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About 40 miles outside of Yakima (Apple Capital of the USA!), Henrietta started jerking and coughing. Billy cursed and turned off the air-conditioning to ease the load on the Falcon’s engine. He knew he should have had that wiring harness replaced before he left Lone Pine. Thing was, he hadn’t been meaning to leave Lone Pine. Not when he’d been shacked up at the Cum-On-Inn all last week with Mary-Sue Prophet screwing the dog-balls off him, twenty-four seven. Should’a knew there was a catch...if he hadn’t been so busy staring at those hooters, while his cock tried to salute the flag...a woman like that and a man like him...not gonna happen.
It was her eyes. At first they’d seemed to be purple. Then amber. Then green. Turned out to be contacts.
He rolled down the window. The heat was building up inside the car and the sweat dripping down his back made the scratches from where she’d raked him with those fake finger nails last night sting like bejeezus.
Outside the car that weird landscape they called scab lands on rolled by. Looked kind of like the Bad Lands east of Wall. Only, to the max. And he remembered cruising through Rapid City, 3-4 years ago. He’d stopped for breakfast at the Perkins and some impulse had made him look up Joy’s name in the phone book. He’d remembered hearing she’d remarried but he’d gone to the address, anyway. It was a split-level ranch in a nice suburb—and he'd just stood, leaning against the car, smoking and waiting until a blue minivan had driven up. A woman and two kids had gotten out. The kids running to the door hollerin’ ‘Gammaw! Grammaw!’ He’d seen the woman, heavy, with gray streaks in her hair. The way she’d hustled everybody inside; he was sure she’d seen him.
He’d gotten in the car and driven away. What was he gonna do, holler, ‘Joy! It’s me, Billy. Your husband’s finally come home...’ She'd just scream and have a heart attack and what did he need with some old woman...?
That was trouble with women. He’d stop in some town. Get a job. Maybe meet a girl. And next thing you know they’re getting broody and circling ads in the back of Motorcycle Monthly or Road Bike saying there’s big money in long distance hauling. Money enough to get married...
And then he’d met Mary-Sue. Just the thought of the wet nest between her thighs, made him want to bang his head on the steering wheel. And he’d kissed her boobs and whispered that he was going out for more beer and left her there sleeping. He was never going to find a woman like that again. Never! With luck, she’d never find him. Especially since most of her clothes were littering Rt. 23 between Lone Tree and Hastings—even that green t-shirt with ‘The Grand Tetons’ on it—that should slow her down some.
Off to the right of the highway, a faded billboard announced that the Right Reverend Jerry Hekheimer welcomed the Righteous to the Church of the Redeemer--3487 Pioneer St--It Is Promised You Will Live Forever in Christ. He pictured himself walking in, introducing himself and saying, ‘Too late Jer!’ But, Hey! it was a sign of civilization.
He reached for Mary-Sue’s pocketbook on the seat beside him, fumbled inside and pulled out the purple thong she’d been wearing the day they’d met. He took a deep appreciative sniff before tossing it out the window. Next was her billfold and, yes, there was more than enough to get the Falcon repaired, not to mention a bunch of credit cards. With several names on them. And a couple of driver’s licenses. From different states. Also with different names. He’d known a Cassandra, once.
God, she must be a pro. He knew he looked like he’d fallen off the turnip truck yesterday, but to try and tell him it was his destiny to kill some guy he’d never met? It was his 'fucking' destiny to stay out of jail! What had this 'Crow Nose' ever done to him?
Straight on ahead was Yakima. He’d get the car fixed and then, maybe, head north. Portland Seattle. Seacouver. Wasn’t likely he’d run into any other immortals in a city that big now, was it?