Are you into retro? Do you collect them? Lunchboxes?”
Pete gave him a long, slow look. “It was fifty cents at a garage sale. It looked like it could keep my sandwich in one piece even if I dropped a pile of rebar on it, so I got it.”
Clarke smiled. Again. Hell, maybe he hadn’t stopped. “Well, I think it’s a great lunchbox.”
Pete turned his head so he was looking out the passenger-side window.
“You from around here?” Clarke asked.
Pete kept his eyes out the window. “Lived in Blackwater all my life.”
“So maybe you know the place we’re going: Blind Pony Lake.” Clarke was hedging toward something, but Pete couldn’t figure out what.
“Never been to Saline County, no,” Pete said.
This seemed to disappoint Clarke. “But it’s practically next door!”
“Not much for lakes,” Pete said.
There was some nice silence as Clarke frowned out the windshield for a while, clearly thrown by either the fact that Pete hadn’t been to Blind Pony or that he didn’t like lakes. Pete didn’t care which it was. He just enjoyed it.
“So you’ve never been here at all,” Clarke said, after a few more miles. The road was really awful now, and he had to fight to keep the Lexus on the road. Not that this kept him from yapping.
“Nope,” Pete said.
“Maybe you know people over here, though? Relatives? Friends?”
“Nope.” Pete craned his head to look up at the trees. He wished he could roll down the window. It was pretty in here, if desolate. He bet it smelled nice and loamy.
“Friends of friends, then.”
Pete hesitated, knowing it wasn’t gonna come to anything good to egg Clarke on, but he was kinda curious now. “How come it matters to you so much that I know somebody here?”
Now Clarke was flustered. “Well—it doesn’t, obviously. I was just—you know. Making conversation. Trying to be polite.”
It did matter to him, Pete could tell, and it was weird. But Pete still didn’t care. “Polite ain’t necessary, Mr. Clarke.” He winced as they hit a particularly rough pothole and held on to the door handle to brace himself against more jostling. “And you should’ve had me drive us in my car. You’re gonna need a new tie rod after this road.”
Clarke grimaced as he swerved around another rut. “It wasn’t this rough the last time.”
“Maybe the rain wrecked the road,” Pete suggested. Except it hadn’t rained in a month.
“It’s not the rain,” Clarke said. He looked irritated. “Just defiance.”
Well, that didn’t make a lick of sense, but Pete just settled in as best he could and hoped the tie rods held out.
But it wasn’t another half a mile before Clarke turned off the road onto a lane. This road was so unused that weeds were growing up over half of it, big fuck-off nettles as high as a man’s head. Clarke drove straight over them and headed on. The road was ending ahead of them, stopping right in front of a weed-covered, dilapidated stone house with pillars. A shed or barn of some kind sat behind it, completely collapsed in on itself, but that was it. There wasn’t anything else here. Pete thought for sure they’d taken a wrong turn, but Clarke just pulled the car up to the drive, parked in the least weedy patch he could find, and killed the engine.
Now it was Pete who was frowning. “The rest of the crew coming along soon, are they?”
“No crew. Just the two of us.”
Whoa . “What?” Pete asked, turning to Clarke. “You telling me I’m the crew?”
Clarke just grinned his grin and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Come on,” he said, climbing out of the car. “Let me give you the grand tour.”
Grand tour of what? Pete thought, but he didn’t say it, just climbed out of the car to see what else this loony employer had in store for him.
“ They called it Haven,” Mike said.
Pete shifted uneasily
Pete gave him a long, slow look. “It was fifty cents at a garage sale. It looked like it could keep my sandwich in one piece even if I dropped a pile of rebar on it, so I got it.”
Clarke smiled. Again. Hell, maybe he hadn’t stopped. “Well, I think it’s a great lunchbox.”
Pete turned his head so he was looking out the passenger-side window.
“You from around here?” Clarke asked.
Pete kept his eyes out the window. “Lived in Blackwater all my life.”
“So maybe you know the place we’re going: Blind Pony Lake.” Clarke was hedging toward something, but Pete couldn’t figure out what.
“Never been to Saline County, no,” Pete said.
This seemed to disappoint Clarke. “But it’s practically next door!”
“Not much for lakes,” Pete said.
There was some nice silence as Clarke frowned out the windshield for a while, clearly thrown by either the fact that Pete hadn’t been to Blind Pony or that he didn’t like lakes. Pete didn’t care which it was. He just enjoyed it.
“So you’ve never been here at all,” Clarke said, after a few more miles. The road was really awful now, and he had to fight to keep the Lexus on the road. Not that this kept him from yapping.
“Nope,” Pete said.
“Maybe you know people over here, though? Relatives? Friends?”
“Nope.” Pete craned his head to look up at the trees. He wished he could roll down the window. It was pretty in here, if desolate. He bet it smelled nice and loamy.
“Friends of friends, then.”
Pete hesitated, knowing it wasn’t gonna come to anything good to egg Clarke on, but he was kinda curious now. “How come it matters to you so much that I know somebody here?”
Now Clarke was flustered. “Well—it doesn’t, obviously. I was just—you know. Making conversation. Trying to be polite.”
It did matter to him, Pete could tell, and it was weird. But Pete still didn’t care. “Polite ain’t necessary, Mr. Clarke.” He winced as they hit a particularly rough pothole and held on to the door handle to brace himself against more jostling. “And you should’ve had me drive us in my car. You’re gonna need a new tie rod after this road.”
Clarke grimaced as he swerved around another rut. “It wasn’t this rough the last time.”
“Maybe the rain wrecked the road,” Pete suggested. Except it hadn’t rained in a month.
“It’s not the rain,” Clarke said. He looked irritated. “Just defiance.”
Well, that didn’t make a lick of sense, but Pete just settled in as best he could and hoped the tie rods held out.
But it wasn’t another half a mile before Clarke turned off the road onto a lane. This road was so unused that weeds were growing up over half of it, big fuck-off nettles as high as a man’s head. Clarke drove straight over them and headed on. The road was ending ahead of them, stopping right in front of a weed-covered, dilapidated stone house with pillars. A shed or barn of some kind sat behind it, completely collapsed in on itself, but that was it. There wasn’t anything else here. Pete thought for sure they’d taken a wrong turn, but Clarke just pulled the car up to the drive, parked in the least weedy patch he could find, and killed the engine.
Now it was Pete who was frowning. “The rest of the crew coming along soon, are they?”
“No crew. Just the two of us.”
Whoa . “What?” Pete asked, turning to Clarke. “You telling me I’m the crew?”
Clarke just grinned his grin and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Come on,” he said, climbing out of the car. “Let me give you the grand tour.”
Grand tour of what? Pete thought, but he didn’t say it, just climbed out of the car to see what else this loony employer had in store for him.
“ They called it Haven,” Mike said.
Pete shifted uneasily
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