The Nirvana Blues (60 page)

“Oh come on. I'll vouch for him. But first put away that silly gun.”

“Not until he hauls his ass out of that car and I can see all of him.”

“Joe, you better get out of the car,” Nancy coaxed. “Open your eyes.”

Joe opened his eyes. “I can't get out the way he wants me to, Nancy, because the door's jammed shut. So I can only crawl out the window.”

“Well, then, crawl out the window.”

“But he said he would kill me if I crawl out the window.”

“Oh come on. Vern? I'm surprised at you. You won't hurt him if he crawls out the window, will you?”

“Aw … I guess not.”

“He guesses,” Joe mumbled with meek scorn. “What kind of assurance is that?”

“See what I mean, Nancy? He's an arrogant prick. That kind is usually dangerous.”

“Vern, he's the least dangerous person I know. Scout's honor. Now Joe, climb out the silly window. Hurry up.”

“If he kills me it's your fault.” What a clammy, all-encompassing terror had now taken over his body!

“He won't shoot, darling. I've enveloped you in a cocoon of pink clouds.”

Just what he needed—a cocoon of pink clouds! Guaranteed to stop .357-Magnum bullets any day! An impenetrable shield of cotton candy! But he moved anyway, hesitantly poking his head out the window. Awkwardly, like a colt being born, he oozed out farther. Eventually, as one hand sought a grip on the roof, and the other grabbed for the outside rearview mirror, he lost his balance, was airborne briefly, and thumped against the pavement.

“Up against the car,” Vern ordered. “Quick! Spread your legs—that's it. And your arms, too.”

Joe did as he was told: Vern slapped him down for hidden weaponry, removed his wallet, and flipped it open.

Nancy said, “See? There was no need to worry. He's just a regular little old human being.”

“Well, why is he acting so funny then? Turn around, Joe.”

Robotlike, Joe obeyed. Vern had holstered the gun. He handed over Joe's wallet. Whereas a minute ago he had looked ready to kill, now the cop seemed almost scared. He had pulled a gun unnecessarily on a law-abiding (though perhaps momentarily deranged) citizen, who might be within his rights filing some sort of police brutality suit.

“Listen, uh, Joe. Maybe I was a little hasty, there, with the betsy. You know. Just last week a partner of mine was blown away by this hopped-up freak with a piece over a routine traffic violation. So I'm a little nervous, you dig?”

Joe tried to speak, but could only dredge forth a squeak.

“Vern, you're super.” Nancy stood on tiptoes to buss his cheek. Approaching Joe, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“But he has to move this goddam car into a parking place,” Vern warned. “It's a menace in the middle of the roadway here.” As an afterthought he handed Joe a citation for illegal parking, bald tires, a cracked windshield, an expired safety sticker, a broken taillight, and for colliding with a police vehicle.

“You see?” Nancy cuddled up against Joe. “Everything turns out all right if you just have faith.”

Like Amelia Earhart, Vern disappeared.

“Faith in what? And how do you know that thug, anyway?”

“We dated for a little bit last year. He's really not a bad guy.”

“He almost killed me.”

“He was probably scared. People always act funny when they're frightened.”

Relieved and exhausted, Joe said, “Well, all I want to do right now is pick up Heidi and go home.”

“I'll wait just to make sure everything is all right.”

Bradley focused in the background. “I don't wanna wait, Mom. I wanna go home.”

Staggering toward the emergency-room entrance, Joe thought:
Kids!

When he emerged again, a shaken and drained Heidi leaning on his arm, they still had no keys. Joe said, “I searched all over the car, but I couldn't find them.”

“Don't look at me, Joey. They're not in my pockets. I don't know what happened.”

“Can't you think? Can't you remember? How can I start the bus without the damn keys?”

“I don't remember anything. I'm sorry.”

“Oh boy. When it rains it pours.”

“Go ahead, dump on me. Everything is my fault. I haven't tasted enough gas, yet, this evening.”

The devil, disguised as a smiling female cheerfully smoking a cigarette, stepped out of the shadows. “Why don't you guys let me drive you home? Joe or somebody can return to find the keys later.”

“I'd rather hitchhike.” But Heidi's meek declaration totally lacked pizzazz.

Gratefully, Joe accepted her offer. “Thanks for hanging around, Nancy. Kids, climb out of the bus.…”

Packed like sardines on the drive to the Castle of Golden Fools, the adults tried to remain mute while the kids exchanged amenities.

“Get off my foot, Bradley. You're squashing my foot.”

“No I'm not. I'm not even
near
your stinking foot.”

“Bradley, dear, don't say ‘stinking.' Be nice.”

“Daddy, Bradley's standing on my foot and it
hurts
!”

“Shuttup, Heather, we're almost home.”

“Well, he's killing me! Ow, ow, ow!”

“Bradley, darling, move your foot, would you, please? if it's on top of Heather's.”

“It is not. And anyway, I can't even budge. I'm getting squashed. I can't breathe. Michael's elbow is stuck in my guts.”

“Michael, move your elbow, okay?”

“Where cad I moob id to, Dad? I'b id a straid jagged. Bradley id crudhing my hib.”

“Bradley, are you crushing his hip?”

“I can't help it, Mom. There's too many people back here.”

Joe said, “Here, I'll move. Heather, change your position on my lap. Ooff,
Jesus!
Michael, see if you can squunch your leg over a little, huh?”

Heidi said, “Maybe I can move my seat forward and give you some more room back there.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Nancy apologized. “The gizmo that loosens the passenger seat is rusted, it doesn't work.”

“Well, we're almost home anyway,” Joe said. “Come on, everybody, let's see if we can hold out a few minutes longer.”

“Pee-yew,” Heather exclaimed. “Who just laid a grenade? Bradley, did you cut that fart? I bet you did.”

“Shuttup, Heather.”

Bradley screeched, “Mom, I didn't cut a fart! Make her take it back.”

“You did so,” Heather accused. “It had to be you.” She started to make gagging sounds. “Help! I can't breathe!”

Joe said, “Heather, when we get home I'm gonna kill you.”

“I'm not afraid.” She stuck out her tongue. “Blaaah!”

Bradley cried, “Mom, tell her I didn't cut a fart!”

Nancy swung her head sideways. “She knows you didn't cut a fart, Bradley. Nobody's blaming you for anything.”

“Yes they are! Make her take it back!”

“I can't make her take it back, dear. That's silly.”

“Take it back, Heather,” Joe snarled wearily.

“Why should I take it back if he really did?”

“You don't
know
if he really did or not. And I can't stand this bickering So take it back, dammit, or I swear on a stack of Bibles I'll tan your hide so thoroughly when we get home that they'll be able to cut it up and make saddles with it.”

Michael said, “
You
probadly fahdded, Hedder. Id's alwaids duh wud dat fahds dat accudded edrebody else ob fahdding.”

“I did not! Daddy, make Michael be quiet! He's a liar.” Poking her face to within an inch of her brother's bandaged visage, she chanted, “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! Hanging from a telephone wire!”

Heidi added her two cents: “Joey probably farted. But he's too chicken to tell anybody. That goes with his new role in life as a professional snake in the grass.”

“Heidi, I hate to be picayune, but that was gratuitous venom.”

“Still, it's probably true.”

“I didn't fart, dammit.” Her accusation was so absurd and unfair that he felt a heat rising. If he let it build unchecked for another thirty seconds, he would probably reach forward and strangle the bitch in her tracks, broken wrist or not.

“
I
farted,” Nancy said pleasantly. “Please excuse me.” She exhaled another rich billow of Lucky Strike exhaust and, abruptly, Joe couldn't breathe.

“Heidi, open the window a little, would you please?”

“I can't. I'm shivering. My teeth are chattering. I think I'm getting a fever.”

“But I can't breathe. I left all my pills and the inhaler in the bus.”

“Oh screw your asthma, Joey. I'm sick of your emotional crutches. When are you ever going to grow up?”

Joe said, “Stop this car, Nancy. I'm getting out.”

“But we're almost there.”

“I didn't ask you where we
were,
I asked you to stop this car.”

She pulled over to the shoulder and braked. Using her left hand, Heidi opened the door and leaned forward. Joe pried himself out, lost his balance, and crashed into the ditch, enormously relieved to be free of those claustrophobic quarters. Fresh air embraced him with a delirious rush.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Heidi snorted, slamming the door.

“I'll see you around the universe, asshole!” Yet as the car chugged off, Joe suddenly remembered again, and hollered in panic: “What did you mean about a rubber suit and a snorkel?”

“What the hell do you
think
?”

Then they were gone, and Joe sat there, incredulous, astonished by their infantile interactions.

A dozen cows mooed appreciatively. Filtered through spring mists, the moon was balanced atop a Midnight foothill, trailing wisps of soft yellow fog like angel hair. And Joe Miniver, child of scorn, reeled to his feet like a punch-drunk fighter wondering in what direction salvation lay. Overhead, a billion stars twinkled imperviously. To them, the human condition didn't mean squat.

But then he thought: “She's lying. She'll market the stuff herself, after we're divorced, and live high on the hog forever after.”

A skunk trotting across the road peered at Joe inquisitively. But then, deciding this human had probably had enough for one night, it merely flicked its tail in a neighborly fashion and waddled on, disappearing into the ebullient shadows.

*   *   *

W
ITH A PEBBLE
he was too pooped to excavate in his shoe, Joe limped halfway up the driveway, cursing softly. Geronimo answered his muffled exclamations with a soft whinny. The horse stood in the center of Eloy's front field, nosing around the Hanuman U-Haul. Incredibly, despite a million-dollar price tag on the monkey god, nobody was guarding it.

Joe glanced around once, uneasily, just to make sure nobody like Angel Guts or Ray Verboten or Cobey Dallas crouched in the branches of a nearby tree, fingering an infrared sniper gun. Then, slipping between barbed-wire strands, he approached the U-Haul. Geronimo whinnied again and backed off, suspiciously awaiting further developments.

Head cocked, Joe listened for a sound: for a clock ticking, an electrical humming, for anything from inside that prosaic trailer indicating life, security precautions. Maybe somebody slept inside, arms wrapped around a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun full of double-ought buck loads. Or perhaps a pair of Indian king cobras came wrapped around the idol to protect it from infidels. Then again, Nikita Smatterling and his underlings might simply have wrapped the whole kit and caboodle in a pink cloud for safekeeping. In fact, most probably, they figured the Hanuman's safety was ensured by its own positive vibes.

Circling the battered red-and-orange trailer, Joe inspected the padlocked doors. He reached out to touch the mammoth steel contraption doing the job … but stayed his hand, paranoid—abruptly—about fingerprints. Suppose Tribby and Ralph slunk over here tonight and absconded with the goods? It'd be typical of his luck that the one clue cops could extract from the empty, shattered vehicle at the bottom of a ravine would be a single Miniver fingerprint on the lock!

A steel cable, probably a relic from the Clarion, Ohio, caper, still packaged the trailer. A large metal ring, such as a gymnast might use, poked up from intersecting cable strands at the center of the U-Haul roof. No doubt they had used an immense grappling hook to make the connection when they whisked the statue away from the previously airlifted hoosegow in that soybean field. And Tribby wanted to swoop down like James Bond on this field in a Floresta bubblecopter.…

HELICOPTER HEAVIES HEIST HANUMAN! MINIVER MANGLED BY MONSTER HOOK DURING MANEUVERS
!

In the grass beneath the U-Haul, some fruit was cooking … or anyway, absorbing the kind of vibes it needed to become prasad—celestial radiation. Joe wondered: did Hanuman freaks with pacemakers have to steer clear of potent statues?

Stooping, he spitefully selected a heavy peach, bouncing it a few times in his palm, liking the heft of it. As his teeth sank in, would lightning bolts erupt from the sky directly overhead? Or would a bestial voice, with tantalizingly human undertones, issue forth in a growl from the U-Haul's interior? Tempting the fates, Joe took a healthy bite. Sweet juice dribbled over his chin … and a thousand owls hooted, frogs croaked, crickets uncorked a symphony of dazed screeks, the moon slid behind a cloud. Sudden thunderheads coagulated and clotted over the sacred mountain: nature prepared to go bananas.

In Joe's mind, that is. Outwardly, his chomp provoked nothing more delirious than another inquisitive and slightly demanding whinny from Geronimo, who conquered his temerity and clomped forward, seriously interested in a piece of the action.

Well, why not?

Three delicious apples later, the horse burped appreciatively, whisked some misbegotten moon-struck fly off his haunch, and retreated, allowing digestive juices to have at it unmolested.