“If they are arms and legs.” He eyed their compliant passenger. “I admit that’s what they look like, but we can’t be sure. I’ve never tried to take him out of that suit. Fact is, I ain’t so sure that’d be a good idea.”
“Taking him out of his suit?”
“No. Trying to.”
“Why not? At least you’d learn something about his anatomy.”
“Caroline, I don’t think the suit would let me.”
“I see.” She grew quiet. Something with bright eyes materialized briefly in their headlights before vanishing, unidentified, into the night.
“Those strips and pieces of metal and porcelain that look that they’re part of the suit? Sometimes they glow, and even hum softly. I’ve seen light pass right through them.”
She considered. “So like, the suit’s more valuable than its owner?”
“Maybe. In any case, I’m not about to try and cut him out of it. In addition to defending him, it may also be the only thing that’s keeping his body from disintegrating.
“So now you know about me, and about Jed. It’s your turn, Caroline. Tell me about you.”
“Me? I’ve been in Safford going on four months.”
“And before that?”
“Tulsa. Left a good job there, mediocre home, bad husband. Number two. Just decided to work my way west. Unlike you, I don’t have this killer desire to see the ocean, but I’ve heard that San Diego’s pretty, not as overwhelming as L.A., and a good place to look for work.”
“We can head that direction,” he told her. “It’s all the same ocean. There is one thing I’m curious about, though.”
“What’s that?” She kept her attention on the meandering dirt track.
“You’ve accepted me and my story without a lot of fuss. If I was eating supper and noticed that the police and the military were after you, I’m not so sure I would’ve picked you up.”
“Sure you would have. I’m much prettier than you.” Her tone turned earnest. “Look, Ross Ed, I’m not doing this because I buy your story completely, although if that’s a fake dead alien it’s a mighty good one. I’m doing this because I took a liking to you. Like I said before, I know people. I saw how you treated that poor old waitress, and I watched your face in the dessert-cabinet mirrors. You’ve got a real good nature. Good-natured men are hard to find. Believe me, I know. They tend to be quiet and reserved and don’t announce themselves, which makes it hard for us gals to find them. Me, I’ve been looking for a good-natured guy for quite a while.”
“You don’t know me,” he replied. “I’m told I can be pretty disagreeable when riled.”
“That’s all right. I’d rather be around a good-natured man who throws an occasional tantrum than someone like my last husband, who was always angry and threw an occasional smile. If it comes with the rest of the portfolio, you can even be a little crazy.” She smiled across at him.
“See, I’m just your average gullible gal, Ross Ed. We automatically go for the guys who are dead wrong for us. Something in our makeup. A malfunctioning gene that leads to malfunctioning jeans.”
“You helped me out of a tight spot. I’ll try to be as nice as I can.”
Reaching over, she patted his leg just above the knee. “I don’t think it’ll take much of an effort for you, Ross Ed. I think niceness comes natural to you.”
She patted him just the way he would have patted a dog. Except that he wasn’t a dog and she hadn’t patted him on the head, although that might have something to do with her inability to reach it.
Not only did their remaining gas last through the night, they still had some showing on the gauge when they finally pulled into the sleepy outskirts of Show Low. Nevertheless, both expressed silent gratitude to the manifold deities of Detroit when the convenience store and its welcoming pumps hove into view.
Situated high in the eastern Arizona mountains, Show Low was a gateway to fishing and camping territory, much of which they had just passed through. In addition to gas, the attached country store sold everything from refrigerated bait to hand-tied flies to butane capsules for camp stoves.
While Caroline filled the van, Ross Ed did some cursory shopping. He missed the steel strongbox under the passenger seat of the Cadillac, but enough bills remained in his wallet to keep him from feeling like a freeloader. Though sleeping bags lined a high shelf, he ignored them. The van was tight and warm and the carpeted floor bed enough.
The fiftyish owner answered Ross’s questions readily and with interest while his wife stacked cans of tuna and sardines on a shelf. When Caroline called out that the tank was full, the amiable gray-haired gentleman stepped outside to check the air in their tires.
While working on the front, he happened to pass the open door on the driver’s side, which Caroline had left open to allow the van to air out For just an instant he had a clear view of the interior—cabinets, storage racks, carpet, living supplies, dead alien. Then he moved on to the last tire.
“All up to thirty-three psi.” He let the retractable black air hose slink, snakelike, back into its hole. “Eighteen and a haif gallons of unleaded.” A hand extended in Ross Ed’s direction. “Cash or credit?”
“Cash.” Before Caroline could protest, Ross handed over a ten and a twenty. Despite her protests, he’d pay his share as long as he could.
“Thanks, son. I’ll have your change in a jiffy.” The owner jerked a thumb back at the van. “Nice-lookin’ dead alien you’ve got there.”
Ross Ed blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Pivoting, the older man walked back to the van and raised up on tiptoes to peer through the passenger-side window. Not knowing what to do. Ross Ed did nothing. Out on the street in plain sight he couldn’t very well tackle the man and drag him away.
“Yep, that’s a dead alien, all right.” Resuming a normal footing, the store owner turned back to the tall Texan. “Not the way I’d have pictured one, though.”
Caroline moved to insert herself between the man and the van. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister. That’s my son’s toy. One of the villains from the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. Don’t you watch TV?”
“Not that show,” the man replied. “Mostly Ted Koppel and Louie Rukeyser.” Raising his voice, he shouted toward the store. “Hey, Martha, they got a dead alien out here!”
Glancing around nervously, Ross Ed made quieting motions with both hands. “Please, could you keep your voice down?” Other cars were pulling in and out of the station, most making use of the self-pay feature on the pumps.
“Why?” The oldster was grinning through his neatly trimmed spade beard. “Afraid some kid’ll try and steal her son’s toy?”
Before Ross could comment, Caroline spoke up resignedly. “Okay, mister, you got us dead to rights. It’s a dead alien. See, we’re pan of a crew that’s been shooting a low-budget sci-fi flick down near Fort Apache. Frank and I, we were extras. They finished with us yesterday. My boyfriend there”—and Ross Ed started slightly at this—“was hired to play one of the ravenous invading aliens. ’Cause of his size, see?” She looked back at the van.
“When moviemakers finish with props they don’t need anymore, they just dump a lot of them, and I thought the little alien would be a good one to take to my kid. Pretty neat looking, isn’t it?”
