Gumbo.”
“I’m doing my public duty.”
“I am innocent. Innocent! And I will do all that I can to find out who killed Coyote. Tell that to your listeners, Mr Pirate Radio DJ. You hear?”
She slams down the phone.
“What you gonna do now, girl?” Country Joe asks.
Good question.
Boda picks up the bottle of Boomer, stuffs it into her shoulder bag. Then she spots the blond wig on the floor. This goes into the bag as well. “Okay, Joe,” she says. “You’ve got some nice clothes, I’ll bet?”
Up to Joe’s bedroom, gun-led. A palace of glitter, silk and sashes. More wigs, different shades. Boda chooses some of the more conservative items. “You got the key for this room?” she asks.
Country Joe’s eyes are wet with tears, mascara-smeared. He points to the key in the back of the door. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Boda, are you?”
“Well listen,” Boda replies. “Us mavericks… we look out for each other. Right?”
“Right.”
“Because who the hell else will?”
Country Joe collapses on to his furry bed.
“You’re a good man, Joe,” she says to him. “This is just a bad day on the ranch.”
Country Joe, his voice quivering, says, “I enjoyed singing with you, Boda. I really did…”
Locking the bedroom behind her, Boda makes her way downstairs and through to the bar area. The curtain of the Wonderwall is glimmering in the darkness, and some brute presence can be felt from the Zombie half of the room. But the door to the outside world is locked and barred, the bar is windowless. The presence behind the Wonderwall is calling to her, and when she looks deeply enough, Bonanza is there, yellow Stetson in place, his finger beckoning.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” she asks.
The greasy finger beckons.
Boda walks through the curtain of air.
The air breathes around her, like skin against skin, fingers of smoke dancing over her body. She feels dizzy, almost joyous. And stepping loose from the barrier, she feels something new opening up inside her. She feels like she is walking towards another part of herself.
A feeling of strength at last.
Bonanza leads her to another door, a Zombie door that opens on to the car park. As she runs across the car park, one of Country Joe’s dresses falls and is trampled into the mud. Chariot is there, entangled in the neon sign. Boda de-activates the defence systems, and then caresses the cab’s skin with a tender hand. You okay, Charrie? she transmits. NOTHING A TOUCH OF LOVING CARE WOULDN’T PUT RIGHT, he answers.
Bonanza is standing by her, smiling, rain dripping off his Stetson, his oily skin slick with drizzle. Boda shakes his hand. Shadow touching Zombie, girl to boy. “Thank you,” she says.
“No trouble,” he grunts. “Make a good journey.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“It’s not you I’m helping.”
Boda climbs into Charrie. WHAT NOW, DRIVER? Charrie asks.
“Let’s ride, Charrie.”
WHERE TO?
“Back to Manchester.”
Down to the root to find the killer and Boda thinks that Columbus himself would be a good place to start. Coyote himself had boasted to her about having visited Columbus but how do you go about finding such a nebulous creature, especially now that she’s off-map and Coyoteless?
Bonanza is a shivering figure in the rain as Boda backs Charrie away from the busted sign and out on to the road. She can see Country Joe emerging from the Zombie door. He stoops to pick up the mud-covered dress. He goes up to Bonanza and starts to hit that creature on the chest, again and again those tiny hands coming down on half-dead flesh. The Zombie just stands there and takes it, until the singer faints into his giant arms. The two figures merge into a single being as Boda drives Charrie away from the lights of the roadside cafe.
The second body was found that night, just before the old day shaded into morning: Tuesday, 11.49 p.m. A slab of earth in Alexandra Park surrounded by a radar of flies. They were eating their fill,
“I’m doing my public duty.”
“I am innocent. Innocent! And I will do all that I can to find out who killed Coyote. Tell that to your listeners, Mr Pirate Radio DJ. You hear?”
She slams down the phone.
“What you gonna do now, girl?” Country Joe asks.
Good question.
Boda picks up the bottle of Boomer, stuffs it into her shoulder bag. Then she spots the blond wig on the floor. This goes into the bag as well. “Okay, Joe,” she says. “You’ve got some nice clothes, I’ll bet?”
Up to Joe’s bedroom, gun-led. A palace of glitter, silk and sashes. More wigs, different shades. Boda chooses some of the more conservative items. “You got the key for this room?” she asks.
Country Joe’s eyes are wet with tears, mascara-smeared. He points to the key in the back of the door. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Boda, are you?”
“Well listen,” Boda replies. “Us mavericks… we look out for each other. Right?”
“Right.”
“Because who the hell else will?”
Country Joe collapses on to his furry bed.
“You’re a good man, Joe,” she says to him. “This is just a bad day on the ranch.”
Country Joe, his voice quivering, says, “I enjoyed singing with you, Boda. I really did…”
Locking the bedroom behind her, Boda makes her way downstairs and through to the bar area. The curtain of the Wonderwall is glimmering in the darkness, and some brute presence can be felt from the Zombie half of the room. But the door to the outside world is locked and barred, the bar is windowless. The presence behind the Wonderwall is calling to her, and when she looks deeply enough, Bonanza is there, yellow Stetson in place, his finger beckoning.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” she asks.
The greasy finger beckons.
Boda walks through the curtain of air.
The air breathes around her, like skin against skin, fingers of smoke dancing over her body. She feels dizzy, almost joyous. And stepping loose from the barrier, she feels something new opening up inside her. She feels like she is walking towards another part of herself.
A feeling of strength at last.
Bonanza leads her to another door, a Zombie door that opens on to the car park. As she runs across the car park, one of Country Joe’s dresses falls and is trampled into the mud. Chariot is there, entangled in the neon sign. Boda de-activates the defence systems, and then caresses the cab’s skin with a tender hand. You okay, Charrie? she transmits. NOTHING A TOUCH OF LOVING CARE WOULDN’T PUT RIGHT, he answers.
Bonanza is standing by her, smiling, rain dripping off his Stetson, his oily skin slick with drizzle. Boda shakes his hand. Shadow touching Zombie, girl to boy. “Thank you,” she says.
“No trouble,” he grunts. “Make a good journey.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“It’s not you I’m helping.”
Boda climbs into Charrie. WHAT NOW, DRIVER? Charrie asks.
“Let’s ride, Charrie.”
WHERE TO?
“Back to Manchester.”
Down to the root to find the killer and Boda thinks that Columbus himself would be a good place to start. Coyote himself had boasted to her about having visited Columbus but how do you go about finding such a nebulous creature, especially now that she’s off-map and Coyoteless?
Bonanza is a shivering figure in the rain as Boda backs Charrie away from the busted sign and out on to the road. She can see Country Joe emerging from the Zombie door. He stoops to pick up the mud-covered dress. He goes up to Bonanza and starts to hit that creature on the chest, again and again those tiny hands coming down on half-dead flesh. The Zombie just stands there and takes it, until the singer faints into his giant arms. The two figures merge into a single being as Boda drives Charrie away from the lights of the roadside cafe.
The second body was found that night, just before the old day shaded into morning: Tuesday, 11.49 p.m. A slab of earth in Alexandra Park surrounded by a radar of flies. They were eating their fill,
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