We had been on the road for three hours when everyone woke from the sleeping charm I put on the group began to wane. I didn’t plan on bringing Sir Bill along, but a good showgirl must learn to improvise, especially when in the company of a group of perverts.
The dog tried to attack me. Big mistake. Every creature in the known universe knows you don’t lay a hand on the strippers, especially in the Champagne Room of Life. Luckily, my natural Viking abilities and universal travels have taught me a thing or two to defend myself. I may have been a woman for these past few years, but I’m not a damsel in distress.
Utah loomed in the horizon as we barreled along I-15, heading north into the dirty heart of America. Mormonia, as the galactic travel guides described this land. I was not welcome here and had to lay low for fear of being caught by the Royal Guard of the Temple. I’ve had my brush-ups with those pajama wearing fruitcakes before, particularly during my adventures in stealing the Radio of Time.
My biggest problem was the trio waking up in the back. A young man, his oddly devoted dog, and a Mexican monster known for sucking the blood out of goats. How the hell was I going to lay low with these three?
“Sir Bill, wake up! Put on this hat.” I reached into my glove compartment and brought out a beat up, Mickey Mouse visor, a chunk taken out of the bill. Damn it, Goofy. He couldn’t wait until I dropped him off at that homeless shelter in Kansas City.
“Oh man, this is totally against my style,” chirped Bill, frowning as he grabbed the visor.
“Just put the goddamn thing on. It’ll make you look more normal, you half-bred pile of crap.”
Karl giggled at the insult, nudging Abita with his elbow. The dog licked his face in response, and I could have sworn I saw the traces of a smile creep across her snout.
“I’m hungry,” Sir Bill groaned, holding his stomach. “Can we stop for some peyote?”
“Goddamnit, you stupid stoner, we can’t just stop and look for peyote. Here, take some of this.” I reached into my purse and threw a bottle of Robitussin at his head. He bit into the plastic with sharp incisors, titling his head back and gulping down the cherry-flavored goodness. His red eyes burned brightly, a cocked grin on his face, drool trickling down his chin. Karl and Abita stared at him as he mumbled to himself for a few minutes. Karl appeared interested. I smiled and threw him a bottle as well.
“Here, take some medicine. It’ll at least give you something to do besides stare at a mythical beast for the next nine hours.”
Karl gulped half of his bottle, offering the other half to the dog, who lapped it up, licking the bottle’s mouth and Karl’s mouth, trying to get the last few drops. Karl’s eyes dilated, his mouth adopting a similar, stupid grin. Abita licked his open smile, slurping his teeth and gums, brushing his molars with her fur, a canine toothbrush with doggy Crest to make it all better. Soon she laid her head in his lap, dreaming fervent follies and tripping balls near his balls. It was quite the scene, three half-brained refugees stuck in a cough syrup fantasyland.
I spent this quiet time concentrating on the road, pondering our next move as we crossed the Utah-Arizona border. I had to drive the speed limit, obey all traffic laws, and look as inconspicuous as possible if I wanted to make it out of the state alive. Damnitall, I hate driving slow. At this rate, we’d make it Pueblo by late this evening, which was about nine hours too long for my tastes. Patience was never one of my many virtues. I wish I could just teleport there and be done with it, but I can’t let my superpower be known to anybody. Just another part of the curse of being me.
Captain Rage, time for me to cash in some of those favors you owe me. Robert Strange, you too. I’m going to need all the help I can get from those two.
I drove on in silence for a few more hours. The three slumbering wonders remained quiet in the back seat the entire time, conked out in a hallucinatory frenzy, peaceful lambs induced by psychedelics to explore the hidden fossils of their mind’s twelve eyes.
They awoke all at once, sweating in the arid heat, their eyes dazed, confused, and panic-stricken.
“I’m hungry.”
“Where are we?”
The dog barked nonsense, yips and yowls of incomplete thoughts. She started roaming in circles, jumping on and off the other passengers, wagging her tail, and whimpering in fear. Sir Bill slapped at the dog, missing but connecting with Karl’s shoulder. Karl retaliated by punching Sir Bill in his reptilian face. Abita bit at the seat cushion, tearing away a large chunk of vinyl.
“Shriss, he’s hitting me!” I heard a whine come from behind me. “Make him stop!”
“Shriss, Abita is eating your car. She’s drooling all over the place. It’s gross,” erupted from the other side.
“Shriss, can we pull over? I think this is where the Hopi Indians used to camp. I need to find their spiritual markings. I’ve read about them. C’mon, this is important stuff!” cried Sir Bill.
“Goddamnit, we are not visiting your hippie sites. The Hopi did not discover the secret to astrophysics, there is no spiritual enlightenment to gain from the Museum of Dishwashers, and Dadaism is garbage. Sit down and shut up,” I screamed, turning my head to yell directly at their faces. Sir Bill grimaced, emotionally hurt and dejected, folding his arms into his chest. Karl and Abita looked away, avoiding my glare. I stared them down for a few more moments. When I turned back around, I sped a little faster, trying to cover some ground and end this trip.
It was only hours later that I realized I had missed my turn to Pueblo.
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