“What?” I asked her, suddenly self-conscious.
“I mean, really? Again?”
I looked around. “Hey, I was here first.”
“And I’ll be here last,” she promised.
God, she was good at the comebacks. I had nothing. I felt like we were back in high school.
“Okay.” I continued on my way.
I was still a little floored Sammy had broken his leg. And skiing, no less. That had to be painful.
I headed to the parking lot and searched out Misery. The Jeep, not the emotion. My days of being miserable were well behind me. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t wreak misery on others. I called Garrett.
“Hello, Charles.”
He was so formal. “Hey, Swopes. I have a job for you.”
“I’m not looking for a job.”
“Pleeeeease.”
“Okay. What?”
That was easy. “Can you run a name for me, see if he has any priors real quick? I want to make sure my client is safe before her husband gets out of jail.”
“Name.”
Honestly, he acted as though he didn’t like me anymore. Wait, maybe he didn’t. “Do you still like me?”
“I never liked you.”
Oh, right. He had a point. “Marvin Tidwell.”
“Got it. I’ll call you back.”
I climbed into Misery and called Uncle Bob. “We hooking up?”
“Why does everything out of your mouth make me sound incestuous?”
“Um, I wasn’t aware that it did. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience.”
“Charley.”
“Is there something you need to get off your chest? Besides that skank I saw you with the other day?”
He cleared his throat. “You saw that?”
“It gave me nightmares.”
“I was undercover.”
“I stopped falling for that when I was five.”
“Oh. Do you know where you’re going?”
“Kind of. Are you already out there?”
“On the way now.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”
I hung up just as Cookie texted me again.
Hurry, what would I do if someone grabbed me from behind with a knife?
Whatever he told you to do.
That’s what I’d do, anyway. Knives were hard to fend off. Mostly ’cause they freaking hurt when they sliced through your flesh.
On the way to the bridge to search for a body – a dead one – I decided to try another voice. I brought up the pirated app, punched in my destination, and listened as a being grunted and groaned. After a moment, he said, “In one thousand feet, turn right you will.”
I loved Yoda. I thought about buying him and putting him on my mantel. I didn’t, mostly because I didn’t have a mantel, but during a recent addiction to a shop-at-home channel, I bought a tiny Yoda key ring that gave me comfort on long lonely nights. He didn’t vibrate or anything. I just liked having someone tiny and powerful and oddly charming near me.
Sadly, I had no idea where this bridge was. I didn’t get out this way often, and finding an old bridge in the middle of nowhere was harder than I’d expected. But two things were striking me as being just a bit harder. The fact that the dead na**d man was back and the fact that a huge black SUV was so far up my ass, I could almost read his VIN from my rearview.
I slowed down. He slowed down. I thought about waving him past me, but if he’d wanted to pass, he would have. The interior of his vehicle was so dark, I couldn’t see enough to get a description. All I could make out were dark glasses and a black baseball cap.
“Lost, you are. Make a U-turn, you will.”
Shit. Did I miss a turn? I was losing my bond with Yoda. He was mocking me, I could tell. I scanned the area. I couldn’t have missed a turn. There wasn’t one to miss.
SUV Guy slowed down until he was about twenty feet back. Just when I started to breathe easier, he gunned his engine and darted forward.
Damn. “Hold on,” I said to Dead Naked Man, “he’s going to hit us.” If I veered off the road to evade him, he could broadside me, so I stayed the course, dialing Uncle Bob while trying to keep Misery on the road.
“In two hundred feet, bear right, you will.”
Bear right? There was no bearing right. There was no bearing at all. Clearly Yoda was going to get someone killed.
Just as the SUV was about to crash into me, he slammed on his brakes, losing just enough traction to swerve into the other lane. But he regained control quickly and started the game all over again.
“Where are you?” Uncle Bob asked.
“In five hundred feet, find your destination you will.”
Oh, awesome. I’d made it. “I’m close, I think. But someone —” I squeaked when the SUV pulled the same maneuver, rocketing forward, a microsecond away from driving up my ass before slamming on his brakes.
I let go of the breath I was holding. “Black SUV, GMC with chrome grille and moldings, tinted windows, male driver under the age of fifty, dark glasses and black baseball cap.”
“Got it. What’s going on?”
“He just tried to give me an GMC enema. Twice.”
“I’m on my way,” he said. It sounded like he was running to his own SUV.
I cursed New Mexico’s lack of requirement for front license plates. The guy backed way off before turning around and heading the other direction, too far for me to get his numbers. And no way was I turning around to try to get them.