The Glory Bus

by Richard Laymon

  In and out, just like that.

  Away from the car for two minutes, maybe less.

  But on his way out of the office, Norman thought about the container of teriyaki beef jerky that he’d noticed on the counter while paying for the gas.

  The label on the tall plastic jar had caught his eye: ‘Wolfbane – you’ll howl for more.’

  He loved teriyaki jerky.

  He’d never heard of Wolfbane.

  All the best jerky was the kind you’d never heard of, the kind you found in out-of-the-way places like gas stations in small towns you were passing through on your way home from college.

  Only a stride from the door, Norman halted. Screw my diet, he thought. One or two jerkies aren’t going to make any big difference in the great scheme of things. So he returned to the counter.

  Ahead of him was a woman buying a pack of cigarettes. It didn’t take her very long. When she left, Norman stepped up to the counter. ‘Guess I’ll have some of this jerky,’ he said.

  ‘Help yourself,’ the clerk told him.

  Norman opened the clear plastic jar and took six strips of Wolfbane teriyaki beef jerky. The clerk held out a paper sack and Norman slid them in. Then he screwed the lid back on to the container.

  He paid.

  More than twelve dollars, but when did good jerky ever come cheap? Finally, he walked out the door.

  When he looked at his car, he thought he’d made a mistake. This couldn’t be his red Jeep Cherokee. It was a popular model and color. Another one must’ve pulled in.

  One with a man in the passenger seat. Norman looked for his.

  There wasn’t another Cherokee on the gas station’s lot. There wasn’t any other car. Besides, this one was stopped at the pump where he’d filled up. And it had his license-plate number.

  He suddenly felt cold and crawly in his bowels. It’s mine, all right.

  He should’ve locked up. He always locked up. But this was a nice little town on the Oregon coast, where you’d have to be paranoid to lock your car when you were just leaving it for two minutes to pay for your gas.

  Would’ve only been two minutes, he reminded himself, except you had to have the jerky. Just had to have it.

  One or two jerkies won’t make any big difference in the great scheme of things.

  Right.

  Just if some jerk climbs in your car while you’re buying the damn things.

  Now what? he wondered.

  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and walked toward his car. The guy in the passenger seat smiled and waved at him. Norman decided not to approach the passenger door. He went to the driver’s door instead. Breathing hard, shaking, angry and scared, he swung the door open. He ducked slightly and peered in at the stranger.

  At least he hasn’t got a gun, Norman thought. Thank God for that, anyway.

  The man didn’t have any visible weapon at all.

  He turned toward Norman, gave him a smirk and a nod, then lifted an elbow and rested it on the back of the seat.

  Though he couldn’t have been much older than twenty-one, he looked as if he’d stepped out of the 1950s. Like he thought he was The Wild One or James Dean or Charlie Starkweather or Elvis or something. His blond, greasy hair was swept high. His blue eyes had a movie-tough-guy nonchalance. His sideburns stretched down to his earlobes. He wore a white T-shirt that hugged his muscles, and faded blue jeans. Below the cuffs of the jeans, Norman could see a pair of black motorcycle boots, complete with side buckles.

  ‘Hello,’ Norman said, trying to sound calm.

  The guy winked at him. ‘Hello, good buddy.’

  ‘Uh . . . you’re in my car.’

  ‘And a very fine vehicle it is. My name’s Duke.’ With that, he swung his right shoulder forward and extended his hand past the steering wheel.

  Norman kept his own hands at his sides. ‘I think . . . maybe you’d better get out.’

  ‘Figured you’d give me a lift.’

  ‘Well . . . I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because why?’

  ‘Please,’ Norman said, ‘just get out. I’m not going anywhere till you get out, okay? I’m sure you can find somebody else to ride with.’

  Duke seemed somewhat amused. ‘But I want to ride with you, big fella.’

  ‘Come on. Get out. Please.’

  ‘What am I hurting? Just let me ride . . .’

  ‘Look, you don’t want to make me do something, do you? Do you want to make me go back in the office and have them call someone?’

  ‘Like the cops?’

  ‘I guess so. I don’t want to get you in any trouble, but you’re in my car. What am I supposed to do? I can’t go driving off down the road with a complete stranger in my car.’

  ‘Told you, I’m Duke.’

  ‘But I don’t know you. For all I know, you might be some sort of a . . . a criminal, or something.’

  Duke smirked. ‘Do I look like a criminal to you?’

  Damn right you do, Norman thought. But he didn’t dare say it. ‘I don’t know. Are you on your way to audition for Grease or something?’

  Duke let out a quick laugh. ‘Hey! That’s a good one! Grease. I seen that movie. The Olivia! The Newton! The John! What a babe! Is she a babe, or what?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Norman muttered. ‘She’s a babe.’

  ‘But you’re not saying I look like her. You’re saying I look like the guy. Travolta.’

  ‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying I wish you’d . . . It’s not even my car. It’s my father’s car, and he’s really strict about not giving rides to strangers.’

  ‘You do everything your daddy tells you?’

  ‘Look . . .’

  ‘How old are you, anyhow? Wait, let me guess. Sixteen?’

  ‘Very funny. Get out, okay?’

  ‘You’re a college boy, right? Going home for spring break.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Ah, I’m right. I’m always right. How come you aren’t on your way to Palm Springs for the big spring bash?’

  ‘I don’t go in for that kind of stuff.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise. Bet you live off your old man. He pays for everything, right? You drive his car. You do whatever he says. Him or mama. You never worked a day in your life, and you’ve never gotten in a single little bit of trouble.’

  Screw you, Norman thought.

  ‘Haven’t gotten into much fun, either, I bet.’

  Norman glanced toward the office, but a gas pump blocked his view. Great. They can’t even see what’s going on. Won’t even see if I get a switchblade in my guts . . . if he’s got a switchblade, that is. But with his looks he’s bound to have one. Maybe slipped down the side of one of those motorcycle boots. He thought for a moment, then an idea cheered him. Another car’s bound to come along pretty soon, he told himself. Then Duke might just sidle away.

  ‘Got a girlfriend?’ Duke asked.

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Didn’t think so.’

  ‘Get out of my car, okay? Please?’

  ‘You could learn a lot from a guy like me. Course, you already know that, don’t you? That’s how come you’re so scared.’

  ‘I’m not scared.’

  ‘You’re scared of everything.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘That’s your main problem.’

  ‘You don’t even know me.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. What’s your name?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘See that? You’re scared to even tell me your name. What do you think, I’ll look you up sometime? Drop in on you?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’

  ‘It’s probably some sort of sissy name. What is it? Melvin?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Elroy?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Susie?’

  ‘It’s Max!’

  Duke smiled. ‘Max. As in M
axwell. Knew it.’

  ‘As in Mad Max,’ Norman said. He wished he hadn’t just blurted out the first name he thought of that didn’t sound geeky.

  ‘Okay, Max. Here’s the deal. I’ve got your registration in my pocket.’

  Norman opened his mouth. He didn’t know what to say.

  After a moment, he said, ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘Oh yes, I have.’ Duke patted a front pocket of his jeans. ‘Is your old man called Kenneth?’

  Norman moaned. He heard himself murmur, ‘God.’

  ‘No, your dad ain’t God. Sorry to disappoint you on that score, Maxwell.’

  ‘Give it back,’ Norman said.

  ‘If I give it back, how will I be able to look you up and drop in on you?’

  ‘Hey. Please.’ Tears suddenly came. They made Norman’s eyes feel hot and blurred his vision.

  ‘Aw, don’ cwy.’

  ‘You’d better give it to me!’

  ‘What’oh baby dooo?’

  ‘I’m gonna get the cops on you! I swear! If you don’t hand it over by the time I count to three, I’m gonna call the cops.’

  Duke smiled, nodded.

  Norman wiped his eyes, but more tears came. He could feel his chin jumping up and down.

  Don’t start bawling!

  ‘One,’ he said.

  ‘Two,’ said Duke.

  ‘Two and a half,’ Norman said.

  ‘Two and three-quarters.’

  ‘You’d better give it back! I’m warning you!’

  ‘We’re just a wee bit nervous about saying “three,” aren’t we?’

  ‘Am not!’

  ‘Cool your jets, pal. You can have it back. All I want’s a ride, know what I mean? I don’t want you throwing fits.’

  ‘I’m not throwing fits!’ Norman sniffled, then wiped his eyes again.

  Duke jammed his right hand down inside the pocket of his jeans. He plucked out the registration slip. ‘This what you want?’

  Norman nodded. Duke reached past the steering wheel, the paper pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

  He won’t really let me have it, Norman thought. When I go for it, he’ll jerk it away.

  Norman went for it fast. Grabbed it and tugged. It came free.

  Yes!

  Quickly, he tucked it into a rear pocket of his shorts.

  ‘What do you say?’ Duke asked.

  ‘Thanks,’ Norman muttered. He took a deep breath. His lungs seemed to tremble as he inhaled.

  ‘I’m not such a bad guy,’ Duke told him. ‘How about that ride?’

  Norman shook his head. ‘Just get out now, okay? I’m not asking again. If you don’t get out right now, I’m gonna—’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘No more waiting. Out!’

  ‘3219 Avenida del Sol, Tiburon.’

  Norman shriveled inside.

  ‘I got it right?’ Duke asked.

  Norman stared at him.

  ‘What about the cops, Maxwell? You suppose they’ve got some sorta technique that’ll wipe that address out of my mind? ’Cause if they don’t, I might just end up dropping in. Know what I mean?’

  Norman just kept staring at him. He didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Get in the car, Maxwell. Let’s blow this one-horse town.’ Duke grinned. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m not gonna hurt you. Give me a ride where I wanna go, I’ll climb out, and that’ll be the end of it. No midnight visits to 3219 Avenida del Sol, Tiburon.’

  ‘Promise?’ Norman asked. He had a feeling that someone else was asking the question but he knew it came from him.

  ‘In.’ Duke patted the driver’s seat. Norman obeyed. He pulled the door shut, set the paper sack of jerky on his lap, fastened his seat belt and slid the key into the ignition. He twisted it and the engine kicked into life.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked, his voice distant and hardly familiar.

  ‘The coast highway’s fine by me. You were heading south, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘South’s fine by me.’

  Norman drove away from the gas station. Soon he’d left the town behind. Duke found a country music station on the radio and turned the volume high. That was good, because Norman didn’t want to talk to him. He wanted to get rid of him, but he felt trapped. He wished that he had never stopped at that gas station. That wasn’t the mistake, he realized. You can’t exactly avoid stopping for gasoline. The mistake was leaving the car unlocked so the bastard could climb in and make himself at home and get his paws on the registration. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was buying the jerky. Norman thought about how nice it would be to go back in time and try again.

  Do it the right way. But he had done it the wrong way and ruined everything. At least I’ve got the jerky, he thought. Steering with his left hand, he reached down with his right and opened the paper sack. He pulled out a long, dark strip. Duke looked at him.

  ‘Want one?’ Norman asked.

  Duke reached out and took it from his hand. ‘You’re a bud.’

  Norman drew another strip out of the sack. He clamped it between his teeth and ripped the end off it. The slab in his mouth felt very firm. But not hard and dry, like some jerky. As he chewed, the meat softened. His teeth squeezed out rich, sweet juices. He moaned with pleasure.

  ‘This ain’t bad,’ Duke said.

  Norman moaned again. This was, by far, the best teryaki jerky that he’d ever tasted.

  ‘What’s this stuff called?’ Duke asked.

  ‘Wolfbane teriyaki beef jerky.’

  ‘Wolfbane?’

  ‘You’ll howl for more.’

  Duke tossed back his head and howled.

  Norman smiled.

  Maybe this guy isn’t so bad, he thought. Hell, can’t be all bad if he goes and howls like that over my jerky. He probably is a cool guy if you get to know him.

  Are you nuts! Norman asked himself. This guy as good as kidnapped you!

  Yeah, but he hasn’t done anything. So far, so good. And the jerky is incredible.

  ‘You can have some more when you’re done,’ Norman told him.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do. You’re okay, Max. You know that? You’re an okay guy.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I think we’re gonna get along real good.’ Duke reached out and gave Norman’s thigh a couple of solid, friendly slaps.

  ‘It’s Norman, actually.’

  ‘What’s Norman?’

  ‘My name. It isn’t Maxwell, it’s Norman. I sort of lied about it before.’

  ‘Why’d you wanna do that, Norman?’

  ‘I guess I was afraid you’d make fun of it.’

  ‘Norman ain’t a bad name.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Chapter Eight

  Norman drove past the girl who was walking backward along the side of the road, her thumb out.

  ‘You gotta be kidding me,’ Duke said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Passing up a babe like that? You some kind of a fag?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Pull over!’

  ‘I don’t pick up hitchhikers.’

  ‘This one you do. What are you, nuts? Didn’t you look at her?’

  ‘Yeah, but—’

  ‘Don’t be a loser all your life.’

  ‘It’s stupid and dangerous to pick up hitchhikers,’ Norman blurted.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let her hurt you.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘Pull over.’

  The southbound side of the road had no breakdown lane and its hard shoulder was narrow. It was bordered by a low steel guardrail to keep cars from flying off the coastline cliffs.

  ‘There isn’t anyplace to pull over,’ Norman said. He glanced at the rearview mirror. ‘And I can’t just stop. There’s a truck behind us.’

  ‘U it.’

  ‘I can’t just U it.’

  ‘Why not? Nothing coming. Do it.’

  ‘Are you nuts?’

  �
��Show some hair, Norman!’

  Norman wasn’t sure what that meant, but he liked the sound of it. He checked the traffic. Then he hit the brakes. As his speed fell, the truck bore down on his rear. Its horn blasted. He whipped the steering wheel over and cut hard to the left. The Jeep swung toward the middle line. Crossed it. Skidded. Found traction again in the northbound lanes and kept turning. Though the right-side tires went off on the gravel, he knew he had control. He’d made it!

  ‘Way to go,’ Duke said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Norman started to steer back onto the pavement.

  ‘This is good enough. Just stop here and we’ll wait for her.’

  That sounded fine to Norman. He pulled the rest of the way off the road and shut off the engine. He felt happy with himself for doing the U-turn so well.

  ‘There she is,’ Duke said.

  Norman spotted her. She was quite a distance away.

  ‘Nobody better pick her up before she gets here,’ Duke said.

  The girl swaggered along the road as if she owned it. A big denim bag, suspended from her shoulder by a strap, swung beside her hip.

  Cars, trucks and a couple of big recreational vehicles drove past her, and all of them had to swing wide. Norman wondered if he, like the other drivers, had veered to go around her. He couldn’t remember doing it. His mind must’ve been on something else.

  ‘That babe’s got balls,’ Duke said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Norman said.

  Duke laughed. ‘Hope you’re right, Normy! What a waste that’d be, huh? ’Cause it sure looks like the rest of her’s top-drawer.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Norman said.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ Duke asked.

  ‘She looks fine.’

  ‘What a babe. Give the horn a toot.’

  Norman beeped the horn. The girl didn’t break stride, but her head turned. Duke waved. She gave a quick nod, then stopped and faced the highway and watched for a break in the traffic.

  Norman didn’t like the looks of her. Even from this distance, he could see her eye makeup and flashy lipstick. Though she appeared to be no older than eighteen, her hair was white. A bleach job, Norman figured. And he didn’t like the way it was cut so short. That pixie style was meant for slim, delicate girls. Not someone like this.

  She had a wide face with blunt features. Her shoulders and hips were very broad. Her arms and legs were thick – not quite fat, but so heavy and solid that it seemed crude of her to show them off by wearing such skimpy clothes.