Bad Radio (25 page)

T
he tires plocked loudly as we hit the sunken concrete edge of the diner parking lot where the asphalt road failed to meld with the older town structures. There were a few cars huddled around the squat building, as if they were looking forlornly into the plate glass windows at their owners. The Range Rover stood out sharply among them as I pulled in, the only late-model car in the group, and the only one not covered in dusty grime.

I turned off the ignition, and we sat quietly listening to the engine tick as it cooled. “Hungry?”

“Not really. You?”

“Always.”

“Is it really a good idea to just walk in there? Maybe we should sneak around or something first.”

“In a town this size, strangers stand out like a house fire. No amount of sneaking is going to hide the fact that we’re in town, so we may as well not waste time trying. Besides, I’m starved.”

The sun wasn’t all the way down as we crossed the parking lot, but it was nearly full dark anyway. Heavy bottle-green clouds squatted overhead, stealing much of the day’s last light. It looked like tornado weather. A damp breeze whipped past us, smelling faintly of ozone and swampy rot.

Anne spit. “Ugh, that’s horrible.”

“Probably a water treatment plant close by.”

“No, it’s the other kind of stink. This place reeks. It’s bad.”

“Ah. Well, I guess I’m glad I can’t smell it then. Any bags around?”

“I can’t tell. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Give me a few minutes to get used to it.”

“More food for me, then.”

“If you say food one more time, I’m going to throw up on you. Got it?”

I put up my hands in surrender. “Got it.”

We went in.

The place was ugly. The fluorescent lights overhead didn’t do the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor and orange vinyl booths any favors.

Four tables occupied the middle of the floor, topped with blue-speckled white Formica and surrounded by dull chrome chairs with blue vinyl seats. Booths lined the walls to the left and right of the entrance, and a long counter fronted by revolving stools took up the back wall. Behind the counter was the kitchen. Everything looked hard used and faded. Nobody looked up when we went inside, which surprised me.

Only one man sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. He was wearing a denim baseball cap with the bill pulled down low, a brown windbreaker, jeans, and black cowboy boots. His gaze was fixed on the contents of his cup.

Three of the booths were occupied. One of them by four older people, two couples by the looks of it, who were chatting animatedly over dinner and having a good time.

Another booth had a young family with a toddler strapped into a high chair at the end of the table, the parents to each side in the booth. The kid was rubbing mashed potatoes in his hair and laughing. The dad seemed to find it funny, the mom did not.

The last booth contained a fairly large young man in his mid-twenties hunched over a paperback in front of a half-empty plate.

We sat down at one of the tables closest to the door. A waitress came out of the kitchen and strode briskly up to our table, flipping open her order tablet with one hand and pulling a pen out of her apron with the other. Her dark hair was tied up in a limp ponytail, and she wore a tiny gold cross on a thread-thin chain around her neck.

“Welcome to Mesa Diner,” she said. “Menus are right there,” she pointed her pen at a wire clip with several laminated cards sticking out of it in the center of the table, “what can I get you to drink?”

I gave her my best smile. “Coffee, black.”

“Just water for me.”

She left without writing anything down and busied herself behind the counter.

I leaned over the table and whispered. “Is that her?”

“Who?”

“Is that the waitress from your dream?”

Anne shook her head. “No, too old.”

I pulled out a menu despite knowing full well that I was going to get a cheeseburger. I glanced over the selection of meat between bread, fried meat, and breakfast meat and figured that Anne was in for another salad.

We got our drinks and ordered. While we sat waiting for the food, everyone in the place snuck looks at us except for the guy at the counter and the guy with the paperback. Even the cook stuck his head out the order window to get a peek.

I was finishing my burger when the family with the toddler left. The group of elderly revelers was lingering over coffee. Neither the man at the counter nor the man with the book had moved. At least Book Guy was actually reading. Counter Guy had yet to take a sip of coffee.

I got Anne’s attention and then looked pointedly at Counter Guy, then touched my nose. She shrugged at me. Great.

I pushed back from the table and walked over to the counter. The waitress looked up. “Yes?”

I turned to the man. “How’s the pie?”

He looked to be in his late forties or so, and jowly with a bulbous nose. The waitress answered. “Good. It’s cherry tonight.”

“I’ll take a slice.” The man glanced at me without turning his head, just a quick flick of the eyes.

She nodded and pulled a chilled plate out of the pie case and handed it to me. Big square grains of sugar were scattered over the pale dough. Only the crinkled edges showed any evidence of browning. “Thanks.”

I sat back down at the table and had a bite. Canned cherries and underdone supermarket pie crust. No doubt about it. This town was evil.

“Well?”

“Guy’s a bag for sure. Saw a twitch in his neck while I was up there.”

“You think the waitress knows?”

I shrugged. “He’s been sitting in front of a full cup of coffee since we got here, and she’s never spoken to him, or even walked to that end of the counter. At the very least, she knows that he’s not a real customer.”

“What about the other guy? With the book.”

“I have no idea. You’re supposed to be my needle finder. Start finding.”

“Fine.” She got up and made a show of looking around the diner. Then she stepped over to the guy’s booth. “Excuse me, do you know where the little girl’s room is?”

The guy looked up, startled. He pointed to the obvious restroom sign by the counter and Anne thanked him. His eyes lingered on her ass as she walked away before returning to his book.

Anne returned from the bathroom just as I was finishing my pie. “Not a bag.”

“I know, he checked you out when you walked away.”

“Is that all guys think about?”

“Human ones, yeah.”

The waitress came by and dropped off the check. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“Directions to a motel? We just drove into town.”

“We only got the one. It’s called the Belmont Inn, and it’s just up the main road about a mile. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

She topped off my coffee and retreated to the counter. We paid the bill and left.

Back in the car, Anne let out a relieved sigh. “How could you just sit there eating pie with that thing in the same room with us? Jesus.”

“I like pie.” She rolled her eyes. “If he was going to attack, he would have done it as soon as we went inside. He’s just there to keep an eye on the place.”

“It’s scary to think of it being able to be patient like that. Just to have a goal in mind and do it, no matter how long it takes. The ones I’ve seen so far have been like frantic crazy people, running and fighting the entire time. I felt safer when I thought they all acted like that.”

I nodded and started the car. “Don’t think of them as monsters that look like people. Think of them as people who have the souls of monsters. It’s their will that’s been replaced, not their minds.”

She hugged herself, as though cold. “How do they get inside you? Is that going to happen to us if we stay here?”

“I don’t know.”

28

W
e found the Belmont Inn two miles down the road, marked by a wide white sign with a baby-blue neon outline of an arrow on it. The inn itself was a pair of one-story squares with large blue diamonds painted on the once-white walls. One corner of the front building had glass doors with the word “Lobby” on them written in gold sticker letters. The paint was peeling and faded from too much sun and too little maintenance.

Anne made a face. “Gross. Maybe I’ll sleep in the car.”

“Feel free, I’m sure the bags will enjoy watching you sleep with their faces pressed up against the windows.”

“Motel it is, then.”

The lobby was cool and dry, a nice contrast from the moist pre-storm air outside. Below both plate glass windows, one to each side of the double doors, long air-conditioning units rattled and whined. The flat carpet was baby blue to match the exterior, with faded orange diamonds marching across it. The counter was blonde wood with a blue top made of some artificial stone, with an orange plastic bowl full of fresh apples sitting proudly on top.

“Well, hello there! Welcome to the Belmont Inn, can I get you a room tonight?” The innkeeper was a plump woman just past middle age, with curly brown hair and cats-eye reading glasses complete with a thin rhinestone strap draped from the arms. She had thick arms and pudgy hands, and she had them spread wide on the countertop as she leaned towards us, smiling. I don’t know if I’m any kind of judge of character, but I liked her immediately.

“Yes, ma’am. We’re looking for a room for the week, if you have one.”

“I surely do. We’re all out of twin beds, but I can offer you one queen if that’s okay with you.”

I glanced at Anne and she smiled at me. “The queen will do fine.”

She winked at me and started filling out a form by hand. She had me sign it, and two minutes later I had keys in hand. “Your room is right out front, number 103. My name is Barbara and I’m at zero on your phone, call me if you need any little thing. Don’t forget to take an apple, now. They’re good for you.”

“Thank you, Barbara.” We walked out, apples in hand, and found our room.

As I expected, the carpet in the room was blue, and the bedspreads were orange. A subdued orange, thankfully, but orange nonetheless. By now we were getting our routine down pat, so it wasn’t long before our duffles were stored, and we were settled.

“So,” said Anne, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “what now?”

“Wait until it gets really late, maybe 3:00 a.m. or so, and then drive around town. Can’t be too many places in a community this size where you can hide your occult bloodletting operation.”

“Sounds good. What do you want to do until then?”

I put on my best movie villain leer. “Well, we did pay for this bed.”

She laughed. “Eat your apple, old man. We need to be ready in case there’s trouble. I’m sure they know we’re here.”

“I hope so, I did everything except sit in that bag’s lap at the diner. Contact with the enemy will get us leads. Provided we survive it, of course.”

“Of course.”

At around midnight we were flipping channels between infomercials for miracle cleaners and all night fire-and-brimstone sermons when headlights swept past the window, rolling tall shadows briefly across the walls. I killed the TV. Footsteps crunched towards our room.

“Bag?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’m still trying to get used to the stink here.”