CHAPTER 13

.....The neon of the motel sign crackled outside his window, an economic bug zapper of road-weary travelers. It sure was bugging Wolfe, that and a lingering, nasty aftertaste from the beer. The mattress lay beneath him harboring resentment.
.....A mosquito whined close enough to his ear to annoy him, but not near enough to swat.
.....Finally, he put aside the copy of Thoreau's Walden that for the first time in his reading experience was failing to engross him. He groaned and swung from beneath the sheets of the plank-like bed, massaged his face and then eyed the clock: 10:30.
.....Outside the halo of tired neon, the darkness abided.
.....Wolfe looked back at the clock and the clock looked back at Wolfe, both waiting for the other to make the first move.
.....The clock won.
.....He sighed and began to get dressed.

.....Wolfe shut the door behind him and one of the 2s fell off and landed at his feet. He stooped to retrieve it and paused as a trunk door slammed shut behind him.
.....He looked up.
.....Two doors down the barfly from the Teapot gave him a nod, opening the door to his dusty Monte Carlo. Wolfe stood with the number in his hand and returned the nod.
.....“Heading out?” he asked.
.....The man looked about warily, then nodded. “Yeah, too many damned cameras in a town this size, too damned many to suit my tastes.”
.....Despite his seemingly continued paranoia, the man appeared to have sobered up. He was clean-shaven and he’d given his hair a pass with the comb. In his off-the-rack dark suit and tie with the jacket over his arm, he could have been just another businessman getting back on the road to make an acquaintance of the next town. Except for the eyes.
.....“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Wolfe agreed. He eyed the darkness thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking that this town might just be its own reality TV show.”
.....“Reality has nothing to do with this place, brother.” The man opened the door of his vehicle and paused. “You passing through here or staying?”
.....“I’m playing it by ear.”
.....“Yeah... well, be careful,” the man cautioned. “This is the kind of place sort of sucks you in. Like maybe Mayberry RFD with fangs.”
.....He looked at the lights of the town flickering down the road. “Some good people, though. If you see that Tanya again, could you tell her that Cooper said thanks, and sorry about being a downer tonight?”
.....Wolfe nodded.
.....Cooper climbed behind the wheel and closed the door behind him. The starter ground and then caught, the engine lumbering tiredly. It sounded as if it had been put through its share of American back roads, and wasn’t looking forward to more of the same.
.....“Be safe,” Wolfe offered.
.....“Yeah, you too.”
.....He dropped the Monte Carlo into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Wyoming being Wyoming, even at night the dust swirled.
.....Wolfe considered the 2 in his hand, then eyed the vacant spot on the door behind the other 2. It had been glued on and he was fresh out of glue. Or bubble gum. He slid the number into his hip pocket and fished out the keys to the Valiant.

........ Tick... Tick... Tick...

.....Down the road, Cooper stared glumly through the dusty windshield of the Monte Carlo and reconsidered his options. The car was idling in the parking lot of where he had last seen the Kwickie-Stop, the headlights illuminating the rubble.
.....In the sprawl of light, a solitary tendril of smoke curled up but would soon be dead. There wasn’t a whole lot left for the embers to feed on.
.....When the hell did this happen, he wondered. He’d been there the day before to grab a couple of packs of Pall Malls and a sixer of Olympia cans.
.....Cooper had no idea where he was going but he knew that there was nowhere down the road to pick up cigarettes against a long, long nicotine-free drive no matter what direction he headed out of Harding. The Teapot didn’t sell cigarettes, which left The Larkspur.
.....He didn’t particularly like The Larkspur, where the regulars took it personally if you turned down an offer to play a round of Liar’s Dice. A friendly game, of course. For drinks.
.....Cooper sighed.
.....He supposed he was good for a couple of games, and then he really needed to hit the road. He’d been in Harding for too long as it was.
.....But at least whatever camera was in the Kwickie-Stop had burned down with the building.

.....As Julia shrugged on her Calvin Klein original leather jacket on her way to clock out, she eyed the monitor showing the activity in the parking lot of the former convenience store. The fool in the idling Monte Carlo had been parked there for at least five minutes.
.....It’s not like there’s gonna be another store popping up there soon, she thought. Move along, little doggie.
.....She shrugged and clocked out. “’Night, Cynthia.” she nodded to her relief. The new girl nodded back, a sharp-featured farm girl with a suspicious amount of rackage that her uniform fought valiantly to conceal.
.....Cynthia frowned and thumbed about on the keypad of the remote until American Idol sprang to life on the big screen of the Samsung, giving Ryan Seacrest an entire length of wall space to flounce around on.
.....Julia could care less: The Larkspur was just about to start swinging and she needed to get there in time to claim prime table space before the floorshow began. Maybe tonight was going to be her night, and the Sheriff just might walk in as just plain Roy Crawford.
.....And then...