For some reason this struck the sergeant as insanely funny. When he finally stopped laughing he could only shake his head weakly at the memory of it. After wiping his eyes he held the filter up to the sun. He kept it there, studying it intently, until Frank started to worry for him.
“Better watch it.”
“No sweat. Light doesn’t bother me.” He lowered the cylinder, rolled it between his fingers. “This is your problem, all right. Clogged.”
Frank nodded. “Thought it might be. Old fart down the road apiece sold me some bad gas.”
“Tall, skinny, ugly son of a bitch?”
“You know him?” That was a stupid question, Frank thought. Of course he’d know him. Anyone working this piece of highway would know every full-time and semipermanent inhabitant within a dozen miles, probably by name.
He wondered if the sergeant would know anything about intelligent rat-things.
“Tell me something. How’d he ever get an off ramp put in out there? It doesn’t show on the map.” He took back the fuel filter, examined it himself.
“Guess he’s got some pull,” the sergeant theorized.
Frank put the filter to his mouth and blew. A few bits of road grime flew out the other end. Embarrassed, he took a deep breath and blew harder. More grime was expelled, but the filter was far from cleared.
“Really bad gas,” he murmured, breathing hard.
“We’ve had plenty of complaints about that guy. I guess you can’t blame him. Most of the business goes straight into town. He has to work for everything he gets. Here, let me have a go.” Frank passed the cylinder over, curious to see what the patrolman could do. He wasn’t particularly big, and if he possessed unusual reserves of lung power they weren’t visible from the outside.
Lung power didn’t enter into it. To Frank’s shock the sergeant put the cylinder to his lips and inhaled. He kept sucking until a stunned Frank thought the man’s face was going to collapse in on itself. Only then did he remove the cylinder from his mouth and smile hugely.
Even then Frank didn’t suspect something was seriously wrong until the sergeant sniffed appreciatively—and swallowed.
“Here.” The patrolman extended the hand holding the now perfectly transparent filter. When Frank made no move to take it, the man added, “You’ll need this back.”
“Yeah. Yeah, right.” Not knowing what else to do, his thoughts churning furiously, Frank gingerly took the cylinder and moved to reinsert it on the fuel line. “What—what did you do with all that gunk? You didn’t really swallow it, did you?”
“Sure! You don’t think I’m going to waste it, do you? That old stuff may not be so good for your engine’s digestion, but when it’s aged like that it acquires a real tang.” He licked his lips approvingly. “Premium unleaded. Wasn’t sure I’d like the stuff when they started switching everything over. Turned out to be an improvement. Taking out the lead changed the flavor, but this way you get more of the original hydrocarbon essence. Not to mention the additional distilling it’s undergone.” He threw back his head and roared anew, this time producing not only rich, deep laughter but a gout of blue flame pure enough to have issued from the nozzle of an acetylene torch. It shot four feet into the air. Frank felt the heat of it keenly.
As laughter and fire faded, the sergeant removed his silver sunshades and Frank saw his eyes for the first time. Vertical pupils set in irises of intense yellow. Cat’s eyes. He wanted to scream, dared not.
A finger dug road grit from one eye, then the glasses were slipped back in place. “I’m no connoisseur.” As Frank fought to still his trembling hands, the otherwordly officer methodically checked the positioning of the filter. “Can’t afford the really good stuff. Racing fuel, top octane. Nice to sneak a swig now and then. Keeps you alert and on your claws. Of course, we’re not supposed to drink on duty, but a quick shot now and then’s not going to upset anybody’s applecart, right?” Frank nodded numbly.
“Besides, back at the station they really don’t know what the hell’s going on out on the road. All they know is what they read in our reports. They’ve got enough vices to deal with at the Entrance without worrying about the staff’s. That’s one of the compensations of this assignment. You have some privacy.” He coughed and blue flame exploded in a narrow stream from his lips. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glanced at the surrounding desert and said conversationally, “Starting to warm up again. First time in months it’s been comfortable out here.”
Frank retreated as inconspicuously as possible. “Thanks for the help.”
“Hey, no problem. That’s what we’re here for.”
Both turned as the patrol cruiser sidled up next to them, out in the slow lane. A tall, much younger officer partly rose from his seat on the driver’s side to shout over the top of the car. Frank couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought the younger patrolman’s eyes looked normal.
“Hey, Jack!”
“What’s up, Joe?”
The younger officer glanced briefly at Frank. “Seems we’ve got a problem here.”
“Problem?” The sergeant turned apologetically. “Excuse me a minute.”
“Sure thing.”
As the sergeant moved to check with his partner, Frank hurriedly re-entered the motor home. Panting hard, he locked the door behind him.
Alicia was staring at him. “What is it? What’s wrong now?”
Without replying he threw himself into the driver’s chair and started the engine. It spat a few times, clearing the last of the bad gas from the fuel line, before turning over.
“Nothing,” he told her, grim-faced. “It’s nothing.”
She moved up next to him. “Don’t give me that, Frank. I know you better.”
A tapping on the driver’s window made Frank jump in the seat. The sergeant was standing outside, his voice barely audible through the glass. He made rolling-down motions with one hand. Trying to stay calm, Frank nudged the power window control, lowering the small vent window.
“Something the matter, officer?”
To Frank’s surprise, the inhuman sergeant appeared uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come into the station, sir.”
“Why? What’ve we done wrong?” Once the motor home was up to speed Frank had no intention of slowing down or stopping at any station, no matter how many guns or what kinds of allies the officer produced. But motionless as they were, stuck off on the paved shoulder, they were vulnerable.
“I don’t know that you’ve done anything wrong, traveler. But there’s an irregularity. Nobody’s sure about it, but we ran a computer check and your license and vehicle aren’t in there.”
“Then somebody’s not checking the right place. We rented this outfit in Torrance. I can give you the name of the rental outfit, the salesman who turned it over to us, and any other identification you need. If there’s some problem with the plates that’s the rental company’s concern, not mine.”
“It’s nothing like that.” The thing tipped its cap back on its head. “But I’m still going to have to ask you to follow us in.”
