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“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.
* * *
We pull the Caddy into the parking lot of a Toys Mahal and duck inside. I stand guard while Gonzo rips open a Life-Sized Surfer Sammy box, switching out Balder’s pee-wet pants for Sammy’s black, neoprene surfer leggings complete with dragon etchings up the side. Some kid is in for a bad birthday.
“We’re gonna get caught,” Gonzo says, looking around like a man hunted.
“Not if you stay cool,” I say.
“They’ll take us to jail. It’ll go down on our permanent records and we’ll never go to college. We’ll end up flipping burgers for the rest of our miserable, nonproductive lives.”
“I’m almost in,” Balder says. “There.” He looks great. Like a guru of the lawn. “Take the board, too.”
“That’s stealing,” Gonz argues.
“Who got you a Cadillac?”
“Give him the board,” I say.
Balder hops on it, bending his knees, fighting imaginary waves. “Wicked.”
“How did you get the idea to Star Fighter him?” Gonzo asks once we’re on the road and sharing a drive-thru meal together in the front seat. “What if he’d seen the movie?”
“It was a calculated risk,” Balder says. He’s camped out in the spacious back like the king he thinks he is.
“How did you even know about Star Fighter in the first place?” Gonzo asks.
“One of my kidnappers was a devotee of science fiction. He took me to those—what are they called? Fields of battle where people dress as Visigoths and androids and those marauding teddy bears who are strangely lethal?”
“Teddy Vamps,” Gonzo fills in. “Dude, you’ve been to all the cons! All right.”
“Indeed. I have been photographed with the one they worship as a god, Silas, son of Fenton,” he says, mentioning the name of the director revered by millions.
“Silas Fenton? You took a picture with Silas Fucking Fenton? Oh my God! Balder! You sly little kick-butt gnome. You are the man!”
Balder leans back against the seat, his arms behind his head. “Damn right.”
We drive on, the Caddy and its bull-horn hood ornament cutting a colorful figure through the slick sedans and dime-a-dozen SUVs. Some little kids press their noses to the windows of their child-locked doors, gaping at us. Gonzo opens a bag of chips and hands it to Balder, who takes a handful and forwards it to Gonzo.
“Dude, I can’t believe you whizzed on him.”
Balder wipes his hands on the Sammy Surfer bandana he’s now wearing around his neck. “He was very disrespectful. I have learned much in my current form. I have seen how those supposed to have no power can be disregarded quite easily. Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I have no worth.”
Gonzo nods. “Say what-what.” He puts a stubby fist on the back of his seat rest.
“What-what,” Balder says. He reaches up and bumps fists with Gonzo, and they go back to eating their chips in satisfied silence.
