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"We're going to have to stop soon."
Crowley glanced over at Raleigh. "Can't you hold it?"
"I have peed in places even you wouldn't believe. But that's not the issue." Raleigh knocked a knuckle against a gauge on the dashboard. "This truck isn't exactly solar-powered. And if we run out of gas, I can't call AAA if I'm toting around demons and their pets."
There would be no finding Meg if they had to scour suburbia on foot, so Crowley graciously allowed Raleigh a detour to the nearest truck stop. While she pumped diesel, Crowley watched the wildlife. Truck stops were like watering holes in the Serengeti. They attracted myriad creatures, most of them fascinating to watch, but you wouldn't want to get too close. There was the classic truck stop hooker, trucker having serious issues with his rig, family on a road trip that had made a terrible, terrible decision, and desperate hitchhikers.
By the time Raleigh finished, Crowley had seen some fascinating group dynamics. Two of the hitchhikers had frightened off the vacationing family, the hooker had gravitated to the trucker with engine trouble, and a new player—a biker who thought he could compete with truckers, and handle their food—had entered the scene.
Raleigh returned to the driver's seat and found Crowley peering through the window, taking notes on the back of a receipt he'd found somewhere.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Debating whether I should pitch Truck Stop Safari to Discovery, National Geographic, or TLC."
"What in the unholy hell is Truck Stop Safari?"
"The next great reality TV show. It chronicles the circle of life at an average American truck stop."
"You've got something really wrong with you."
"King of Hell, love."
"It's deeper than that. What kind of demon makes reality TV shows, never mind about truck stops?"
"I've got a soft spot in my, I don't want to say heart because I haven't got one, in my little black book for truckers. Or people who wear their hats."
"I don't want to hear about your trucker fetish. Let's just find your girlfriend and then the two of you can sort your crazy demon shit out."
Raleigh started the truck and Growley stuck his massive head out at the prospect of getting back on the open road. Crowley decided TLC would probably be the best bet, as they already had an audience that loved human genetic wreckage and freaks of all stripes. While Raleigh pulled back onto the highway, Crowley made a list of all the entertainment-industry souls in his pocket who could help make his dream a reality and a ratings success.
"I'm going into a diabetic coma back here! Hey!"
When the banging and shouting started, Raleigh was so startled she swerved into oncoming traffic, and only years behind the wheel saved her from having a close encounter of the lawsuit kind with another truck. She veered back into her own lane just in time to avoid a collision, though the rough movements threw Growley against the door, and then knocked Crowley against his dog. Neither demon nor Hellhound were happy about it, and the deep, venomous growl from the Hellhound almost sent Raleigh careening again.
"I forgot he was back there," Raleigh admitted once she was driving smoothly again.
"He's going to wish he'd never reminded you if he doesn't shut up!" Crowley shouted, more for Sun Wukong's benefit than Raleigh's.
"I wouldn't talk to you if this wasn't an emergency. I'm seriously going to pass out," Sun Wukong said.
"You're a god. A little low blood sugar isn't going to kill you. Now, being set on fire and left to bake until well-done might do the trick," Crowley said.
"If I'm out cold, I'm not going to be much good in a fight, am I?"
"I've got a Hellhound, what do I need a god two thousand years past his prime for?"
"I didn't give Meg the last of my tricks. And I've got opposable thumbs."
Crowley considered it. He knew Sun Wukong had plenty of ulterior motive for offering to help; not wanting to be burned alive was probably at the top of the list. Regardless of the god's motivation, there was no denying that a Trickster—so long as he behaved and kept his word—was a powerful ally.
And the power of thumbs could never be overlooked.
"Pull over," Crowley said.
"Sure, so a demon king and a monkey god can have it out in the back of my truck," Raleigh replied.
"Don't tell me your insurance hasn't got provisions for supernatural forces."
"It doesn't."
"Does the word 'don't' have a different meaning to you?"
Raleigh shook her head but nevertheless pulled onto the shoulder. Crowley slithered around Growley, and hopped down onto the hardscrabble side of the road.
"Stay. And if she tries to drive off without me, give her a little nip," Crowley said to his loyal pet.
Raleigh swallowed thickly and looked into the seemingly empty passenger seat. A masochistically curious part of her wanted to reach into the space until it collided with something solid, but her desire to keep all her fingers curtailed any impulsive groping.
While Raleigh tried to ignore the Hellhound in the room, Crowley strolled to the back of the rig and unlocked the rolling door. He pushed the door open and leveraged himself inside the gloom.
Sun Wukong was slumped against the far wall. Crowley was just a little too wary and clever to believe the Trickster had weakened so much he couldn't move, so he pulled the door shut behind him and cut off the one possible escape route. Without the morning sunlight filtering in, the trailer was like a crypt. One of the two feeble overhead lights had died, and the last light standing didn't look like it would be up to the task much longer.
"I know you're awake," Crowley said.
"Do you know how hungry I am? If it was made of sugar, I'd chew off my own arm," Sun Wukong replied.
"How would donuts sound to you? And coffee? And I did hear, in a sure sign of another pending apocalypse, Taco Bell is now serving breakfast."
Sun Wukong made a noise most people reserved for sex.
Crowley smirked. He'd wrung noises like that out of plenty of people (and demons) but even for him, earning such nice sounds usually took more than a mention of a fast food breakfast. He was even more talented in the seductive arts than he thought!
"I see we can make a deal."
Crowley crossed the trailer and crouched down in front of the Trickster. "And here are the terms. You help me locate Meg and send her back where she belongs, and I seriously consider not slow-roasting you alongside her. And I guarantee you a decent breakfast at the establishment of your choice."
"Deal. But, uh, can you deal in more than souls?" Sun Wukong asked.
"Of course. Compared to souls, fried eggs can't really compete," Crowley replied.
Without waiting for Sun Wukong to reply, Crowley grabbed a handful of the Trickster's black hair and kissed him. Despite Sun Wukong's miserable withdrawal symptoms, he still tasted like a melange of sweets, like sugar and fruit and fried dough. As he pulled away, Crowley licked his lips. It was a shame all his deals couldn't taste that pleasant.
Sun Wukong gaped at Crowley. The demon grinned back.
"I'm sure you'll taste even better after breakfast," Crowley said. "Where would you like to eat?"
"Denny's? I've got to get a freaking god take-out from Denny's?" Raleigh asked as soon as Crowley revealed the details of his little chat with the Trickster.
"And I could use a milkshake," Crowley responded.
"Uh-huh. Well, I could use some money, because I'm already paying for the fuel, and that doesn't leave a lot of room for anything else."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'd never set foot in the establishment myself, but I do understand how a value menu works."
"A dollar cup of coffee is more than I'd spend on you."
Like he was the most long-suffering man in the world, Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet that couldn't have clashed more with his general style even if it had been on a chain and made out of duct tape.
"You lifted the guy's wallet?" Raleigh asked.
Crowley held up his cuffed hands. "Even with these, I've still got magic fingers."
The demon leafed through the misappropriated wallet. Most of its contents consisted of loyalty cards for various restaurant chains and coffee houses (apparently Sun Wukong couldn't just snap his fingers and produce a decent mocha) but nestled deep inside was a thin sheath of bills.
"Spend this on pancakes. And take any sugar packets they might have laying around."
Raleigh glanced over at the money Crowley was fanning at her. That was probably more than anyone in the history of the world had spent on pancakes. It was way, way more than anyone should ever spend on pancakes.
"Seriously? One hundred dollars of pancakes?"
"I almost forgot. Ninety-six dollars for pancakes, three dollars for my milkshake, and one dollar for a tip."
"How the hell am I supposed to carry that?!"
"You've got strong shoulders; you'll manage."
"I'll manage my foot right up your ass..."
In the end, Raleigh did manage. Though it took three trips, and Crowley sucked his milkshake the whole time. Which he had demanded she bring him first, so he could sit there like Nero and watch.
By the time Sun Wukong was ensconced in Styrofoam containers, Raleigh was too enraged to talk to Crowley. She got into the truck, slammed the door, and had to bite her lip to tamp down the impulse to try and stab him in the throat with a bendy straw.
"I've seen happier, friendly wendigos," Crowley said after ten minutes of the silent, radiating-deadly-hate treatment.
Raleigh kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles looked like they would cut through her skin if she squeezed any harder.
Crowley shook the milkshake in her direction. "Want some?"
Raleigh grabbed the cup and pitched it out the window.
"There's your milkshake, you son of a bitch."
Crowley glared at Raleigh. "I was enjoying that."
"Yeah, I know, that's why I threw it out the window!"
"You do realize a milkshake is the absolute tamest of my pleasures."
"You poof any porn into existence, and that's going out the window too."
"Mm, what a fantastic life I'd lead if I could do that."
"You are disgusting."
Crowley snorted. "Don't tell me you've never partaken."
"Holy shit, I am not talking about porn with a demon!"
"Come on, love, it's that or we play the license plate game. Would it make you feel better if I went first? I was born before the advent of the camera, so my first experience with pornography-"
Raleigh was spared the graphic details by a sudden rumble from Growley. Crowley dropped his story mid-sentence and stared at the Hellhound.
"He's not saying Timmy's in the well, is he?" Raleigh asked.
Crowley shook his head. "He's picked up the scent. Find the nearest exit."
The nearest exit rolled into view two miles later, and Raleigh dutifully pulled her truck off the main highway. The exit consisted of, as far as she could tell, a fat lot of nothing. There was no hub of activity; there wasn't even a gas station that wasn't boarded up and long forgotten.
"Where to now, Dog Whisperer?" Raleigh asked as she waited at the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp. At least there wasn't a pissed-off line of traffic backing up behind her.
"Give him a minute," Crowley replied.
Though she couldn't see it, Raleigh could hear the sniffing of Growley's nose working overtime. The Hellhound must have done something to successfully indicate their next course of action, because Crowley cooed at the dog and gave him a good tummy rub.
"Right," Crowley said.
Raleigh obeyed and turned right. Not far from the exit, a rather beaten sign indicated with an arrow that the towns of Eden, Milton, and Carey were two, 12, and 20 miles ahead respectively.
"Eden? How big is your friend on irony?" Raleigh asked.
Crowley shrugged. Demons in general loved blasphemy and besmirching holy things, but Meg wasn't playing around or trying to rub anyone's face in the failings of their religion. She was desperate for a place to hunker down and hide, not a place to play or appear conspicuous.
Still...Crowley considered it. Meg had to be close for Growley to pick up her scent, and maybe she hoped to find her own safe haven in Eden. A town named for the Biblical garden might be filled with religious types who could be easily manipulated (or possessed) into being major pains in Crowley's ass.
"We're passing through regardless," Raleigh said. "Tell your dog to get his super sniffer ready."
"Growley is invisible, not deaf."
"I'm not talking directly to a demon dog, thank you very much."
"But you're fine talking to him if I'm the middleman?"
Raleigh had no good answer to that, so she focused on the road ahead. She was pretty sure these increasingly backwoods roads had not been paved with her truck in mind. There seemed to be the bare minimum of space to allow a car on each side of the road, but the truck hugged the middle line like an obsessive lover.
Though the road didn't grow any wider, there was a break in the forest and a wooden sign welcomed all weary travelers to the town of Eden, population two sets of twins under 5000. The minute they crossed over the town line, Growley gave a bark.
"So your girlfriend does love irony," Raleigh noted.
"She isn't my girlfriend, she's my victim."
"You need some couple's counseling."
"Find some place to park before you need a trauma surgeon and a priest."
Just as the roads had been built with no regard to larger vehicles, the town offered very few places to ditch a truck. The scattered businesses and restaurants had small parking lots, and trying to park there would eat up half the allotted spots. And while it didn't seem likely that any of the shops would fill up to capacity, Raleigh didn't need any ill will from the townspeople. She had enough problems as it was without attracting local law enforcement.
"That looks charming" Crowley said, pointing.
The place he was pointing to was a regular Bates Motel. It had obviously been out of business for some time, as weeds were growing up through the asphalt and all the doors and windows of the motel had been boarded up. Raleigh couldn't understand what sort of masochistic business-senseless idiot would build a motel in the first place, but she was happy it was there. At least nobody would be competing for her parking space.
Raleigh pulled into the motel parking lot and shut off the truck. She then stretched and felt joints in her arms, neck, and spine pop and crack.
While Raleigh worked out the kinks of a long haul, Crowley and his dog climbed out of the truck. Growley immediately put his muzzle in the air and started searching for his prey's essence. The tiny town of Eden, unlike the metropolis of Philly, offered far fewer souls and pollution to obstruct and distract. Within seconds, Growley had the ethereal spoor he needed.
"Whoa, hey, you're really going to just waltz through town?" Raleigh asked.
"I was planning to walk, though waltzing does sound so much more debonair," Crowley replied.
"I mean you're a demon wearing handcuffs, and you've got a killer invisible dog. I don't want anybody trying to approach you and having their face bitten off by pitbull squared."
"Your concern is touching. What do you suggest?" Crowley asked.
"Uh."
"Yes, that will certainly save the populace."
Raleigh glared, but then snapped her fingers. "Here, drape this over your arms." She reached behind her seat and pulled out a denim jacket.
"No."
"Fine, expose yourself all over town. Shit, poor choice of words, but you know what I mean."
"Why would I, wearing the exquisite suit I am, be carrying that rag from 1985?"
Raleigh made a face that suggested impalement by a large spear. "You could be holding it for your friend."
"So you?"
"Or the monkey guy! Ha! Hey, yeah, get him out of the trailer and go on your way!"
"You believe two men, the gruff, handsome one carrying the young, Asian one's jacket, will be inconspicuous?"
"I don't care if people think you're Elton John and whoever his boyfriend is. I want my truck back, and I want to go home and shower and drink until I forget all about you."
"I'm sure the news of ungodly bloodshed will bring it all back."
"You are not guilt-tripping me into coming along on your adventure."
"No? Then would threatening work better? Either help maintain my cover, or Growley will pay you a visit when he's done picking Meg out of his teeth."
Raleigh swallowed hard. "You are the biggest asshole in the universe." She threw her jacket at Crowley. "And I haven't washed that in six months."
Crowley caught the jacket and draped it over his arms. It did successfully hide the handcuffs and chains. Unfortunately, it also knocked off a painful portion of his style points. Oh well. Maybe he could make Meg wear it when he found her.
"I do like your idea of bringing Tarzan. Why don't you fetch him for me?" Crowley asked ashe strolled over to Growley. The Hellhound was straining to begin, but Crowley wouldn't give the command just yet. He trusted Growley completely, but he also trusted Meg to be a sneaky, conniving, clever bitch, and he wasn't going to lose her again. This time when Growley cornered her, there would be reinforcements to make sure she didn't go flying off.
Raleigh put both her middle fingers in the air and directed them at Crowley. She then walked backwards to the rear of the trailer, not once lowering her fingers. It was only once she turned the corner that she lowered them, for it was awkward to try and unlock the trailer while flipping the bird.
The door rolled up and Raleigh squinted into the trailer. She could most easily make out the white Styrofoam containers that had held the dozens of pancakes. They had been emptied and scattered all over. It was far more difficult to spot Sun Wukong, who was sprawled out in a massive, content food coma.
"How in the hell did you eat all that?" Raleigh asked.
Sun Wukong sat up. "Oh, it's you. I'm a Trickster, I need that many carbs and calories or I'm miserable. Where are we?"
"Eden. Not the Bible place, just a town. Our mutual pain in the ass tracked his girlfriend here, and now he wants us to help him catch her, I guess."
Sun Wukong staggered to his feet. Damn, he was full and it felt great.
"Alright, let's get this over with." The Trickster crossed the trailer and hopped down. "He better be done threatening to burn me after this."
Once all his little ducks were lined up in a row, Crowley gave his pet the limited go-ahead. Growley took off a trot when he really wanted to run, but his master's word was ultimate law.
Trying to appear as natural and not kidnapper-and-victims as possible, Raleigh, Sun Wukong, and Crowley followed after the dog only two of them could see. By some happy chance, the trail led them out of the tiny heart of the town, and towards the outskirts. There were very few people to share the sidewalk with, and all of the townsfolk seemed content to mind their business.
The businesses had grown sparse and the sidewalk empty before very long. The buildings that were there took on a decidedly shabby appearance, and it began to look like Meg was hiding in the town meth den or hobo hangout.
Growley suddenly pivoted to face a building. His lips drew back in a snarl that Raleigh, while she couldn't see it, sure as hell heard. The Hellhound wasn't even after her, and the growl still chilled her down to her soul.
The trio turned to check out the building. It was a single-story, squat structure with bars on the windows. The sign above the door read "Gary's Guns and Ammo."
"You are shitting me," Raleigh muttered.
"Who's going in first?" Crowley asked.
Meg saved them from having to draw straws by flinging open the door, aiming a shotgun at them, and letting them have both barrels.
TBC
