out of the van and started toward the office.
Out of nowhere, a tall, shirtless, ninety-year-old strip of beef jerky wrapped in denim coveralls, a straw cowboy hat, and ancient snakeskin boots appeared. His faded, pink-paisley neckerchief looked like a rope quoit tossed over a stake. Beeks took a half step back, convinced that they had traveled back in time.
The old man was visibly grateful for the company, speaking in an aristocratic, yet lively manner that belied his years.
"Greetings, friends," he said nobly, his s's making short whistling sounds as they passed through the gap where his front teeth used to be. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"Greetings to you, sir," Needles replied, then asked him if he'd mind answering some questions. The old man nodded and invited them inside.
---
The business office was little more than a shack; however, a couple of years back, in a sad effort that consumed the bulk of the old man's life savings, he had converted it into a miniature convenience store complete with wall-length cooler, credit-card reader, and surveillance camera.
The card reader actually functioned, but the camera was a cardboard fake, and most of the food in the cooler was stocked there when the unit was originally installed. Beeks grabbed a pre-packaged ham 'n cheddar sandwich from the cooler, but he changed his mind about eating it when he noticed some extra protein running around under the cellophane and a sell-by date from the Great Depression.
An open bottle of premium whiskey stood on the counter by the register near a baby-moon hubcap full of cigarette butts – one of which was still smoldering. The old man picked up the bottle and turned to his guests.
"Would you boys care to join me?" he asked.
"Sure, old man," Needles said. "We'll drink with you." His answer surprised Beeks, since they were "on duty," but he wasn't about to argue.
The old man poured, and the three men clinked glasses before downing the shots. Beeks smacked his sizable lips and burped, then shoved his glass forward for seconds.
Needles took out Ashley's photo and showed it to the old man. He studied it at arm's length for a while, and judging by his reaction, his eyesight and hormones were still functioning reasonably well.
"She was here, all right," he said at last. "I remember, 'cause I used to have a '65 just like hers – 'cept mine had a stick instead'a the Powerglide. I topped her off, and she bought grape juice, crackers, and a pint of gin."
Beeks doubted the wisdom of the non-alcoholic portion of that purchase.
The old man continued. "I figured she was some sort of outa-town movie star or somethin' – bein' so uncommonly pretty and drivin' around town in her negligee and all. But she was acting strange – kinda nervous I guess you'd say. And she had this look in her eye – like someone barely clinging to sanity."
Needles thought about that for a moment, then laid a $50 bill on the counter.
The old man's silver-thatched eyebrows twitched at the sight of it – it had been a long time since he'd seen anything larger than a $5. He pulled a wadded, white-lace-bordered handkerchief out of his pocket, put it to his lips, and coughed something disgusting into it. The thugs tried not to imagine what it was, but they couldn't help themselves.
"Which way did she go?" Needles asked, swallowing involuntarily.
"I'd say west," the old man replied confidently. He pointed in that direction like a roasted chicken stretching its wing. "I could hardly believe her little Chevy was still a runnin', with its front-end smashed in so. But it weren't leakin' and one of her headlights was lit ... so I let her be." He coughed more of the mystery substance into his handkerchief. "One damn-crazy customer – that's what she
Out of nowhere, a tall, shirtless, ninety-year-old strip of beef jerky wrapped in denim coveralls, a straw cowboy hat, and ancient snakeskin boots appeared. His faded, pink-paisley neckerchief looked like a rope quoit tossed over a stake. Beeks took a half step back, convinced that they had traveled back in time.
The old man was visibly grateful for the company, speaking in an aristocratic, yet lively manner that belied his years.
"Greetings, friends," he said nobly, his s's making short whistling sounds as they passed through the gap where his front teeth used to be. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
"Greetings to you, sir," Needles replied, then asked him if he'd mind answering some questions. The old man nodded and invited them inside.
---
The business office was little more than a shack; however, a couple of years back, in a sad effort that consumed the bulk of the old man's life savings, he had converted it into a miniature convenience store complete with wall-length cooler, credit-card reader, and surveillance camera.
The card reader actually functioned, but the camera was a cardboard fake, and most of the food in the cooler was stocked there when the unit was originally installed. Beeks grabbed a pre-packaged ham 'n cheddar sandwich from the cooler, but he changed his mind about eating it when he noticed some extra protein running around under the cellophane and a sell-by date from the Great Depression.
An open bottle of premium whiskey stood on the counter by the register near a baby-moon hubcap full of cigarette butts – one of which was still smoldering. The old man picked up the bottle and turned to his guests.
"Would you boys care to join me?" he asked.
"Sure, old man," Needles said. "We'll drink with you." His answer surprised Beeks, since they were "on duty," but he wasn't about to argue.
The old man poured, and the three men clinked glasses before downing the shots. Beeks smacked his sizable lips and burped, then shoved his glass forward for seconds.
Needles took out Ashley's photo and showed it to the old man. He studied it at arm's length for a while, and judging by his reaction, his eyesight and hormones were still functioning reasonably well.
"She was here, all right," he said at last. "I remember, 'cause I used to have a '65 just like hers – 'cept mine had a stick instead'a the Powerglide. I topped her off, and she bought grape juice, crackers, and a pint of gin."
Beeks doubted the wisdom of the non-alcoholic portion of that purchase.
The old man continued. "I figured she was some sort of outa-town movie star or somethin' – bein' so uncommonly pretty and drivin' around town in her negligee and all. But she was acting strange – kinda nervous I guess you'd say. And she had this look in her eye – like someone barely clinging to sanity."
Needles thought about that for a moment, then laid a $50 bill on the counter.
The old man's silver-thatched eyebrows twitched at the sight of it – it had been a long time since he'd seen anything larger than a $5. He pulled a wadded, white-lace-bordered handkerchief out of his pocket, put it to his lips, and coughed something disgusting into it. The thugs tried not to imagine what it was, but they couldn't help themselves.
"Which way did she go?" Needles asked, swallowing involuntarily.
"I'd say west," the old man replied confidently. He pointed in that direction like a roasted chicken stretching its wing. "I could hardly believe her little Chevy was still a runnin', with its front-end smashed in so. But it weren't leakin' and one of her headlights was lit ... so I let her be." He coughed more of the mystery substance into his handkerchief. "One damn-crazy customer – that's what she
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