He glared at me for a few seconds, then left. Terry came by, gave Lucy a cool look, me, too, took her order since she was the waitress, not Earl, and departed without a word.
“Thanks,” Lucy said. “I was so hungry. I’ve been on since eight without a break—well, a little one, like five minutes, just enough time to go to the bathroom then, wham, in come three truckers and mom and pop with four kids and two other couples and I’m scrambling again and Earl’s all grouchy, goin’ like hell back there and it’s hard to keep it all going—I mean, you’d know what it’s like if you ever waited tables, which I never did until like about three weeks ago. Less than three, actually, so it’s not like I’ve had a lot of experience or—”
I made a T with my hands. “Time out, kiddo. Take a breath.”
She took a fry instead, dipped it in ketchup, popped it in her mouth. Nice mouth, too. Even white teeth.
“Mortimer?” I said, backing her up to the moment she sat down and asked me to buy her lunch.
“Well, sure. That’s your name, right?”
Took me five seconds to say, “Mort.”
“Close enough.” She aimed a fry at my face. “Nice scars. Kinda sexy. You get them last year from that chick, what’s-’er-name, Winter?”
“Yep.”
She leaned closer. The tabletop pushed her boobs in a quarter inch, like the kind of solid rubber bumpers you’d find on a boat. “I followed it on TV—when you were finding all those heads. It was like a big soap opera, except it was real, which made it, I dunno, cool and weird and like that—don’t know why I got so interested, but there you go. I tracked it every day on the news, even when there wasn’t much happening, until you finally caught them—those two crazy women. Which made me glad, you catching them, but sad, too, sort of like getting to the end of an interesting novel. Then, you found that senator guy’s hand, got it in the mail or something, so there you were again, which was amazing. You should keep eating. It won’t take me long to finish up a toasted cheese. Earl will probably whip it up fast to get rid of me.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Recite the entire Gettysburg Address in one breath.”
“Good lungs?”
I glanced involuntarily at her pink top. Her eyes sparkled in amusement at me. In that waitress outfit she’d looked okay, nice little figure, but in her current getup she was something else, a hot little girl-child with a tight body that was singing an aria. Which, of course, was par since the night before I’d become a gumshoe. But maybe par wasn’t right this time; this girl was easily a birdie. Her breasts were a third the size of Shanna’s, but perfectly shaped, legs, too, and I consider myself an expert on both.
Her toasted cheese arrived with a solid thump. Terry might have tossed it over from the kitchen. Lucy kicked off a sandal and put a foot up on the seat, heel to her butt, hooked her left arm around her knee, which was almost up to her chin. She picked up a wedge of toasted cheese, took a bite, looked at me, and said, “So, cowboy—which way you headed? North or south?”
I paused with a chicken wing in my hand. “Cowboy?”
She shrugged. “I could call you stud. How’s that?”
“How about Mort?”
She shrugged again. “Little old-fashioned, but okay, I can get used to it.” She took another bite. “So. Which way?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Take me with you?”
“Not a snowball’s chance, girl.”
“Why not? I’ve got a good heart. I’m a nice person. You’ll see. Anyway, you have to take me with you.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“I dropped your fried chicken. If you hadn’t ordered it, I would still have a job. So there. And I just checked out of that motel, the Stargazer. Week’s rent was due tomorrow anyway, and now I don’t have a place to stay, so it’s time to move on.”
“Not with me.”
“Why not? I don’t have a car. I saw you on TV all the time. You’re harmless.”
Not sure I liked that. It bumped up against the noir image I was working on, especially after last year’s scars.
“Big problem,” I said. “Bigger than just big.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Your age, kiddo.”
“Really? How old you think I am?” She watched my face like a hawk eyeing a field mouse.
“Eighteen. If I’m lucky.”
“You’re not. But I am.”
“You are what?”
“Lucky. Got a quarter?”
“A quarter?”
“That’s money. A nickel would work, too. They’re metal, round, pretty much flat on both sides.”
Smart-ass little girl. I dug a nickel out of my jeans.
“Flip it,” Lucy said. “Don’t show it to me.”
I didn’t want to argue. I flipped the coin. Tails.
“Tails,” she said. “Do it again, nine more times.” I flipped the nickel, not showing it to her, and she called heads or tails another nine times. “How’d I do?” she asked when I was done.
“Nine out of ten.”
“See? Lucky.” She looked into my eyes as she poked another fry in her mouth. “So, which way we goin’? North or south?”
I studied her for a moment. Which was nice on the eyes, I have to admit, her in that tight pink top, generous mouth, big blue eyes, bright and dark blue, skin like cream. “South,” I said. “Not that it’ll make any difference to you.”
She smiled. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you’re probably only seventeen and that’s trouble I don’t need.”
Her eyes glowed. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Jesus Christ.
She picked up another French fry and gnawed it. “Okay, if it bothers you, I’m not seventeen.”
“Eighteen wouldn’t be much better.”
“Seriously? If I were eighteen I could marry you without my parents’ consent. That’s huge.”
I felt my eyes bulge. “Tell me you didn’t just say that.”
She shrugged. “Just stating a fact. Don’t get all hyper. You haven’t asked me yet—although, just so you know, I’d probably say yes.”
Would a heart attack qualify as hyper? “You’re something else, girl.”
“So I’ve been told.
