Prodigal Blues

"I'm so sorry for everything that's happened to you, Arnold.  I'm sorry for what he did.  I'm sorry for all the time you've lost, I'm just… I'm just sorry."

"What for?  You didn't do it."  Suddenly he sounded like a little boy, lost and tired and alone so very, very afraid.

"No, but you… you need to know that somebody gives a shit, all right?  Somebody needs to be angry for you."

He nodded his head, spattering tears and snot onto his jacket.  "Yeah, I know.  It's real… real nice of you to say that, to… to feel that way.  I sure wish you'd leave—nothing personal."

"I know."  But I couldn't; I couldn't just turn around and walk away from him, even though every sensible impulse told me that's exactly what I should be doing; Ransom would be back any second, the doctors had to have at least discovered Rebecca's false teeth by now, if not her glass eye and wig, and on top of that how long could Christopher stay parked out there before someone gave the bus and trailer more than a passing glance?  It was close to five-thirty in the morning, and while the silver butter dishes might be a forgettable oddity on the highway or at a truck stop, they were bound to draw attention parked outside an emergency room entrance.  Sure, every sensible impulse dictated that I hightail it out of here fifteen seconds ago… but I couldn't just leave them.

"If you don't leave right now," Arnold said, getting back some control, "then I'm go

I did my best to suck it up, as well; pulled in a deep breath, straightened myself, held out my hand.  "It's been a real pleasure traveling with you, Arnold."

He took my hand.  "Yeah, same here."

"Take care of yourself."

"Count on it."

I started to pull my hand away.  Arnold let go and threw himself into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my chest.  "You kick ass, my man.  Don't ever think any different."  And with that he was gone, shoulder bag in hand, banging on the automatic doors and asking where his sister Rebecca was, was she all right, the U.S. Marshal-man said she was in here, couldn't anyone hear back there?

I went out the doors and climbed into the bus, slamming the door and burying my face in my hands as Christopher drove off.

To his credit, he didn't say anything for a very long time.  He just let me sit there and cry in peace and pretend I still had some remnant of dignity left.

13. Bury the Cow

"So… I understand you're a Marshall Tucker man, right?"

"Yeah," I said, wiping my nose on my sleeve.  "I always… always thought they were every bit as good as the Allman Brothers."

He popped in a CD with a shaking hand and there were the Marshall Tucker boys once more, singing about taking the highway, 'cause Lord knows they'd been gone so long. "Oh, now, I don't know about that," said Christopher.  "I mean, we are talking about Duane and Gregg and Dickie Betts, after all."

I stared out at the dawn-filtered road.  "Looks like it's just you and me now, sport."

"They'll be fine.  Arnold will have them jumping through hoops in no time flat.  They'll be just… just fine."

I turned toward him.  "How do you know?"

"Like I said before—I have magic powers; all who ride in this bus will stay protected."

"Did you make that up yourself or get it from a movie?"

"I don't remember."  On the highway, morning commuters were starting to cluster in the pre-rush-hour traffic, on their way to get the worm, as the early bird is said to do.

"We shouldn't have left them."

"It was Arnold's idea, not mine—I just happened to agree with it.  In case you haven't noticed, the wax around the windows isn't what it used to be.  Some of the stink is starting to get out.  If we'd stayed there much longer, someone would have said something to one of the security guards and then…."

He didn't need to finish it.

After several minutes of my continued silence during which Christopher kept getting more and more restless and agitated, he said:  "Hey, here's an idea—you ever play 'Bury the Cow'?"

"Life has denied me that thrill."

"Oh, well, then, we have to get a game going.  Isn't really a proper road trip without a few electrifying rounds of 'Bury the Cow'—it's a classic for a reason.  Okay, here's how you play it—you keep an eye on your side of the road, I keep an eye on my side—"

"—really not much in the mood for 'Kill the Crows'—"

"—'Bury the Cow', please keep up, and how do you know you're not in the mood until you hear all the rules?  You don't, so listen:  you watch your side, I watch mine, and we each count all the cows we spot on our side, then—"

"—not listening to me, I'm really not in the—"

"—then whoever has a cemetery pop up on their side of the road loses all the cows they've counted up until then, and we keep going until we stop and whoever has the most cows when we stop, wins.  Isn't that the greatest road game you ever heard, I ask you.  How, I ask again, how could anyone refuse to play?  No one should ever travel without playing 'Bury the Cow' at least once in their—"

(…ain't been taking his pills like he's supposed to—that's why he keeps changing the way he acts…)

"Christopher?"

(…and if you don't go with him…)

"Yeah?"

(…he'll keep not taking them and then he'll really go…)

"You're getting a bit manic."

(…crazy and I don't want that to happen…)

"So what?—I'll take a pill later.  C'mon, Mark, I'm trying to get the old juices going, help me out here, why don't—"

(…that's not him, he's not really that way….)

"How did all of you get away from Grendel?"

"I'll answer that—but only if you play—"

"'Snuff the Livestock', I know… all right, all right—deal.  Answer my question and we'll go a few rounds.  How did you get away from Grendel?"

He reached down and lifted the universal locater, setting it on the dashboard between us.  "What makes you think we were ever away from him?"

I stared at the blinking white dot in the center of the grid.  "You're telling me that he's been back there in the trailer this whole time?"

"He's been in that trailer for eight days, Mark.  And he's going to spend the rest of his life there… unless he goes along with the game I've got pla

"Are you going to blow him up along with the bus and trailer?"

Christopher gri

"How did you get away from him, Christopher?"

His right leg was bouncing rapidly up and down.  "Do you like Tony Curtis?  I always thought he was a terribly underrated actor.  He was really creepy in The Boston Strangler.  He looked great as a woman in Some Like It Hot.  Ever see him in The Last Tycoon?  Damn good actor."

"What the hell has that got to do with—"