It was Mortal and breathtaking, and Ridley couldn’t imagine ever getting used to the idea that the pathetic, broken-down human race could pull off something this beautiful.
Just when you think they can’t surprise you, she thought. Then you have to start worrying that they can.
CHAPTER 7
Another Brick in the Wall
We’re not lost. How big can Brooklyn be? And I got a nose like a houndog, remember?”
“Hound dog is two words,” Ridley said. “And you mean bloodhound.”
“Whatever.” He took a swig from the Coke can wedged between his seat and the door. Cars as old as the Beater didn’t have luxury amenities like cup holders or windshield wiper fluid, let alone both headlights.
“You sure you even know where you’re going? Where your apartment is?” Ridley looked at him suspiciously.
He spat the Coke back into the can with a sigh. It was as close as he could come to drinking one; like any Incubus, Link didn’t need food, or even want it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it.
Link sighed, rattling the can. “It’s not an apartment. Not exactly.”
“What is it, exactly?”
“A parking lot.” He stole a sideways look at her.
“Excellent.” She tried to look annoyed, but really, she wasn’t that surprised.
“I figured I’d sleep in the Beater. Seems to me we had some pretty good times in this old girl.” He patted the dashboard affectionately.
“Your plan was to move to New York until you made it big and you were going to sleep in your car the whole time?”
Link shrugged. “How long could it take? I’m a talented guy.”
Ridley pulled a slip of paper out of her bag and grabbed Link’s ancient and not-at-all-smart phone off the dashboard. She found the keypad and slowly typed in letters with the tips of her long red nails. “Never mind. I’ve got this.”
It was time for the next phase of her plan—time to meet the band, and Link couldn’t have made things any easier. The roadie at Suffer had given her the lead guitarist’s number and told her to call when they got to town. Here we are.
on our way address pls—Rid frm Suffer
“You have? Got what?” Link frowned.
“I know some people.” She patted his arm. “I always do.”
“Since when?” Now it was Link’s turn to be suspicious.
The next text was almost instantaneous, and incomprehensible.
puking clown myrtle duane
Ridley tried to decipher the message. “It seems like we’re staying with this guy named Duane,” she said. “And maybe a girl named Myrtle.”
“How come I never heard a these people?”
Ridley scrambled. “They’re friends of John’s. I texted him, and he hooked us up.”
“John’s supposed to be on a plane all night, remember?” Link said. “Who is this Duane guy for real?”
“They have Wi-Fi now on planes,” Ridley said smoothly. The lies are starting to come so easily. Even more quickly than usual. “Which you’d know, if you’d ever been on one.”
“Hey, I’ve been places.”
“The Greyhound bus to Myrtle Beach doesn’t count.” Rid didn’t even look up. “Speaking of Myrtle.” She kept typing.
what puking clown
The response came just as quickly.
puke on myrtle
What?
Link scoffed, and Rid forced herself to stop looking at the phone. He glanced away from the street signs long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. “Why do I need a plane? John’s stupid for not Traveling.”
“That’s funny, because last time I checked we were sitting in a car for ten thousand hours driving all the way from South Carolina to New York City. Instead of Traveling.” Except for the part when we were, Ridley thought.
“That’s different. I couldn’t leave this sweet old girl home. She’d kill me.” Link patted the dashboard. “Isn’t that right, Sugarpie?”
“We have a place to crash with Duane and Myrtle. That’s the important thing. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Ridley almost believed herself as she said it. She tried the phone once more.
puking clown what the hell who is myrtle
This time, there was no response at all.
“She’s a street, not a person.” Ridley stood under the sign that said MYRTLE AVE. It was a miracle they’d found it, considering that it was the middle of the night and pitch-dark and every conceivable surrounding sign, wall, and surface was covered in layers of graffiti.
“I kinda picked up on that about Myrtle.” Link sighed. “Let’s get back in the car. That dude’s place has to be around here somewhere.”
Ridley shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? Duane’s screwing with us.”
“Actually, he’s not.” Link pointed, with a laugh. “But Duane really wants you to come in for your flu shot. Because he’s also not a person.” There it was, the sign announcing two-for-one vaccination day at Duane Reade.
Duane Reade, the drugstore.
Damn, she thought. They are screwing with me. Of course. Devil’s Hairspray. This band already sucks worse than Meatstik.
Link looked down at Ridley. “There’s no Duane, Babe. And no Myrtle. Do you have any idea where we’re goin’, or who we’re goin’ to see?”
“A puking clown.” She sat down on the curb. It was true, and all she had left to go on. Ridley was so frustrated she felt like crying. It didn’t help that the people they were looking for still wouldn’t answer her texts.