by Jeff Strand
"We're bounty hunters," I say. "Our target is called The Cyclops, but of course he's not a real Cyclops, he's a man with one eye. We found you because, yes, we've been conducting mass surveillance. What I mean is, we have a relationship with an agency that's conducting mass surveillance, and they passed your contact information along. Our secrecy's been compromised, so we can't do the job ourselves, and so we need you to kill The Cyclops for us."
Maraud snorts out a laugh. "If that were true, why would you make up the other story?"
"To not have to share our seven hundred and fifty-thousand dollar fee."
Maraud suddenly looks very serious.
"It's the truth," says Harriett.
Seth nods. "We're either assassins, or we're whack-nut screwballs on our way to kill a mythical creature. Which do you believe?"
"You're no assassin," Maraud tells him.
"Well, no, I'm the intern. I don't get a cut of the fee. I'm just here to learn."
"Come with us," I say, "and we'll divide the fee three ways."
"What if we don't kill The Cyclops?"
"Then we get nothing."
"How dangerous is this going to be?" Maraud asks.
"Pretty damn."
"All right. I'm in."
* * *
Maraud lets us crash at his apartment, which is not a place designed for three extra overnight guests. Harriett sleeps on the couch, while Seth and I get the floor. We have a coin toss for which one of us gets the clean blanket, and I lose.
The apartment smells about the way one might expect an apartment to smell when the only resident is a man nicknamed "Maraud the Berserker." I'm not suggesting that my own aroma is any better at this point, although I feel like Maraud's shower may have made it even worse. The muck on the walls is so thick that I'm surprised there aren't mushrooms growing out of it.
"Want something to eat?" asks Maraud. "I've got canned asparagus and..." He looks through the refrigerator, "...actually, the asparagus is all I can vouch for."
"No, thank you," I say.
"No, thank you," says Harriett.
"I'll take some," says Seth.
Maraud's charger is compatible with my cell phone, so I plug it in while Seth gazes at me with envy. I check my e-mail (nothing interesting) and listen to my voice mails (Marjorie asking how my road trip is going), then leave it to charge overnight. Harriett goes into the bathroom to re-stitch the cut on her shoulder, though after all we've been through I could probably watch her do it without getting queasy.
The kitchen sink, bathroom sink, and bathtub faucet drip all night. There's also some sort of drip in the ceiling. Each of these drips sounds like it has a megaphone propped up next to the source. Also, the hard floor seems to exacerbate Seth's snoring.
It is not a restful night of sleep.
In the morning, Maraud packs some clothes in a suitcase, and also lets me borrow a shirt, which is four sizes too large and has dark stains in the armpits. He offers to let me borrow socks and underwear, but I decline his generous offer. We'll all need to buy new clothes anyway.
After I call Marjorie, again failing to share the Cyclops element of my road trip, we walk to a diner across the street. Harriett, Seth, and I are famished, and we gobble down our pancakes and omelets at an alarming rate, but the three of us combined cannot match the amount of food that Maraud devours. He should have his own reality show. When the server asks if it's all on one check, he says yes, and then slides it over to me.
I'm hoping that he owns a big, luxurious minivan. He does not. It's a small brown pickup truck. There's only enough room for two people in the cab, so two of us are going to have to sit in the back. Harriett and I volunteer. Seth offers to take the next shift.
And then our journey resumes.
About three minutes later, Maraud pulls over to the side of the road. The passenger door opens, and Seth gets out. He climbs into the back with us.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"He says I talk too much."
"Why didn't you promise to stop talking?"
"I did, but I guess I was too wordy about it."
Maraud begins driving again, without asking Harriett or I if we want to move to the front. This may be for the best. We've told Maraud that we're headed toward Phoenix, with plans to adjust our route when Harriett figures out the actual location of the well. Harriett's skills at deception are poor, so the "magical sense of where we're supposed to go" conversation should probably happen out of Maraud's earshot.
"Are you sure we shouldn't just sic the cops on those guys?" Seth asks. "I spent years collecting those weapons. Maces aren't cheap."
"You're not going to get your weapons back," I say. "Those creeps are long gone by now. I'm sure they move around from month to month."
"They can't move around too far, if doing those fights is how Maraud made his living."
"They all deserve imprisonment," says Harriett. "And it's something we will actively pursue after we succeed at our original goal, but it would be too much of a distraction right now. The longer we delay, the greater the chance that Maraud will change his mind. I want Maraud with us. He is very strong."
"Maybe we'll capture the Cyclops instead of kill it, and it can wreak vengeance on our behalf," says Seth.
Harriett ignores him and looks at me. "I need to say how sorry I am about this. I never imagined that you would sustain so much physical punishment and have your wallet stolen multiple times."
"It's not your fault."
"Yes, it is."
"I guess it's your fault, but, no, I don't blame you. For some messed-up reason that I can't quite pinpoint, I'm still here voluntarily."
"Perhaps now you're helping a friend."
I smile. "Could be. Or else I have nothing else to go back to. Between those two, I prefer the idea that I'm helping a friend."
"I promise that I will pay you back for what you've lost. The home I left is small but has been properly maintained, and after I sell it, I will make us even. I mean financially. I will always be in your debt in other ways."
Maraud hits a bump. I bounce and then groan in pain.
"I want a hot tub," I say.
Once we're on the highway, doing seventy miles per hour, the truck and wind are too loud for us to have a conversation, so we just sit there silently, except for the winces of pain each time we get jostled.
Seth says something to me after about half an hour, but I can't hear it.
"What?"
"I have to pee!"
"Don't tell me. Tell him."
Seth half-stands and carefully walks over to the rear window. He raps on the glass. Maraud glances back at him.
"I have to pee!" Seth shouts.
Maraud nods and pulls over at the next exit.
He accommodates the second request with a grunt of annoyance. The third time, he gives Seth the finger through the window and continues driving. Seth asks Harriett and I if this means that Maraud wants him to just pee in the back of the truck, because he will if that's what Maraud wants, he doesn't care, he'll do it. I firmly dissuade him of that notion.
Seth holds it for a few more twitchy minutes, then knocks on the window. Maraud gives him the finger again.
"All right," Seth tells us. "He's left me no choice. Harriett, avert your eyes."
Harriett averts her eyes. I, foolishly, cannot turn away as Seth duck-walks to the rear of the truck, then stands up and unzips his pants. The one car visible behind us is too far away for the passengers to see the horror that is about to be unleashed upon the highway.
Is Maraud the Berserker the kind of man who would give a gentle tap of the brakes while Seth is standing up in mid-pee? I think he might be.
"Keep your eyes and mouth tightly closed," I tell Harriett. "Whatever you do, keep them closed until I give you the all-clear."
Seth braces himself against the truck with his left hand as he pees over the back. I accept an unpleasant truth about myself as I realize that if I were driving, I cannot say with one
hundred percent certainty that I would not give a gentle tap of the brakes.
Maraud, who is apparently more mature than I, does not apply the brakes. Nor does he swerve, or honk, or do anything that might interrupt Seth.
At least not on purpose. He does, however, hit a bump. Seth falls, tumbles, and sprays.
The next portion of the ride is much less pleasant.
* * *
We've now been in Arizona for about two hours, and we're three hours away from Phoenix.
"Any prophecy updates yet?" I ask Harriett.
She shakes her head.
"That's fine. No rush. I'm sure it'll happen soon."
* * *
Two hours from Phoenix.
"Anything?" I ask.
"Not yet," Harriett tells me.
"Is there any kind of Zen mode you can go into to speed up the process?"
"It has to happen naturally."
"Okay. We've still got a couple of hours. Nothing to worry about."
Seth, who was banished to the far side of the truck, scoots over so we can hear him. "Do you think Maraud will be mad if we get to Phoenix and have no idea where to go next?"
"Yes," I say. "I believe that he will be."
* * *
One hour from Phoenix.
"Anything yet?" I ask Harriett. I assume that she would have told me if she felt anything, so I'm being annoying by asking, but one query every hour isn't the equivalent of Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
"Nothing. I'm sorry, Evan."
"It's okay. No big deal. We're still cool."
I glance over at Maraud. I can only see the back of his head, but I can easily picture him snarling.
* * *
Half an hour from Phoenix.
Harriett's eyes widen. "I've got it! I know the name of the town! And if we go in that direction, we'll find the well. The prophecy is suddenly making things very convenient for us!"
"What's the name of the town?"
"Rapport, Arizona."
"Perfect! Never heard of it." I take my cell phone out of my pocket and do a search for Rapport.
"Where is it?" Seth asks.
"I'm not sure. Nothing's coming up yet."
After a few minutes of searching, I can't find any online evidence of Rapport's existence.
"Can I try?" Seth asks.
I hand him my phone. He taps away at the cracked screen for a few minutes, brow furrowed in concentration.
"Are you sure it's a town?" Seth asks. "Maybe it's a store? A restaurant?"
"It's a town," says Harriett. "I know that for certain."
"Well, it's a town that doesn't exist."
"This could be a problem," I say.
Seth continues tapping at the screen. "Maybe its name has changed. Town names change sometimes, don't they?"
"That's possible," says Harriett. "Maybe this is an ancient name for a modern town."
"Still not pulling anything up, though."
"Perhaps the information is not contained within your electronic device."
"Everything is online," Seth informs her.
"Okay, so, let's pretend we can't find it," I say. "Do you know anything else about it? The direction?"
Harriett closes her eyes for a moment. "I know that it's...not close."
"Crap."
"I feel that we should be traveling north."
"So, basically, the opposite direction that we've been going for the past couple of hours?"
"Yes."
"The prophecy didn't make things all that convenient, then."
"No."
"Well, this is going to give Maraud a warm fuzzy feeling."
"Don't be homophobic," says Seth.
"What?" I ask.
"That sounded kind of homophobic."
"How?"
"I'm not sure."
"'Warm fuzzy feeling' is a completely legitimate expression to use when you're being sarcastic about how somebody is going to react to having to turn around and drive back the way we came. It had nothing to do with his sexual orientation, and I'm not sure how that interpretation even works. It wouldn't make sense."
"Yeah, you're right," says Seth.
"But, to rephrase, that's going to make Maraud really angry."
"We don't know him that well. Maybe he's enjoying the drive. He might be happy that we've got a few more hours."
"I volunteer you to tell him."
"Oh, hell no."
"I'll do it," says Harriett. She taps on the window and gestures for Maraud to pull over.
He pulls off to the side of the road, shuts off the engine, and gets out of the truck. "What's up?"
"We were misinformed," Harriett says.
Maraud's eyes narrow.
"We need to travel north."
"Just came from the north."
"I understand. Now we need to return that way."
"You screwing with me?"
"No, sir."
I hold up my phone. "We were told that the target is on the move. Unfortunately, when you're trying to kill somebody, you can't be sure that they're going to stay put and wait for you."
"Where is he now?"
"North. That's all we know."
"When will you know more?"
"After we go north."
"Not in the mood for games."
"Your share is a quarter million dollars," I say. "You can't be bothered to drive around some more for that kind of money? If you want to bail, we'll get out of your truck right now."
"You get that I don't believe your full story, right?" Maraud asks. "You're professional assassins like I'm a ballerina. Way more to this."
"Either way," I say, "we need to go back north, and we're not sure where we're going to end up. If you're cool with that, keep driving. If not, we'll leave."
Maraud glares at me, Seth, and Harriett in turn. "Fine," he says. "If I find out I'm being played, I'm going to rip off one of your heads, and use that head to bash in your other two heads."
"Noted," I say.
"Question for you," says Seth. "Is the phrase 'warm fuzzy feeling' homophobic?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I feel like it is, but I can't explain why."
"I don't even know how that would work. Don't talk to me any more. In fact, don't talk to them, either. They may pretend they can stand it but they can't."
Maraud gives us each one more glare, then gets back in the truck.
"No pressure," I tell Harriett, "but it would be really nice if we found Rapport soon."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next couple of hours pass very slowly. When you've been beaten to a pulp the previous night, sitting in the back of a rickety pickup truck all day doesn't feel good on any part of your body. Every once in a while, Maraud looks back and gives us a hateful glare to make sure we don't forget that he's unhappy with us.
The next couple of hours pass even more slowly. If I had a comfy blanket, pillow, and mattress back here, I could make good use of the time by getting some sleep, but it's a challenge to rest when your sore body is constantly vibrating. Instead, we all just kind of sit there, staring at the Arizona scenery. It's beautiful for sure, but it's also not exactly one new wonder after another.
"Maybe we should be filling the back of the truck with saguaro cactus," says Seth. "If we hurl those things at the Cyclops, he'll go down pretty quick, I bet."
"Do you really want Maraud to come to a sudden stop when we're in the back of a truck filled with cacti?"
"I guess you're right."
"I think it's illegal to mess with them, anyway."
"Why? They're everywhere. It's not like they're endangered."
"I don't know. I never researched saguaro cactus regulations."
"All I'm saying is that if we set up some kind of catapult, and flung a big batch of those things, a Cyclops would be in for some hurting."
I start to respond, and then I think, yeah, actually, catapulting a shitload of cacti would be a
highly effective way to dispatch a Cyclops. If I make an obnoxious comment, I'll just end up looking stupid when that turns out to be the ultimate solution to our problem.
We're almost to the Utah border. As long as we're in Arizona, we're still sticking to the original plan, and I'm not too worried that we'll be driving around for months. If we cross into a new state, then we may need to part ways with Maraud, to improve the odds that he doesn't remove limbs from each of us.
If he lets us part ways. He still kind-of-sort-of-maybe believes that he's got $250,000 on the line.
"There!" says Harriett, as we pass a highway exit. "That's where we should have turned."
I knock on the window. "Get off at the next exit," I tell Maraud.
A few miles later, he pulls off at the next exit. When he stops, I explain that we should have gotten off at the previous exit, so we need to turn around and go back.
Maraud glares at me.
"Maybe Harriett should sit up front," I say.
"No. Don't trust any of you anymore."
We get back on the highway. I can occasionally see Maraud glaring at us in the rear-view mirror. We arrive at the exit, and Maraud pulls off. He stops at a red light, looks back, and gives us a questioning look.
I shrug.
He continues driving. We're in a very small town called Rustin. There are plenty of places to turn, but Maraud sticks to the main street. At every stoplight, he looks back at us, and I give him a shrug.
"He seems unhappy," says Harriett.
"He'll be okay," I say. "Even though, technically, there's no money, and he's been driving us all day because of a big lie. I'm sure it will all work out perfectly fine with no hard feelings."
"There!" says Harriett, as we pass Penny Avenue. "That's where we should have turned."
I rap on the window and convey this information to Maraud.
"Any chance you could get the prophecy to kick in a few seconds sooner?" I ask.
"I have no control over it."
Maraud does a U-turn at the next intersection, and turns onto Penny Avenue. We pass a couple of restaurants before it becomes a residential area. Some kids playing kickball in the street move out of the way as we approach and wave to us as we pass, even though we're so bruised up and unwashed that our appearance should frighten children.
