AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Great,” I say.
She bites her bottom lip. “Did you get a sense from that? Anything at all?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Dulcie’s expression is unreadable. “Okay. Well, I’m going to see what else I can find out about Dr. X. You keep pushing on, following whatever signs you find.”
“So you’re going again?”
“I’m here whenever you need me.” She breaks into a goofy grin, and I want to tell her not to go, to stick around and meet the gang, have some pancakes. I want to say something cool, something to keep her smiling, but I can’t think of anything. “Você é a vaca do meu contentamento,” I say, quoting a Great Tremolo song.
Dulcie gives me a weird look and bursts out laughing. “You are the cow of my contentment? Wow. I’m speechless.”
“Is that what it says?”
“’Fraid so.”
“I knew that.”
“Course you did.” Her laugh dies. She shrinks back, her eyes wide.
“What’s the matter?” I say, following her gaze to the front of the restaurant, but I don’t see anything unusual. A hostess behind the cash register next to a stack of menus. People paying. A guy in a United Snow Globe Wholesalers shirt wheeling in a dolly full of boxes. A man picking his teeth with a toothpick. Bus boys and waitresses running back and forth with trays and loaded bus tubs. The guy delivers the box, and the hostess opens it up. She pulls out a snow globe, which she shakes vigorously before mounting it on a high shelf above the cash register.
“Dulcie?”
“It’s nothing,” she says weakly. “See you down the road, cowboy. Here’s the paper. And Cameron? Be careful.” And just like that she’s gone.
“Hey, you forgot your player!” I say, but she doesn’t materialize.
I give Dulcie’s paper a quick scan. There’s the usual mess of the incomprehensible mixed in with the ridiculous, but I do see an ad for cheap tickets to Daytona Beach. I take that as a sign we’re on the right path, though truthfully, it’s as right as any other random thing I want to assign meaning to—cartoons, the Great Tremolo, the way Staci Johnson flicks her ponytail. I smooth out Junior Webster’s scrap of a compass—to live—fold it neatly, and tuck it back into my pocket along with the MP7.
When I get to the dining room, some kind of fight has broken out. People are clumped together in spectator fashion, cheering.
“What’s going on?” I ask the guy next to me.
“Some kinda wrestlin’ promo, I think. It’s entertainin’, I’ll say that much. Them little guys got lots of spunk, I tell you what.”
“Little guys?” I croak. Oh no they di-in’t. “Excuse me, excuse me!” I say, pushing through. Balder’s on the table, and people are lined up, throwing whatever they’ve got at him—knives, forks, coffee cups, rocks. One little girl hurls her waffle and it bounces off his round belly like a spongy boomerang.
“Two dollars a shot! All comers welcome!” Gonzo shouts. He’s running between everyone, gathering money in Balder’s Viking helmet.
“I cannot be injured, for I am Balder. …” A knife sticks into his arm, but he keeps going. “Son of Odin …” A fork lodges into his skull. “Brother of Hoor,” he says, pulling them both out. “Immortal.”
“Yeah? Let’s just see about that.” A guy in a mall security guard uniform pulls out his piece and shoots Balder in the chest. There’s a gasp from the crowd. Instead of going down, Balder does a little dance.
“Boo-ya!” he says, and I’m pretty sure that’s the original Norse.
“Well, I’ll be,” the mall guard says. Everyone claps and cheers.
“Two bucks!” Gonzo insists, pocketing greenbacks from the shooter.
“Okay, show’s over!” I announce, running up and yanking Balder off the table. “You’ve been great. Be sure to come out and see our show at the monster wrestling truck arena this weekend. Thank you. Thanks so much. Thank. You.” As the breakfasters settle back at their tables, I level a sharp gaze at both Gonzo and Balder. “Way to keep a low profile, guys.”
“He started it,” Gonzo grumbles.
Balder gives me one of his courtly bows. “I did not mean to cause trouble, Cameron the Noble.”
“When I said ‘bond,’ I meant, like, tell some stories, trade a few fart jokes, draw pictures of the waitress with a mustache. Not cause a scene.”
