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“Come on,” I whisper in my bird voice. “Chase me. Just one more time.”
“Dude. Wakey-wakey.” Gonzo’s face looms over mine. “We got movement.”
I wipe the sleep from my eyes. Through the windshield I can see Employees #457 and #458 opening the back of the truck and loading a box onto the dolly. Two minutes later, they come out of the diner with the empty dolly, climb into the truck’s cab, and head back toward the interstate.
“Dude, aren’t we following them?” Gonzo asks.
“Gotta check the diner first,” I say, making my way toward the door. My legs have really stiffened up.
A shining, bright-smiled hostess greets us at the door, a couple of menus the size of atlases in her hands. “Joining us for breakfast today? Will that be smoking or nonsmoking?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re sort of in a hurry. We were just wondering about that box of snow globes that was delivered? Could we check them, please?”
Her thumb hovers over the silent alarm button near the cash register. Buddha Burger had one of those. “We don’t let people just check out our snow globes till they been inventoried.”
“Inventoried?” Gonzo mouths.
My eyes flash a Don’t Go There signal. I’ve got to see if Dulcie’s in that box. “I’m sorry. I’m with quality control. We think you may have gotten one of our tainted shipments.”
“Tainted?” the hostess repeats, her smile gone. “What’s that mean?”
“There might be something wrong with them. Really wrong. Like laced-with-poison wrong.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Omigosh. We better call the police, then.”
“No!” I say too quickly.
The hostess’s eyes narrow. She looks from me to Gonzo and back again. “Is this some kind of prank? Are y’all with a fraternity?”
I shake my head. “You got us. It is a prank”—I steal a look at her name tag—“Freedom LaToya. Actually, we’re casting for a new reality TV show.”
Freedom LaToya’s eyes get very big. “For real?”
“You bet. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but …” I make a show of craning my neck left and right. “It’s set in a restaurant and it’s all about finding the perfect restaurant hostess. In fact, it’s called The Hostess. United Snow Globe Wholesalers is the sponsor. You know, you’d make a great candidate. I’m gonna let them know.”
“Wow. Thanks. TV. Oh wow.”
“Yeah. But we do need to get some footage of me looking through that box. For the show.”
“Oh sure! Go right ahead!”
Freedom LaToya takes us to the stockroom. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”
“You do that. Thanks.”
We cut through the tape, open the box, and pull the bubble wrap from all ten snow globes. Not one of them is Dulcie.
“Let’s go,” I say, running for the car.
“Dude, that was awesome,” Gonzo says, fastening his seat belt. “How did you think of something as stupid as a reality show about restaurant hostessing?”
I gun the engine. “You don’t want to know.”
* * *
It takes us about ten minutes of driving like a bat out of hell before we have the truck in our sights again. We follow it to each drop-off—gas stations, restaurants, gift shops, churches—until it’s late afternoon and the Caddy Rocinante starts kicking up that hot oil smell again. Shit. Hold together, pal. I might as well be talking to myself. The twitches are back, and I really don’t know how much longer I can safely drive with my arms ready to break-dance. Green and white signs pass overhead, telling us where we are, where we’re headed.
ORLANDO. INTERSTATE 4. NORTH EXIT 62. OSCEOLA PKWY.
