Starman (16 page)

Now what the hell, he asked himself, is going on?

Jenny had been blinking and shaking her head, trying to stay awake, for the past hour. Now even the head shakes were failing to clear her vision. Her passenger remarked on it.

“Is something wrong, Jennyhayden?”

“Yeah something’s wrong. I’m pooped is what’s wrong. Tired. It’s time to rest. Remember, I told you about it?”

He nodded. “I remember. What do we do?”

“The same thing my people do whenever they need something and they’re out traveling like this. When you need gas you find a gas station. Food, you find a food station.” She was scanning the highway ahead. “There’s a small town coming up. Should be something out on the freeway exit. We need to find a motel. A sleep station, I guess you’d call it.”

She eased the Mustang down the off-ramp, flanked by several large, well-lit signs. There were several places to chose from but she wasn’t in any mood to go bargain hunting. The first motel they came to was big and clean and she turned into the parking lot. It was full of cars and she hoped it wasn’t full. Shouldn’t be, she thought. Not this time of the week.

Even if she wasn’t exhausted it’s doubtful she would have noticed the lights of the police cruiser following a hundred yards back.

In addition to the large number of cars there were a couple of big yellow buses parked in the lot.
BEAT IOWA
banners were draped across the sides. Pasted to the inside of several windows were smaller pieces of cardboard and paper inscribed with less courteous sentiments. Jenny barely noticed the buses as she located an empty parking space and pulled in.

“Gotta have a couple hours sleep,” she declared to no one in particular. “Just a couple of hours. Okay?”

He nodded, watched as she pushed the forty-five under her seat. They exited the car together, he following close on her heels as she headed for the main building. On the walkway they passed a couple of very large young men wearing red lettermen’s sweaters. They were blasting out the Nebraska fight song enthusiastically and off key.

The starman was pleased. “More singing.”

“Sort of,” she admitted.

Their passage didn’t escape notice. One of the football players turned and yelled at them. “Yeah, Cornhuskers!”

“Yeah, Cornhuskers!” the starman responded, always willing to please.

The second lineman raised a hand, palm facing outward, and declaimed with mock solemnity, “Pass, friend.”

Jenny pushed open a glass door. “I think the office must be through here, if that sign outside was right.”

“What is Cornhusker?” her companion inquired curiously. “Has it to do with food?”

“Depends on what side of the field you’re on,” she replied obliquely.

“What side of field food grows on?”

“Never mind. It’s getting more complicated than it needs to be and I’m too tired for word games right now.” She sighed. “Let’s just find the front desk, okay?”

Unsatisfied but compliant, he nodded. “Okay, Jennyhayden.”

Keeping well away from the green Mustang, the police cruiser crawled into the parking lot. Dusseau kept his eyes on the target vehicle as he addressed the radio mike.

“Looks like they’ve stopped, maybe going to spend the night here. We could take ’em easy if they’ve rented a room.”

“No.” The reply from the speaker was firm. “You are not, repeat
not,
to approach them. Under any circumstances. Just keep them under close surveillance until the Federals get there.”

Tripp made a disgusted sound out of range of the mike’s pickup, then leaned over again so he could be heard. “What if
they
approach
us
?”

There was a pause. They could envision the dispatcher waiting for instructions, listening to someone unseen and unheard.

“If you’re in some kind of life-threatening situation, defend yourselves accordingly. But otherwise, wait for the Federals. Out.”

A disappointed Dusseau returned the mike to its holder and found a place to park. Tripp was complaining before the engine died. “Wait for the Federals, wait for the Federals. They get the six o’clock news and we get the shit end of the stick. We follow these two practically to the damn state line. And for what? A nice pat on the butt when it’s all over. Nice doggy cop, good boy. Here’s a nice gold star for your record. Well I don’t like it. The whole deal sucks.”

“That’s the way it is.” Dusseau shrugged. He was watching the green Mustang and the motel beyond, doing his job. Stoic as hell. But he wasn’t any happier about their instructions than was his partner.

“Doesn’t have to be.” A sly smile slid over Tripp’s face.

Dusseau frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

The other officer unsnapped the riot gun from its holder, removed it from the rack and checked the chamber. The twelve-gauge pump was full and ready for action, and so was he.

“Maybe nothing, but I got this hunch that this just might develop into a life-threatening situation.”

A blast of sound washed over Jenny and the starman when they entered the coffee-shop annex. Tables and chairs had been shoved aside to create a big open area in the middle of the room. The noise came from a stereo with the bass turned up too far and from the crowd of college students who occupied the makeshift dance floor. Male and female, black and white, all were strenuously doing their best to celebrate their team’s forthcoming victory over their interstate rival.

Nondancers sat on chairs or cuddled in corners, generating their own private festivities. Spectators stood on tabletops and clapped, urging on the more active celebrants. A bunch of guys clustered around a beer keg while others slaked their thirst from bottles and cans. Several members of the Big Red marching band, uniforms and hats askew, were warming up in a corner and adding the blare of their instruments to the general din.

A girl in a cheerleader’s outfit came running past the two newcomers. She was being ardently pursued by a young man clad in white shorts and an open-necked shirt. His tie was fastened around his forehead instead of his neck.

“Wait a minute, Betty! I just want to show you something.”

She yelled back over her shoulder. “I know, I know. Why do you think I’m running?”

They disappeared outside. The starman followed their progress with interest. He found the sights and sounds surrounding him fascinating.

“Boys will be boys,” Jenny murmured.

“They are going on their honeymoon? If so, why does she run from him?”

“So he’ll chase her. This isn’t what you think. Honeymoon’s later. This is more like your basic primitive mating ritual.”

“Mating ritual?”

“Like boy meets girl.” She eyed him sideways. “The things I end up explaining to you. Don’t you have that either? No sleep, no food, and no that? What do you do with your nights up there, anyway?”

“I do not understand.”

“Never mind.” She turned her attention back to the room, trying to penetrate the swirl of activity surrounding them. “The sign outside did say that the office was in here. Ah.” She spotted the desk and started toward it, wending her way through swaying beer-drinkers. “I don’t see a clerk. He’s probably hiding somewhere in the back.”

Students and the occasional older celebrant made way for her. Sure enough, the clerk popped into view an instant after she rang the desk bell. At the same time the recorded music was turned off in favor of the makeshift dance band and she had to shout in order to make herself intelligible above the renewed roar of the dancers.

“My husband and I—I say, my husband and I would like a room. As far away from this as possible.”

The clerk grinned ruefully. “I can get you one in Lincoln.”

“Very funny. We’ll take the best you can manage. We’ve been on the road all day and we’re both dead tired.”

“You’ll have to be, to sleep through this.” He shoved a register full of preprinted forms across the desk. “King or double?”

“Anything, so long as it’s halfway quiet.”

“Ain’t got no such animal tonight, but I’ll do the best I can. Here.” He handed her a pen. She filled out the registration slip and handed over her credit card, waited as he ran it through the machine, then accepted her receipt and the room key.

“You’re down at the end here,” the clerk told her, pointing to a map of the motel layout. “Second floor. Maybe this bunch’ll run down around two or three in the morning, but I doubt it. Good luck.” He turned and vanished into a back room.

She turned. “Okay, we’re all set. Maybe if we turn the air conditioner on high it’ll drown out some of this noise. We can—” she broke off, looking around anxiously, suddenly aware she was talking to empty air. “Hey?”

The starman had disappeared.

“Great,” she muttered. At least he couldn’t incite those around him to riot, like he had the hunters. The riot was already in full swing. She started hunting through the crowd for him.

Under the tutelege of and direction from the band, most of the celebrants had formed a line and were snake-dancing their way out into the motel’s central courtyard, heading for the big swimming pool. The starman was in the lead, mimicking the steps and swaying perfectly in time to the music. Jenny wasn’t surprised to see that he appeared to be having himself a fine old time.

Unfortunately, the line was twisting straight toward the pool and she didn’t know if he had the vaguest idea how to swim. She rushed toward him.

He stopped by himself, however, breaking away from the head of the line to stare down at the water. The cheerleader and her pursuer were standing in the shallow end, locked in a damp embrace. He stared at them intently. They were much too involved in each other to notice the attention the stranger was devoting to their activities.

So absorbed in study was he that he didn’t notice that he was about to be run down by the rest of the snake dancers. Jenny grabbed him and dragged him, still staring at the pool, out of the way. She led him up the stairs toward the second floor of the room complex across the way. He followed unquestioningly, though he kept glancing back over his shoulder toward the water.

Up on the second floor she pointed toward the end of the walkway. “Go on, go stand over there out of the way and try to stay out of trouble while I check out our room.”

Obediently, he turned and moved to the end of the walkway. Once there he found himself staring at a big blue soda machine which was receiving the angry attentions of one of the Nebraska lettermen. The kid was whacking it repeatedly with one hand. He glanced up at the starman’s approach, indicated the machine and explained.

“Damn thing’s busted. Ate my sixty cents.”

“Broken?” The starman examined the device.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.” He jerked a thumb down toward the central courtyard and the mass of milling students. “Sometimes a guy wants something besides a beer, y’know?”

Instead of replying, the stranger ran a finger along one side of the dispenser, then passed his palm over the front. Satisfied, he put his hand against a chosen spot and pressed lightly.

Something deep inside the machine went
whang.
This was followed by an echoing, clanking sound, following which Cokes and quarters began erupting from their respective slots. The letterman gaped at the machine, then at the solemn-faced stranger.

“Hey, how’d you do that?” he asked, even as he was dropping to his knees to start grabbing up quarters.

The man gave him a thin but pleasant smile. “Yeah, Cornhuskers.” Before the letterman could reply a young woman appeared, took in the scene, and started dragging her companion back up the walkway. The astonished football player was too busy clutching at coins and drinks to follow.

“For God’s sake,” she snapped at him, “can’t I leave you alone even for a minute without you getting into some kind of trouble?”

“Yeah, Cornhuskers.”

She sighed. “Right, that makes everything okay. Please try and stay out of trouble. For my sake, okay?”

“I am sorry if I did something wrong, Jennyhayden.”

She glanced back down the walkway. It was deserted except for the letterman, who continued stuffing his pockets unaware that he was the recipient of that evening’s dose of interstellar largesse.

“It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.” She pushed in the door, led him into their room. It was clean, spacious, and more expensive than necessary, but on this trip the last thing she was concerned about was exceeding some imaginary budget.

“Look, I’m going to take a bath. Soak myself in water. As hot as I can stand it.”

“Why?”

“To get clean and to try to relax a little.” She stepped past him, made sure the safety latch on the door was hooked. “You stay put.” She glanced around the room once more, then crossed to the television and turned it on. “This knob controls the channels, see?” She demonstrated for him. “And this is the volume. Think you can watch TV and stay out of trouble while I’m in the tub?”

“I think so, Jennyhayden.”

“Fine.” She headed for the bathroom.

Class place, she decided after closing the door behind her. Free shampoo, shower cap, the works. She turned on both taps, adjusting flow and temperature until they were just as she wanted them. Steam began to rise from the tub.

Better double-check on him, she told herself, just to make sure.

She was worrying needlessly. He was sitting just as she’d left him, in the chair opposite the TV, watching the late night news. She wondered what he thought of it but was too tired to ask him.

“Good,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Oh boy, am I whipped.” She began to undress, kicking off her shoes, pulling off her blouse and then wiggling out of her jeans.

“My mother always told me that there wasn’t anything wrong with the world that a hot bath, a good night’s sleep, and . . .”

She had her thumbs hooked under the waistband of her panties and had them half shoved down when she stopped. The starman had turned from the set and was staring at her. His expression was unreadable.

“What the hell am I doing?” she mumbled. She scanned the room before crossing to the bed and pulling the spread off. It made a bulky but serviceable sari. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “It’s just that in this light you’re so much like him. I guess I’m getting punchy. I . . .”