Part 2 -- King of the Road
A chick in the know named Mother Theresa once said: "There are no problems in life, only gifts." Well, I didn't know it when I woke up that beautiful fall morning, but apparently somebody had decided it was time for my own personal Christmas.
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Darien heard Lola before he saw her. Coming down the stairs, he could hear her laughing, though not the full out laugh she'd shared with him the night before; this was more polite, more restrained. He turned the corner and saw her. She was standing by the coffee urns, holding a cup and chatting with a businessman in a suit. Every few words, the businessman would lean in closer and Lola would back up a step or two.
"Lola, sweetie, there you are!" Darien waved from across the room at her. She smiled broadly at him as the businessman stiffened and finally moved back a step. Darien hustled over, dropped his bags and put his arm around her shoulders. "Who's your friend, honey?" He turned to the businessman and winked. "I swear, it's all I can do to keep an eye on this little one, the way she keeps meeting people." Without a word, the businessman vanished into the crowd of guests reviewing the meager selection of store-bought pastries the hotel had laid out.
"So who was he: drunken businessman 1, 2, or 3?"
"Number three, actually. And, uh, you can remove your arm now, Ray."
"What, and give number three the wrong idea?"
"Frankly, it's not him I'm so worried about getting the wrong idea anymore."
Darien removed his arm and sighed mournfully. "Jeez, and here I thought we were burger buddies and all...."
"Oh, we are, Ray. And I did promise you breakfast, didn't I? Can I get you a cup of the world's worst coffee? And would you like one fake creamer or two?"
"Ah, you know what? I somehow think I'm going to skip the coffee this morning. I'm just gonna snag a juice and a Danish." Darien looked around the crowded lobby, saw there was no place to just sit and talk. "Then let's grab a cab to the airport, OK?"
Lola shrugged. "Whatever."
With juice and breakfast pastry in hand, Darien grabbed his bag and headed for the door. Lola was waiting with her overstuffed duffel curbside. Spotting an available cab in the traffic waiting for the light to change, Darien tried his best to start hailing it with the hand holding his breakfast. Lola waved his arm down. "Relax, Ray, I got this one covered." She put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle that literally stopped traffic -- the pedestrian traffic around the hotel at least. But lo and behold, the cab came cruising up to the curb right in front of them. Darien just stared at her.
"What can I say? It's one of the joys of being a native New Yorker. We know how to hail cabs." She shrugged again and got in the back of the cab while Darien and the driver sorted out the bag situation. Darien climbed in back with her and downed his breakfast before they'd even gone a block. By the second block he knew something was wrong. By the third block, he'd figured out what it was.
"Stop! We have to go back."
"What are you talking about? Driver, keep going."
"Stop, I mean it. We have got to go back."
The driver pulled over to the curb and turned back to both of them. "OK, so which is it: turn around or go to the airport?"
"Go to the airport."
"Turn around."
"What is the matter with you? If we turn around now, we could get caught in rush hour traffic and miss our flight."
"Yeah, but I left something in my room and we have to go back for it."
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Is it a matter of life and death?"
"Yes, yes it is," he threw her the full-blown sad puppy dog eyes. "Trust me. We *have* to go back."
She sighed through clenched teeth. "Alright, driver, then go back it is."
He jumped out of the cab before the driver had a chance to stop at the hotel curb. She followed hot on his heels.
"What are you doing? Just wait in the cab." He buzzed through the revolving doors.
"No, I want to see what was so damn important we had to come all the way back here for it." She did her best double time to try and keep pace with his long strides through the lobby.
"Fine," he said bounding the stairs, "Follow me."
"Hey, don't you need to stop at the front desk and get the key?" she asked from the bottom of the stairs.
"Take too long. You got a hairpin or pen or something?"
"Yeah, a pen." She dug through her purse on her way up the stairs. She handed him the pen when she reached the top and he promptly tore it apart and started bending the innards. "Hey, you didn't tell me you were going to kill it! What the hell are you doing?"
"You'll see," he told her over his shoulder as he ran down the hall and knelt in front of the door to what had recently been his room. In a few seconds he turned the knob and swung the door open. He ran inside and straight into the bathroom.
"Well, that was interesting." She followed him into the bathroom and stopped dead. "Hair gel. You made us come back for hair gel?"
"Are you kidding? This is expensive stuff. And it's the only one that gives me the fullness I want without making my hair all sticky and droopy."
She leaned her head back, closed one eye and studied his hair. Then she reached up and ran her hand through it. "You know, you do have nice hair, Ray. I gotta admit it."
"See, now you're talking. C'mon, let's go." He grabbed her by the hand, steering her out of the room, down the stairs and out into the waiting cab.
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As the cab pulled up to the airport curb, they both jumped out of the back. Lola paid the driver while Darien grabbed their luggage out of the trunk. According to the lobby screens, their flight was already boarding. Once through the now heightened security checkpoint, they took off at a flat out run for Gate 25. They arrived just in time ... to see the jetway pull back from the plane.
Lola ran up to the gate agents. "Wait, wait, we need to be on that flight."
The gate agents stared dumbly at her.
"You need to put the jetway back. We're supposed to be on that plane." She waved her ticket in the agents' direction.
The agent on the left looked at his counterpart and raised his eyebrows. The other sighed and spoke up: "Sorry, ma'am. FAA regulations dictate that we cannot recall a flight once it has left the gate."
"But it hasn't left the gate. It's just sitting there. Put the jetway back and we can get on." Lola set her briefcase on the ground and crossed her arms.
Both agents looked at each other again and rolled their eyes. This time the one on the left spoke: "Once the jetway has been disengaged, the flight has technically left the gate, ma'am. But if you see the agents at the counter, I'm sure they can assist you."
Lola just shook her head at the two agents. "No, no, no. You just need to put the jetway back ...."
"Uh, Lola. Take a look," Darien nodded his head toward the gate's large glass window and pointed to a plane making its way out into the taxi line, "I think that's our flight on the end there."
"Damn, damn, damn." Lola turned back to the two gate agents. "When's the next flight to L.A.?"
"If you'll check with the counter agents, ma'am. ..."
"Yeah, I know, they'll be able to assist me. I hope to hell somebody can, 'cuz I've got a client waiting at home that doesn't like to be disappointed." She turned on her heel and marched over to the gate counter. Darien sighed as he picked up their bags and wondered just when he'd become the designated sky cap in this impromptu partnership.
He could tell the news wasn't good before he even reached the counter. Lola was shaking her head again and repeating, "No, no, no." Apparently a complete refusal to accept the truth was her version of arguing.
"What's wrong?" He stepped next to her and dropped the bags between them.
"The next flight isn't till this evening ...." She turned to him and gestured wearily with her hands.
"Well, no problem. I'm sure we can find something to occupy our time ...." He gave her the same sly grin from their meeting the day before. This time, however, it was not returned.
"It's full," she said through clenched teeth as her lips resolved themselves into a thin, straight line.
"What?"
"This evening's flight is sold out, sir," the counter agent smoothly cut in. "The next available flight we can accommodate you on is tomorrow morning."
Lola breathlessly delivered the coup de gras. "And even that's on a standby basis ...."
"Wait, wait." Darien held out his hands in a stop motion, turning to the counter agent. "So basically, you can't get us on a flight back to L.A. until tomorrow morning and even then you can't guarantee it?"
If anything the agent's Stepford smile grew even wider. "We'll do our best to accommodate you at that time."
"OK, that's no good. Can't you get us on another airline or something?"
"Well, sir, you are welcome to investigate other carriers' offerings, if you so choose. However, since we technically could have accommodated you on your assigned flight had you arrived on time, the best we can offer is stand-by status on tomorrow morning's flight. But rest assured, we will do our best to ...."
"Accommodate us at that time. Yeah, right, I got that part, sister." He turned to say something to Lola, but she had already grabbed her duffel and was dragging it towards the escalator. He snatched his own bag and dashed after her. "Hey, hey! Where the heck are you going?"
She continued towards the escalator, pulling at her duffel like an ox at a plow. "Look, I don't know about you, but I have absolutely no intention of wasting another day waiting for another damned plane. There are other modes of transportation, you know."
"So what? What are you going to do? Walk back?"
"No, Sherlock. I'm going to *drive* back. I'm going to rent a car and hit the road. And if I never see Sacramento Metropolitan Airport again, it will be far too soon." With a loud grunt, she heaved her duffel onto the first step of the escalator and stepped after it.
"Drive back? That's what -- something like a 10-hour trip?" Darien considered 10 hours in a car. Not what he would normally have called a pleasure drive. But 10 hours in a car with Lola? Now that could have some rewards. He'd almost lost sight of her head descending with the escalator before he shook himself into action. Jumping onto the escalator, he called after her, "That's a *great* idea! We can split the driving."
She reached the bottom of the escalator and stepped over her bag. "Oh, no, Ray. It's been swell, but our paths part here. Frankly, I don't think we travel well together." She picked up the strap again and began to tug at her bag.
Darien hurried down after her, taking the steps two at a time. "Look, look," he said, "I know it's been a rough morning, but really, it just makes sense. I mean, you're going to San Diego, I'm going to San Diego. Think of all the fuel we'll save by carpooling. You have to agree for the sake of the environment, if nothing else." He gently removed her duffel strap from her hands. "Besides, what are you going to do without your own personal bell hop, huh?"
Lola threw up her hands in surrender. "Alright, Ray, alright, you sold me. Let's get a car and blow this popsicle stand."
"Uhm, just give me a minute to call my, ah, office and we'll be ready to make tracks, OK?" He hooked a thumb in the direction of the public telephones.
Lola nodded and pulled a cell phone from her briefcase. "Good idea. I need to do the same."
"Right. I'll meet you back here when I'm done and we'll go snag a Rent-A-Wreck."
"Rent-A-Wreck? What's wrong with Hertz? They have great cars, GPS systems and curbside assistance." She stood facing him with a smug little smile on her lips.
"Oh, please, why should we stand in line at Hertz to get a run-of-the-mill sedan," Darien waved his hand at the queue of people waiting at the Hertz counter, "when we can walk right up to Rent-A-Wreck and drive away a classic? They have *great* cars with plenty of room to stretch out in and uh, nice, big back seats." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he said the last part.
"OK, Legs, you want Rent-A-Wreck, you got Rent-A-Wreck. Let's just get this show on the road as quickly as possible, alright?"
Darien made a movement towards the public phones, stopped, then leaned over to her with a mischievous grin. "It was the big back seat that got to you, wasn't it? I mean, chicks love big back seats. Admit it."
"Yeah, well, this chick digs sports cars." She laughed and shooed him towards the phone. "Just make your call, Ray, so we can get going."
"Sports cars?" He held his back and groaned. "Ouch." Giving her a parting wink, he sauntered over to the nearest available phone. She just shook her head and began to dial.
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"So what do I tell the Fat Man? Are you gonna catch the flight tomorrow or what?" Hobbes sounded his usual mixture of confused and disgruntled at Darien's stream-of-consciousness travelogue.
"No, man, I'm driving back."
"Driving back? That's like, what, 10, 10 1/2 hours behind the wheel? Why not just wait it out at the hotel and take the morning flight back? All of a sudden you're in such a rush to get here?" Hobbes paused with a suppressed gasp. Darien pictured his partner's eyes widen in misunderstanding. "Oh, man, you don't need a shot, do you?"
"No, no, I'm good," Darien automatically checked his tattoo in spite of himself. "It's a beautiful day for driving, alright? Besides, I got someone to split the wheel time with me."
"Oh, you do, do you?"
"Yeah."
"And tell me, oh friendly one, this person wouldn't happen to be someone of the female persuasion, would she?"
"Hobbes, man, don't go there. She's just a chick I met on the plane. We're splitting a car ride. That's it."
"That's it, huh?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"Well, somehow, my friend, I don't think that's it. Because somehow I don't see you sitting in a car for 10 hours instead of in a hotel lounge just for some chick. She's got to be pretty special to turn you into a road warrior. Now, what's her name?"
"Trust me, Hobbes, she's just a chick," Darien shook his head at Hobbes' insistence on diving straight for the gutter every time there was a woman involved. "And her name is Lola."
"Lola, huh? Lovely Lola, yeah, that's nice. Now, what's her last name?"
"Gerot, why?" Darien was puzzled by the question momentarily, then understanding dawned. "Oh, you are not going to run ...."
"A background check on her? Why no, I'm not. Monroe is. SOP, my friend."
"Aw, c'mon, man. I told you, she's just a *chick*. She makes wedding cakes for Christ's sake."
"Dammit, Fawkes, when are you going to start thinking like an agent? The deadliest of enemies can come in the most innocent of disguises. I thought you would have learned that by now. After all, may I point out that the last of your 'Love Connections' was not exactly a match made in heaven."
'Wrong move, buddy,' Darien thought. At Hobbes' veiled reference to Allianora, Darien's tone hardened. "I told you, she's just a chick I'm sharing a car with. I haven't even told her my real name or what I really do for a living. Satisfied?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. And I won't be until your butt is back here where I can keep an eye on it," Hobbes paused again and this time Darien could almost hear the wheels of paranoia spinning in his partner's head. "Alright, now listen up: Don't take I-5 back. That's the logical route and if something is up, it's sure to be watched. Instead, take the back door down Route 99. Now have a good trip and check in after an hour for the results of the background check."
"Fine. But do me a favor and at least have Eberts handle the check?"
"No can do, my friend. The little weasel is on vacation until tomorrow -- apparently just like you. I, on the other hand, am stuck here with the Fat Man and Monroe working my tail off while you two gallivant all over the sunny state of California. I'll talk to you in an hour. Oh, and Fawkes ..."
"Yeah?"
"Be sure to give lusty Lola a big smooch for me."
"Later, Hobbes."
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Clyde hung up the phone next to Darien's and stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he considered his options. He did not want to be the one to tell Stark that Fawkes wasn't going to be there when the plane landed in L.A. Then again, he knew better than to try and keep something like this from Stark for too long. The man liked his information delivered on a timely basis.
The portly freelance agent looked around the terminal, trying to locate where his Chrysalis partner had gone. He wondered briefly if the other agent had used the time to apprise Stark of the situation while he had been eavesdropping on Fawkes. 'Only one way to find out.' He picked up the phone again and dialed. Stark answered almost immediately.
"Yeah, Stark, it's me. There's been a change in plans ...."
"Yes, I know. Your partner's already checked in and has the car situation handled. Just stay close to Fawkes and don't lose him whatever you do. When the time is right, your partner will advise us of an appropriate pick-up location."
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Darien looked at his watch. They'd been on the road for just over an hour and a half, which meant Hobbes had been ballistic for 30 minutes now. A part of him bristled at the thought of having to check in at the Agency, at them thinking nothing of running a background check on Lola. Then again, he really didn't want the little tiger's head to explode waiting for him to call. Darien sighed, slowed down and took the rest stop exit.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm, ah, hungry. I just thought, you know, we'd take a little pit stop and maybe catch some fries." He pulled into a parking space in front of the low concrete building.
"You're hungry? You can't be hungry. We just had breakfast a couple of hours ago."
"I'm a growing boy. Besides, I need to make a call to my, ah, office." He opened the car door and got out. She followed suit, leaning against the car and crossing her arms.
"You just called them a little over an hour ago."
"What can I say? I guess I'm just integral to the organization." He looked over at her forlornly under raised brows.
"Oh for the love of god. Alright, make your phone call, get your fries. I guess I'll just use the ladies' room. But this is it. We don't stop again until we're at least halfway there, OK?"
"OK."
"And get me a bottle of water, would you?" She headed towards the women's lounge.
"Sure," he said, shaking his head while walking away. 'Just like a chick.'
Darien entered the rest stop and spied the row of public phones. A number of them were already in use, so he picked the one on the far side of the wall and dialed Hobbes' number.
"Fawkes, this better frickin' be you!"
"What up, Bobby?"
"Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to check in over 30 minutes ago."
"Relax, Hobbes. We've been on the road. This is the first rest area I've seen to stop at."
Hobbes snorted. "Yeah, that's because you been looking at the scenery in the front seat next to you, there, loverboy."
"Would you stop it with that? You wanted me to call, so I'm calling. What happened with the background check?"
"She's clean."
"See, I told you there was nothing to worry about."
"Oh, no. There's something to worry about. She's clean. She's *too* clean, my friend."
"What?"
"Both Monroe and I agree: there's got to be something hinky about anybody who's this squeaky clean."
"Wow. The power of your logic underwhelms me."
"That's just fine, Mr. Doubting Thomas. Go ahead, make fun. But you mark my words: something is *not* right here, my friend. Broken aircraft, missed flights. I smell trouble."
"That's not trouble, Hobbes, that's your deodorant."
"Ha ha. Just keep your eyes open, Romeo, OK? 'Cuz your little Juliet there could be Lady MacBeth in disguise."
"How literate of you. You been dipping into my Cliff Notes collection while I'm gone?"
"Hey, I gotta read something while I'm sitting with your rat. I mean, you don't really expect me to just feed the little guy and leave him all alone again, do you?"
"Why, Hobbesy, you do care."
"That's all I'm saying, my friend, that's all I'm saying."
"Later, man."
"Later, Fawkes. And call me when you get home tonight."
Darien hung up the phone and cruised over to the take-out counter, quickly grabbing her water and his fries. He hurried out to the car, but Lola was already standing there waiting for him. He tossed her the water bottle over the car roof and she caught it easily.
"Can we please go now?"
"Absolutely. Let's rock and roll."
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He pulled out onto the highway. Once they were comfortably driving with traffic, he turned his attention to his French fries. Leaving one hand on the wheel, he held out the cardboard container to her with the other. "Hey, can you do me a favor and put some salt on these?"
"Uhm, sure," she said looking around on the seat for the little salt packs. She found one and sprinkled some on his fries until he said, "Enough." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her tossing some of the salt over her shoulder.
"Oh, man, Hobbesy would love you."
"Hobbesy?" She opened her water bottle and took a swig.
"Yeah, Hobbes. He's, ah, my partner."
"Oh, in that security firm you work for? Your partner, huh? I didn't realize you were one of the owners."
"Uhm, yeah, we, ah, actually have a couple of guys who kinda run it for us, but Hobbes and me, we do all the real work."
"You never told me how you got into the security field in the first place. I mean, judging from the way you got into that hotel room back there, you certainly know your way around locks."
He nodded, pursed his lips around a fry. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He chewed then swallowed, weighing his options the whole time and finally coming up with what he thought was going to be a winning mixture of fact and fiction. "You see, I used to be a thief."
"You used to be a thief?" She looked at him out of the corner of her raised eyes.
"Yeah, as in, I'm an ex-thief now." He gave her a wincing smile.
"Ah hah." She gave one slow nod.
"Anyway, I got caught and went to prison for a bit. My brother arranged for me to get a pardon and when I got out, he was kinda responsible for me hooking up with Hobbes. Hobbes had been in the, ah, security field for years and well, we found that we made a really good team together. I mean, you know, his security experience and my particular knowledge of criminal activities sort of complemented each other. And so there you are, Hobbes and me, the 'Super Friends' of security."
"Hmmmm." She sat there with her brows knit together.
He waited a bit, hoping for one of her smart remarks. When it didn't come, he frowned and knit his own brows. "You're very quiet. I shouldn't have told you, should I?"
"Huh?" She looked over at him and blinked.
"About my being a thief. I shouldn't have told you. I don't normally tell people but for some reason I just thought ...." He shrugged his shoulders absently.
"Oh, no, no." She shook her head at him and smiled. "That doesn't bother me. It's just that I'm torn really."
"Torn?" Curiosity creased his forehead.
"Between trying to decide what your brother's like and what your partner's like. I mean, you're kind of a unique guy, Ray, and I'm just having a hard time picturing you with friends and family." She turned away from him and leaned her head against the window. "Besides, everyone's done something that they're not proud of in their lives, sometimes just to survive. Show me someone who says they haven't and I'll show you a fool or a hypocrite."
"So what's yours?"
"My what?"
"Your secret. I mean, since we're playing truth or dare here and all ..."
"Oh, that. It's pretty mundane, actually. I used to be a stripper. Big whoop." She rolled her eyes and twirled her index finger in the air.
"A stripper, huh?" He tried to keep his tone blasé, but the mental picture he'd just been presented with had his brain, among other things, working overtime. "You don't seem like the type."
"And what type would that be? Starving, desperate, homeless? Because at one point in my life I was all of those things. Stripping made me good money, fast. Eventually it even enabled me to open my shop, start my own business. Now it's not something I'm dying to put on my resume, but I refuse to be ashamed of it."
"I'm down with that, sister."
"Hey, Ray?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I have a fry?"
He laughed and held the cardboard container out to her. She grabbed a fistful and sat there, munching on fries and fiddling with the radio. Darien put the fries on the seat between them, rolled his window down and stuck his left arm out into the sunshine. It certainly was a beautiful day for driving.
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They made good time since the roads were fairly clear and Darien wasn't exactly a stickler for the speed limit. Lola had offered to take the wheel once or twice, but he actually got into the rhythm of driving and didn't want to stop to change seats. They'd hit another rest area for more food, gas, and a quick bathroom break, but that had been the only stop they'd made since the morning.
They were a little more than half-way through their trip -- just outside of Bakersfield, in fact -- when Darien noticed the car's engine temperature starting to go up. He fretted silently as the dashboard gauge steadily rose. Lola was napping and he didn't want to alarm her, but he sure as heck didn't want to break down between exits on Route 99. Silently, he moved over to the right lane and took the next exit. Apparently they were headed to a lovely little metropolis named Delano.
Lola shook herself awake as she felt the car slow. She rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. "You can't possibly be hungry again. You ate three tacos, a quesadilla, and a banana split for lunch."
He laughed nervously. "Ah, no, not me. The car. We need gas." Well, technically it was true; the fuel gauge was heading south towards empty. And if he happened to ask the gas station attendant to check the radiator while they were stopped, well, he was only being cautious, right?
"Hmmm, guess we kind of have to feed the car." At that moment, with her sleepy eyes and lazy smile, she reminded him of nothing so much as a cat sunning itself.
He pulled into the first gas station with a garage that he saw. Lola got out and stretched her legs while he swiped his VISA card in the pump and set the hose to fill the gas tank. Then he went in search of the mechanic, ostensibly to get the key to the men's room.
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"Looks like you got yourself a hole in the radiator. I can patch it, but it ain't gonna be ready until the morning." Darien and the mechanic stood in the station's single garage bay looking under the rental car's hood.
"Morning, huh?" Darien ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his chin. "No way you can get it fixed any sooner?"
"'Fraid not, son. I can patch it before I close for the day, but it's just gonna take time for that patch to set. Now it may be ready at 3 a.m., but I ain't gonna be here to give you the keys."
"Alright, tomorrow morning it is then. What's the earliest we can pick it up?"
"We open at 8:30. You'll need to pay at least half in advance." The mechanic wiped a bit of grease from his hands with an old rag and moved into the station's office.
"Great." Darien followed the man, waving his lone credit card. "Here ya go."
"Thanks." The mechanic swiped Darien's card through the machine and waited for it to spit out a receipt. "It is odd, though."
"What do you mean, 'odd'?"
"Well, look at that engine. It's beautiful, clean as a whistle, obviously well cared for." The mechanic gestured at the engine laid out under the car's open hood through the garage doorway.
Darien looked at the engine, remembered Hobbes' comment about cleanliness and hinkiness. "So what? What are you saying, that somebody purposely put a hole in our radiator?"
"Don't know, can't tell. Just seems to me that whoever's been looking after this car wouldn't have forgotten to check the radiator for holes." The mechanic shrugged and gave Darien his receipt, then ran out to fill a car waiting at the station's pumps.
Darien stood there, staring at the engine. He remembered Lola standing alone by the car at the rest stop. Could she have ...? He shook his head. No. No, he was not going to let Hobbes' paranoia get to him. He looked at Lola waiting outside the garage for him to come and translate mechanic-speak for her. Nope, no, no way. She was just a chick. He looked at her again, taking the time to begin at her toes and work his way up. A really nice chick. He watched her as she paced in an impatient circle around their bags. Make that a really nice chick who was definitely not going to like what he was about to tell her. Cringing, Darien walked out to deliver the bad news.
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"They can't fix it till morning. Looks like we're going to be having dinner together again this evening." Darien tried to sweeten the medicine with his most charming smile.
Lola, still annoyed that he hadn't told her the real reason for their detour, wasn't swallowing it. "Can't fix it till morning! Can't we just call the rental agency and have them drop us off another car?"
At her tone, his smile went from charming to sardonic. "It's a Rent-A-Wreck, darlin', with the emphasis on the wreck. I don't think they offer valet service."
"Oh great. I say 'let's rent from Hertz,' he says, 'oh no, let's go to Rent-A-Wreck. They have *great* cars.' Now I'm hearing that the emphasis is on the wreck. Hertz has curbside assistance, you know!" Her hands flailed about as she worked up a good head of steam.
"Fine, you want me to say you were right and I was wrong," Darien threw up his own hands. "Fine. You were right. But that's not going to get us to San Diego any faster."
"Who the hell are you? The Prince of Frickin' Darkness?" She raised both her voice and her chin as she squared off with him. "Ever since I've met you it's been nothing but bad aircraft, missed flights and now the car radiator blows up ...."
He stood his ground as he asked rhetorically, "Oh, and that's all my fault?"
"I don't know. What I do know is that I have cakes to make, a business to run and I can't afford to be out here playing 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' with you!"
"Wow, can your voice get *any* higher? 'Cuz I think there are some dogs in the next county over that can't hear you yet."
She sighed and shook her head. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm sorry for raising my voice. But I'm tired, I'm stressed and I just quit smoking two days ago. So cut me some slack, Jack, OK?"
Darien let out a frustrated groan, stuck his hands in his pocket, bit his tongue. "Tell you what: let's go over to the hotel down the street here. We'll get a couple of rooms, freshen up, maybe have some dinner, what do you say? Then we can get a good night's sleep and start out bright and early in the morning."
She grabbed her briefcase and started at a brisk clip towards the almost tasteful sign proclaiming the site of the Shilo Inn. "Alright. I guess I really don't have much choice in the matter, now do I?"
He watched her retreating back, decided it had to be great to be a chick, hoisted her duffel and his own bag, then started after her. "Hey, I think it's great that you quit smoking. I've never smoked myself but I've heard it's a bitch to quit."
"You don't know the half of it. I swear, when I'm in the middle of a nicotine fit, I turn into a raging psycho. I mean, I can see myself yelling at people and I just can't stop it."
"I hear you, sister, I hear you."
TBC
A chick in the know named Mother Theresa once said: "There are no problems in life, only gifts." Well, I didn't know it when I woke up that beautiful fall morning, but apparently somebody had decided it was time for my own personal Christmas.
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Darien heard Lola before he saw her. Coming down the stairs, he could hear her laughing, though not the full out laugh she'd shared with him the night before; this was more polite, more restrained. He turned the corner and saw her. She was standing by the coffee urns, holding a cup and chatting with a businessman in a suit. Every few words, the businessman would lean in closer and Lola would back up a step or two.
"Lola, sweetie, there you are!" Darien waved from across the room at her. She smiled broadly at him as the businessman stiffened and finally moved back a step. Darien hustled over, dropped his bags and put his arm around her shoulders. "Who's your friend, honey?" He turned to the businessman and winked. "I swear, it's all I can do to keep an eye on this little one, the way she keeps meeting people." Without a word, the businessman vanished into the crowd of guests reviewing the meager selection of store-bought pastries the hotel had laid out.
"So who was he: drunken businessman 1, 2, or 3?"
"Number three, actually. And, uh, you can remove your arm now, Ray."
"What, and give number three the wrong idea?"
"Frankly, it's not him I'm so worried about getting the wrong idea anymore."
Darien removed his arm and sighed mournfully. "Jeez, and here I thought we were burger buddies and all...."
"Oh, we are, Ray. And I did promise you breakfast, didn't I? Can I get you a cup of the world's worst coffee? And would you like one fake creamer or two?"
"Ah, you know what? I somehow think I'm going to skip the coffee this morning. I'm just gonna snag a juice and a Danish." Darien looked around the crowded lobby, saw there was no place to just sit and talk. "Then let's grab a cab to the airport, OK?"
Lola shrugged. "Whatever."
With juice and breakfast pastry in hand, Darien grabbed his bag and headed for the door. Lola was waiting with her overstuffed duffel curbside. Spotting an available cab in the traffic waiting for the light to change, Darien tried his best to start hailing it with the hand holding his breakfast. Lola waved his arm down. "Relax, Ray, I got this one covered." She put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle that literally stopped traffic -- the pedestrian traffic around the hotel at least. But lo and behold, the cab came cruising up to the curb right in front of them. Darien just stared at her.
"What can I say? It's one of the joys of being a native New Yorker. We know how to hail cabs." She shrugged again and got in the back of the cab while Darien and the driver sorted out the bag situation. Darien climbed in back with her and downed his breakfast before they'd even gone a block. By the second block he knew something was wrong. By the third block, he'd figured out what it was.
"Stop! We have to go back."
"What are you talking about? Driver, keep going."
"Stop, I mean it. We have got to go back."
The driver pulled over to the curb and turned back to both of them. "OK, so which is it: turn around or go to the airport?"
"Go to the airport."
"Turn around."
"What is the matter with you? If we turn around now, we could get caught in rush hour traffic and miss our flight."
"Yeah, but I left something in my room and we have to go back for it."
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Is it a matter of life and death?"
"Yes, yes it is," he threw her the full-blown sad puppy dog eyes. "Trust me. We *have* to go back."
She sighed through clenched teeth. "Alright, driver, then go back it is."
He jumped out of the cab before the driver had a chance to stop at the hotel curb. She followed hot on his heels.
"What are you doing? Just wait in the cab." He buzzed through the revolving doors.
"No, I want to see what was so damn important we had to come all the way back here for it." She did her best double time to try and keep pace with his long strides through the lobby.
"Fine," he said bounding the stairs, "Follow me."
"Hey, don't you need to stop at the front desk and get the key?" she asked from the bottom of the stairs.
"Take too long. You got a hairpin or pen or something?"
"Yeah, a pen." She dug through her purse on her way up the stairs. She handed him the pen when she reached the top and he promptly tore it apart and started bending the innards. "Hey, you didn't tell me you were going to kill it! What the hell are you doing?"
"You'll see," he told her over his shoulder as he ran down the hall and knelt in front of the door to what had recently been his room. In a few seconds he turned the knob and swung the door open. He ran inside and straight into the bathroom.
"Well, that was interesting." She followed him into the bathroom and stopped dead. "Hair gel. You made us come back for hair gel?"
"Are you kidding? This is expensive stuff. And it's the only one that gives me the fullness I want without making my hair all sticky and droopy."
She leaned her head back, closed one eye and studied his hair. Then she reached up and ran her hand through it. "You know, you do have nice hair, Ray. I gotta admit it."
"See, now you're talking. C'mon, let's go." He grabbed her by the hand, steering her out of the room, down the stairs and out into the waiting cab.
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As the cab pulled up to the airport curb, they both jumped out of the back. Lola paid the driver while Darien grabbed their luggage out of the trunk. According to the lobby screens, their flight was already boarding. Once through the now heightened security checkpoint, they took off at a flat out run for Gate 25. They arrived just in time ... to see the jetway pull back from the plane.
Lola ran up to the gate agents. "Wait, wait, we need to be on that flight."
The gate agents stared dumbly at her.
"You need to put the jetway back. We're supposed to be on that plane." She waved her ticket in the agents' direction.
The agent on the left looked at his counterpart and raised his eyebrows. The other sighed and spoke up: "Sorry, ma'am. FAA regulations dictate that we cannot recall a flight once it has left the gate."
"But it hasn't left the gate. It's just sitting there. Put the jetway back and we can get on." Lola set her briefcase on the ground and crossed her arms.
Both agents looked at each other again and rolled their eyes. This time the one on the left spoke: "Once the jetway has been disengaged, the flight has technically left the gate, ma'am. But if you see the agents at the counter, I'm sure they can assist you."
Lola just shook her head at the two agents. "No, no, no. You just need to put the jetway back ...."
"Uh, Lola. Take a look," Darien nodded his head toward the gate's large glass window and pointed to a plane making its way out into the taxi line, "I think that's our flight on the end there."
"Damn, damn, damn." Lola turned back to the two gate agents. "When's the next flight to L.A.?"
"If you'll check with the counter agents, ma'am. ..."
"Yeah, I know, they'll be able to assist me. I hope to hell somebody can, 'cuz I've got a client waiting at home that doesn't like to be disappointed." She turned on her heel and marched over to the gate counter. Darien sighed as he picked up their bags and wondered just when he'd become the designated sky cap in this impromptu partnership.
He could tell the news wasn't good before he even reached the counter. Lola was shaking her head again and repeating, "No, no, no." Apparently a complete refusal to accept the truth was her version of arguing.
"What's wrong?" He stepped next to her and dropped the bags between them.
"The next flight isn't till this evening ...." She turned to him and gestured wearily with her hands.
"Well, no problem. I'm sure we can find something to occupy our time ...." He gave her the same sly grin from their meeting the day before. This time, however, it was not returned.
"It's full," she said through clenched teeth as her lips resolved themselves into a thin, straight line.
"What?"
"This evening's flight is sold out, sir," the counter agent smoothly cut in. "The next available flight we can accommodate you on is tomorrow morning."
Lola breathlessly delivered the coup de gras. "And even that's on a standby basis ...."
"Wait, wait." Darien held out his hands in a stop motion, turning to the counter agent. "So basically, you can't get us on a flight back to L.A. until tomorrow morning and even then you can't guarantee it?"
If anything the agent's Stepford smile grew even wider. "We'll do our best to accommodate you at that time."
"OK, that's no good. Can't you get us on another airline or something?"
"Well, sir, you are welcome to investigate other carriers' offerings, if you so choose. However, since we technically could have accommodated you on your assigned flight had you arrived on time, the best we can offer is stand-by status on tomorrow morning's flight. But rest assured, we will do our best to ...."
"Accommodate us at that time. Yeah, right, I got that part, sister." He turned to say something to Lola, but she had already grabbed her duffel and was dragging it towards the escalator. He snatched his own bag and dashed after her. "Hey, hey! Where the heck are you going?"
She continued towards the escalator, pulling at her duffel like an ox at a plow. "Look, I don't know about you, but I have absolutely no intention of wasting another day waiting for another damned plane. There are other modes of transportation, you know."
"So what? What are you going to do? Walk back?"
"No, Sherlock. I'm going to *drive* back. I'm going to rent a car and hit the road. And if I never see Sacramento Metropolitan Airport again, it will be far too soon." With a loud grunt, she heaved her duffel onto the first step of the escalator and stepped after it.
"Drive back? That's what -- something like a 10-hour trip?" Darien considered 10 hours in a car. Not what he would normally have called a pleasure drive. But 10 hours in a car with Lola? Now that could have some rewards. He'd almost lost sight of her head descending with the escalator before he shook himself into action. Jumping onto the escalator, he called after her, "That's a *great* idea! We can split the driving."
She reached the bottom of the escalator and stepped over her bag. "Oh, no, Ray. It's been swell, but our paths part here. Frankly, I don't think we travel well together." She picked up the strap again and began to tug at her bag.
Darien hurried down after her, taking the steps two at a time. "Look, look," he said, "I know it's been a rough morning, but really, it just makes sense. I mean, you're going to San Diego, I'm going to San Diego. Think of all the fuel we'll save by carpooling. You have to agree for the sake of the environment, if nothing else." He gently removed her duffel strap from her hands. "Besides, what are you going to do without your own personal bell hop, huh?"
Lola threw up her hands in surrender. "Alright, Ray, alright, you sold me. Let's get a car and blow this popsicle stand."
"Uhm, just give me a minute to call my, ah, office and we'll be ready to make tracks, OK?" He hooked a thumb in the direction of the public telephones.
Lola nodded and pulled a cell phone from her briefcase. "Good idea. I need to do the same."
"Right. I'll meet you back here when I'm done and we'll go snag a Rent-A-Wreck."
"Rent-A-Wreck? What's wrong with Hertz? They have great cars, GPS systems and curbside assistance." She stood facing him with a smug little smile on her lips.
"Oh, please, why should we stand in line at Hertz to get a run-of-the-mill sedan," Darien waved his hand at the queue of people waiting at the Hertz counter, "when we can walk right up to Rent-A-Wreck and drive away a classic? They have *great* cars with plenty of room to stretch out in and uh, nice, big back seats." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he said the last part.
"OK, Legs, you want Rent-A-Wreck, you got Rent-A-Wreck. Let's just get this show on the road as quickly as possible, alright?"
Darien made a movement towards the public phones, stopped, then leaned over to her with a mischievous grin. "It was the big back seat that got to you, wasn't it? I mean, chicks love big back seats. Admit it."
"Yeah, well, this chick digs sports cars." She laughed and shooed him towards the phone. "Just make your call, Ray, so we can get going."
"Sports cars?" He held his back and groaned. "Ouch." Giving her a parting wink, he sauntered over to the nearest available phone. She just shook her head and began to dial.
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"So what do I tell the Fat Man? Are you gonna catch the flight tomorrow or what?" Hobbes sounded his usual mixture of confused and disgruntled at Darien's stream-of-consciousness travelogue.
"No, man, I'm driving back."
"Driving back? That's like, what, 10, 10 1/2 hours behind the wheel? Why not just wait it out at the hotel and take the morning flight back? All of a sudden you're in such a rush to get here?" Hobbes paused with a suppressed gasp. Darien pictured his partner's eyes widen in misunderstanding. "Oh, man, you don't need a shot, do you?"
"No, no, I'm good," Darien automatically checked his tattoo in spite of himself. "It's a beautiful day for driving, alright? Besides, I got someone to split the wheel time with me."
"Oh, you do, do you?"
"Yeah."
"And tell me, oh friendly one, this person wouldn't happen to be someone of the female persuasion, would she?"
"Hobbes, man, don't go there. She's just a chick I met on the plane. We're splitting a car ride. That's it."
"That's it, huh?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"Well, somehow, my friend, I don't think that's it. Because somehow I don't see you sitting in a car for 10 hours instead of in a hotel lounge just for some chick. She's got to be pretty special to turn you into a road warrior. Now, what's her name?"
"Trust me, Hobbes, she's just a chick," Darien shook his head at Hobbes' insistence on diving straight for the gutter every time there was a woman involved. "And her name is Lola."
"Lola, huh? Lovely Lola, yeah, that's nice. Now, what's her last name?"
"Gerot, why?" Darien was puzzled by the question momentarily, then understanding dawned. "Oh, you are not going to run ...."
"A background check on her? Why no, I'm not. Monroe is. SOP, my friend."
"Aw, c'mon, man. I told you, she's just a *chick*. She makes wedding cakes for Christ's sake."
"Dammit, Fawkes, when are you going to start thinking like an agent? The deadliest of enemies can come in the most innocent of disguises. I thought you would have learned that by now. After all, may I point out that the last of your 'Love Connections' was not exactly a match made in heaven."
'Wrong move, buddy,' Darien thought. At Hobbes' veiled reference to Allianora, Darien's tone hardened. "I told you, she's just a chick I'm sharing a car with. I haven't even told her my real name or what I really do for a living. Satisfied?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. And I won't be until your butt is back here where I can keep an eye on it," Hobbes paused again and this time Darien could almost hear the wheels of paranoia spinning in his partner's head. "Alright, now listen up: Don't take I-5 back. That's the logical route and if something is up, it's sure to be watched. Instead, take the back door down Route 99. Now have a good trip and check in after an hour for the results of the background check."
"Fine. But do me a favor and at least have Eberts handle the check?"
"No can do, my friend. The little weasel is on vacation until tomorrow -- apparently just like you. I, on the other hand, am stuck here with the Fat Man and Monroe working my tail off while you two gallivant all over the sunny state of California. I'll talk to you in an hour. Oh, and Fawkes ..."
"Yeah?"
"Be sure to give lusty Lola a big smooch for me."
"Later, Hobbes."
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Clyde hung up the phone next to Darien's and stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he considered his options. He did not want to be the one to tell Stark that Fawkes wasn't going to be there when the plane landed in L.A. Then again, he knew better than to try and keep something like this from Stark for too long. The man liked his information delivered on a timely basis.
The portly freelance agent looked around the terminal, trying to locate where his Chrysalis partner had gone. He wondered briefly if the other agent had used the time to apprise Stark of the situation while he had been eavesdropping on Fawkes. 'Only one way to find out.' He picked up the phone again and dialed. Stark answered almost immediately.
"Yeah, Stark, it's me. There's been a change in plans ...."
"Yes, I know. Your partner's already checked in and has the car situation handled. Just stay close to Fawkes and don't lose him whatever you do. When the time is right, your partner will advise us of an appropriate pick-up location."
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Darien looked at his watch. They'd been on the road for just over an hour and a half, which meant Hobbes had been ballistic for 30 minutes now. A part of him bristled at the thought of having to check in at the Agency, at them thinking nothing of running a background check on Lola. Then again, he really didn't want the little tiger's head to explode waiting for him to call. Darien sighed, slowed down and took the rest stop exit.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm, ah, hungry. I just thought, you know, we'd take a little pit stop and maybe catch some fries." He pulled into a parking space in front of the low concrete building.
"You're hungry? You can't be hungry. We just had breakfast a couple of hours ago."
"I'm a growing boy. Besides, I need to make a call to my, ah, office." He opened the car door and got out. She followed suit, leaning against the car and crossing her arms.
"You just called them a little over an hour ago."
"What can I say? I guess I'm just integral to the organization." He looked over at her forlornly under raised brows.
"Oh for the love of god. Alright, make your phone call, get your fries. I guess I'll just use the ladies' room. But this is it. We don't stop again until we're at least halfway there, OK?"
"OK."
"And get me a bottle of water, would you?" She headed towards the women's lounge.
"Sure," he said, shaking his head while walking away. 'Just like a chick.'
Darien entered the rest stop and spied the row of public phones. A number of them were already in use, so he picked the one on the far side of the wall and dialed Hobbes' number.
"Fawkes, this better frickin' be you!"
"What up, Bobby?"
"Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to check in over 30 minutes ago."
"Relax, Hobbes. We've been on the road. This is the first rest area I've seen to stop at."
Hobbes snorted. "Yeah, that's because you been looking at the scenery in the front seat next to you, there, loverboy."
"Would you stop it with that? You wanted me to call, so I'm calling. What happened with the background check?"
"She's clean."
"See, I told you there was nothing to worry about."
"Oh, no. There's something to worry about. She's clean. She's *too* clean, my friend."
"What?"
"Both Monroe and I agree: there's got to be something hinky about anybody who's this squeaky clean."
"Wow. The power of your logic underwhelms me."
"That's just fine, Mr. Doubting Thomas. Go ahead, make fun. But you mark my words: something is *not* right here, my friend. Broken aircraft, missed flights. I smell trouble."
"That's not trouble, Hobbes, that's your deodorant."
"Ha ha. Just keep your eyes open, Romeo, OK? 'Cuz your little Juliet there could be Lady MacBeth in disguise."
"How literate of you. You been dipping into my Cliff Notes collection while I'm gone?"
"Hey, I gotta read something while I'm sitting with your rat. I mean, you don't really expect me to just feed the little guy and leave him all alone again, do you?"
"Why, Hobbesy, you do care."
"That's all I'm saying, my friend, that's all I'm saying."
"Later, man."
"Later, Fawkes. And call me when you get home tonight."
Darien hung up the phone and cruised over to the take-out counter, quickly grabbing her water and his fries. He hurried out to the car, but Lola was already standing there waiting for him. He tossed her the water bottle over the car roof and she caught it easily.
"Can we please go now?"
"Absolutely. Let's rock and roll."
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He pulled out onto the highway. Once they were comfortably driving with traffic, he turned his attention to his French fries. Leaving one hand on the wheel, he held out the cardboard container to her with the other. "Hey, can you do me a favor and put some salt on these?"
"Uhm, sure," she said looking around on the seat for the little salt packs. She found one and sprinkled some on his fries until he said, "Enough." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her tossing some of the salt over her shoulder.
"Oh, man, Hobbesy would love you."
"Hobbesy?" She opened her water bottle and took a swig.
"Yeah, Hobbes. He's, ah, my partner."
"Oh, in that security firm you work for? Your partner, huh? I didn't realize you were one of the owners."
"Uhm, yeah, we, ah, actually have a couple of guys who kinda run it for us, but Hobbes and me, we do all the real work."
"You never told me how you got into the security field in the first place. I mean, judging from the way you got into that hotel room back there, you certainly know your way around locks."
He nodded, pursed his lips around a fry. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." He chewed then swallowed, weighing his options the whole time and finally coming up with what he thought was going to be a winning mixture of fact and fiction. "You see, I used to be a thief."
"You used to be a thief?" She looked at him out of the corner of her raised eyes.
"Yeah, as in, I'm an ex-thief now." He gave her a wincing smile.
"Ah hah." She gave one slow nod.
"Anyway, I got caught and went to prison for a bit. My brother arranged for me to get a pardon and when I got out, he was kinda responsible for me hooking up with Hobbes. Hobbes had been in the, ah, security field for years and well, we found that we made a really good team together. I mean, you know, his security experience and my particular knowledge of criminal activities sort of complemented each other. And so there you are, Hobbes and me, the 'Super Friends' of security."
"Hmmmm." She sat there with her brows knit together.
He waited a bit, hoping for one of her smart remarks. When it didn't come, he frowned and knit his own brows. "You're very quiet. I shouldn't have told you, should I?"
"Huh?" She looked over at him and blinked.
"About my being a thief. I shouldn't have told you. I don't normally tell people but for some reason I just thought ...." He shrugged his shoulders absently.
"Oh, no, no." She shook her head at him and smiled. "That doesn't bother me. It's just that I'm torn really."
"Torn?" Curiosity creased his forehead.
"Between trying to decide what your brother's like and what your partner's like. I mean, you're kind of a unique guy, Ray, and I'm just having a hard time picturing you with friends and family." She turned away from him and leaned her head against the window. "Besides, everyone's done something that they're not proud of in their lives, sometimes just to survive. Show me someone who says they haven't and I'll show you a fool or a hypocrite."
"So what's yours?"
"My what?"
"Your secret. I mean, since we're playing truth or dare here and all ..."
"Oh, that. It's pretty mundane, actually. I used to be a stripper. Big whoop." She rolled her eyes and twirled her index finger in the air.
"A stripper, huh?" He tried to keep his tone blasé, but the mental picture he'd just been presented with had his brain, among other things, working overtime. "You don't seem like the type."
"And what type would that be? Starving, desperate, homeless? Because at one point in my life I was all of those things. Stripping made me good money, fast. Eventually it even enabled me to open my shop, start my own business. Now it's not something I'm dying to put on my resume, but I refuse to be ashamed of it."
"I'm down with that, sister."
"Hey, Ray?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I have a fry?"
He laughed and held the cardboard container out to her. She grabbed a fistful and sat there, munching on fries and fiddling with the radio. Darien put the fries on the seat between them, rolled his window down and stuck his left arm out into the sunshine. It certainly was a beautiful day for driving.
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They made good time since the roads were fairly clear and Darien wasn't exactly a stickler for the speed limit. Lola had offered to take the wheel once or twice, but he actually got into the rhythm of driving and didn't want to stop to change seats. They'd hit another rest area for more food, gas, and a quick bathroom break, but that had been the only stop they'd made since the morning.
They were a little more than half-way through their trip -- just outside of Bakersfield, in fact -- when Darien noticed the car's engine temperature starting to go up. He fretted silently as the dashboard gauge steadily rose. Lola was napping and he didn't want to alarm her, but he sure as heck didn't want to break down between exits on Route 99. Silently, he moved over to the right lane and took the next exit. Apparently they were headed to a lovely little metropolis named Delano.
Lola shook herself awake as she felt the car slow. She rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. "You can't possibly be hungry again. You ate three tacos, a quesadilla, and a banana split for lunch."
He laughed nervously. "Ah, no, not me. The car. We need gas." Well, technically it was true; the fuel gauge was heading south towards empty. And if he happened to ask the gas station attendant to check the radiator while they were stopped, well, he was only being cautious, right?
"Hmmm, guess we kind of have to feed the car." At that moment, with her sleepy eyes and lazy smile, she reminded him of nothing so much as a cat sunning itself.
He pulled into the first gas station with a garage that he saw. Lola got out and stretched her legs while he swiped his VISA card in the pump and set the hose to fill the gas tank. Then he went in search of the mechanic, ostensibly to get the key to the men's room.
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"Looks like you got yourself a hole in the radiator. I can patch it, but it ain't gonna be ready until the morning." Darien and the mechanic stood in the station's single garage bay looking under the rental car's hood.
"Morning, huh?" Darien ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his chin. "No way you can get it fixed any sooner?"
"'Fraid not, son. I can patch it before I close for the day, but it's just gonna take time for that patch to set. Now it may be ready at 3 a.m., but I ain't gonna be here to give you the keys."
"Alright, tomorrow morning it is then. What's the earliest we can pick it up?"
"We open at 8:30. You'll need to pay at least half in advance." The mechanic wiped a bit of grease from his hands with an old rag and moved into the station's office.
"Great." Darien followed the man, waving his lone credit card. "Here ya go."
"Thanks." The mechanic swiped Darien's card through the machine and waited for it to spit out a receipt. "It is odd, though."
"What do you mean, 'odd'?"
"Well, look at that engine. It's beautiful, clean as a whistle, obviously well cared for." The mechanic gestured at the engine laid out under the car's open hood through the garage doorway.
Darien looked at the engine, remembered Hobbes' comment about cleanliness and hinkiness. "So what? What are you saying, that somebody purposely put a hole in our radiator?"
"Don't know, can't tell. Just seems to me that whoever's been looking after this car wouldn't have forgotten to check the radiator for holes." The mechanic shrugged and gave Darien his receipt, then ran out to fill a car waiting at the station's pumps.
Darien stood there, staring at the engine. He remembered Lola standing alone by the car at the rest stop. Could she have ...? He shook his head. No. No, he was not going to let Hobbes' paranoia get to him. He looked at Lola waiting outside the garage for him to come and translate mechanic-speak for her. Nope, no, no way. She was just a chick. He looked at her again, taking the time to begin at her toes and work his way up. A really nice chick. He watched her as she paced in an impatient circle around their bags. Make that a really nice chick who was definitely not going to like what he was about to tell her. Cringing, Darien walked out to deliver the bad news.
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"They can't fix it till morning. Looks like we're going to be having dinner together again this evening." Darien tried to sweeten the medicine with his most charming smile.
Lola, still annoyed that he hadn't told her the real reason for their detour, wasn't swallowing it. "Can't fix it till morning! Can't we just call the rental agency and have them drop us off another car?"
At her tone, his smile went from charming to sardonic. "It's a Rent-A-Wreck, darlin', with the emphasis on the wreck. I don't think they offer valet service."
"Oh great. I say 'let's rent from Hertz,' he says, 'oh no, let's go to Rent-A-Wreck. They have *great* cars.' Now I'm hearing that the emphasis is on the wreck. Hertz has curbside assistance, you know!" Her hands flailed about as she worked up a good head of steam.
"Fine, you want me to say you were right and I was wrong," Darien threw up his own hands. "Fine. You were right. But that's not going to get us to San Diego any faster."
"Who the hell are you? The Prince of Frickin' Darkness?" She raised both her voice and her chin as she squared off with him. "Ever since I've met you it's been nothing but bad aircraft, missed flights and now the car radiator blows up ...."
He stood his ground as he asked rhetorically, "Oh, and that's all my fault?"
"I don't know. What I do know is that I have cakes to make, a business to run and I can't afford to be out here playing 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' with you!"
"Wow, can your voice get *any* higher? 'Cuz I think there are some dogs in the next county over that can't hear you yet."
She sighed and shook her head. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm sorry for raising my voice. But I'm tired, I'm stressed and I just quit smoking two days ago. So cut me some slack, Jack, OK?"
Darien let out a frustrated groan, stuck his hands in his pocket, bit his tongue. "Tell you what: let's go over to the hotel down the street here. We'll get a couple of rooms, freshen up, maybe have some dinner, what do you say? Then we can get a good night's sleep and start out bright and early in the morning."
She grabbed her briefcase and started at a brisk clip towards the almost tasteful sign proclaiming the site of the Shilo Inn. "Alright. I guess I really don't have much choice in the matter, now do I?"
He watched her retreating back, decided it had to be great to be a chick, hoisted her duffel and his own bag, then started after her. "Hey, I think it's great that you quit smoking. I've never smoked myself but I've heard it's a bitch to quit."
"You don't know the half of it. I swear, when I'm in the middle of a nicotine fit, I turn into a raging psycho. I mean, I can see myself yelling at people and I just can't stop it."
"I hear you, sister, I hear you."
TBC
