Dastardly Bastard(2)

He overcame his body’s inertia and stepped off the treadmill, almost losing his balance in the process. He caught himself on the chrome banister at the end of the track.

Hertz was off to the left, set back into the wall like a bank teller’s booth. The skinny Goth girl behind the counter looked to be no more than fifteen or sixteen, but Mark settled on at least eighteen, as she would have to be able to sign paperwork for her customers. She had purple hair and a glimmering diamond booger attached to the outside of one nostril. Her black lipstick screamed Elvira.

“Can I help you?” Gothy asked when Mark approached the counter.

“I have a reservation.”

“Name?” she requested, readying her fingers over the keyboard.

“Mark Simmons.”

“Favorite color?”

“Excuse me?”

She snickered. “Sorry. Customer service humor.”

“Ah.” Mark didn’t get the joke, but he nodded politely all the same.

She asked for his address, license, and credit card information. He gave it all to her and waited until she updated everything before asking, “You do have a minivan, right?”

“Oh, sorry, really, but all I have is a Prius and a Kia.”

“Is the Kia at least an SUV?”

She sucked air through her teeth, whistling through a gap he hadn’t noticed. “No. It’s a two-door.”

“Did you happen to notice how big I am? How I waddle instead of walk? Jesus, if I chanced wearing corduroy pants, I’d start a darned fire. I can’t fit in either one of those cars… Melody,” Mark said, reading her name badge.

“I’m sorry.” She shrank away, smiling nervously.

“Oh, sweet Hey-Zues!” He slapped the counter, causing Melody to jump.

A man with a handlebar mustache, dressed in Hertz garb and looking very serious, stepped out from a door behind the counter. “Is there a problem, Melody?”

“No, Fred.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, because I’m not standing right here,” Mark scoffed. “Mind asking me if I have a problem, Fred?”

Fred put on his best customer service smile and came to the desk. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, Fred. I need a bigger car than what Melody is offering me. I reserved a minivan.”

“The cars are first come, first served, Mr. Simmons,” Fred said, leaning over and looking at the computer. “I should have one back today, though. Right after five o’clock, looks like. Do you care to wait?”

Mark looked at the digital clock behind the duo’s heads and saw that it was just after four. He couldn’t believe it. He’d have to get used to the time difference again, but in reverse.

“I suppose I can wait around for an hour.”

Melody made that sucking sound with her teeth again.

Mark almost reached across the counter to slap her. “Now what?”

“That’s five… p.m.,” Fred corrected.

“Ah, fuck all.” Mark sighed, defeated. “Gimme the darned Prius.”



~ * ~



Mark walked out of the airport and through the taxi park. A guy leaning against a cab waved him over, but Mark kept walking, not wanting to know why the man wore women’s capri pants and lipstick.

He strode past the turnabout, lugging his suitcase over the curbing as he went. He was halfway down aisle 12-B of the parking garage when he noticed a pregnant woman trying to lift her baggage into the back of a minivan. Her keys jingled in her fist, the tag hanging from them unmistakable.

Mark paused and hitched his chin at the van. “Guess you got the last one.”

“You get lucky sometimes.”

She was big, about a month away from being a plus one at every social event she would attend for the next eighteen years, and Mark couldn’t stand seeing her struggling the way she was. He could just keep walking, fuming about being denied his ride of choice. But if he did that, he’d be cussing himself all the way to New York. It wasn’t her fault he had been held up in Customs. Heck, it wasn’t even Customs’ fault.

He sighed. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, thank God.” The heavy suitcase she’d been trying to stuff into the back of the van fell to the floor. “Would it be a bad thing to tell you that I was praying you’d ask?”

He gave her a small smile and shook his head.

“You’re a life saver.”

He bent and grabbed the suede luggage by its handle. When he came back up, he had something on the tip of his tongue, and it might have been funny, too, but the words died in his throat.

Half the woman’s head was gone. Red fluid oozed from the carnage that was the side of her face. It ran down her neck in thick strands, looking like crimson worms.

Mark screamed.

He backpedaled, tripped over his own bag, and hit the concrete ass-first. The momentum pushed him back, and he cracked his skull against the asphalt.

The world went topsy-turvy. Lights flashed in his vision. He could hear the distant ringing of bells.

“Are you all right?” The pregnant woman filled his vision. Her face was a pool of concern.

And intact.

The gory visage was gone. She was just as pretty as she had been when he had first seen her.