Dastardly Bastard(11)
Yeah, but if you piss off the mom by siding with the kid, you have zero chance of finding out what’s under those painted-on jeans of hers, his id returned.
Jaleel clapped his hands, focusing back on the group. “Any more questions?”
“Yep.” Off to the side, the white guy with the black girlfriend stepped forward. “My girl wants to know how long you been doing this, bro.”
Jaleel almost rolled his eyes. The ending—’bro’—grated on his nerves.
Fine. You scored a sister. Congratulations. Now stop with the hood speak.
Let him have her. You have Marvelous Marsha to covet.
“I don’t care how long he’s been doing it, fool,” the girlfriend—Jaleel checked her nametag: Justine—interjected. “I just wanted to know if he’s any good at it.” She had her breasts pushed up in a spandex halter that revealed her flat stomach, and Jaleel found his eyes lingering. The silk button-up she wore over the midriff fluttered in the wind.
His id mentioned how it reminded him of Marilyn Monroe standing over that vent, and Jaleel concurred. Only blacker.
“To answer both questions, I have been employed by Pointvilla Parks and Recreation for the past seven years. I have been doing this job, in particular, for the last four. Before this job, I used to go spelunking every weekend. I’ve been in, around, up, and down mountains, gorges, and caverns since I was about nine years old. I’m now thirty-nine, for those of you who want to do the math.”
“What’s splunking?” the white guy asked. Another nametag check revealed his name was Trevor.
“It’s spee-lunking.” Jaleel laughed. “It’s another word for cave exploration.”
Trevor smiled. “I thought you meant like that one song, Toss skeet skeet skeet.”
“Trevor!” Justine slugged her boyfriend in the bicep. “There’s a kid here!”
“My bad, baby.” Trevor gave the girl puppy-dog eyes, and Jaleel felt like he was going to be sick.
Just ignore them.
Jaleel planned to do just that.
“Well, if that’s everything, let’s get started. It is now…” Jaleel checked his wrist watch. “… ten thirty, and if we leave right now, we should be at Fairchild Lookout about eleven on the dot. Everyone got everything?”
With a resounding yes, the group stepped forward. Mark raised his camera, and Jaleel grinned for the photo.
“Good deal,” Jaleel said. “Let’s get going!”
6
MARSHA LAKE STAYED IN THE middle of the group as the tour guide set them on their path. The man seemed confident enough, and she settled her nerves so that she might enjoy her day out with her son.
She and Lyle followed the throng into the tree line. The narrow trail was nothing more than a beaten path. She’d never thought Pointvilla had that kind of land. Every time she imagined the area, she saw trees devoid of life, withered and scalped, along with rocky mountain ranges. She hadn’t realized the way to the chasm held greener, denser areas. It was rather beautiful, and a terrific addition to their trip.
She had to keep reminding herself that the day was for Lyle, not her. Marsha’s trepidations about being out there would just have to stay buried, out of sight. She had to pretend she was enjoying herself. For Lyle.
Marsha supposed her own acceptance of Paul’s death had stemmed from losing her mother to the Big C. Not that Paul’s death hadn’t hurt, but she had seen the telltale signs, had been prepared. Even when the doctors had said that horrible word, ‘pancreatic,’ Marsha had been more worried about how Lyle was going to take it. Maybe it had been the soft way they had told their son about his father’s cancer, the reassuring tone they had used, that had given Lyle too much hope. Marsha would forever wonder, never really knowing. It pained her inside.
“Please put that away,” she told Lyle, nodding at the smartphone.
“I’m posting to Twitter,” Lyle said, as if the excuse should be enough.
“Lyle…” Marsha tried to maintain her calm. “Now.”
“Jeez, all right already.” He shoved the cell into his back pocket.
“See, now you’re going to sit down somewhere, or back up against something, and crack the screen. What happened to the holder I got you? The one that clips to your belt?”
“It broke.”
“And you were going to tell me when?”
“When you asked.” His smile, filled with boyish charm, made her scream in her own head. Would you stop that? You have no power over me, child!
“At least move it to your front pocket so it doesn’t get damaged accidentally.”
“Fine.” Lyle did as she asked. “Better?”
“Much.” She ruffled his corn-yellow hair, admiring the way he kept it. Paul had worn his hair like that. It looked even better on their son.
Lyle shrank away, pulling his head out of her reach. Marsha cringed, a tight feeling growing in her chest. She wished she could get through to him. Even if he didn’t realize it, he was all she had left.
7
MARK SIMMONS FELL TO THE back of the group. The trail dipped and dived in front of him. Up, then down. Every ascent stealing his breath, each descent giving him a chance to catch it.