With hindsight, that was a pretty dumb question. There was plenty about to go wrong.
I was about three-quarters of the way through the salt-marsh, when I hand-braked a left turn off the levee and skidded to a slushy halt in front of Rodney’s Rubber Worx (It Does!). I grabbed the comatose Boothe and threw him over my shoulder before wading through the mud to Rodney’s office door. Through the corrugated iron I could hear the strains of “Lost Without Your Love” booming. Growling, I booted the door open and stormed in.
‘Aiee!’ shrieked Rodney. Then, ‘quick: shut the door!’
I complied, then dumped Boothe onto the pile of beanbags. Turning to the record-player, I turned the volume knob right down, all the way.
‘Oh,’ said Rodney, blinking in the sudden silence, ‘it’s you. I thought you were someone coming to kill me…’
I fired him a pained look. ‘And so you asked me to shut the door first?’
He looked at his hands. In one he held the record sleeve clutched against his chest; in the other was the mother-lode doobie I’d seen him concoct earlier that evening.
‘Well, it’s gnarly weed,’ he explained; ‘couldn’t let it go to waste.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Quick,’ I said, ‘give me a hand with Boothe.’
Instead, he looked at the door. ‘Where’s Winston?’ he said, ‘I mean, you guys’ve only been gone a few minutes…’
‘Never mind Winston,’ I growled, ‘help me with Boothe…’
I dragged the kid into an upright position and gave him a quick shake. His head just lolled around on its stalk, his lank black hair flopping wildly.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ wheezed Rodney through a mouthful of smoke.
‘He saw something that freaked him out,’ I explained.
‘Something like what?’
I looked at Rodney – he was squinty from the sting of his exhalation. I decided to soft-pedal things.
‘It was a bright light.’ I patted Boothe’s cheeks hoping to snap him out of it.
‘Wait – a bright light?’
‘Yep,’ I said, ‘kinda shiny.’
‘And was there music?’ Rodney was interested now, crouching beside me and shaking Boothe by the shoulder.
‘Music?’ I had lost the thread.
‘Yeah. You know: bah-bah, bah-bah, BWAH!’
My temper was slipping. ‘There was no music, Rodney; just some guys with guns.’
He stood up shakily. ‘Not a close encounter then,’ he said, ‘not even of the first kind…’
‘Moving gate!’ Boothe suddenly returned to life, sitting bolt upright with staring eyes. ‘It’s impossible! Benson! You saw the one I made – it can’t happen. If that guy has a gate inside him, he should be cutting himself to ribbons each time he tries to move!’
‘Easy, Boothe,’ I soothed, ‘we don’t know exactly what this is yet…’
He scrambled to his feet, fighting the bean-bags.
‘We have to find out,’ he said, ‘this could change everything…!’
‘Have a beer,’ said Rodney thrusting an opened bottle at the kid, ‘you need to chill out…’
Boothe grabbed the brewski and chugged hard.
‘Bottle baby,’ Rodney sniffed, ‘I can always pick ‘em…’
When Boothe came up for air I grabbed his attention:
‘So: back to the Gilman House?’
He nodded his agreement so I hauled him upright from the cushions and we headed for the door.
‘Love me and leave me, huh?’ Rodney complained in the background.
‘Sorry Rodney,’ I answered, ‘bigger fish to fry.’
‘Well, just…’ he began, but I cut him off.
‘I know – I’ll shut the door quickly behind us.’
I was about three-quarters of the way through the salt-marsh, when I hand-braked a left turn off the levee and skidded to a slushy halt in front of Rodney’s Rubber Worx (It Does!). I grabbed the comatose Boothe and threw him over my shoulder before wading through the mud to Rodney’s office door. Through the corrugated iron I could hear the strains of “Lost Without Your Love” booming. Growling, I booted the door open and stormed in.
‘Aiee!’ shrieked Rodney. Then, ‘quick: shut the door!’
I complied, then dumped Boothe onto the pile of beanbags. Turning to the record-player, I turned the volume knob right down, all the way.
‘Oh,’ said Rodney, blinking in the sudden silence, ‘it’s you. I thought you were someone coming to kill me…’
I fired him a pained look. ‘And so you asked me to shut the door first?’
He looked at his hands. In one he held the record sleeve clutched against his chest; in the other was the mother-lode doobie I’d seen him concoct earlier that evening.
‘Well, it’s gnarly weed,’ he explained; ‘couldn’t let it go to waste.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Quick,’ I said, ‘give me a hand with Boothe.’
Instead, he looked at the door. ‘Where’s Winston?’ he said, ‘I mean, you guys’ve only been gone a few minutes…’
‘Never mind Winston,’ I growled, ‘help me with Boothe…’
I dragged the kid into an upright position and gave him a quick shake. His head just lolled around on its stalk, his lank black hair flopping wildly.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ wheezed Rodney through a mouthful of smoke.
‘He saw something that freaked him out,’ I explained.
‘Something like what?’
I looked at Rodney – he was squinty from the sting of his exhalation. I decided to soft-pedal things.
‘It was a bright light.’ I patted Boothe’s cheeks hoping to snap him out of it.
‘Wait – a bright light?’
‘Yep,’ I said, ‘kinda shiny.’
‘And was there music?’ Rodney was interested now, crouching beside me and shaking Boothe by the shoulder.
‘Music?’ I had lost the thread.
‘Yeah. You know: bah-bah, bah-bah, BWAH!’
My temper was slipping. ‘There was no music, Rodney; just some guys with guns.’
He stood up shakily. ‘Not a close encounter then,’ he said, ‘not even of the first kind…’
‘Moving gate!’ Boothe suddenly returned to life, sitting bolt upright with staring eyes. ‘It’s impossible! Benson! You saw the one I made – it can’t happen. If that guy has a gate inside him, he should be cutting himself to ribbons each time he tries to move!’
‘Easy, Boothe,’ I soothed, ‘we don’t know exactly what this is yet…’
He scrambled to his feet, fighting the bean-bags.
‘We have to find out,’ he said, ‘this could change everything…!’
‘Have a beer,’ said Rodney thrusting an opened bottle at the kid, ‘you need to chill out…’
Boothe grabbed the brewski and chugged hard.
‘Bottle baby,’ Rodney sniffed, ‘I can always pick ‘em…’
When Boothe came up for air I grabbed his attention:
‘So: back to the Gilman House?’
He nodded his agreement so I hauled him upright from the cushions and we headed for the door.
‘Love me and leave me, huh?’ Rodney complained in the background.
‘Sorry Rodney,’ I answered, ‘bigger fish to fry.’
‘Well, just…’ he began, but I cut him off.
‘I know – I’ll shut the door quickly behind us.’
*****
To Be Continued...
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