That Time I Got Kidnapped, page 12
I scooped the satin from the Arizonan dirt, muttering how nobody likes a know-it-all.
She held up the bag. The broken edges of the urn pushed against the plastic. I shoved in the clown clothes. She kept hers on.
‘We can get some new threads here,’ she said. ‘We’re rich, remember. Gucci, baby!’
‘About that …’
‘An advance on my inheritance. It’s what Mom would have wanted.’
Inside was like a museum shop. Jennifer was straight over to the hoodies and jumpers that had ‘Navajo Nation’ splashed across them. She asked what colour I wanted. I said blue. She said not to be so predictable. I wandered away to study shelves of ‘genuine’ arrows.
I felt a presence at my shoulder. I lifted an arrow. It could do some damage, whistling through the air. The thing about guns is they’re so loud. I’d hate to be hit by an arrow, silent like a gas leak.
‘How about we get this? There are no bows, so you’d just have to jab people with it.’
I did some air-jabbing. It felt satisfying.
‘We sell bows too, friend. Good morning to you. And a mighty fine morning it is too. You ever get that feeling that it’s going to be a great day?’ It wasn’t Jennifer. It was a man with a pink face like he’d been out in the sun too long. He was wearing a green polo shirt with a badge that said DAVE. He was also sniffing at the air. ‘Like you could almost smell it?’
I put the arrow back. ‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Anyway. Sorry.’
‘We have guns too.’ Dave leant into me. His nose almost touched mine. One thing I could smell was his breath. It smelt of coffee, and faintly of alcohol. ‘But you’re probably too young for all that. He straightened his back. ‘How old are you?’
‘Too young.’
Dave smiled, revealing teeth that looked like they’d been carved from ivory.
‘You want to see something super sweet? Follow me.’
We walked a line of shelves and came to a jewellery display. He lifted a necklace. It was a black string with a tiny silver horse attached to it.
‘You’ve got a sweetheart, right? A handsome kid like you. Lucky son of a …’ His voice faded. Briefly he seemed lost. ‘I’ll tell you what. She’d love you for this. Or he. It’s 2019. Anyhow, it’s a good-luck charm. Who doesn’t like good luck? Am I right?’
A card price tag hung from it. $150. I pointed at some fabric wristbands.
‘What about them?’
‘Friendship bracelets,’ said Dave. ‘For kids. You’re no kid. I can see that by the way you hold yourself. Straight back. Proud shoulders. Tell you what, maybe we could discuss a deal on that good-luck pendant? A discount between buddies.’
Jennifer appeared with a (new) plastic bag – she’d obviously already paid.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, face set to full sass.
‘This man—’
Dave interrupted. ‘The name’s Dave.’
Jennifer looked confused.
‘I’m Dave,’ he confirmed.
I couldn’t work out whether he was being polite or PO’d. His voice was weirdly without tone.
‘Dave’s showing me good-luck charms. Expensive ones.’
‘You can’t put a price on good luck,’ he said. ‘That’s what Mother Dave always used to say. They allow jewellery in the circus, sweetheart?’
Jennifer swept her headlight eyes from me to Dave.
‘Please don’t call me sweetheart,’ she said. ‘It’s creepy. We’re going, Jacob.’
She swung the two bags she held in her good hand. I’m not sure she meant to hit me between the legs, but she did. I let out air with a sound like ‘ooof’.
Dave sniggered and Jennifer, rolling her eyes, sighed like I was the problem.
‘Have a great one,’ called Dave from behind us. ‘Good luck!’
‘Don’t they have stores in England?’ said Jennifer as we left. ‘You never been in a store before?’
Jumpers
Outside, the morning sun’s welcoming sting briefly distracted me from the dull ache of my testicles.
‘That really hurt,’ I said as we headed for the alien motorhome.
‘Serves you right. The way you fell for the sales patter.’
Jennifer slapped the new plastic bag into my chest. She said to quit complaining and get the sweatshirt on. She’d bought a purple one, thinking the colour would suit me. (I don’t think she was being serious.)
‘There’s chips and soda too. I didn’t want to be eating nutrition pills or whatever space crap UFO bros have. Don’t let the Advil fall out.’
As I pulled my head through the purple fabric, I said that I’d never really been a jumper person.
‘I’m sorry? A what?’
‘A jumper person.’
She stared like I’d stopped talking and had started making honking noises.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Like kangaroos?’
‘No. Jumper. Like sweatshirts. Jumpers.’
‘Honestly, Jacob, sometimes it’s like you’re speaking a different language.’
This was probably an opportunity to say something funny but I was too busy staring slack-jawed and pointing an electric finger at a pick-up truck parked at the far end of the lot. It hadn’t been there when we’d arrived, I was sure.
‘The Cowboy,’ I said.
‘It’s a pick-up.’
‘Yeah. It’s his pick-up. I saw it in Catoosa.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘The country’s full of pick-ups like that. Seriously.’
She didn’t sound convincing.
John and his two friends were already at the RV and motioning for us to hurry like we were late, which we weren’t. But wanting to leave as quickly as possible, I broke into a little jog. I was all strapped up and ready to go by the time Jennifer clambered in.
There was a different smell now. John, Richard and Mary turned to us, chewing open-mouthed. Their lips and tongues and teeth made a disgusting smacking sound. Mary offered a package: DRIED BUFFALO MEAT. Jennifer was busy straightening out her sling, so I turned down the offer on her behalf.
And then John said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and not because he’d realised what he was eating. There was a problem starting the engine. Richard and Mary each leant across to try the ignition themselves. It didn’t work. They pushed buttons. The hazard lights flashed. The horn sounded. They moved the gear selector. But nothing made any difference. The motorhome wouldn’t stir.
‘Houston, we have a problem,’ said John to us, his eyebrows a metre above his head, way past the baseball cap.
‘Engines don’t just stop working,’ said Richard.
Mary was pointing at the roof to suggest, I guess, that aliens had a hand (flipper? claw?) in the trouble.
John stumbled out. His two friends followed. The front windscreen was full of bonnet as they tried to work a solution.
‘Of all the people. Of all the cars. We had to get these clowns,’ hissed Jennifer. We both looked at the wigs on the floor. ‘Okay, okay, I know, I know.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s get changed. In case we need to make a quick getaway.’
‘I thought you said—’
She cut me off. ‘Give me a hand.’
Next on the menu was massive awkwardness. I helped pull off her clown top. She was wearing a white T-shirt underneath.
‘So your wrist’s no better?’ I said because I was bursting to speak.
‘Not when you’re knocking it. Focus, Jay.’
I helped the jumper over her head. I looked everywhere but her.
‘We so need to find a shower in Vegas,’ she said. ‘Like, dive in for five seconds. Boom. Surgical strike.’
(Could she smell me? Did I smell bad? I mean, it wasn’t as if I could ask.)
I guided her ‘bad’ hand through the sleeve, as quickly as I could. She winced for my benefit, I’m sure. If she didn’t catch up with her dad in LA, she could always try acting.
I didn’t try speaking again because I knew my voice would be helium high. I’d learnt never to trust my body. It was always waiting for an opportunity to make me look like an idiot.
‘You need to tie this round my neck,’ she said, meaning the sling. She moved her hair aside with her good hand. I found myself staring at the nape of her neck and I’m not sure why. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she asked.
My fingers jumped to fumbling with the fabric, twisting it this way and that.
What started as innocently helping out a criminal on the run was now turning weird and heavy. But all things pass, even Maths lessons, and it was done soon enough. She turned round, her arm safely in the bandana.
She smiled, our mouths not more than fifteen centimetres away. Her nose was scrunched up. I remember noticing that as the RV’s engine coughed into life, making me jump, sending shivers through the air.
She looked over my shoulder as I disappeared into a sinkhole of disappointment. The ufologists were getting back in.
‘What was wrong?’ she asked. ‘How’d you get it started?’
The UFO people didn’t reply but took their seats in silence. It was weird. Something was definitely up. And I had this stone-in-the-stomach feeling that it wasn’t extra-terrestrial. I think Jennifer sighed at me, but the noise might have come from the door opening and …
There, bowing slightly to inspect the space like a vulture dropping its head at a dead coyote, was the Cowboy.
‘It was his pick-up!’ I said, and hated myself.
‘Howdy,’ said the Cowboy, because, of course, he would say that. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
He had an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His caterpillar moustache looked whiter than ever, as colourless as an empty canvas.
‘Hi,’ I said, my voice wobbling only slightly.
Jennifer was glaring. Both at me and the Cowboy. Back and forth with the glare, like a furious tennis match.
‘I helped our friends here with their little engine trouble. They’ll be on their way shortly. Without you two, suffice to say.’
‘We’re not coming,’ said Jennifer. ‘You can’t force us.’
As the Cowboy smiled, his perfect teeth twinkled.
‘I’d be happy to contact local law enforcement again, if that’s what it takes.’ Jennifer shrugged. ‘Or your grandmother. Would you like to speak to her?’
I felt like I should be asking ‘What about me?’ but instead I stood there like a melt.
It would be great to be as tall as this cowboy but nowhere near as great as being on a plane to LA, I thought. With Jennifer. Drinking a Coke. Sharing Haribo. The lot.
‘Y’know, in the past, back when I was in the marshal service, I’ve told you about that, right?’ asked the Cowboy. I nodded. ‘When I caught up with them, the people I hunted, because I always did catch them, and that’s no idle boast, that’s a statement of fact, when I caught up with them, I’d always say, “It’s nothing personal; it’s my job.” Here’s the thing, see: I lied. Didn’t know it back then, but I’ve had time to think recently. It was personal. It was me against them, that’s why. And when I was a young man, I liked to win. I got satisfaction from it. Childish, really. Now, you two, you’ve caused more trouble than I like to remember. But … it’s nothing personal. And I mean that with all my heart. So come along and we’ll straighten things out. You hungry? I bet you are. How about pancakes?’
My stomach rumbled, the selfish turncoat organ.
‘No,’ said Jennifer. I glanced over. Because, I mean, it wasn’t 100 per cent clear what she was saying no to. ‘We’re not coming.’
‘Right,’ I said, but quietly.
‘Young woman, you and me both know who I’m working for. And you and me both know that she don’t take disappointment lightly.’ He studied us like a fox does a pet rabbit. ‘I’ve not smoked in five years. Now look what you’ve done. Coughing every twenty minutes. How’s the wrist?’
Jennifer shook her head. ‘What do you care?’
I felt like I should say something in her defence.
‘She has it in a sling,’ I said. ‘So …’
I wanted to appear helpful, like a hostage negotiator. I ended up sounding sarcastic. Which Jennifer loved, laughing.
The Cowboy was less of a fan. He pushed his hat back from his forehead and had this expression like he’d swallowed a stick of dynamite.
‘Where’s the package?’ he asked, voice gun-barrel hard. ‘The jig is up.’
It wasn’t necessarily me that gave it away. Jennifer, she might have really obviously looked at the urn bag on the floor as well. When she said, ‘We lost it,’ she was fooling nobody and she knew it. So much so that as the Cowboy went to step up into the cabin, she dived fully into the front seats. From standing to a full-on Superman leap. A gymnastic wonder.
The Cowboy paused, ruefully shaking his head as he watched her land on the laps up top. ‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Ain’t we had plenty enough fun already?’
Whatever he’d said to John/Richard/Mary had them frozen. Even with a teenager banging about on their bodies.
‘Hey,’ dared Richard.
The other two kept silent.
‘Sorry,’ I said, scooping the urn bag from the floor.
And, as I did so, the RV started to roll backwards.
Gas
Me and the Cowboy realised what was happening at the same time. We even caught each other’s eye. As he tried stepping up into the RV, his hands grabbing at the door frame, I tried reaching Jennifer. Because she’d managed, and I don’t know how, to release the parking brake.
Her legs and the arms of the UFO people moved everywhere, like a cartoon brawl. Without the brake on the motorhome moved backwards, picking up speed. And we must have hit a pothole or something. Whatever it was, the bump threw me and the Cowboy down – only I was inside and he wasn’t.
‘Umph,’ I heard him say as the air was knocked from his chest.
There was loads of shouting and most of it swearing, especially as Jennifer’s legs and knees hit people’s groins. I kept a tight grip on the bag.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Get off my pants!’
‘Are you crazy, girlfriend?’
The RV bunny-hopped into sudden speed, the engine coughing complaint as we picked up momentum.
Did someone have a foot on the pedal? I was struck down again, just as I glimpsed six hands on the steering wheel. I hit my head on the edge of the sofa with a sharp thwack.
The side door flapped as the RV bounced backwards over the bumpy ground, plastic creaking. Before I realised what we were headed towards, I was relieved, at least, that we’d not run over the Cowboy. That would have been properly bad.
‘Oh, mother of mercy, have pity on me,’ said Richard as some dried buffalo meat smacked me in the face.
I grabbed at the edge of the sofa, my underpowered biceps shuddering to pull me up. Through the two square rear windows, a tall white gas container loomed impossibly large and suicidally close. And still the engine whined.
‘Jennifer!’ I shouted, the view filling with appalling white. I’d played enough video games to know that hitting gas tanks was best avoided.
The back of the RV rose as we hit the dirt incline, put there to protect the gas. I fell once again, rolling until I struck the partition between the living space and the cab.
There was a huge smash, and a part ripping, part screaming of bent metal. And we stopped. There was no explosion. There was no fire. There was the Cowboy, though, without his hat, pulling open the door and ordering us out, veins bursting from his forehead. And there was also a raging hissing sound, a fire hose of whispers.
The gas.
I crawled out, still holding on to the bag, and dropped on to the mound of soil. I ate dirt and I rolled. But, made athletic by the possibility of death, I was soon up and sprinting. I joined Jennifer, the three ufologists and the Cowboy, as we flew towards Dave’s store.
Three … two … one …
A monumental boom ripped across Arizona, sounding like every firework I’d ever heard exploding at once. It launched a wall of air rushing past our ears. A tidal wave of heat followed. I felt it first on the tips of my ears, and it took our legs from us and we were airborne. There was a roller-coaster adrenalin rush to the absence of gravity.
Until we landed. With a crunch of twisted ankles and bruised elbows.
And, once again, superpowers would have been handy.
A split second of complete silence extended as the universe held its breath. It broke with a cough. And then a moan. And Jennifer sat up and pointed. I followed the direction of her finger. Like a broken oil well, where there’d been a gas container, flames now blossomed into the cloudless sky around the RV, which was black and red with heat. You could feel it against your skin.
A voice spoke over the crackling fire. ‘Are you from the government?’ asked Mary, before breaking into a coughing fit.
The Cowboy stood. He pulled Jennifer up, then offered me a hand. Orange roared behind him.
‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Now where’s my hat?’
Fourteen Years
Route 93, Arizona
‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Jennifer eventually.
The cab stank of charcoal. The right side of my face felt like it was on fire. It wasn’t, though. Both the Cowboy and Jennifer had checked – more than once. Maybe the sensation wasn’t even down to the explosion. Maybe it was my body finally reacting to everything it has been through.
‘West,’ said the Cowboy.
The three of us sat shoulder to shoulder in the pick-up as it sped towards the horizon. Jennifer had the middle seat because the Cowboy couldn’t trust her not to do something stupid like open the door at seventy-five miles an hour. For the first fifteen minutes we sat without talking, shocked into silence by the explosive events at the gas station. The singed urn bag was safely stowed in the space behind our seats. I was kind of happy not to have to worry about it any more.
‘You know, you’re just like your grandmother,’ the Cowboy growled. He’d obviously spent this time shaking up his thoughts like a can of Coke. The pressure was now so great that they exploded from him. ‘Impulsive. Too quick to make a decision. It’ll get you in trouble one day, young lady. Real trouble guaranteed. You remember that.’
