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“Y-you do?” I stammer. “My parents are dead.”
Arthur’s mustache twitches. The toothpick rolls from one side of his mouth to the other. “We-eee-lll, son, we got ourselves a sitchooashun. You ain’t a legal adult, and I can only sell to legal parties.”
Without the Caddy, we’re stuck hitching or trying to get on a bus or train, where we are sitting ducks for every cop with a scanner. We need this car.
Balder waves his arm over Mr. Limbaud. “These Star Fighters are not worth the trouble,” he says in a weird, artsy-fartsy voice. “You will help them escape.”
Arthur’s toothpick falls out of his mouth. “Did that thing just talk?”
“I … he … um,” I sputter.
Balder closes his eyes and lifts a hand. “Let them go.”
“Holy moley! How’dyoo get him to do that?”
“He’s a … toy,” I improvise. “A prototype.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Arthur says. “What else does he say?”
“Uh, here,” I say, pushing an imaginary button in Balder’s back.
“Who’s your Caddy!” he says, bright and chirpy.
Arthur’s eyes grow to the size of quarters. He laughs, slapping his knees. “Who’s your Caddy! Now don’t that beat all!”
“Every Jeep’s cheap!” Balder chirps.
“Amazing,” Arthur says. That sharky mind of his is circling something.
“Oh yeah,” Gonzo adds. “You can get ’em programmed to say all kinds of things.”
“No kidding? Say, listen. I might be able to forget you’re not eighteen if you could leave me this guy. Somethin’ like ’is would bring in all sorts of customers. We could do commercials!”
“This one’s not quite right yet,” I say. “Few bugs in the system.”
Arthur’s face goes mean. “Well, that’s a gall-darn shame. You boys sure woulda looked fine in that Caddy.”
“You can get another! You can get another!” Balder says in his adopted parrot voice.
“Right! I can send you a brand-new one as soon as I get to Montana. To my dad’s workshop. My dead dad’s workshop. His workers are still there. Working. Then you can program it to say things in your voice.”
“Well now. That is a fine idea. Gen’lemen, you got yourselves a car.”
Ten minutes later, with the papers signed and the money in his yellowed fingers, Arthur shows us back out to the lot and the Caddy’s brought round. A secretary wiggles out of the front seat. She’s all in pink, like somebody who got stuck in a cotton-candy machine for a night.
“Here you go, now,” she says, dropping the keys in my hand. “Y’all be careful.”
Arthur takes hold of her arm. “Carol, hold on a minute. You have got to see this. These fellas have a toy—well, you just have to see it.”
He pushes on Balder, hard, in the stomach. I can see that our gnomy friend is pissed. He’s not going to talk. No way. But Arthur keeps pushing. “Come on, now. Say somethin’, dammit!”
“Yeah, see, the bugs—” I start to explain.
“He was talkin’ fine a minute ago. I’ll get the sumbitch working.”
Arthur picks him up and shakes so hard Balder’s whole face flushes bright red. I can see from the set of Arthur’s thin lips that he’s determined. He’s not letting our gnome down till he dances for Daddy. “Come on, now,” he says, giving Balder one last, hard shake. “Do somethin’ else, dangit!”
And that’s when Balder pees on him.
