The Midnight Tour (65 page)

“Don’t let her rattle you,” the bartender said.

“Huh?”

“She’s just trying to shake your cage.”

“
She?
”

“Her.”

Owen glanced over his shoulder at Darke. “Her? That’s not a woman. Is it?”

“You better believe it, sonny.”

He found the idea strangely exciting. “How do you know?”

The bartender winked and said, “Oh, nothing much gets past
me
. So, what’ll you have?”

“A white wine and a vodka tonic.”

“Comin’ right up.” As he prepared the drinks, he asked, “A squeeze of lime in the vodka tonic?”

“Sure. Thanks. Are you absolutely
sure
that was a woman.”

“Not only was, still is.”

Owen chuckled nervously and shook his head. He paid for the drinks, leaving the bartender a large tip. Then he picked up the glasses and turned around.

He saw Darke standing with Vein.

Is it possible?

The bartender was probably just pulling my chain, he told himself, and looked for Dana. He spotted her striding toward the barbecue grills...toward the one in particular where her loverboy was busy turning hamburgers.

She wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Isn’t she cold? Owen wondered.

He thought about offering his windbreaker to her.

Oh, Monica would love that.

He stared at the way Dana’s rump moved inside the seat of her shorts as she walked.

Catching loverboy’s eye, she raised an arm in greeting.

Owen looked away.

And found Monica staring at him. He forced himself to smile.

Approaching her, he kept the smile on his face.

Why the hell did she come back? Doesn’t she know when she’s not wanted?

Ha! That’s a good one.

He stopped in front of Monica and gave her the glass of wine.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, her voice lilting.

“You’re welcome.”

“You don’t seem very happy that I’m here.”

“Why
are
you here?”

She sipped some wine, then smiled. “Did you really think I’d let you get away?”

“Monica...”

“You never had me fooled,” she said. “I knew
exactly
where you’d gone. Back here to Beast House and your precious slut.”

“Don’t talk about her that way.”

“I’ll talk about her any way I like.” Monica looked toward Dana and glared at her. “The overgrown bitch. I can’t imagine what you see in her.”

“I didn’t leave because of her. I left because of
you
.”

“As if.”

“It’s true.”

“You
loved
me till she came along.”

Let’s change the subject fast, he thought. And said, “So how did you get here? Take the bus, or...?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Do you think I’d put myself through
that
again?”

“What did you do?”

“Rented a car.”

“When was that?” Owen asked. Suddenly, he was afraid to hear the answer.

What if she’s been here all along? Watching me. Following me. Maybe SHE was the one in the bushes last night... did something to John so she could get his ticket.

No, that’s ridiculous.

“Oh, I’ve been here for a while,” she said. With a benign smile, she added, “As a matter of fact, honey, you and I have adjoining rooms.”

“
What?
”

“At the Welcome Inn.”

Monica made the mystery call!

Though still shocked and disoriented, Owen felt a small measure of relief. The ringing phone had shaken him awake at about a quarter till four this afternoon. If Monica had come into town earlier, she would’ve called sooner.

“You’re the one who phoned?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Ahhh.”

Owen took a few swallows of his drink, enjoying its taste.
She got into town this afternoon—had nothing to do with John or the creep in the bushes or anything else that happened yesterday.

Probably.

“You were in your room all by yourself,” Monica told him, looking very pleased with herself. “I knew you must be missing me, so I phoned to invite you over for a little lovey-dovey.” Taking a drink of wine, she stared at him over the rim of her glass. “I was sprawled on the bed, all decked out in my birthday suit. I’d already opened my side of the connecting door. When you picked up the phone, I planned to say, ‘Come and get it, big fella.’ But then I heard your voice and realized that you didn’t deserve me. Not after what you’d done. I don’t put out for naughtly little boys who run away from me. So I hung up.”

“What a shame,” Owen said.

“You’ll have to
earn
your way back.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh yes, you are. Can’t fool Monica. I know you want me. You
always
want me. You’re so predicatable.” Stepping closer to him, she pressed her open hand against the front of his trousers.

Owen took a quick step backward.

Raising her upper lip, Monica growled softly.

“Stop that.”

She smiled. “You want me right now.”

“Right now, I want a hamburger.”

He turned and walked away, but Monica stayed by his side like a perky, vengeful shadow.

How am I
ever
going to get rid of her? he wondered.

He felt trapped, crushed.

No matter what, tonight’s ruined. She’ll make sure of that.

Owen sipped his drink, nodded and smiled at some of the other Midnight Tourists as he made his way toward the barbeque grills. There were three grills. On one, hamburgers sizzled.

Dana was manning it with her loverboy. Sirloin steaks were being prepared on the second grill by the chubby, shy guide named Rhonda. The third grill held a combination of hot dogs and Polish sausages. Behind it, turning the food with tongs, was a young brunette who didn’t look familiar to Owen.

“Over here,” Monica said, and headed for the third grill.

“I thought I’d have a hamburger.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know how much you love Polish sausage.”

“I like hamburgers, too.”

“You just want to flirt with your slut. Besides, look at her. She already
has
a boyfriend, and he’s a lot more handsome than you. She won’t give you the time of day. Now, come on. You
know
you’d rather eat Polish sausage.”

I’ll get a burger later, Owen told himself.

He followed Monica to the third grill.

“May I help you please?” the worker asked. Like the others, she wore the tan uniform of a Beast House guide. Owen guessed she was no older than twenty. She had short brown hair and large, nervous eyes. Her nameplate read, WINDY.

“We’ll have two Polish sausages with the works,” Monica told her.

“Are you a guide?” Owen asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I work at the snack stand,” she said, smiling a little.

“I thought be did,” Owen said, and nodded toward loverboy.

“Warren? He owns it. I help out part time at the windows. I served your lunch yesterday.”

“Really?”

“You and your friend.”

Holy shit!

“Ah,” Owen said. He smiled and nodded as if nothing had gone wrong. “That’s right. I remember you now.”

Windy turned away to finish preparing the sandwiches.

“What friend?” Monica asked.

“Just some guy I met.”

“Guy. I’m sure.”

Windy came back with two paper plates. On each was a Polish sausage in a long roll. They were gloppy with yellow mustard, onions and peppers. Steam rose off the grilled sausages as she handed the plates to Monica and Owen.

“Enjoy them,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

“Thank you, Windy,” Owen said.

“You’re an absolute treasure,” Monica said.

Windy’s smile slipped crooked.

Owen cringed.

As he hurried away, Monica kept pace beside him and said, “So, Owie, tell me more about your mysterious friend.”

“It was a guy.”

“Mmm. I’m sure.”

“If you don’t believe me, go back and ask Windy.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I believe you. If you say your friend was a guy, your friend was a guy.”

He hurried to the nearest picnic table. A few people were already there, but one of the side benches had room for two. “Mind if we join you?” he asked.

“Sit, dude,”

“You, too, dudette.”

They climbed over the bench, placed their plates and glasses on the table cloth, and sat down.

“Hi,” Owen said. “I’m Owen and this is Monica.”

“Dude. I’m Dennis.”

“I’m Arnold.”

“We’re A.A. and D.D.”

“Nice to meet you, guys.”

Monica, ignoring them, took a drink of wine.

“Dr. Clive Bixby, here!” proclaimed Jungle Jim. He waved from the other end of the table, then bit into a hamburger.

Ignoring it all, Monica set down her glass. She turned her head toward Owen, smiled with mocking sweetness, and said, “So, what was your friend’s name?”

“John.”

“What an unusual name.”

“It is?”

“For a girl. And how was she in bed?”

“John was a guy.”

“So you say.”

He stared into Monica’s eyes. In them, he saw cold, amused contempt.

He picked up his icy glass in one hand, his Polish sausage sandwich in the other, stood up and climbed off the bench. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Where’re you going now?”

“Just stay here.”

He rushed away. After a few seconds, he glanced back.

Monica was twisted around on the bench, watching him but still seated.

Fucking bitch, ruins everything!

She was still on the bench when he reached the corner of Beast House.

He hurried to the rear patio area and entered the men’s restroom.

It was well lighted, clean-smelling, and it seemed to be deserted. It had five stalls. He entered the one in the middle. The toilet seat looked clean. He locked the stall door, then sat down.

And drank his drink.

And ate his Polish sausage sandwich.

And struggled to keep from crying.

After a while, Owen began to feel better. The vodka tonic had warmed him up inside, calmed him down—and the sausage had tasted awfully good.

He looked at his wristwatch.

8:40

The movie wouldn’t be starting for another hour and twenty minutes.

I oughta just wait here, he thought. Let Monica enjoy her
own
company till ten, see how she likes it.

But I’ll miss the whole picnic.

I want another drank. I want a cheeseburger. I want to be where I can at least look at Dana every once in a while.

He suddenly imagined John Cromwell chuckling, shaking his head and saying
“What’s the matter with you, buddy? Hiding in the john ‘cause you’re scared of that smirky twat? Fuck it, man. Go out and have a good time. She gives you any trouble, stomp her ass.”

Owen smiled. Right on, he thought.

Then he heard the restroom door swing open.

Shit!

He heard footfalls on the tile floor. Someone took two or three steps, then stopped. The door bumped shut.

Silence.

More silence.

Is it Monica? Would she really dare come into a men’sjohn?

It didn’t seem likely...but she might.

Why is she just
standing
there? he wondered.

He didn’t like that.

“Helllowwww, Owennnn!” Not Monica’s voice.

“Youuu-whoooo.” A second voice. Also, not Monica’s.

One sounded like a female voice, but the other...sounded like Darke.

It’s them.

Vein and Darke.

Oh my God!

“We know you’re here,” Vein said.

“Are you trying to hide from us?” asked Darke.

“I’m not hiding,” Owen said. “I’m having...a little stomach trouble.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” sang Darke.

“We know why you’re here,” said Vein.

“She isn’t coming,” Darke said.

“Nobody is.”

“We’re all alone.”

“Just the three of us.”

Trying to keep the worry out of his voice, Owen said, “Uhhh.... This is a
men’s
restroom, you know.”

“Woops,” said Vein. “Are you going to report us?”

“No, but...”

Footsteps.

Here they come!

“I’ll be done in just a minute,” Owen said. “Why don’t we meet outside, or something?”

“This is such a nice, private place,” Vein said.

The door of the stall to Owen’s left squeaked open. Footsteps strolled past his bolted door. A second later, the stall door to his right swung open.

What’re they doing?

They won’t try anything...

He tipped back his head.

Vein on the left and Darke on the right grinned down at Owen from the top of the stall partitions. He supposed they must be standing on the toilets.

“There you are,” said Darke.

“Such a modest boy,” said Vein. “Takes a crap with his pants up.”

Blushing fiercely, he said, “I just came in here for some peace and quiet.” He stood up. He shifted his empty glass to his left hand. With his right, he snapped the bolt clear. “You can have the place to yourselves, now.” He pulled the stall door open. Stepping out, he said, “I’d better be getting back to the picnic.”