the old type. How long’s it been in there?”
J. D. found a sticker on the side that showed it was three and a half years old.
“Well, you’ve gotten your money’s worth.”
“Will it explode?”
“Not unless you arc it. I don’t think so. But it’ll keep leaking and cause you some problems with the acid dripping. Plus the smell of it. I’d get it changed out fast. They’ll do it for you at just about any auto shop.”
J. D. thanked the man and closed the hood, seeing thatMaria wasn’t in the truck. He checked the street, then the little store. He didn’t see her. He walked in and noticed restrooms at the rear, then caught something black to the right, outside the big window by the potato chip display. She was feeding coins into a pay phone.
“Where’d you get the money?” he said when he reached her.
“In the ashtray.”
“Who are you calling?”
“You told me to call my family.”
He thought that was a good sign. He went back inside the store and let the cool air wash over him again as he grabbed a bag of corn chips and a box of donuts, then two bottles of soda. Just something to tide them over if they drove into the desert. Insurance, really. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have any idea what he was going to do except take one step at a time. Keep moving. Stay as far away from the guy with the vendetta as he could.
“I’m looking for a car parts place,” he said to the girl behind the counter as she scanned his purchases. There were wrinkled hot dogs rolling in a glass case by the cash register and an open tub of orange liquid that people put on their nachos. It was supposed to be cheese, but there were so many chemicals in food these days. “Any place around here where I can get a battery?”
She thought a minute as if she had a hard time connecting the words. “There’s one of those car places out that way, I think. Auto or Pep something or other.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know—maybe a mile?”
He thanked her and walked out to hear Maria speaking Spanish in an animated voice. He could pick out a few wordsbut couldn’t follow most of it because of the speed. Might just as well have been Swahili. He kept his eye on the street and pulled the truck next to her in case the guy drove by, guns blazing.
She hung up and put the change in a cup holder. He drove south. She didn’t speak, and he didn’t tell her what he was looking for as the shadows of evening stretched out toward the distant brown hills. He spotted the Pep Boys a few minutes later. There were five bay doors in use and four guys who had stripped down to their T-shirts and hung up their uniform shirts. Fans were running full blast, but it was like waving a hat at the mouth of hell.
But the waiting room was frigid and there were two kids playing with cars and dirty dominoes. Maria sat and stared at the television while J. D. found a cheap battery. He had three twenties and a few ones and a couple of fives left, and the one on sale that would crank the Suburban was $79.95 plus tax. He wished he hadn’t bought the chips and donuts. Instead of trying to scrounge up the change, he told them to put in the battery and some oil and he’d pay with credit.
“I need it quick as you can do it,” he said.
“We’ll get to it,” the man said without looking up, a signal he could wait his turn. If J. D. pushed, the guy would drag his feet, so he waved Maria to come out of the waiting room. She reluctantly stood and entered the land of tire rubber and floor mats.
“What did he say?” J. D. asked.
“What did who say?”
“The phone call at the gas station. Did you talk with your father?”
She wandered to an aisle away from the register and picked up a key chain with her name on it. “My family can’t protect me.”
“That’s what they said?”
She didn’t make eye contact. “There may be a safe house. A place where I might survive.”
“Look at me.”
She put the key chain back. There was a
J. D. found a sticker on the side that showed it was three and a half years old.
“Well, you’ve gotten your money’s worth.”
“Will it explode?”
“Not unless you arc it. I don’t think so. But it’ll keep leaking and cause you some problems with the acid dripping. Plus the smell of it. I’d get it changed out fast. They’ll do it for you at just about any auto shop.”
J. D. thanked the man and closed the hood, seeing thatMaria wasn’t in the truck. He checked the street, then the little store. He didn’t see her. He walked in and noticed restrooms at the rear, then caught something black to the right, outside the big window by the potato chip display. She was feeding coins into a pay phone.
“Where’d you get the money?” he said when he reached her.
“In the ashtray.”
“Who are you calling?”
“You told me to call my family.”
He thought that was a good sign. He went back inside the store and let the cool air wash over him again as he grabbed a bag of corn chips and a box of donuts, then two bottles of soda. Just something to tide them over if they drove into the desert. Insurance, really. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have any idea what he was going to do except take one step at a time. Keep moving. Stay as far away from the guy with the vendetta as he could.
“I’m looking for a car parts place,” he said to the girl behind the counter as she scanned his purchases. There were wrinkled hot dogs rolling in a glass case by the cash register and an open tub of orange liquid that people put on their nachos. It was supposed to be cheese, but there were so many chemicals in food these days. “Any place around here where I can get a battery?”
She thought a minute as if she had a hard time connecting the words. “There’s one of those car places out that way, I think. Auto or Pep something or other.”
“How far?”
“I don’t know—maybe a mile?”
He thanked her and walked out to hear Maria speaking Spanish in an animated voice. He could pick out a few wordsbut couldn’t follow most of it because of the speed. Might just as well have been Swahili. He kept his eye on the street and pulled the truck next to her in case the guy drove by, guns blazing.
She hung up and put the change in a cup holder. He drove south. She didn’t speak, and he didn’t tell her what he was looking for as the shadows of evening stretched out toward the distant brown hills. He spotted the Pep Boys a few minutes later. There were five bay doors in use and four guys who had stripped down to their T-shirts and hung up their uniform shirts. Fans were running full blast, but it was like waving a hat at the mouth of hell.
But the waiting room was frigid and there were two kids playing with cars and dirty dominoes. Maria sat and stared at the television while J. D. found a cheap battery. He had three twenties and a few ones and a couple of fives left, and the one on sale that would crank the Suburban was $79.95 plus tax. He wished he hadn’t bought the chips and donuts. Instead of trying to scrounge up the change, he told them to put in the battery and some oil and he’d pay with credit.
“I need it quick as you can do it,” he said.
“We’ll get to it,” the man said without looking up, a signal he could wait his turn. If J. D. pushed, the guy would drag his feet, so he waved Maria to come out of the waiting room. She reluctantly stood and entered the land of tire rubber and floor mats.
“What did he say?” J. D. asked.
“What did who say?”
“The phone call at the gas station. Did you talk with your father?”
She wandered to an aisle away from the register and picked up a key chain with her name on it. “My family can’t protect me.”
“That’s what they said?”
She didn’t make eye contact. “There may be a safe house. A place where I might survive.”
“Look at me.”
She put the key chain back. There was a
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