Going Bovine

Page 92

Proof. The MP7 player in my pocket.
“You want proof? You got it.” I pull it out, find the link, and press Play. But where Dr. X used to be is just white noise, followed by the vacation footage of Disney World. Gonzo makes a disgusted laugh deep in his throat. Even Balder’s looking at me with a mix of wariness and pity.
“It was here. I swear it.” I press Play again and again, but it’s gone.
Gonzo’s gaze is steely. “I didn’t have to come, but I did. But you told me there was something in it for me, too, and so far, amigo, I got a lot of trouble and no payoff. Tell me why I should stick this out.”
“Because Cameron is our brother, our friend, and we do not abandon our friends,” Balder chides.
“Thanks, man,” I say.
“No matter if he has lost his wits completely and speaks like one whom the dogs should tear asunder in a mercy killing,” Balder continues. “This is a quest. I pledged my loyalty to Cameron back on the cul-de-sac. I shall see it through till the end.”
The way he says “end” makes me feel all wonky inside.
Gonzo just stands there, staring at the burning diner in the distance. He has every right to call his mom and head back to Texas, but I hope he won’t. The truth is, I’ve kind of gotten used to his neurotic weirdness, and I’d miss it if he left. Maybe that’s what real friendship is—getting so used to people that you need to be annoyed by them.
“I’ll tell you what, pendejo,” Gonzo says. “We better invest in some adult diapers, ’cause if those freaks show up again, I’m gonna need ’em.”
I could almost hug him.
“Yeah, so, you know, let’s kick some parallel-universe dark-energy ass and shit,” he adds, trying not to look scared.
“A wise choice. But we must gain some protection against these travelers from Muspelheim and Niflheim. I shall cast the runes and seek their prophecy.” Balder reaches beneath his tunic and pulls out the leather pouch.
Gonzo makes a face. “Dude, you weren’t, like, keeping those in your pants this whole time, were you? I mean, use a wipe or something first. Damn.”
Balder shakes the pouch till it clacks. Eyes closed, he grabs a rune, places it on the patchy ground. It’s just a piece of rock etched with a symbol that reminds me of an “M” wearing a bra.
“Hmmmm.” Balder strokes his beard. “Mannaz.”
“What’s that?” Gonzo says, his inhaler hovering near his mouth again. “Is that some bad juju? Are we marked for death? Give it to me straight, Gnome-Man!”
“Man is the augmentation of the dust,” Balder intones. “So says the rune.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Gonzo asks.
“I cannot know, but I will invoke a prayer of protection for our journey. It is all I can do.”
Balder chants something in a language I don’t understand. The wind changes direction, bringing the smell of scorched earth mixed with spring flowers. Ragged streaks of smoke cut across the blue sky like the claw marks of some great beast. I don’t see how we can possibly protect ourselves from something so totally random. There’s no plan for something like that. “Shit happens” is more than just a T-shirt slogan.
“So … you think that’ll help us out?” I ask hopefully.
Balder gathers his runes, hides the pouch again. “I believe as surely as I believe that Ringhorn is waiting for me and that I shall return to my home and the hall of the gods.”
I sigh. “Your runes have any prophecy about how we get out of here?”
“I can’t do another bus, dude. I’m nauseated just thinking about it,” Gonzo says.
“Yeah, well, since we are currently wanted men, I think buses are a bad idea.” I take a look around, trying to get our bearings, but there’s not much help—highways, faceless industrial complexes, gas stations. A green and white road marker points the way to Bifrost Road under the overpass. “Gonzo, how much money do you have?”
He pulls out wads of crumpled bills he collected from the patrons of the Konstant Kettle and adds them to what he’s got in his pocket. “Forty-eight dollars and … twenty-five”—he drops a penny—“twenty-four cents.”
Adding that to my leftover two thousand nine hundred and ninety dollars of stolen drug money, we’ve got enough for plane tickets for sure. But Gonzo doesn’t have a driver’s license. No ID, no flying. And since Balder’s too bulky to fit in the overhead bin, we’d have to check him as luggage. Crap.