

He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. His back remained rigid, and the muscle in his jaw stayed knotted.

‘I’m just hungry, ’ she explained. ‘I didn’t mean to say anything wrong. ’

Sharpe’s head lifted slightly. ‘Never mind, ’ he said. Moments later he raised an arm to point out a roadside billboard. ‘We’ll stop there, ’ he said.

The big white sign had red lettering.

MAKE A PIT STOP AT PITS

IT’S REALLY THE PITS

PITS, CA, pop. 6

Pamela had heard of Pits, but she couldn’t remember. No. Wait. The T-shirt on the kid.

She peered down the aisle at the boy dummy. His T-shirt looked dark and rusty in the gloom, and she couldn’t make out the words. She was sure, though, that they were about the same place as the billboard. Pits, California, population six.

Leave it to California, she thought, to have a town with only six inhabitants AND still make a big deal out of it.

At least one of them apparently had a sense of humor. The kid bought his T-shirt there, so. . .

The kid did not buy his T-shirt there. The kid is a dummy: he’s never bought anything anywhere, period.

Sharpe must’ve bought the T-shirt, Pamela told herself. Or he got hold of it one way or another. The same with the clothes on all the other dummies. . . And me.

She felt a corner of her mouth stretch. I’m just one of the gang. Sharpe’s gang. With one minor or significant difference, depending on how you look at it.

She shook her head and wondered how she’d digressed to such a level.

The T-shirt on the kid. Sharpe must’ve gotten it at Pits, which meant that there had to be a store – some sort of gift or souvenir shop. And a place like that was almost certain to carry food.

A whole assortment of snack food would probably be sold at a place with souvenir T-shirts for sale. Pamela longed for an actual meal, but anything would do: potato chips, popcorn, pretzels, peanuts, candy bars, jerky. And a good cold beer to wash it down. Though a soda would be fine. Probably can’t get beer at a gift shop.

A few minutes later, they drove past another billboard.

IT’S THE PITS GAS! FOOD! FUN!

ONLY TEN PITIFUL MILES TO GO

PITS, CA, pop. 6

Things are looking better and better, Pamela told herself. The place wouldn’t advertise food if you couldn’t get an actual meal there. A cheeseburger, for instance. Or a hot dog. Maybe pizza. And only ten miles away.

About fifteen more minutes, at the speed Sharpe seemed to be driving.

Pamela spotted another billboard in the distance and watched it grow until she could read it.

IT’S NOT PITTSBURGH

IT’S JUST THE PITS

COME SEE OUR

PALACE

!!! THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD!!!

PITS, CA, pop. 6

Soon another billboard appeared.

ASK TO SEE OUR PITS

FREE LOOKS

JUST ASK!!

FIVE MILES TO GO

PITS, CA pop. 6

Smiling, Pamela shook her head. Ask to see our pits? What does that mean? Next came the best of the billboards.

EAT! EAT! EAT! THE PITS CAFE

BREAKFAST, LUNCH, DINNER

DOWN-HOME COOKING

!!! PLUS OUR FAMOUS BOTTOMLESS PIT OF

COFFEE!!!

PITS, CA, pop. 6

A real cafe! Thank God, Pamela thought. But she suddenly realized that she wouldn’t be able to pay for a meal. She had no money.

Or anything else.

She had nothing at all of her own. She’d been naked when Rodney had attacked her. Later, he had dressed her in the costume that he’d brought with him. He’d dragged her out of the house without her purse. And now she was wearing clothes from one of Sharpe’s mannequins.

She didn’t even have her engagement and wedding rings. At the bathroom door last night, Rodney had pulled them off her finger. ‘We don’t want these! They’re his. He can have them. ’ One at a time, Rodney had hurled the rings at Jim’s body. The engagement ring had hit Jim in the forehead and bounced into the bathtub behind him. In the tub, it had made a sound like a coin clinking and rolling around. The diamond wedding ring had landed with a quiet little plip sound on the i

ntestines bulging out of the slit in Jim’s belly.

Pamela pressed a hand against her mouth. Her eyes watered. Why did I have to think about that? Get used to it.

I am getting used to it, she thought. Must be. I didn’t throw up this time.

Didn’t even gag.

But she did feel ashamed of herself. For the past half-hour or so she’d been thinking about almost nothing except where and when she would get her next meal.

Jim’s dead. He’s never going to eat again. And I’m worried about being a little hungry. What the hell is the matter with me?

I’m alive, she reminded herself. What am I supposed to do, give up eating?

‘I don’t have any money, ’ Pamela said. Before Sharpe could respond, she hurried on. ‘I know I’m not supposed to talk to the driver while the bus is in motion, but I’m starving and we’re almost to this cafe and I haven’t got a dime on me. But I want to eat. Okay? I mean, I will be able to pay you back. It just might take a while. I’ve got a bank account and credit cards, but I don’t have anything with me. Rodney didn’t exactly let me pick up my purse while he was dragging me out of the house last night. And also, he burned the house down so there went everything. Like my checkbook and credit cards? But I’m not poor. I have a job. I can pay you back if you’ll buy me something to eat. Okay? ’

Sharpe’s head lifted slightly. ‘It’ll be on me. ’

‘That isn’t necessary, but. . . ’

‘I saved your life, so I reckon you’re family now. I take care of my own. ’

‘Well, thanks, ’ Pamela said. She wasn’t sure about having Sharpe think of her as ‘family. ’ Before she could give it much thought, however, Pits came into sight beyond the windshield. It really is the pits, she thought.

What she saw was a roadside conglomeration consisting of a run-down gas station and a small cafe surrounded by a vast parking area that seemed to double as a junkyard. There were a few old mobile homes scattered around the rear. Between the gas station and the cafe but back a short distance was a fenced area that appeared to be a graveyard. On a rise beyond the graveyard was a Victorian house that looked as if it had been uprooted from a movie-studio back lot where it might’ve been used decades ago as a setting for haunted-house flicks.

That must be the Palace, Pamela thought. ‘What a dump, ’ she said.

‘Home, sweet home, ’ Sharpe said.

‘I thought you lived in your bus. ’

‘That’s right. ’ He slowed down, then steered off the pavement. As he rolled toward the gas station an old geezer near the pumps saw him coming and waved. Sharpe tooted the horn. A moment later a woman in a white dress came running out of the station’s office.

Sharpe drove past the pumps, then swung to the right and eased into an empty space that seemed to be precisely the size of the bus.

Looking over his shoulder, he said, ‘Welcome to Pits, pop six. ’ Then he reached out and worked the chrome door handle. The bus’s main door wheezed open.

Pamela leaned forward, ready to stand.

But she stayed in her seat when the woman leaped into the doorway and bounded up the steps. Sharpe climbed out of the driver’s seat. The woman took a quick look at Pamela, then threw herself into Sharpe’s arms. They stood at the front of the bus, embracing each other. Sharpe seemed to be returning the hugs in a fairly perfunctory way – gently, but without much passion, as far as Pamela could tell.

He ought to be a little more enthusiastic, she thought, having a gal cling to him as if he were a long-lost lover who’d just returned from the wars.

While he did little more than stand there with his arms around her back, the woman moaned, kissed him over and over again on his mouth and cheeks and neck, ran her hands up and down his back, caressed his face and stroked his hair, all the while squirming and rubbing herself against him.

Finally she separated herself from Sharpe. Flushed and a little breathless, she straightened her dress and turned toward Pamela.

‘Hi, ’ she said.

‘Hi. ’

‘Sorry about that. I don’t usually. . . I haven’t seen him in a while. ’

‘No problem. ’

Sharpe still had an arm across the woman’s back. He squeezed her shoulder and said, ‘This here’s Lauren. Lauren, meet Pamela. ’

‘Nice to meet you, ’ Lauren said.

‘Same here. ’

Very nice to meet you, she thought.

Even though Sharpe had saved Pamela’s life and hadn’t abused her in any way, he was definitely strange. Being alone with him had kept her uneasy. So the very presence of Lauren was a relief.

And it was very good to find that Sharpe had a woman in his life.

Wasn’t after my bod after all. All that worry for nothing.

‘Welcome to Pits, ’ Lauren said.

Pamela stood up as she approached. They shook hands. Lauren had a strong grip. She looked sturdy, but also delicate: tall and wide-shouldered, though extremely thin; thick hair the color of straw; amazing eyes of forest green. Her face, bony and hollow-cheeked, was saved from looking cadaverous by the tawny glow of her skin. Her complexion made her seem more like an athlete than a corpse.

Pamela guessed that Lauren was no older than thirty. And probably descended from hippies, by the looks of her granny dress. The white garment, short-sleeved, shapeless and loose, was buttoned up the front almost to her throat, and was so long that it reached down almost to her ankles. All she needs is a flower in her hair.

Stop that, Pamela told herself. She probably wears a dress like that because it’s nice and cool. Just the thing for dwelling in the middle of a desert. Same goes for her sandals. At least she’s not barefoot.

Fixing her deep green-eyed stare on Pamela’s face, Lauren said, ‘You’ve been through some tough times. ’

‘That’s for sure. ’

‘Well, you’ll be fine, now. ’ Lauren smiled. ‘You’ve been saved. ’

Chapter Eleven

‘I’ll show you around, ’ Lauren said, ‘and then—’

‘We better get some grub in her, first, ’ Sharpe broke in. ‘Take her on over to the cafe, and I’ll be along by and by. ’

Smiling, Lauren said, ‘Come along. ’

Pamela followed her down the stairs at the front of the bus. When she stepped to the ground, pain shot up from her feet. She sucked in air, hissing.

‘Your feet? ’ Lauren asked, frowning.

‘They’re a little beat up. But I’m fine. ’

‘I know just the thing. Wait here. ’ Lauren started to hurry away.

‘It’s fine, ’ Pamela protested. ‘I don’t need anything. ’

‘Yes, you do. This’ll be just the ticket. ’ A moment later, Lauren disappeared around the corner of the gas-station office. Pamela, embarrassed, wanting to tell her not to bother with whatever she had in mind, limped after her.

And almost collided with the old geezer she’d seen earlier by the pumps.

As she stepped out of the bus’s shadow, he came around the corner.

She gasped and jerked to a halt.

‘Howdy do. ’ He gave her a big grin. His gums were interrupted by a few brown, twisted teeth.

‘Hello, ’ Pamela said.

My God, she thought. What is this guy? A few terms came quickly to mind. Old-timer. Prospector. Mule skinner. Desert rat. Snake rustler. Sand bandit. The only thing that looked worse than his dental situation was his cowboy hat.

The ancient, filthy hat sat crooked atop his head, its brim turned up in front. It might’ve been a good hat at about the time of the Alamo’s fall. In the years since, it had apparently been slashed, shot, stomped, kicked, burned. . . and drenched thousands of times with the old coot’s sweat – or worse. It was decorated with so many stains that Pamela couldn’t even guess at its original color. She imagined that the sorry old hat, if caught in a rainstorm, would likely have yellow runoff.

Not much of the old man’s face showed. Most of it was hidden behind his wild gray hair, his heavy eyebrows, his thick mustache and beard. But his eyes showed. They were squinty, with blue irises and bloodshot whites. His nose showed. It looked like a strawberry that had been kicked around on a dusty road. His lower lip was cracked and peeling.

The guy’s a walking ruin, Pamela thought. But she had to change her mind about his age. He wasn’t quite the old coot that she had supposed. Probably in his middle fifties. With the exception of his hat, his clothes looked reasonably clean. But heavy and hot. His plaid flannel shirt had long sleeves, and Pamela could see the neck of a faded red T-shirt that he was wearing underneath it. The shirts were tucked into his blue jeans. His belt had a big silver buckle. On his feet were a pair of scuffed and dusty black cowboy boots.

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