"Drive on then," Crew said and knifed a hand at the windshield.

Chapter 19.

The evening was clear and cold. The edges of daylight were just turning a beautiful orange as a bruised, blue '85 Mustang growled its way northeast along Highway 2. The car had pa.s.sed the Saint John River, going by the provincial capital of Fredericton. It motored by Exit 259, heralding in the darkening winter evening, and ignored the sign for the Living History Museum of Rural Life also known as King's Landing. Inside the car, Fred's eyes took in the billboard sign briefly before turning his attention back to the road. Rural life did not interest Fred.

Nor Tony, who gripped the wheel with both hands, concentrating on the snowy road and wary for black ice. He said nothing to his pa.s.senger, and Fred, in turn, said nothing back. For Tony, New Brunswick's section of the Trans-Canada was h.e.l.l's version of a Sunday drive going on into eternity. It was a long twisting highway with few straight sections where a driver could really burn asphalt. It was a road where some drivers found it necessary to pull over and rest from its rolling monotony. Tony was not one of those drivers. He had a live wire of fear coursing through him that would not allow him to relax. There were some houses along the road and snow drifts, but he paid them no mind. The fear kept Tony on course, and threatened to make him rip the steering column from its housing. He was on edge. He felt like he might've downed a bucket of espresso, then been strapped into a lazy boy and asked to relax. He wanted off this road. He wanted out of this car. He wanted to be away, so very far away, from f.u.c.khead on his right. He was going to freak soon. He could feel it. The pressure building up in his loins and heart felt like a dentist's diamond drill spinning on a raw nerve and sending up tendrils of smoke. If freak boy Freddy pulled another one of his shock treatments, as Tony now thought of them, he would probably slam the brakes on and just see how far the Mustang would fly. What it would be like if the ache in his lower legs just kept building and building, like a car pushing 200 km/h but locked in neutral. Would he know if he snapped? Would he be grinning like Uncle Jack in the movie "The Shining", peeking through the jagged hole he had just made in the door with a fire axe? Would it sneak up on him or simply snap into his mind like a poisoned quarrel?

Tony felt like it might do the latter.

They did not stop for dinner. They did not stop for a p.i.s.s. They did stop for gas twice, but both times, it felt like a hurried pit stop where Tony did not dare get out from behind the wheel. Freak boy always paid for the gas and listened to the music of the radio. He seemed to be enjoying it, and anything that diverted his attention away from Tony was good. Perhaps it was the music helping Tony keep of his marbles. Perhaps, if the music stopped, the ache he currently felt would triple in intensity, and he would simultaneously s.h.i.t, p.i.s.s, and puke himself with volcanic intensity the very instant it did.

Tony concentrated on the road. His nose getting a little closer to the steering wheel as he did.

Highway 2 became Route 185 as the Trans-Canada continued into Quebec. Any other time, Tony would be overjoyed. The maddening twist of the New Brunswick highway was behind him, and he could look forward to flooring it down the straight as razor strips along the mighty St. Lawrence River. Night dropped on them like a black, starless avalanche, and the Mustang's headlights illuminated a blacker road shouldered on the right by ma.s.sive walls of freshly cleared ice and snow. Gravel mixed with salt covered the snowy mounds like excessive maple sprinkles on ice-cream. Road signs peeked out of snow drifts and flashed by, screaming out short messages.

"Pick her up," Fred abruptly said.

This caused Tony to frown. "What?"

But Fred did not repeat himself.

f.u.c.king a.s.shole.

Fred did not repeat himself because he hated to repeat himself when people clearly heard him the first time. Yet, some people would still ask simply out of reflex.

"Pick up who?" Tony blinked into the darkness rushing towards him. On the right, the reflective squares nailed into the guard rails zipped by, but otherwise, there was nothing out there except road and snow and night. It had to be minus twenty out there. No one would be out here tonight. Especially a single woman hitchhiking at night in the winter!

But then there she was, blinking into existence like a skinny tree, facing them on the shoulder of the highway. Arm outstretched, and a backdrop of snow behind her. He could see her breath steaming from her mouth, a grimace in the glare of the Mustang's lights.

He put a foot to the brakes. "Whatever, man," he muttered, wondering if there was something else he had to worry about now. He cursed himself for feeling even a drop of amazement. Not after this day. Fred was simply too G.o.dd.a.m.n unreal. Predicting a hitchhiker and commanding him to pick her up before Tony even laid eyes on the woman was nothing compared to what went on in the restaurant.

h.e.l.l, everybody gets a lucky guess once.

The Mustang zipped by the figure in its deceleration. The car slowed and finally stopped. Tony looked over his shoulder. In the red glow of his tail lights, like afterburners, he saw the woman run towards the car. In seconds, she was thumping on Fred's window.

Fred scowled and adjusted himself in his seat.

The dark figure outside his window tapped again. She was wearing red mittens.

"You gonna let her in?" Tony wanted to know.

Fred ignored him.

"You were the one who wanted to stop, so you let her in," Tony grumbled under his breath. He hoped that she wasn't half the twist-pack his friend Freddy was. When Fred failed to open his door, Tony shook his head, finding his b.a.l.l.s for the first time since the restaurant. "Man, you're something else."

He opened his door and got out.

"Hi."

Standing there, smiling bright enough to shame the sun, she gave Tony a little wave that struck the man as endearing and gawd-awful cute as he could manage at the time. She wore a black leather jacket with a bee's bottom striped toque. Her face was almost perfectly round with dusky skin and dark Asian eyes. Black straight hair with the barest of ripples fell about her face, highlighted by a ribbon strip of hair that had been tinted snow white.

"Hey," Tony said.

She unleashed the full might of her smile upon him then, and it stunned Tony. It could have been minus fifty on that gash of asphalt in the middle of the night, but the warmth in that smile simply enveloped him, and left him grinning stupidly back.

"Thanks for stopping," she said. She had the most adorable nose, too.

"Hey," Tony said again through half frozen lips that his mind continued to ignore. "No trouble. Uh. It's, uh, weird, actually. My--" he caught himself. He was not about to call Fred his friend. "Uh, Fred saw you before I did."

"Oh," she said, her chin rising as she spoke, her smile dimming by degrees. "This Fred?" she inquired downwards with a red mitten.

"Yeah."

"He changed his mind awfully fast."

"Yeah. You can get in on my side though."

"Really? You aren't gonna change your mind, are you?" and her smile turned into an irresistible half pout.

"Ah, no," was all Tony could manage.

She did not move. "You guys aren't freaks are you? Or pervs? There are two of you. You aren't gonna try anything, right? Or get weird or anything?"

"Huh?" Tony blinked. "No, no, course not. No, I'm not gonna do nothin'."

"You're sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

"That's good cuz I sure wouldn't want to have to fight you," she adjusted her bee bottom toque, pulling it lower on her forehead. Tony wanted to do it for her. He smiled in spite of himself.

"Okay," she said brightly. "I believe you."

She came around the front of the car and Tony saw that she wore high, white boots with fur frills and black jeans. The boots reminded him of a poodle for some reason. The jeans were tight, and he did not scrutinize any more than a glance would allow. The red mittens were, however, the old fashioned typed. Hand knitted and very warm looking.

"Aren't you cold?" Tony said, wanting to ask her something.

"Sure am. I'm lucky you came along when you did. n.o.body's been along this way since it got dark. I could've died out here!"

Tony opened his door and pulled his seat forward for her to climb into the car. He made a quick inspection of her heart shaped bottom as she went in. He waited until she was settled away before pushing the seat back.

"Get in quick!" she cried. "It's freezing out there!"

He had to agree. In the short time he was outside, he felt he could use his b.a.l.l.s as wind chimes. She was right about one thing: she would have died out here if they didn't pa.s.s along. He climbed in and slammed the door, hoping the d.a.m.n thing wouldn't fall off with the force. He checked his mirrors and blind spot out of instinct, and eased the Mustang into drive. Snow crunched underneath the tires as they picked up speed.

"What's your name?" she asked from behind. Tony caught the undisguised roll of Fred's head. In that one motion, he made it clear he despised the new pa.s.senger.

"Uh, Tony."

"Anthony?"

"Just Tony."

"Anthony is nicer."

"Tony is shorter."

"Anything nicer is worth a little more effort."

"Yeah, well, anything is better than a.s.shole, too," Tony said. There was an abrupt silence from the darkness back there. Tony knew in an instant that she did not care for the word "a.s.shole", and he suddenly felt very conscious about using it. He felt an invisible hand of "What the f.u.c.k?" snapping him on his forehead. What was happening to him?

"Can I call you Anthony?" she asked to Tony's relief. He did not want to be on this one's bad side. He had a lifetime's worth of ugly vibes from monkey boy on his right.

"That's fine," he said. "But Tony is fine, too."

"Nice to meet you, Anthony," she said as if not hearing. "And thank you for stopping. I'm Lucy."

Tony nodded into the rear view mirror.

"Hi, Fred," she called out musically, surprising Tony.

Despite himself, Tony caught Fred's expression go from sulking silence to one of absolute sickness. As if the greeting were the most sarcastic words Lucy could have ever spoken to him.

"He doesn't talk much," Lucy noted.

Tony looked into the rear-view mirror and saw only darkness underneath that bee bottom winter hat. Then, he could see her eyes as if she had closed them for a moment. He quickly looked back to the road.

"No, he doesn't," and d.a.m.n if Tony didn't want the squirrel f.u.c.ker to start talking now. What was the man's problem? He wanted her picked up, and Tony had done so. If only Fred had gotten out of the car to let her in on his side. Tony would have left the b.a.s.t.a.r.d behind in the night.

It occurred to him that perhaps Fred suspected he would do exactly that.

Smart f.u.c.ker.

Freak? Definitely. Stupid? Not enough.

"Well, that's fine by me. We'll just talk by ourselves," Lucy went on.

"I'm listening to the radio," Fred rumbled, and Tony felt the all too familiar crackling of ice seizing his innards. He choked the steering wheel with both hands and felt the blood pound in his ears.

"You can still listen to it," Lucy told him, and like a shot of hot whiskey, her voice melted Tony's freezing core. He took an unrestricted breath and relaxed his grip on the wheel. Just like that, whatever spell Fred had been concocting was dispelled.

Even more incredible, Fred became all the more miserable shifting into petulance as if he has just been unjustly scolded by his mother. He sank into his seat, hooded eyes fixed on the road ahead and black with poison. For the first time since the restaurant, Tony felt somehow liberated. A smile spread across his face in the glow of the dashboard lights, and he searched for Lucy's face in the rear-view mirror.

"Lucy, I like you," he said, and meant it.

"Most people do," she informed him and smiled so sweetly that Tony found it difficult to return to the road. "In fact," she continued, her eyes downcast now, "all people do. I haven't met anyone yet who didn't like me. That might sound bad or conceited or something, but I think it's true. Don't think badly of me, Anthony."

"I won't," Tony a.s.sured her. Just seeing old Fred boy shrunk up like a chilled buffalo s.c.r.o.t.u.m was enough to make Tony love the woman.

"I try to be a nice person. Really," Lucy paused for a moment and looked out at the blackness beyond the gla.s.s. "Where are you guys going anyway?"

"West," Tony told her. "Vancouver." I think, he wanted to add but didn't. She would probably be long gone before they got to Vancouver anyway.

"Hey that's great!" Lucy pealed. "I'm headed for Vancouver!"

From the pa.s.senger's side, Fred rolled his head again. He had already had enough of this b.i.t.c.h.

"Would it be too much for me to tag along?" Lucy asked in a pleading voice. "I'm not being too forward I hope. I have money. I can help pay for gas. Well, some anyway."

The smile on Tony's face got wider. "We just picked you up remember? Only a minute ago you were asking if I was a freak."

"That was a minute ago. But point taken. You could still be a freak. I guess it wasn't too smart of me to say I have money, right?"

"Nope."

"Well, sugar," Lucy cursed.

"But you didn't say how much exactly, so I think you're safe." It was hard not to smile when talking to this woman.

"You're right, I didn't. Well, let's just see how the next little bit goes, and I'll decide then if I'll go with you to BC."

"You'll decide, will you?" Tony really liked this chick.

"Well, you're not going to force me to get out in the middle of nowhere, are you?"

Tony shook his head in reply. He'd kill Fred first.

"Would you, Fred?" Lucy addressed the quiet man with the barest note of challenge. A friendly challenge, but with the funk Fred was in, any challenge, no matter how good-natured, would probably feel like a thumb up his a.s.s. And as Tony expected, Fred declined to answer.

"Would you?" Lucy asked again, and the silence that ensued made Tony think of the endgame pause on the last second on a bomb, between nothing and detonation. And instead of fright in his heart, limbs and guts, Tony felt nothing but ease. It was the d.a.m.nedest thing.

"Fred?" she persisted with a tease of a smile.

And then, to Tony's disbelief, Fred mumbled something. It was completely incoherent, but he responded to her.

"What was that?" she asked.

Fred heaved out a breath like it was a fifty pound weight. "No, I suppose not."

"Oh, good!"