The Midnight Tour

She also felt like kicking the shit out of such parents, and hugging their kids.

It made her feel wonderful to see a family like this one.

I wouldn’t mind having kids like those, she thought.

You get the kids you deserve.

Or maybe none at all, if you don’t play your cards right or if you have bad luck.

“Found you,” Warren announced.

She turned and smiled at him.

He set a green plastic tray down on the table and slid it toward her. The Red-Hot Beastie Weenie and Beastly Chili Fries with cheese were in red plastic baskets lined with paper. There were two Creature Colas.

“Is one of those for you?” Dana asked.

“Yeah. Thought I’d take a little break. Windy’s holding down the fort.”

“If you can find a chair...”

“No sweat.” He hurried to a nearby table where a heavy, bearded man was sitting with a husky woman. They both wore black T-shirts, black leather trousers, and grim tattoos. They looked like outlaw bikers.

The table was big enough for four people, but nobody else sat there. One of the extra chairs had already been taken.

“Mind if I borrow this?” Warren asked the man.

“It’s a free country, Spike,” the fellow said, grinning and friendly. “Help yerself.”

“Thank you,” Warren said. He lifted the chair and hurried back to Dana’s table.

She grinned at him. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Spike.”

Laughing softly, he sat down. “I don’t even know the guy.”

“Maybe you remind him of someone.”

“An old pal from the cell block?”

They both laughed.

“That’s mean,” Dana told him. “He seemed like a perfectly nice guy.”

“Yeah, he did. He probably is a nice guy.” Warren reached out and took his soda off the tray. He set it in front of him.

As he tore the wrapper off his straw, he said, “That’s one thing about working here—you meet all kinds. Most of them turn out to be pretty friendly. Even the ones who look like Manson Family wannabes.”

“You’re pretty friendly,” Dana said.

He stabbed the straw through the crossed slots in the plastic lid. “No good reason not to be,” he said. He slid the straw down deeper. It rubbed the edges of the cross and made squawking noises. “So, you’re from Los Angels?”

“Afraid so.”

“Why do you say that?” Keeping his eyes on Dana, he sucked some soda up his straw.

“You know,” she said. “Los Angeles. Disaster City, U.S.A. Riots, earthquakes, shootouts, mudslides, fires. It’s embarrassing to be from a place like that.”

Nodding, Warren gazed at her and sipped more cola.

She used both hands to pick up her Red-Hot Beastie Weenie. It was darkly grilled, at least two inches longer than its bun, and looked delicious. The aromas of the spicy hot dog, onion and tangy yellow mustard made her mouth fill with saliva.

Though she wanted to take a big bite out of it, she went on talking. “Whenever I’m on a trip and tell people I’m from L.A., I get these weird looks. Like there must be something wrong with me, living in a place like that.”

Warren took his mouth away from the straw. “You won’t get any weird looks from me.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” She smiled at him and bit a crusty end off her wiener.

As she began to chew, Warren said, “I’m from the People’s Republic of Santa Monica.”

Her jaw dropped. But she shut it quickly, chewed and grinned. After swallowing some of the food, she blurted, “That’s even worse!” and was delighted that no bits of semi-masticated frankfurter flew from her mouth.

Warren laughed and shook his head. “You’re telling me. It’s a real embarrassment.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks,” he said. “So where-abouts do you live?”

“Over near Rancho Park. How about you?”

“Well, I grew up in a house on Euclid.”

Dana grinned at him and said, “I like to call it Thirteenth Street.”

He laughed. “That’s so stupid!” he blurted.

“Me?”

“Them. It used to drive me nuts. Changing a street’s name so it won’t be Thirteenth? I mean, it’s smack dab between Twelfth and Fourteenth, what the hell do people think it is? Everybody knows it’s Thirteenth Street!”

“Right! Isn’t it nuts? Like skipping the thirteenth floor in a high-rise!”

“Exactly.”

“Not that I’m superstitious or anything,” Dana said.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“But let’s get real.” What’s the matter with me? I’m running off at the mouth like a nincompoop! “It’s not the fourteenth floor, it’s the thirteenth floor. So, you’re, what, avoiding all the bad-luck baggage of thirteen by not calling it that?”

“It’s bull,” Warren said.

“Total bull. Thirteen, shmirteen.”

“People gotta get a life.”

Nodding briskly, Dana took another bite of her Red-Hot Beastie Weenie. Then she shrugged and tried to smile.

“Anyway,” Warren continued. “Let’s see.” He sucked some soda up his straw and swallowed. Then he raised his head, nodded slightly, and said, “I got a little carried away.”

“Me, too.”

“anyway, I grew up on Euclid...”

“Thirteenth Street,” Dana said through her mouthful.

A grin split his face. “Cut it out, Dana.”

“So sony.”

“Anyway, now I live here.”

“In Beast House?”

“Sure.”

“Where?” she asked, and finished swallowing.

“Over across the street. I’ve got a little cabin in the woods over there.”

“Neat!”

“It’s not bad.”

“So you live in town permanently?”

“So far.”

“How did you end up here?”

“Oh, my Lord, I’ve ended up.”

“You know what I mean,” Dana said.

“Yeah. But you may think I’m a little nuts.”

“There are worse things.”

“I just...You’ve heard of the call of the wild, haven’t you? Well, I suffer from the call of the Beast.”