Wayne DiRosario lived in a two story bungalow on the corner of Quincy Avenue and East Street across from Royal Lake. It was a small, boxy construct with crème colored siding and a covered front porch. An American flag hung limply on a pole jutting from one of the white support beams. A forest green Jeep Grand Cherokee, late eighties or early nineties model (Lynn couldn't tell) sat in the driveway.
Lynn called DiRosario earlier. He didn't know what he was expecting (a hardboiled gumshoe? Dick Tracy?) but it most certainly was not the wispy, almost effeminate voice that greeted him. "DiRosario."
"Hi, my name's Lynn Loud, and I was wondering if I could come down today. I...I need your services."
The address on the website was for an office in downtown Royal Woods.
"I was actually just heading home for the day, but if you'd like to meet me there, that'd be fine. Say...2?"
"Okay, yeah."
Lynn copied the address DiRosario gave him and hung up. Now, at ten to two, he turned onto East Street, which flanked the eastern side of the house, and parked the rented Prius alongside a chain-link fence that separated DiRosario's yard from the street. For a moment he sat behind the wheel and studied the house, his stomach rolling with nerves. Then he got out and walked along the fence to the back, just like DiRosario told him to.
Lynn went through a gate, and found a man whom he took to be DiRosario sitting at a patio table on the back deck and smoking a cigarette. He saw Lynn and stood. He was thin to the point of emaciation, the brown, cracked leather skin of his face pulled taunt against his skull. A short-sleeved colored shirt, white and buttoned to the throat, hung from his skeletal frame. His bristly hair was a dull salt and pepper color. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.
"Mr. Loud?" he asked in that soft, breathy voice.
"That's me," Lynn said coming up the walk.
"I'm Wayne DiRosario," DiRosario said, and they shook, DiRosario's thin lips pulling back from his prominent teeth and gums in what Lynn guessed was meant to be a smile. "Sit down and we can talk."
Lynn sat at the table and DiRosario sank into his own chair. A white plastic ashtray, filled to the brim with butts, a green and white pack of Kools, and a pink lighter sat on the table's surface next to a glass of iced tea and a pad of paper, a pencil lying diagonally across.
"So," DiRosario said around the filter of his cigarette, bluish smoke hanging around his head, "how can I help you?"
Lynn took a deep breath. "My son and my daughter ran away from home last night. They took some money and my van."
DiRosario took a drag and tapped ash into the ashtray. He crossed his legs and rested his chin in his hand. "Okay."
"Well...I don't want the police involved. I don't want them punished, I just want them home."
DiRosario nodded. "Understandable. You want me to find them?"
"Yes," Lynn nodded, tears threatening to well in his eyes. He wanted nothing more.
DiRosario uncrossed his legs and picked up the pencil. "Alright. I understand this is –" he trailed off, cocking his head as if listening to someone. " –difficult, but I need as much information as you can give me. About your children. Why did they run away? Was there an argument? Where do you think they might be going? That kind of thing."
Lynn sighed. He figured he'd have to tell DiRosario about Lincoln and Luan's relationship. He didn't want to, but if it helped DiRosario bring them home, he'd tell him anything. "My son Lincoln and my daughter Luan were...well, they were 'together.'"
DiRosario stared blankly. "Together?"
Lynn sighed. He explained the situation, starting with Leni's mental breakdown and ending with that morning's shocking discovery. DiRosario's face displayed no emotion, for which Lynn was grateful. He expected surprise...or disgust.
"How old?"
"Lincoln's fourteen and Luan's seventeen."
"Make and model of the vehicle? License plate number?" His voice steadily rose with each word, as though he was talking over a loud noise.
Lynn told him.
"Your son doesn't drive, right?"
"No, only Luan."
DiRosario nodded. "What kind of people are they?"
Lynn blinked. "Excuse me?"
"What kind of people are they? What do they like, what do they dislike? Tell me about them so I can get a better picture of them in my head."
Lynn thought. "Over the past couple years, they've both been sullen and depressed. Aside from that, Luan is a comedian." He smiled fondly. "She's always cracking jokes and making puns. Lincoln is...he's Lincoln. He likes drawing and video games and comic books."
"Artistic?"
"Yeah, fairly artistic."
"What are their favorite foods?"
Lynn thought. "Pizza and ice cream for both, I'd say."
"Are they...close with their other siblings? You did say you had other children, right?"
"Yes, they're very family oriented. They look out for one another and help each other. They're both very responsible and considerate."
DiRosario nodded, then glanced away, swatting as if at a fly. "Damn it," he hissed under his breath. Then: "Do you have a picture of them?"
"Yes," Lynn said. He reached into his back pocket and produced his wallet. From it he took a photo and slid it across the table. It was one of all the kids taken just last month. He circled Lincoln and Luan, noticing, for the first time, just how miserable they both looked. DiRosario looked at it for a long time.
"Where do you think they're going?"
Lynn sighed. "I don't know. We have family in Virginia, Texas, Washington State, and Vermont. They might be going there."
"I don't know," DiRosario said. He took another cigarette out of the pack and lit it, inhaling deeply. He held it daintily between his fore-and-middle fingers, his wrists crossed. "With what you told me, I think they might be trying to avoid family. Is there anywhere else? Somewhere one of them talked about a lot?"
Lynn started to say no, but something occurred to him. "Well, when the kids were younger we went to Disneyland and Luan absolutely loved California. She always said she wanted to live there."
DiRosario grinned, and Lynn couldn't help but stare at his big teeth and gray gums. "Mr. Loud, I can almost guarantee –" he stopped and looked behind him, then back to Lynn. "I can almost guarantee that's where they're going."
"Do you really think so?" Lynn asked hopefully.
"I do," DiRosario said, leaning back and crossing his legs, looking like a man relaxing after a hard day. "Think about it. California represents the American Dream. Plus, it's warm and romantic, the perfect place for a couple of young lovebirds." He glanced over his shoulder again. "You said they were armed and dangerous?"
Lynn gaped. "No, no! They have the gun, but I think they took it...out of spite. Or for protection. Lincoln's always been very protective of his sisters."
"Oh," DiRosario said. "Okay. I don't have any other cases right now, so I can get started immediately. Supposing they have a 12 hour head start, I can probably catch up with them before they reach California. What exactly do you want me to do when I find them?"
Lynn sighed. "Just watch them. My wife and I will fly out and try to reason with them."
DiRosario nodded. "Alright. There's the matter of pay..."
"Anything."
DiRosario pursed his lips thoughtfully. "A thousand upfront. The rest later."
Lynn produced his checkbook and wrote out DiRosario's price. The detective took it, held it up, then folded it and put it in his breast pocket. "I will leave as soon as I can. Probably by five."
"Thank you," Lynn said, gratitude welling within in him.
"My pleasure," he said with a smile.
On the notepad, he wrote ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS CRIMINALS and underlined it heavily.
They stopped for lunch at a Denny's off the highway an hour after crossing into Indiana. Lincoln saw the sign first, towering high into the sky; an embankment sloped away from the interstate, with roads and businesses at the base. If not for big signs, you might miss them.
"Food," he said, pointing.
"Jesus, Lincoln," Luan sighed. "Really?"
"I'm hungry."
"You just had a bag of chips."
"Yeah, two hours ago."
Luan started to snap, but stopped herself. She was hungry too. And tired. She'd been driving almost nonstop all night, and with achy eyes and an empty stomach, she was dangerously close to bitch mode.
"Okay, you're right," she said, merging into the proper lane and taking an off-ramp which rounded a hillock in a rough U-shape. At the bottom, she waited for the light to turn green and then pulled into the Denny's parking lot, which was relatively empty save for a couple big rigs facing the interstate. She slid into a slot facing the restaurant and cut the engine. She turned to Lincoln and leaned back against the door, bringing one of her legs up. "Alright. Here's your lunch. Dig in."
Flashing a grin, he ran his hand up her leg, and she shivered. "That's not lunch," he said, "that's dessert."
The tips of his fingers disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt and she closed her eyes, letting out a long, throaty hmmmm.
"You ever get busy in a Denny's bathroom?" he asked.
"No, but if you keep touching me like that I will."
He tugged on her underwear, then pulled his hand out. "Well, come on. The sooner we can eat, the sooner I can bend you over a toilet."
"Uh, how about the sink?" she asked as they got out. Lincoln came around the front of the van and slipped his arm around her waist.
"That too."
She nudged his ribs with her elbow.
Inside, the place was nearly deserted. A couple beefy men in flannel and baseball caps with mesh backs sat at the counter, steaming mugs of coffee before them. A black family sat at one of the tables, a little girl maybe a year old strapped into a high chair and doing something funny from the sounds of her family's laughter. Lincoln pointed to an empty table, and they sat.
"I could eat a fucking horse," Lincoln said just as a waitress appeared with laminate menus in her hand.
"Don't have that, hun, sorry," she said, and Lincoln blushed. Luan smiled, and he shot her a dirty look. The waitress sat a menu before each of them then whipped out a notepad, her pen poised. "Can I get ya'll something to drink?"
"Coke," Lincoln said.
"Alright," the waitress jotted that down and turned to Luan. "You, sweetie?"
"Coffee. Please. Strong."
"Okay." The waitress wrote that down as well. "I'll be right back to take your order."
"Thanks," Luan said.
When she was gone, Luan reached her hands across the table and took Lincoln's. "You realize we're, like, outlaws, right?"
Lincoln blinked. He thought of the gun in the glovebox. "I guess?"
"Outlaws don't blush when someone hears them cussing."
"Shut up," he said with a little grin.
"What are you going to do if we get into a shootout with the cops? Cry and wet your tampon?"
Lincoln shook his head.
Luan felt a sudden and inexplicable rush of cruelty. "Like a little bitch."
Lincoln's eyes narrowed and he fixed her with a withering glare. His evil expression was fucking sexy, she realized with a blush.
She lifted his hand to her mouth and brushed her lips against it. He blinked. "I'm so gonna fuck you after we eat."
Lincoln's smile returned. "You're on."
"I'm already on. I want to get off."
"I need energy first," he said, opening his menu. Luan did likewise, scanning the pictures. She saw eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, pancakes, hamburgers, steak, and ice cream, and her stomach rumbled.
"Ooooh, this looks good," she said.
"What?" Lincoln asked.
"The stuffed crepes."
Lincoln found them in his menu. "Ehhh, too sugary. I want a burger."
"Then get a burger. I'm getting stuffed crepes."
"You're getting stuffed with something alright..."
Luan laughed. "Keep it up, mister, and I'm going to drag you into that bathroom kicking and screaming."
"Speaking of bathroom," Lincoln said, leaning over. "Where is it?"
He scanned the dining room, and saw a sign with an arrow pointing to the left. "I wonder if it's a single."
"I dunno," Luan said, "what, you don't want anyone watching? Or listening?"
"Pretty sure we could go jail," he said, "so, no, I don't want anyone watching."
The waitress came back shortly and took their order: A hamburger and fries for Lincoln and stuffed crepes for Lincoln. She also brought their drinks. The straw sticking out of Lincoln's Coke had a little bit of paper on the top. He took it out, put it to his lips, and blew: The paper shot off and hit Luan in the forehead.
"Hey, jerk," she said. She grabbed a pink packet of Sweet 'n' Low and threw it at him: It struck him in the cheek and stung like a motherfucker.
"Goddamn," he said, rubbing his face. Luan laughed at him.
When their food came, they dug in, Lincoln struggling to get his mouth around the burger. It was huge, meaty and cheesy with strips of bacon. Luan's crepes were topped with whipped cream, cherries, blueberries, and bananas. "That does look kind of good," Lincoln said around a mouthful of food.
"You want a bite?" she asked, cutting a piece off with her fork.
"Sure."
She held the fork out and he leaned forward. He was right: It was too sugary. Good, but not a meal.
"You like it?"
"Yeah, it's alright."
She cut another piece off for herself then looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and a devilish smile. "You know...the quicker we eat, the quicker we can do it."
"Yeah?" Lincoln asked, squirting ketchup onto his fries.
"Yeah." Then: "Wanna race?"
Lincoln looked up at her. "Race?"
She answered by hacking off a giant piece of crepe and shoving it into her mouth. Oh, a race, huh? Lincoln snatched up a handful of fries and stuffed them in. Luan took a drink of her coffee then went back for another bite. Lincoln picked up his burger and mashed it against his mouth, pieces of lettuce and tomato dropping onto the plate. A mixture of mayonnaise and grease dripped down his chin.
Luan choked, and reached for her coffee, her face red and her eyes wide. Lincoln laughed, and a wad of food went down the wrong tube: He coughed, bits of chewed meat, bread, and vegetables spraying his plate. He cleared his windpipe with a blast of Coke and checked Luan's progress. She was winning. Shit. He couldn't let her beat him; he had to prove to her that he wasn't a bitch. He rammed the burger into his maw and choked again. Fuck! Starting to panic, he picked up a fry and threw it at her. It hit her in the face, and she flinched. "Goddamn it, Lincoln," she said around a mouthful of food. She flung a cherry at him, and it went down the front of his shirt. "There's my cherry," she remarked.
"Already took that."
"Did you? I can't remember shit sex."
Lincoln stiffened. She smiled and crammed another forkful of crepes into her mouth, a mocking light in her eyes. She was trying to slow him down. Fuck that. He shoved the rest of the fires into his mouth and chewed, taking a drink of Coke to wash them down. He pulled his burger apart and ate it piecemeal, a piece of bun here, some meat there. He swallowed the last bit just as Luan lifted her final forkful to her mouth.
"Ha ha, fuck you," Lincoln said, sitting back and putting his arms behind his head.
"You forgot the fry you threw at me." She put the fork in her mouth and wiggled her eyebrows.
Lincoln's heart bounced. "Doesn't count."
"Yes it does."
"No, it doesn't."
"Lincoln, yes it does." Her tone was serious now.
"Then you forgot your cherry." He reached into his shirt, pulled it out, and started handing it to her, before tossing it over his shoulder. "Oops," he said, putting his index finger to his cheek. He took savage delight in the dirty look she gave him, her brow set and her eyes slitted. She looked like a pissed off fox.
"Fuck you, Lincoln," she said.
"You wanna?"
She started to speak, but nodded. "Yes," she said sheepishly.
"Let's go."
He slid out of the booth and started toward the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was following; she was, smoothing out her skirt and wiping her face. She gave him a little look, her eyes angry but her mouth happy, and Lincoln felt himself beginning to get hard.
The bathrooms were side-by-side, one for men and one for women. Lincoln turned the knob and peeked into the men's room. It was a single. Perfect. He slipped in, and Luan came in behind him, shutting and locking the door.
"If you wanna get really kinky I can bend you over the toilet and give you a swirly while you cum," Lincoln suggested.
"That's not kinky, Lincoln Loud," she said as she strutted past him and laid her hands on either edge of the sink, "that's grody." She pushed her butt out and looked at him.
"Whatever you say," he said, coming up behind her. In the mirror, his eyes smoldered with passion, and a little thrill went down Luan's legs, emanating from her already dampening sex. She'd be able to see him (and herself) while he fucked her, and for some reason she couldn't name, that made her hot. Reaching under her skirt, she pulled her underwear down to her knees. Lincoln's eyes blazed when she hiked the hem up. She could feel his gaze manhandling her, and she liked it.
"Hard and fast," she said.
"Whatever you say," he repeated. She heard his zipper and trembled in anticipation. He laid one hand on her shoulder and leaned forward, her ponytail tickling his face. His tip brushed her, and she bit her lower lip. Their eyes locked in the mirror.
When he pressed against her moist opening, she gripped the sink harder and bowed her head, her breaths hot and short. He slowly pushed through her lips, his head prying her passage open for the rest of him. When he was half in, he thrusted, and she jerked.
"Harder," she said.
She thought back to all the nights she had angrily masturbated to Lincoln, wanting him, craving him, but not having him, the pain and rage rising, twisting together with her desire like strands of DNA before consuming her in one white hot moment of total fire: Pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy. Where did one end and the other begin? She didn't know anymore.
He thrust into her.
"Harder," she said.
She wanted, needed to recapture the atom bomb intensity of those orgasms. He thrust, then again. He was treating her like she was made of glass and it was starting to piss her off. An idea came to her. He didn't like jabs at his manhood.
She looked at him in the mirror. "Come on, baby dick," she spat, "I can't feel you."
His face darkened.
"You might as well use your pinky," she said, her face a perfect mask of venom.
That did it. Lincoln grabbed her hips, digging his nails into her soft flesh, and rammed into as hard as he could: His rod cleaved her nearly in half, her walls quivering as his tip scratched roughly against them. Luan let out a gasp and gripped the sink harder, her ponytail swishing from side to side like a pendulum. Lincoln pulled back and surged into her again, his balls slapping her clit and sending tingles up her spine. He pulled back and thrust deep yet again, her muscles clenching as if to repel him. She cried out when he did it again; it felt like he was penetrating her womb, ripping it asunder with his dark passion.
He was going faster now, creating so much friction that her loins burned (was that smoke she smelled?) and her knees trembled.
"Choke me," she moaned.
Slackening his speed just a bit, he reached his forearm around her throat and pulled her back against him. She clenched around him like a vise, and he hissed. Her lungs burst hysterically against her ribcage, and her brain started to panic. Lincoln thrusted, reaching so deeply into her body (and her soul) that she felt like she was dying. The world started to gray at the edges, and her orgasm blossomed in her stomach. She clenched her eyes and gasped for air as it rushed into her oxygen deprived brain. The world exploded, and Luan Loud gave a long screech as her knees gave out, her body twitching and jerking. Lincoln popped out of her and came against the underside of her butt, his molten hot seed splattering her and running down the backs of her legs. He released his grip, and she bent over the sink, gasping for air, her mind still fuzzy and her body weightless.
It was a long time before she looked into the mirror and saw her brother sitting on the toilet, catching his breath. His face was beet red and streaked with sweat. He was so sexy.
She licked her teeth and took a deep breath. "Damn," she said.
Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, damn."
"You liked it?"
He looked up at her, and a grin spread across his face. "I did."
He wouldn't admit it to Luan, or even to himself, but he liked it when he was choking her; he had all the control, and she was at his mercy, powerless, totally and utterly reliant upon him. He realized just how much power he had over her when her knees gave out; his orgasm shot out of him moments later. Coincidence?
"So did I," she said. "Can you come wipe your cum off the backs of my legs, please?"
Nodding, Lincoln grabbed a wad of toilet paper and came over, kneeling behind his sister. On both sides, his climax had dripped all the way to her bare ankles, leaving behind it a slick and crooked course. He dabbed as much of it up as he could. He saw a wet spot on the hem of her skirt, but didn't say anything. He liked the thought of her sitting in his cum.
"You're going to need a shower," he said as she pulled her underwear up, wiggling her hips.
"I know. I need sleep too. I'm the only one driving."
"Let's get a room then."
"I don't want to yet," she replied, using a paper towel to wipe her crotch. "We're still too close. I want to be in Illinois before we stop."
Lincoln shrugged. "Can't help you then." He didn't say, but he took offense to the way she said she was the only one driving, like he was a useless piece of shit. Maybe she didn't mean it that way, but he kind of took it that way.
"You ready?" he asked her.
"Yup!" she said perkily.
He took her hand and together they went back into the dining room. Behind them, the door closed on a public restroom that stank of sex.