The Saffron Malformation (16 page)

             
Chuckling, he told her, “Well I’m Quey.”

             
“Really?” she inquired, eyebrows raised.

             
“Yup.”

             
“That’s a name?” she asked playfully.

             
Quey furrowed his brow thoughtfully, “Don’t reckon it should be, no.”  They laughed.

“Makes it sound like you’re a bird.”

“A bird?” he asked with a laugh.

She shrugged, “Just what I picture when I hear it.”  She looked up and moved her hand across the sky while chirping, “Quey, Quey.”

Smiling he asked, “How ‘bout it?  Anything you want from this vast and fanciful menu of meat grease and gravy’ll be my pleasure.”

             
She took a deep breath, still rocking and looked down at him thoughtfully.  “Tell you what,” she began raising her clasped hands, index fingers skyward this time.  “I can’t let you pay for me but I’ll join your table,” she finished, allowing her hands to fall.

             
“Fair enough,” Quey smiled with a nod.

             
She ordered a burger with cheese and fries and Quey had them keep his pie warm till hers came up.  It was fast, and they sat across from each other with their food and a pair of beers.

             
“So where do you get the jewelry?” he asked.

             
“I make it,” she replied between bites.

             
“Really?” he asked, inspecting the necklace again.  “It’s good, and not just good for a roader, I mean actually good.”

             
“Thank you,” she replied with her hand held over her mouth and smiling through a bite of food.  She took a sip of beer and nodded toward his truck, “That your rig?”

             
“Sure is.”

             
“What cha haul?”

             
“’Shine,” he replied, Cal’s pride coming through his voice.

             
“Really?” she asked, eyebrows raised.  “I’ve had Moonshine from all over.  What’s your label?”

             
“Pickens and Zaul,” he said shoveling a bit of meat and potatoes into his mouth.

             
“Shut up,” she hollered at him and tossed a French fry at his plate.

             
“Right there on the side of the truck.”

             
She looked over at the rig and squinted at the faded decal, her face scrunched with uncertainty, then she saw it.  “Oh yeah.”  She looked at him and insisted playfully, “You could have gotten that anywhere.”

             
“You caught me,” he said, raising his hands to the air.

             
She looked at the rigs trailer again then peered at him as if he were a puzzle  “So you’re Pickens and Zaul.”

             
“No,” he said wiping his mouth while he chewed and swallowed.  “I’m Zaul.  Pickens was my partner.”

             
She was watching him with a degree of excitement and smiling.  “You know that’s like the best fucking ‘shine in the world right?”

             
He chuckled, “Heard something like that once or twice.”

             
“Now you’re being a little cocky.”

             
“Wise woman once said its better to get a little cocky than none at all.”

             
“Oh my god,” she laughed with her whole body.  Quey couldn’t stop smiling any more than he could look away from her.  “You’re so bad,” she finished and mimicked throwing another fry at him, then ate it instead.

             
“Not at the important stuff.”

             
She laughed again and Quey couldn’t look away from her.  All he could think as he watched her was, ‘I want one.’

             
“So where you headin’?” Quey asked and took a drink of his beer.  It helped with the nerves churning his guts and tightening his chest.

             
“With the road,” she replied with a shrug.  “Never tended to give much thought to where I’m going so long as its not somewhere I’ve been.”

             
“You’ve never been the same place twice?”

             
“Course I have,” she half shrugged, “Just not on purpose.”  She was looking at him and then she asked, “What?”

             
He realized then that he was staring.  Not since Paige Green wore a skirt for the first time in seventh grade had he felt like this.  “Sorry.  Nothing,” he said and turned his head.

             
A moment passed and then she asked.  “Can I have some?”

             
He glanced up from his plate, met her excited green eyes and asked, “Shine?”

             
She nodded, grinning.  “Not, like, a lot.  Just a bit, you know?  I can pay.”

             
Quey looked around at the lot of roaders and nodded.  What the hell did he need to sell ‘shine for anyhow?  He wiped his mouth and stood up on his seat and shouted, “Everyone.  Excuse me, everyone.”  The lot stopped and eyed him.  “My name is Quey Von Zaul and I make Pickens and Zaul moonshine, anyone hear of it?”  The murmur through the crowd confirmed they had and one emphatic man proclaimed, “Fuck yeah man.”  After a brief chuckle Quey continued.  “I was just thinkin that the lot of you seem like nice folks and I thought maybe you’d like a bit.”

             
“What cheew wan fer it?” a man with a scraggly beard called from the crowd.

             
“Well if you could keep that music running and spare me any Skynyrd I’d call it even.”

             
“You gunna trade shine fer some tunes?”

             
“No.  I’m going to trade Pickens and Zaul Moonshine, best damn shine in the world, for some tunes.”  Quey stepped down and toward the crowd.  “See I’ve got this lovely lady here and I’d really like to ask her to dance sometime in the not to distant,” he said looking over at Rain who watched him with a look in her eyes he thought was likely to stop his heart.  If it started again he wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same.  “And you can’t dance without a song,” he finished.

             
“Shit, that sounds fair to me,” the guy with the stereo shouted.  “I don’t even have any fuckin’ Skynyrd.”

             
Rain was shaking her head in disbelief.  “What are you doing?”

             
Quey shrugged and answered, “Something I want for a change.”

             
He took Rain’s hand and led her to his rig.  Music played loud from the speakers in the bed of the rusted green pickup and Quey pulled two barrels of berry jumblee out of the back.

             
“You sure, two whole barrels?” the man in jeans and a white sleeveless wearing a red ball cap asked.

             
“Seems like a good start,” Quey told him and they carted the barrels over to the others.  The good people at the Dine Out provided mugs and dipped a few in themselves.  Rain started for one of the opened barrels and Quey stopped her.  “Got somethin special,” he said and led her back to the truck.

             
Quey opened one of the crates in the back and pulled a bottle of his own concoction, the first batch of shine where he expanded on one of Cal’s recipes.  He filled two jars with the orange liquid and joined Rain, sitting at the back of the trailer with her legs dangling.

             
“What is it?” she asked.

             
“Just try it.”

             
She shrugged and took a sip.  “Oh fuck is that pumpkin?” she asked licking her mouth.

             
“Sure is, along with some other flavors,” he replied and took a sip of his own.

             
“How did you know, I love pumpkin!”

             
Quey shrugged, “Who doesn’t.”

             
“Heathens,” she croaked and took another sip.

             
“Blasphemers,” he added.

             
“People who hate puppies.”

             
“And kitties.”

             
“And babies.”

             
“Anything ending in ies,” he shrugged and she laughed.

             
Across the gravel lot the patrons and employees of the Roaders Dine Out gathered around two barrels of the world’s best shine and drank and laughed while music played and the sun slowly settled over the horizon.

              “FREEBIRD!” a drunk man yelled some time later.

             
“Man said no Skynyrd.  Jerk off,” another answered.

             
“Dat Skynyrd?” the first asked.  “Cause I don’ think so.”

             
“Yeah, it is,” the other came back and something between a discussion and an argument began.

             
Quey smiled up at the speckled black overhead when Rain came back from the bathroom.  There was a thought at the edge of his brain the shine was clouding but he thought if he stared up long enough he’d make out what it was.

Across the lot someone settled the discussion by looking it up on the planetary network and a jazz song started following a stern, “Told ya.”

Rain took a sip of her shine then nudged him with her shoulder.  “You owe me a dance, I think.”

He smiled at her.  “That I do.”

              He hopped off the back of the truck and took her in his arms.  They didn’t do a particular dance, just pressed against one another and moved to the rhythm of the song.  A few times he spun her slowly and dipped her once but other than that they were content to remain close.

             
When the song was over she caressed her thigh against the bulge in his groin and said, “I’m glad I met you too.”

             
Quey kissed her with a fever she returned as he led her to the cab of his truck and into the bed in back.

             
He listened to the idle of his truck’s engine for a long time after he woke.  He laid, eyes closed and head aching, with soreness in his joints and dryness in his throat, for a long time before daring a peek.  Sunlight streamed through the windshield in prismatic beams that glowed brightly on Rain’s back, rising slowly then falling again as she breathed.  She had a tattoo on her shoulder, a storm cloud with a menacing face that rained daggers instead of drops.  He looked at Rain, face buried in the flat pillow beside him, her dark hair hanging down across her cheek, and he smiled and sat up.

             
Parched, he reached over her and pulled a bottle of clean water from the cold box, opened it and drank.

             
Rain woke with a start and sat up naked, her legs tucked under her.  She looked around as if she were unsure of where she was for a moment.  He gazed over the subtle lines of her, the gentle curve of her hips as she rested back on her legs and the small firm swell of her breasts.  Nothing about her was heavy but nothing about her was weak either.  She was stronger than she looked, he’d learned that last night, and had been around pain enough to like it a little.  He’d learned that too but the real tell wasn’t in the sex they had, it was in the scars, subtle lines or patches of damaged tissue here and there spread around her body.  The one he was looking at now ran along her ribs, a blade of some sort that probably punctured her lung.  She’d seen things.  She’d been cut, stabbed, shot, burned and who knew what else but she was here, alive and breathing and that was something for a woman of the road.  More than that she’d endured it.  When others might have given into such things she pressed on with her spirit intact.

When she finally looked over at Quey and focused on him she seemed to remember where she was again.  He held the bottle of water out to her and she accepted.  After guzzling half of it she pulled it from her lips and took a deep breath.

              She handed the bottle back and said, “Hair of the dog might do us a bit better,” while he drank.

             
“That and a plate of something greasy,” Quey added.

             
Rain searched the cab and found the jar of shine they’d left on the passenger’s bucket seat.  She lifted it and drank heartily.

             
Exhausted, he settled back against the hard bed and flat pillow and said, “Easy there Ryla, get too much of that hair and the dog’ll bite back.”

             
She held the jar out to him but he shook it off.  She took another sip then asked, “That your special girl?”