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mouth. Oops, scratch the Man part.
A humorless face, half hidden behind mirrored aviator sunglasses, appeared
at the back edge of the driver's window. A faint trace of natural color lipstick
and a lack of facial hair indicated they were being accosted by a female
member of the Gilbert Police Force. She motioned for Jerry to lower his
window.
I don't believe this, Ted muttered.
Hey, officer, how's it going? Jerry put a smile on his face and into his
voice.
You live here? the cop asked, indicating the house they were parked in
front of.
Jerry looked at the house, pointed at it, turned back to the cop and said,
This house?
That house.
Nope, Jerry said, shaking his head. Just visiting. Nobody at home
though. We were just leaving when the fire truck pulled up. Thought we'd stick
around and find out what's all the excitement.
You'd better move, said the cop. Clear the street for emergency
vehicles.
You got it.
Have a nice day, now, said the cop. She turned and strolled over to the
other police car. She said something to the cop in that car, stepped away and
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the cruiser pulled away from in front of the Suburban.
Hate to say it, Ted, said Jerry, as they headed out of the subdivision. But
it might be better if we hold off for a day or so before we make our move.
Hold off for a day? I am not spending another day in this blast-oven you
call a city, said Ted. The cops and fire trucks can t stay around forever. We re
getting that boomerang and getting our money and I m going back to rescue
Sarah.
His manner was, if not positively frantic, at least undeniably insistent.
All right-already, said Jerry. Listen. The ABCB guy said that the Traceys
usually don t get home from their restaurant until at least midnight, sometimes
later. We ve got plenty of time to take care of things. Besides, it would
probably be better if we waited until after dark, don t you think?
Ted digested this bit of reasonable reasoning from a source he regarded as
generally deficient in all areas of deliberation and grudgingly found no fault.
And in the meantime? he said.
In the meantime, we eat!
26
The Burger Works Restaurant
Chandler, Arizona
Doreen swung the LeBaron into the parking lot of the Burger Works, having
been referred to the place by a flyer sitting on top of the television set in their
room at the El Chilito Motor Lodge. After they checked in and she deposited
Amelia in a cool, if chipped and stained, bathtub, she had realized she was very
hungry.
She stomped inside and got at the back of the line of half-a-dozen
individuals waiting for the attentions of the lone front-counter employee. A
small child clutching an enormous basket of french fries appeared at her side.
When the line shortened and Doreen took a step closer to the counter, the child
adjusted to match. Doreen tried harsh looks, aggressive gestures, and explicit
verbal commands to rid herself of the unwanted attention. All to no avail.
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When it was finally Doreen s turn to choose from amongst the offerings
listed above the front-counter person's head she opted for two Number Five
Combo Values, and no, she did not want the drinks and fries bumped up in size
to "The Works" for only ninety-nine cents extra. Within thirty seconds a couple
of warm, bulging paper bags were handed across the counter to her and she
was half heartedly instructed to have a nice day.
She turned to shoo off the hovering child, maybe give it a swift kick in the
shins for good measure and found it had drifted to a gathering of several
children and one woman in the far corner of the room.
As Doreen pulled the LeBaron out of the parking space, she nearly ran into
a large, red SUV just pulling into the lot. She honked her horn and stared
daggers at the occupants of the offending vehicle. The driver was a weaselly
looking little greaseball and the passenger had an expression of angry
melancholy that to Doreen s mind labeled him a likely mental patient. She
flipped the Suburban the bird as it pulled into a space near the back of the lot
and then sped back to the El Chilito.
27
The Burger Works
I ve got a friend who works here, said Jerry as he pulled into the Burger
Works parking lot. Always good for some free eats.
A car began to pull out of its parking spot, nearly bashing into the side of
the Suburban. Whoa! said Jerry. Somebody s in a hurry.
Fine, whatever, Ted said. Any place called Burger Works was not exactly
on Ted s top list of places to dine, but he was hungry. It had been a long time
since last night s home cooked meal of a three day old bagel and five day old
banana.
As Ted stepped from the chilled air of the Suburban to the blast furnace of
the parking lot and then to the refrigerator like air inside the second of the
airlock doors to the fast food establishment he wondered just how all these
sudden shifts in temperature played on a person s nervous system. How many
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thermal shocks did the average Phoenix resident suffer during the course of a
single summer day? Wasn t it inevitable that such inescapably frequent and
sudden hot-cold-hot-cold transitions would result in grave and irreversible
consequences to a person s health and psyche? What a stupid place to put a
city.
Jerry disappeared as soon as they entered, leaving Ted to either stand
uncomfortably or try to wedge himself on to one of the dark-purple plastic
chairs welded in a fixed position too close to its light-purple plastic table. His
knee was bothering him so he chose to wedge and sit.
The cracking and popping of his joints seemed to attract the attention of a
small child who wandered over from a nearby gathering of several boisterous
youngsters and one frazzled looking woman. The girl Ted surmised its sex on
what little available evidence of manner or attire presented itself had an
enormous container of french fries clutched to her chest with one hand. From
this motherlode of starch and palm oil, the other hand plucked, with machine-
like efficiency, french fry after french fry, feeding them into the child's mouth
which, with a similarly mechanized regularity, accepted, chewed, and
swallowed. The child stared at Ted as she ate, much like a moviegoer shoveling
in popcorn while being held enthralled by the goings-on up on the silver
screen.
Ted tried to ignore the child, but she remained. He tried to bore the child by
sitting absolutely still, consciously providing no entertainment value in the
hope that the urchin would move on to a livelier section of the bistro. She
found his lack of movement diverting and worthy of scrutiny. He tried a stern
look with no result. He summoned up the expression he had used with great
success on members of opposing teams after applying a hard foul to prevent a
lay-up or slam-dunk, effectively communicating the folly of any retaliatory
thoughts the foulee might be entertaining. The child met his menacing glare
with a calm, unblinking gaze and thoughtful chew. Ted tried to shoo the child
away, but it seemed not to recognize the significance of his gestures and
continued with its munching and staring. He tried to get the attention of the
frazzled woman, to see if she would gather the lost lamb back to the fold, but
she was engaged with those who had not strayed and their experiments with the
cosmetic properties of condiments. Little assistance would be coming from that
corner.
No luck, said Jerry, plopping down opposite. Who s the squirt?
How should I know? What do you mean, no luck ? Where s my food?
Sheila s not working now. Had to switch a shift with somebody else. Hey,
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kid, those for me? Jerry reached a hand toward the bucket of fries, but the
child took a lively step to the back and side and went in search of other
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