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"They like Nicaraguans or some-thing?" His expression lit up. "Hey, you
wouldn't be a dope smuggler, would you?"
Rail looked confused. "Why would anyone wish to smuggle stupidity when there
is so much of it readily available?''
"He means drugs," Kerwin muttered. "You must be a foreigner to miss that one."
"Yes, true, I am from not around here."
"Like the cops?" Seeth glanced over at the man they'd rescued. "This is really
getting interesting. You an illegal alien or something?'*'
"Something like that, yes, true."
Kerwin had to admire the single-mindedness with which the man clung to the
bowling ball. In times of crisis familiar objects could be soothing to the
psyche. Or so his profs claimed.
"Not that I'm real big on anthropology," Seeth was saying, "but I kind of
thought Central Americans were like kind of brown, not black and green."
"That's Oomemians for you." The more time passed without their discovery, the
more Rail's confidence ap-peared to be returning. "Nobody thinks they're
good-looking. Their pigmentation's about as nasty as their dispositions."
"I can go with that. You sure you're not carrying drugs?"
"Absolutely not. I do not indulge in artificial stimu-lants nor do I approve
of their use by others."
"Skip it." Seeth didn't try to hide his disappointment. Suddenly he grinned.
"Hey, I got it! You're smuggling bowling balls, right?" He glanced toward
Kerwin. "See, there's this multimillion dollar market in illegal bowling
balls.
The great thing is you don't have to pack 'em in. You just stand on the
Mexican side and roll 'em across."
"Funny." Kerwin didn't smile. "For someone with a destroyed brain you're a
real wit."
"At least I've still got a brain and not a lump of saltwater taffy any retardo
can stretch and pull at his will."
"That so? Lemme tell you that "
"Gentlemen, please," said Rail anxiously. "Save the philosophy of cognition
for when we have assured our mutual continued existence."
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"Potato brain," Seeth muttered under his breath.
"Anarchistic twit," Kerwin hissed by way of reply.
Seeth looked back over the Riviera's hood. "I think they're leaving, heading
off the other way. Gonna check out Denny's, maybe."
"They won't give up," Rail reminded them warningly. "Oomemians never give up."
"You said that. Check that out." Seeth pointed at a customized Dodge van
parked three lanes away. The front door stood slightly ajar.
"Wonder if they left the keys inside?" Kerwin strained for a better look while
Seeth stared at him.
"What's this? Can it be? The boy wonderbread thinking of stealing a vehicle
that belongs not to him but another?''
"Borrowing," Kerwin corrected him. "This is a matter of life and death."
"Excuses. Maybe there's hope for you yet. We don't need keys."
As they moved toward the van, Kerwin considered ask-ing Rail about his
obsession with the bowling ball. Expen-sive it might be, but it was getting a
little ridiculous to keep hauling it around when they might have to make a run
for it.
Seeth opened the door noiselessly and slid inside. Rail and Kerwin followed.
The front was dominated by a pair of oversized captain's chairs.
Seeth didn't have to demon-strate his antisocial skills because the van's
owner had thoughtfully left the keys in the ignition. It was slightly crowded
up front with the three of them, not to mention the bowling ball. Music blared
from the radio.
"Please, let me drive." Rail's request was unexpected.
Seeth eyed him briefly, then shrugged. He was listening to the rock pouring
out of the custom speakers and feeling good. "Sure man, why not?" He moved
aside and let the man slip behind the wheel.
Rail appeared to hesitate over the automatic shift. Maybe he was used to a
stick, Kerwin mused. He turned the key and slowly eased forward. The loud
music helped to muf-fle the sound of the engine turning over. They began
easing out of the parking lot.
A blast of white-hot energy scorched the left side of the van.
"Hit it, hit it!" Kerwin yelled over the heavy-metal riffs of KDKW. Rail
responded by slamming his foot down on the accelerator, leaving rubber behind
as the van peeled out of the lot and roared eastward.
"All right
!''' Seeth was bouncing up and down in time to the music, jabbing
Kerwin in the ribs with an elbow. He leaned out of the passenger window and
looked back the way they'd come as another bolt of energy, weaker with
distance, seared the pavement behind them.
"Eat hot lead, Oomemian scum!" He cocked his thumb and forefinger and began
shouting as he shot imaginary slugs. "Bang bang!" Kerwin had to
grab him by the seat of his pants to keep him from tumbling out as Rail sent
the van careening wildly around a corner.
Their driver looked a little steadier now. He glanced uncertainly at Kerwin.
"What weapon is your friend firing?"
"Whaaa?" Crammed in between the enigmatic Rail on one side and
Seeth-the-mental-case on the other, Kerwin began to feel like a Tenniel
illustration from
Alice in Wonderland
. "He's not shooting anything."
"Oh." Rail sounded disappointed.
"Look, this whole business is insane. What are we running from, anyway?"
"It is not insane," said Rail evenly. "It is inconvenient, which is not quite
the same thing."
He'd finally put the bowling ball down. It was rolling around, bumping up
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