Perpetual Motion (24 page)

“Wait for it,” Karen said, glancing between
the roads ahead and behind.

As Cynical continued to stare, a small black
blob appeared over a rise in the road.

“There!” she exclaimed.

“It could be anything.”

“Anything big and black and moving fast,”
Karen observed. “It’s catching up.”

The black object was probably a couple of
miles behind, far enough they wouldn’t have even been able to spot
it if they hadn’t been in the land of nothingness. As it was, it
came in and out of view, but the more he stared, the more it did
appear to grow in size. A glint of sunlight bounced off a shiny
piece of metal, possibly chrome.

“How fast are we going?” Cynical asked.

“Eighty,” Karen replied, her voice getting
higher. “It’s them. I know it.”

Pressing down on the accelerator, the engine
whined and the Impala jumped up, coming closer to doubling the
blurry speed limit sign. Behind them, the black blob kept coming,
taking a more defined shape. It was a SUV.

Approaching what would have been a gradual
curve at normal speeds, Karen overcompensated and the Impala
wavered. Gritting his teeth, Cynical braced his riddled body across
the backseat. Her white knuckles gripped the wheel as she
concentrated to keep the asphalt flying underneath them.

As soon as the road momentarily straightened
out and the car stabilized, Cynical said in a calm, forceful voice,
“Slow down.”

Even though Karen had already let up on the
gas, they were still moving at dangerous speeds. In her mind, the
terror of what was behind them was greater that a car crash. And,
even though the SUV was well behind the bend in the road, she
couldn’t stop looking up at the rearview.

“Pull in on the other side of that,” Cynical
ordered, referring to what appeared to be a church on the side of
the road.

Tapping; then stomping on the brakes, they
skidded onto the shoulder in front of a building that announced
itself on its marquee as an Assembly of God. Bumping across the
gravel parking lot, Cynical cursed the clouds of white dust they
were kicking up.

“Over there,” he said, pointing to the far
side of the chapel.

The Impala whirled around the back of the
building and parked underneath a stained glass window depicting
Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. It seemed an appropriate spot to
find sanctuary and pray for the cup to pass from them. As he said
his silent ‘amen,’ Cynical rummaged in his pocket for an extra
clip, snapping it into his gun’s handle.

“Be still,” Karen hissed, as if that would
help them stay unnoticed inside the car.

The car was well hidden. If anything was
going to give them away, it was the gravel dust floating around the
church like a hazy halo. Cynical decided not to mention his concern
to Karen, who was already on edge, perhaps a step or two over
it.

Instinctively, they both ducked down as the
black SUV charged by the church at an aggressive speed.

Cynical rose with his gun pointed up, waiting
for the flash of brake lights. When they didn’t come, he felt a
wave of relief pass over him and silently thanked the stained glass
Jesus. As Karen cautiously pulled herself back up in her seat, he
noticed her face was deathly pale and her hands were trembling.

“Okay, let me take the last leg,” he said,
painfully aware of his pun.

Not fighting him, she crawled over to the
passenger seat.

Getting out of the back seat, Cynical
carefully put his weight down on his injured leg, before deciding
to just hop to the driver’s side door. Climbing behind the wheel,
he looked over at his shaken traveling companion.

“Why don’t you stay here at the church?” he
said gently. “Let me handle this part. I can find Michael and bring
him back -”

“Just go!” she demanded with a ferocity that
surprised him.

“Okay,” he said quickly. Putting his car in
drive, he pulled away from the shelter of the church.

“Hellhole Palms,” Karen said, reading the
sign on the side of the road. A cluster of palm trees provided a
smattering of shade to a parking area where hikers could begin
their descent into what was literally called ‘Hellhole Canyon.’
“Why would Michael come to a God-forsaken place like this?”

Cynical didn’t respond, staying hyper
vigilant for any sign of the black SUV. They had lost the upper
hand of being the first one on the scene. As far as he could tell,
it had been their only advantage. If he wasn’t careful, it would be
game-over.

“When we get to town, we need to find Ed’s
gas station,” Karen blurted.

“Ed’s gas station?” he repeated, turning to
eye his traveling companion. “Is that where Michael said he
was?”

“He just told me to stop in there.” When
Cynical kept glancing over at her, she definitively added, “That’s
all I know.”

Cynical turned back to the road while Karen
occupied herself with the book of Southern California road maps.
‘Ed’s Gas Station’ was a new piece to the puzzle; a piece Amanda
didn’t have. Bolstered by the information and a potential edge
against Black Starr, Cynical kept them moving forward toward their
final destination.

A couple of miles up, a sign welcomed them to
“Borrego Springs.”

The Impala slowed to a crawl as it approached
a series of low lying buildings that comprised the desert town. It
reminded Cynical of an old Western, particularly the part where the
unsuspecting posse rode into an ambush. All the scene lacked was a
tumbleweed blowing across the quiet street before the Black Starr
gang opened fire.

“I think you have to go through town and take
a right on Borrego Boulevard,” Karen said, her finger on the map.
“It looks like there’s a gas station out that way.”

If he could get through town without being
seen, he might be able to elude Black Starr all together. That was
the only chance they had, he thought.

“Are there any back roads?”

Staring at the map, Karen shook her head.
“According to the map, there are only two roads on this side of
town, and only one way to get over there.”

The Impala slowed to a stop at a four-way,
giving them time to do a slow pan. The center of town seemed to be
mainly comprised of a handful of little stores, a bank, a
courthouse, and a post office. A few vehicles were parked in front
of the storefronts.

A honk sounded behind them, startling them
both. Turning around, they were relieved to find an old red truck
circa 1970. The Impala eased off the line and through the
intersection of the main drag.

As they passed the courthouse, Karen pointed
off to the left. “There!”

The Escalade came into view, standing out
like a giant spider that had come to devour the tiny town. Parked
in front of a restaurant, Cynical guessed Amanda was inside,
flashing her smile and asking questions. One man in a suit stood
beside the big vehicle; his sunglasses shining in the morning sun.
At the moment, the sentry was staring off in another direction.

Making a split decision, Cynical went ahead
through the intersection, hoping they wouldn’t draw attention.
Seeing they were going for it, Karen slid down in her seat, her
eyes peeping out over the dash.

Passing by the restaurant, Cynical dared a
glance at the SUV’s back bumper. He was too far away to be sure,
but he didn’t see the transmitter he’d clumsily stuck out in the
open for the whole world to see. Not that it would do him any good
anyway. He knew where they were. The question was, did the FBI?

Looking up, he held his breath as the guard
shifted his posture and slowly turned his head. Even though he
seemed to look in their general direction, he didn’t shout or draw
his gun. Instead, the man remained motionless, not even reacting
when Cynical gave the Impala an extra goose of gas to get on down
the road and out of sight.

“That was close,” Karen said, glancing back
over the car seat. “Do you think he saw us?”

“I don’t know,” Cynical said urgently. “Where
do I go?”

Turning back to the front, she pointed. “Turn
here.”

Veering left; they followed the curving road
with more widely dispersed, random businesses: a coin operated
laundry, taxidermy, a leather shop with a special on boots.

“Should be up here,” Karen said, searching
for any sign of “Ed’s.”

Cynical wasn’t seeing anything resembling a
gas station. An old-fashioned barber shop on the right seemed to be
the last chance before they would wander back into the vast
emptiness of the desert.

Moving past the motionless candy stripe, a
bewildered Karen went back to her map, trying to find where she
could have made a mistake.

“Are you sure it was on this road?” Cynical
asked, sounding desperate.

“No!” Karen said, bordering on frantic. “Go
on up a little further.”

Just as they were officially leaving town,
they both spotted a structure on the right. Neither said anything,
not wanting to jinx it. Finally, a gas pump came into view.

“That’s it!” Karen exclaimed. “It has to
be!”

As they approached, Cynical wasn’t sure if
the antique filling station was still in business. In front, the
two pumps still had the kind of analog numbers that spun in
circles; on the side was a two bay garage with both its rolled-down
metallic doors shut up tight. It wasn’t until they got right up to
the cinderblock office that they saw a sign in the window.

“Ed’s,” they both said together, Karen
laughing in relief.

On their way to the pumps, the Impala rolled
over a strip of tubing that was supposed to sound a bell somewhere
inside the gas station. Cynical doubted it worked; he wasn’t sure
anything worked in this throwback. Before he could even put the car
in park, Karen was out and looking for Michael.

“Anybody here?” she shouted
enthusiastically.

Just as she started to go into the office, an
older man came out in well-worn over-alls.

“Hey there,” he said, walking slowly passed
Karen and over to the car as he methodically wiped his greasy hands
on a rag.

“Hey,” Karen said, following along. “Are you
Ed?”

“That’s what they tell me,” the mechanic
said, coming up to the Impala. “Fill her up?”

‘Sure,” Cynical said as he tried to ease his
stiff leg out of the car.

Coming around the back of the car, Ed gave
the x-detective a once over, momentarily pausing on the large dried
blotches on his pants leg.

“We’re full service around here,” Ed said as
he unscrewed the gas cap, still glancing at the blood stain.

Karen bounded up behind Ed like a puppy that
was so excited she was about to wet herself. “We’re looking for
Michael Dexter. Do you know him?”
The old-timer slid the gas pump into the tank; moving in nice, slow
increments in the early morning heat. With one eye squinted into
the sun, he asked, “Who?”

“Michael Dexter,” Karen said impatiently. “He
was supposed to meet us here.”

As the gas started to flow and the dollars
and cents turned, the old man rubbed his stubbly chin, chewing on
the name. “It doesn’t ring any bells. He was supposed to meet you
in Borrego Springs?”

“Ed’s Gas Station!” she shouted as she
pointed emphatically to his own sign. “Is there another Ed’s Gas
Station in town?”

“I hope not,” Ed said straight-faced.

As Karen became increasingly frustrated,
Cynical leaned up against his car, watching the cool old bird. The
mechanic seemed to enjoy toying with wayward travelers who happened
into his little corner of the world.

“Maybe he didn’t call himself Michael
Dexter,” Karen said, thinking out loud. “He’s my age, six foot
tall, dark hair, blue eyes…?”

“Sounds like a nice looking fellow,” Ed said
pleasantly. “If he’d been by, I think I’d remember him.”

When the gas clicked off, Ed took the nozzle
out of the tank and carefully returned it to the pump. Turning to
Cynical, he asked, “Can I check your engine? It’s included.”

“Be my guest,” Cynical said. With a slight
groan, he reached down inside the open driver-side window and
tugged on the hood release.

The old man shuffled over to the front of the
car, his weathered hands feeling for the release latch. Agitated,
Karen made a face at Cynical that translated into ‘crazy old coot’
before she got back inside the car to pout. Cynical merely limped
around to the front of the car as the mechanic was wiping off the
dip stick with the rag from his pocket.

“How do I look?” Cynical asked.

“A couple of quarts low,” Ed said, glancing
at the bullet hole in his pants. “But your oil level is fine,” he
added as he slipped the blade back into its tube. Perusing the
engine for a couple of seconds, he concluded, “That timing belt
looks a little thin. If you have a minute, why don’t you pull into
the garage?”

The timing belt looked fine; at least as far
as Cynical’s untrained eye could see. Was the old man trying to
scam him for a bogus repair bill?

“We’re in kind of a hurry,” Cynical said,
glancing back at the road into town.

“Suit yourself,” Ed said with a shrug and the
hint of a smile on his leathery face. “I’ve got a good mechanic
here though. He can fix you up and get you back on the road in no
time.” With that, he shut the hood and meandered back toward the
office.

Cynical watched the old man for a second,
before hobbling back into his car and settling hard into the
driver’s seat.

“What’s with this guy?” Karen asked sharply.
“Is he senile or something?”

“Yeah, senile like a fox,” Cynical said,
starting the car.

“Are we leaving already?” she asked, suddenly
anxious again. “We have to wait here for Michael.”

One of the two garage doors opened as Cynical
pulled forward.