Evil Wayne: Serials
|
|
| The Secret Society of Sorority Satanists Evil Wayne: Serials |
|
#31From here on in Becky said very little to me. And after I used her credit cards -whew!- not a peep.After a few hours of driving, we came across one of those "You Are Here" maps. We were in Northern Vermont, near the New Hampshire border. "Well, sweetie? How about a trip to Maine?" "Blow it out your ass!" One of her nicer comments. As we crossed over New Hampshire into Maine, I tried repeatedly to jump start the conversation, but most died with a nice comment on how she was going to take part of my body and shove it into some other part of my body where it surely didn't belong. And all three times I tried to draw out this Bobby character, she because quite for long periods. I was resorted to humming. We entered Maine on the second chorus of Sargent Pepper. My original plan was to get to the cottage15 and prepare a better plan. But suddenly, I remembered something else I saw on those computer screens. A time table. And if I didn't hurry, it would be too late. #32I was about to take the turn for the cottage, when I saw the timetable in my head. I jerked the steering wheel and the jeep lurched as I rushed into the nighttime traffic (did I mention the sun had set?)"What are you nuts?!?" she screamed. "Sorry. Navigational error." I didn't look at her and started humming some Moody Blues. I got on the Maine Turnpike. "Can you tell me where we're going?" Becky asked. "Can you tell me about Bobby?" She said nothing till I took some money out to pay the toll an hour later at the South Portland exit. "What the fuck is going on?" I looked at her with a heavy stare. "There's a jetport here." Her face told me she understood what I was doing. Then it changed again. Eyes wide, a face of shock as it started to set in. "Not with my credit cards you don't!" "Come on," she pleaded. "You're gonna blow out the balance!"16 #33As we pulled into the jetport, I was wondering how to keep Becky from: One, running away; Two, yelling for help and, Three, killing me.The latter being extremely important to me. I parked the jeep and began to rummage through it. "You think you're gonna get me to go in there and buy a couple of tickets without saying anything? You're nuts." "No," I said, stuffing a knapsack with objects from the jeep. "I know you won't." "Well then, how do you expect to get on a plane with me? I am bound." She emphasized it by showing me her bound hands. "I figure I'll use this," I showed her one of the darts. I had removed the end and dumped most of the liquid out. Quickly, I jabbed her with the dart. She fell silent and looked almost asleep. Good. I got out, grabbed the knapsack, unbound her hands and helped her out. She looked at me, glassy-eyed. "Hi," she said slightly tipsy. "Yes, you are very." We stopped at a prize bubble gum machine. I got what I wanted with only two coins. Must be my lucky day. #34Becky and I walked into the terminal arms around each other, mine keeping her from falling over. But the illusion was there.It was empty. Good. I spotted the ticket sales lady, who saw us, which was also good. I deposited Becky into a chair and spoke, even though I knew she couldn't really understand her own name at this point. "Okay honey, you rest and I'll get the tickets." I grabbed her purse and walked to the counter. "Can I help you?" She was cute. "Yes, my wife and I need two tickets on the next plane to Florida." I acted drained and sad. "My wife's mother died." I had slipped on the gold-looking ring on my finger. Good old gumball machines. "I'm sorry, but the next plane isn't due till late tomorrow. Is that alright?" I was about to agree when I heard the voice of this hulk of a man. "Shoot! I'm going thataway, I'll take ya an the littl' missus." #35I turned and came face-to-face with a man who probably weighed over three-hundred pounds. He wore a plaid cowboy shirt, jeans, boots, a cowboy hat and sunglasses (yes, it was still night). He looked a lot like the title character in Porky's17.He stuck out a thick hand, "John Smith." He had a heavy southern accent. I shook his hand. "Jack," I said, and used Becky's last name. "You said her mother passed on, eh?" His tone grim. "Yes. They were very close. The shock, well, she's taken a few tranquilizers. I'm not sure she's coherent at all." He nodded, "Understandable. I've got a small twin engine and I'm headed back to Alabama. I wouldn't mind taking on a few passengers." "Thanks, my wife will be very appreciative." "You look kinda young to be married."18 "Oh, we were childhood sweethearts and all..." He seemed to buy it. I got Becky, doped her up a little more and in forty minutes we were airborne. 15. My parents own a lakeside cottage in Southern Maine. 16. Ho ho! It's fun to play with stereotypes! 17. Chuck Mitchell; See, Porky's 1982; Porky's Revenge 1985; Better Off Dead, 1985. 18. It's 1987--I'm 18 or 19. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|||||
|
|||||
