Hilario’s cholesterol drenched heart whimpered that it wanted to stop beating. He told it, forcefully, that wasn’t allowed. Though he certainly sympathized with its desire to give up.
Oh, oh, oh, oh dear.
What had he gotten into?
15
Detective Marco was suggesting Hilario and Rachel should check themselves into the nearest mental institution. Had been almost insisting on it as Hilario drove the van through the night quiet streets of the city.
Hilario, feeling peckish and irritated, suggested the detective should stop bathing in the musky cologne he wore. It might improve his thinking.
The the detective’s gun had gotten involved in the conversation. Before long accusations and insults were flying back and forth.
Larry and Rachel got involved and soon the van was filled with shouts and invective so bitter that storm clouds formed in the van.
Literally.
Hilario pulled the van over to the curb as thunder rumbled over his head.
Everyone quieted and stared at the roiling black clouds.
“This ain’t normal,” Detective Marco said. Once again proving what a brilliant detective he was.
Hilario caught his own thoughts and put a halt on them. This was being bad. Being bad was not good. Bad led to more bad. Which led to worse. And worse was just up the road from I don’t care. And I don’t care was kitty-corner from a reign of evil and everlasting heck on earth.
And it wasn’t going to be his fault. Not this time.
Lighting flashed within the miniature thunderclouds. Filled the van with stark, blue-white light for a moment. It left a photo image on his retinas. Detective Marco scrunched up on the floor of the van. His blocky frame cloaked in his dark overcoat. The lines of his face drawn and tense. Rachel behind him. Her round face turned up to the clouds. Her arms pulled tight around her body. And behind her, the pale face in the back window with two huge, glowing, round eyes.
Wait, what?
Hilario let out a yelp. Fumbled with the gear selector on the steering wheel.
Jerked it into drive. Stomped his foot on the gas pedal.
The engine rattled, then roared. The van shuddered and shook.
But didn’t move.
Oh super barnacle poop.
“What the fuck, clown?” Marco said.
Thunder rumbled in the clouds over them.
Poop, poop, poopity poop.
He applied the brakes and the engine returned to its normal rattle. He shifted the van into park and turned off the engine.
“What’s going on?” Marco said.
“I-a got-a bad-a feeling,” Larry said, “I-a tingling all-a over-a.”
Beside them the ghost of Larry shuddered and rubbed his hands over his insubstantial arms.
“Criminy, Larry,” Marco said, “We all know you here. Stop with the damned accent.”
Hilario glanced at the rearview mirror. The face was gone. Well, he couldn't see it. It was unlikely the entity attached to the face had left.
His gaze went to Rachel. In the pale glow from the streetlights outside, he could see her brows furrowed in concentration. Her eyes were closed. Her arms wrapped tight around her legs that she had pulled up in front of her. Like she was trying to disappear into herself.
Maybe she was.
Lightning flashed deep in the miniature clouds. Thunder rumbled.
“Fuck me,” the detective said, looking up at the clouds, “I gotta be in the hospital. Tripping on some bad drugs.”
“Me-a too-a,” Larry said.
Hilario held tight to the steering wheel. Maybe if he didn’t let go then she would go away.
Ha, ha. You so funny, clown.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen, was it?
But why was she here?
The passenger side door opened with a creak and a thunk.
Larry snapped his ghostly head about. Squeaked out a tiny scream.
“You!” Larry said.
“Move,” the Sapphire Witch said to Larry.
He flicked out of the seat. Was suddenly squatting on the floor beside Marco. They shared a commiserating look of dismay and barely submerged horror.
Hilario’s chest tightened. With luck it would be a heart attack and he could be done with this night.
Of course it wasn’t. It was just bladder threatening fear. Did Larry actually know her?
The Sapphire Witch, still bedecked in her long, black, brass buttoned coat and brass rimmed goggles, eased herself into the freshly unoccupied seat. Her motions were elegant and fluid. She pulled the edge of her coat over her legs.
The door closed by itself. With a sound that echoed like doom.
Thunder rumbled overhead. The scent of ozone tinged the air. Along with leather and spice. Something like nutmeg mixed with chilis.
Altogether it was more pleasant than Detective Marco’s musky cologne.
The Sapphire Witch turned her pale, goggled face to Hilario.
“Drive, clown,” she said.
Hilario reached for the key. The engine rattled to life before he could turn it. He suppressed a flash of anger. This was his van. No one should be messing with it but him.
Well, except for his lost, mechanically talented friend, Ted. But that was it.
He made himself smile at the Sapphire Witch’s expressionless face.
“Of, course, dear lady,” he said, “Is there a specific destination you wish me to drive to?”
“Would I be here if there wasn’t?” she said.
Hilario smiled. Waited for her to share her desired place.
She nodded toward the back of the van. “You must find this idiot’s delivery driver,” she said.
Hilario blinked. Blinked some more as his smile faded. His fingers tightened on the wheel as his heart started doing double time.
“Pardon, dear lady?” he said.
The Sapphire Witch sighed. “The delivery driver employed by the late Larry Sparrow, owner of the late Stung Sparrow. A restaurant I believe you are familiar with. Am I correct, silly clown?”
Hilario tried to make his smile come back. But it was fully drained and refused to give it another try.
“Yes, of course you
