The Missing Boatman Part 20

"Five cars." Tony wanted her understanding in this.

"Five."

"Makes and colours."

Lucy made a face. "General makes and colours. I don't know that much about cars, Anthony. A hatchback is a hatchback, okay? A truck is a truck."

"That's a little too general," Tony mulled.

"I have to guess five cars! Five! I think the odds are pretty much in your favour."

"Me, too," he said, not checking the grin slipping across his face.

"Then, shall we?"

"Year of make, okay?"

"ANTHONY!"

He held up both of his hands. "Okay, no years. Go ahead, then. Work your magic. Dazzle me."

A corner of Lucy's mouth hitched up into a dirty smile that Tony did not like in the least. He stepped in front of her, looking over her head, to ensure that she could not see a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing. Then, he thought of Gretzky. The Great One had exceptional peripheral vision. Lucy could be the same way. The prize was too great to chance it.

"One second," Tony said, pulling her bee bottom toque down around her eyes. She did not resist. "Okay, anytime you're ready."

Lucy's wonderfully full lips pouted in distaste, and Tony wanted very badly to kiss them. He could tell she didn't like the blindfold. Well, he wouldn't require her to wear it for the b.l.o.w.j.o.b. Or whatever other naughtiness he could come up with for later.

"Yellow Camaro," Lucy said almost instantly.

A split second later, a yellow Camaro drove by the motel.

Tony's mouth dropped open, his eyes staring in disbelief.

"Black hatchback," Lucy declared, barely before Tony's mind could fathom the first correct guess.

The black hatchback zipped by.

Tony blinked in stupefied amazement.

"Black pick up, red four door sedan, and blue four door sedan," she listed off and like comets racing across a black sky, each named car blazed by.

"That was a black sedan," Tony cleared his throat.

"It looks black under this light. In daylight, it's blue," Lucy told him.

"That was black as G.o.d is my witness," Tony protested calmly.

In reply Lucy drew breath. "Red pickup, cherry red four door something, black and chrome transport truck."

The vehicles snapped by like noisy lasers, and with them, whatever words of protest Tony might have mustered.

"Well..." he began in an extremely calm voice. Then, he changed his mind. "f.u.c.k!"

Lucy rolled up her toque. She was smiling.

Tony glared at her. "How the h.e.l.l-"

Lucy kissed the air in front of him. "Guess I win."

"Horses.h.i.t," Tony spat out. "It wasn't like I was really expecting anything."

"Oh, no?"

"Course not. You're not the type."

"But you believe me now?" Lucy was serious.

"That we're in Alberta? No," Tony almost laughed.

Lucy rolled her eyes at him. "It was easier to convince people fifty years ago. No, make that a century ago."

That sobered him. "What did you just say?"

"Come here." She marched towards the main doors of the motel. Tony followed, grateful for getting out of the cold. He was beginning to wonder just how detailed this joke got. The ad was fine, and it was easy for her to get the bartender to go along. But f.u.c.k him how she managed the traffic. That was incredible. They would have to get to Vegas. Then, it suddenly occurred to him: Why was she going to all the trouble? Why the big effort about convincing him he was in Alberta, anyway? It was too d.a.m.n cold to joke about such a thing.

They stepped into the motel's lobby, the winter air shrieking in and wrestling with the warmth beyond the threshold. Directly across from them was the front desk. The elderly lady behind it reading a paperback, immaculate right down to the bread bun of hair tied on the back of her head, gave him no more than a second's appraisal.

"See there," Lucy said in a suddenly gentle voice as if this were the final proof she needed to convince him.

Tony walked by her, thankful to escape the deep-s.p.a.ce cold outside. He could feel his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es clinking together like a pair of frozen wind chimes. He wiped his feet before closing with the front desk. He could see from here what Lucy was pointing at. It was the bronze frame and ceremonial plaque firmly establishing the opening date of the motel.

In Alberta.

Tony stopped in his tracks and stared at the words for almost a minute. The lady at the desk eventually decided to take notice of him again. "May I help you, sir?"

"No," Tony replied very quietly with both hands resting on his hips. There was a chill coming up his lower legs. His t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es hoisted themselves up when it reached his crotch, like white mice trying to escape a rising river. He took in the front desk, and his mind blossomed in shock.

Pictures of the Rockies.

A wondrous wilderness shot of Banff National Park.

Listings of possible trips and their destination prices: Wintergreen; Lake Louise; Rabbit Hill.

A pile of community newspapers.

The day's copy of the Calgary Herald.

A picture of a group of smiling people standing in front of a castle-like structure called Mewata Armouries; a dark green tank just to the group's right.

Every drop of spit in Tony's mouth evaporated. It suddenly became drier than a nun's hooch laid out buck naked in the middle of the Sahara. A hand on his arm tugged and pulled him away. He was guided back to the bar. He didn't say a word, nor did he resist. The time of resisting was long past, now. Now, he was aboard the dream for wherever it was going, whatever it was worth. They sat again and beer was placed before him. Lucy was speaking to him, her voice low and melodious like a soft song on the radio. She promised she would explain everything. She promised answers to all of his questions. The important thing was for him to be strong and to not be afraid.

It was G.o.dd.a.m.n easy for her to say.

She obviously accepted the fact that they had driven two thirds across a very big country in a day. Instead of the more realistic eight or even nine days.

Tony sipped on his beer.

"Are you going to be sick?" Lucy asked him. Her voice echoed in his head.

"No," Tony said truthfully.

"Are you sure? 'Cuz if you-"

"I'm not going to be sick," he told her in a stern tone. He did not want to talk right now. Lucy respected the silence he invoked. She watched him sit and hoped he didn't get sick. It happened sometimes when the impossible got wrapped around their world and was pulled tight. That kind of tightness made gullets heave and eyes bulge. So far, with the exception of the day's travel, Anthony was holding up fine.

He took a breath and rubbed his eyes. Another deep breath, a plunging, clarifying one, and then he zeroed in on Lucy. She appeared genuinely concerned with his frame of mind and health.

"Okay," Tony's eyes narrowed, and his mouth puckered up like a sucker on an octopus's tentacle. "I need to ask some questions... First... how did we get here so fast?"

Lucy nodded. "We drove, of course."

"Of course," Tony said in a smarta.s.s tone. "But what the f.u.c.k else happened there?"

That didn't impress Lucy in the least. She sat there for a moment before answering. "It was, well, time that was altered. Hours becoming minutes so to speak. That sort of thing, anyway."

"I see," Tony said blindly. Then, as an afterthought. "Bulls.h.i.t."

Lucy winced. "That's what happened."

"How?"

Another smile, dear and utterly sympathetic to his confusion, spread across her smooth features. "It's difficult for you to understand."

In a sarcastic nod, Tony's head bounced in agreement.

"But that's how he works," Lucy said.

"He who?"

"I can't tell you his name. Not his true name, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because," her eyebrows flexed, "your head would explode."

Tony balked, his beer half raised to his lips. "Excuse me?"

"His real name would make your head explode. If you can accept that you are in Alberta now, you'll have to accept the other. I can tell you what you call him though, and you've already met him. He's Mr. Tim. He's, well, Time."

If this was supposed to surprise him, he did not let it show. In fact, he just stared on. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "He's done this."

"Yes."

"Why?" Tony asked. His beer was forgotten now.

"Because we have very little of your time left. Very little. We have to find who you are supposed to find and very quickly. This was the fastest way since you wouldn't fly."

"Find this Frank guy?"

"Is that the name Time gave you?"

"Uh-huh. Augustus Franklin."

"Then, he's the one."

"Why didn't you know the name? And f.u.c.k, while I'm at it, how do you know Tim? And now I'm on it, I bet you know f.u.c.ked up Freddy, too! Am I right?"

Lucy's face became drawn then. Every time Tony said the F-word, she became a little sadder. "There really isn't any need to swear."

Tony did a fine impression of feigning shock. "Oh, I think there is every f.u.c.king NEED to swear right now. Jesus and Joseph humping Mary! Every last G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king syllable to come out my G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king mouth could be Jesus Christ's name in vain, and since I find myself in G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king ALBERTA..."

Tony let that hang in the air for effect. Lucy did not attempt to interrupt.

"I think I can get away with it," Tony finished. He raised his gla.s.s, drained it and banged it off the table. The bartender did not appear to notice. It was a lover's fight as far as he was concerned, and as long as the guy didn't start whacking his missus, all was fine.

"You're only making this harder for me, Anthony," Lucy said quietly. "Please."

Her wonderfully dark eyes met his.

"f.u.c.k that," Tony waved his hand about as if warding off whatever magic Lucy was trying on him. "Start talking. And you better get a G.o.dd.a.m.n move on, too, if my time is so G.o.dd.a.m.n important. What I do f.u.c.king care about is wrapping up this pigf.u.c.ker of a c.o.c.k-sucking headache I'm getting from all of his G.o.dd.a.m.n bulls.h.i.t. And it's grade f.u.c.kin' A prime bulls.h.i.t, too. So give up some more. Oh, I'm sorry, am I offending your G.o.dd.a.m.n sensibilities with all of this?"

Lucy sprang up and ran. She crossed the bar floor in a matter of seconds and disappeared out the door. The bartender, dry wiping a mug that had occupied his attention perhaps a little too long, looked up in the direction of Lucy's wake. He did not look at Tony.

Tony made no attempt to go after her. He had no inclination to. f.u.c.k it. He was quite content to just sit there and stew. He did exactly that. He fumed over the situation he was suddenly in, in a province a long way from home. He raised his mug to his lips and realized he emptied it moments ago. "s.h.i.t."

He refilled it with what was left in the pitcher. Drank that. Since Lucy was no longer around, he drank the rest of her beer, as well. No sense in letting it go to waste seeing as it was all paid for. The beer placated him long enough to think. He thought about the conversation, replayed the entire thing in his mind, and thought, with a growing distaste, that he had been a p.r.i.c.k. The whole picture hadn't even been explained to him, and it seemed Lucy was about to before he exploded. Before he bawled her out. Lovely Lucy.

A heavy sigh shuddered through his frame. He was a p.r.i.c.k. He thought of the b.l.o.w. .j.o.b, and he shook his head. No chance of that now. Not even any sympathy service. f.u.c.k! Double f.u.c.k!

Your time, her words came back to him. Your time. What in h.e.l.l's p.i.s.spot did she mean by that? Tony sat with a full blaze smoking up the timber frame of his mind. It was clear to him what he had to do now, what he had backed himself into. Shaking his head and swearing at himself, Tony got to his feet.

"Smart move," the bar guy said as Tony walked by. "Go apologize. The lady's too fine to stay mad at."

Tony ignored him. He didn't need the advice. He knew what he had to do. He left the bar, keeping the growls emanating from his throat low.

Minutes later, he stood outside her room. He thought that things were too f.u.c.king weird for him. A part of him screamed to just get the f.u.c.k out of there. Get out of the motel, get into the beast and drive. Forget Lucy, forget Tim and Frank, especially f.u.c.khead Freddy. Things were weird. Really weird. And if he knocked on that door...