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Authors: Kathleen Bacus
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deviant in their midst.
"Sexual misconduct with a person under the age of consent," Dixie told us.
"That could mean anything from weenie waving to actual physical contact," Frankie said.
I raised an eyebrow. "Weenie waving?"
"Indecent exposure," Dixie offered.
I winced. "So, what does this Keith look like?" I asked.
"So glad you asked," Dixie said. With a great deal of fanfare and flourish, she presented a color printout of a mug shot.
"Keith Gardner: twenty years of age, five feet ten, brown hair, brown eyes. I made copies for each of us."
"Smart thinkin', babe," Frankie said, casting a lovesick look at his girlfriend.
Damn. This was impressive. And I didn't like it one danged bit.
"How about you, Turner? You get anything on that list I gave you?"
Did grease spots from potato chips count?
"I'm working on it," I told her. "I had some stuff to do for Stan. Majorly important journalistic-type stuff," I added.
"That's funny. Rick Townsend stopped by the Dairee Freeze and told Taylor you were chewing on peanuts and playing errand girl
for Stan earlier," Frankie said.
Nice.
"Rick Townsend has lost his grip on reality, the poor demented fellow," I said.
"Well, I came up high and dry," Frankie went on. "Nothing but some high school sports and activities on my list. So I'm still
thinking our best bet is to cruise the campus and keep our eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. You girls will have
to pair up. I'll go it solo."
"Uh, wait a minute. Aren't you forgetting something?" I said. "Patrick made it very clear we should be with someone else at
all times. I don't think you should be running off by your lonesome," I told him.
"I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself," he said. This coming from a guy whose mother still fed him Jell-O, tea, and toast
when he was sick, and who was allergic to so many things that he carried a three-pack of epipens. "Besides, I'll be in the
Suburban, driving around."
"Oh? And what will we be doing?" I asked.
"Jogging, of course," he said. "It's the perfect cover. Lots of people jog around campus at night."
Yeah? Well, lots of people didn't include this here little filly. I was built for speed, not endurance. Luckily, Dixie spoke
up first, saving me from having to defend my sad, sedentary lifestyle.
"You want us to jog around campus?" she asked.
"Well, you do need to be getting in shape for the academy," he said. "They run three times a day, you know."
Three times a day? If I was lucky, I'd run three times all last year--and two of those times I'd run from people who were
no longer among the living and couldn't even chase me.
"I am not about to run around campus at night at the same time I'm trying to keep an eye out for a psychopathic criminal bent on mayhem,"
Dixie said.
"The Destructor's right," I said, thinking that was probably the first and last time those words would ever spring from my
lips. "What if we spot the culprit in the act and we're so worn out from running that we're too pooped to pursue him and too
winded to call for help?"
"Yeah, what about that?" Dixie asked.
"Oh, all right. Power-walk for crying out loud."
I looked over at Frankie. "You have got to be kidding," I said. "You mean, go out there and walk like one of those spastic
automatons who march and swing their arms like soldiers in the robot army? No friggin' way. We'd draw way more attention than
we want given the circumstances."
Frankie put a hand through his hair. I was glad to see that it stuck up like my own did. Ah, family ties.
"All right, all right. Jeez. Then just walk. But step out so that it looks like you're out here to walk, not snoop. We don't
want to be too obvious."
"I still don't know why I get stuck with her," Dixie pointed to me. "Why can't she drive the Suburban and you and I do the
walking?"
"Because my dad threatened me within an inch of my life if I let her behind the wheel," he said.
Tsk-tsk. Would Uncle Frank ever let bygones be bygones?
"Sexual misconduct with a person under the age of consent," Dixie told us.
"That could mean anything from weenie waving to actual physical contact," Frankie said.
I raised an eyebrow. "Weenie waving?"
"Indecent exposure," Dixie offered.
I winced. "So, what does this Keith look like?" I asked.
"So glad you asked," Dixie said. With a great deal of fanfare and flourish, she presented a color printout of a mug shot.
"Keith Gardner: twenty years of age, five feet ten, brown hair, brown eyes. I made copies for each of us."
"Smart thinkin', babe," Frankie said, casting a lovesick look at his girlfriend.
Damn. This was impressive. And I didn't like it one danged bit.
"How about you, Turner? You get anything on that list I gave you?"
Did grease spots from potato chips count?
"I'm working on it," I told her. "I had some stuff to do for Stan. Majorly important journalistic-type stuff," I added.
"That's funny. Rick Townsend stopped by the Dairee Freeze and told Taylor you were chewing on peanuts and playing errand girl
for Stan earlier," Frankie said.
Nice.
"Rick Townsend has lost his grip on reality, the poor demented fellow," I said.
"Well, I came up high and dry," Frankie went on. "Nothing but some high school sports and activities on my list. So I'm still
thinking our best bet is to cruise the campus and keep our eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. You girls will have
to pair up. I'll go it solo."
"Uh, wait a minute. Aren't you forgetting something?" I said. "Patrick made it very clear we should be with someone else at
all times. I don't think you should be running off by your lonesome," I told him.
"I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself," he said. This coming from a guy whose mother still fed him Jell-O, tea, and toast
when he was sick, and who was allergic to so many things that he carried a three-pack of epipens. "Besides, I'll be in the
Suburban, driving around."
"Oh? And what will we be doing?" I asked.
"Jogging, of course," he said. "It's the perfect cover. Lots of people jog around campus at night."
Yeah? Well, lots of people didn't include this here little filly. I was built for speed, not endurance. Luckily, Dixie spoke
up first, saving me from having to defend my sad, sedentary lifestyle.
"You want us to jog around campus?" she asked.
"Well, you do need to be getting in shape for the academy," he said. "They run three times a day, you know."
Three times a day? If I was lucky, I'd run three times all last year--and two of those times I'd run from people who were
no longer among the living and couldn't even chase me.
"I am not about to run around campus at night at the same time I'm trying to keep an eye out for a psychopathic criminal bent on mayhem,"
Dixie said.
"The Destructor's right," I said, thinking that was probably the first and last time those words would ever spring from my
lips. "What if we spot the culprit in the act and we're so worn out from running that we're too pooped to pursue him and too
winded to call for help?"
"Yeah, what about that?" Dixie asked.
"Oh, all right. Power-walk for crying out loud."
I looked over at Frankie. "You have got to be kidding," I said. "You mean, go out there and walk like one of those spastic
automatons who march and swing their arms like soldiers in the robot army? No friggin' way. We'd draw way more attention than
we want given the circumstances."
Frankie put a hand through his hair. I was glad to see that it stuck up like my own did. Ah, family ties.
"All right, all right. Jeez. Then just walk. But step out so that it looks like you're out here to walk, not snoop. We don't
want to be too obvious."
"I still don't know why I get stuck with her," Dixie pointed to me. "Why can't she drive the Suburban and you and I do the
walking?"
"Because my dad threatened me within an inch of my life if I let her behind the wheel," he said.
Tsk-tsk. Would Uncle Frank ever let bygones be bygones?
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