“Yes.” He looked through the rearview mirror at the shopping bag on the backseat and sighed happily.
“Because you think I might truly be in danger?”
“Truly,” he mimicked her.
“Why, though? Anyone who thought I could hurt them would surely be satisfied with the films. I would think. Or hope. I don’t mean to say that I’m afraid. At least not unreasonably so. I carry my white light about me so I couldn’t possibly come to any real harm.”
“Your what?”
“My white light. Around my aura. Stop looking like that. What are you thinking when you look at me like that?”
“What do you care? You’ve got your aura thing there protecting you.”
“Yes, but what are you thinking? I’d just like to know. Or perhaps you disagree with the theory that fear attracts fearful things and peace repels them?”
“I’m thinking you’re really stupid, you know that?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she heard herself saying. “While I was over there chanting, you were over here … stun-gunning or whatever.” She was pleased with the effect this statement had on him. He controlled his rage, however.
“Somebody might think you still know something,” he said stubbornly. “Something you been choosing to keep to yourself for the time being.”
“I don’t know anything. I keep telling you.”
“Except maybe you do and you don’t know it.”
“But I would remember something. I really don’t know anything. I keep telling you.”
“The killer doesn’t know that. And who says he’s rational, anyhow?”
“The killer! It’s like a film. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Neither can the dead kid’s parents.”
That shut her up for a bit. It was quiet enough for Johnny to realize he was driving them around in circles.
“You wanna go to my house?”
“No,” she replied as a matter of form.
“So you wanna go to a motel?”
“Let me out of the car.”
“Huh?”
“Just stop the car and let me out.”
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“With me? I don’t even know you and you’re talking about going to a motel? I think there’s something wrong with you!”
Johnny locked her door from his control panel and kept his finger on the switch. “You’re gonna sit there and tell me you don’t feel nothin’ between us? Is that what you’re saying? You really wanna get out?” He let go of the switch. “So get out!” He waited. She waited. “’Cause if that’s the way it is, then my mind isn’t tickin’ too quick. Or what is it? You want me to play the game with you? Come over to your parents’ house with flowers? Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Johnny made a horrible grimace and grabbed the cement loaf stuck in his jeans. “This! This is what I’m talkin about! Whenever I get within ten feet of you!”
“Ach du liebe scheisse!”
“Ach du liebe this!” he shouted, reaching under her skirt. “Oh Jesus,” he groaned. “You’re wet.” He climbed over the stick shift with the alacrity of a ballet dancer and pushed her seat into a reclining position. Recovering from his surprise attack quickly, she punched him in the chest, then once in the ear with a high choral bang. Still he held devotedly on to her underwear and still she kept her knees locked tight. While their limbs continued to wallop in combat, Claire’s mouth had called an independent open truce and the tongue that attached itself to hers fit snugly in there like the perfect juicy glove. He collapsed on top of her in bewildered frustration and she realized where she was: pinned to the emergency brake and suffocating quickly. A blaring horn sounded from someplace.
“What the hell?” Johnny picked up his head. Not having bothered to pull over, they now had six or seven cars backed up impatiently behind them. He grappled to retrieve his hand and lurched back to his seat. Claire looked about frantically and tugged on her skirt.
“You’ve gone and ripped my knickers,” she panted.
“I love you, too,” he said and shifted into first.