Chasing The Last Road To Stockholm

She snorted her annoyance. "Jeez, you're not going to give me a break, are you?"

"Well, apart from not going mediaeval on your arse when you tried to mug me, not leaving that same arse for the children of the corn to munch on, then helping you shower, giving you a ride and now about to fill that growling belly of yours -- no. No breaks from me. You pretty much hit that nail bang on the head."

Her hands formed those claws again, and my throat definitely felt threatened.

Wanting to forestall any more physical animosity, I climbed out of the car, went around and opened her door. "After you, milady."

Even barefoot and clad in clothes that threatened to drown her, she entered the diner as if she owned it, and I found myself smiling at her manner.

Lunch, dinner, or tea -- depending on how you regarded that meal -- was interesting. She ordered a burger and chips, which order I doubled, and then ordered a coffee with milk and some pecan pie for myself. When the food arrived, I immediately regretted doubling up on her order, and stared aghast at the massive size of the patties, the sheer bulk of the bacon, cheese and other sundry items within the buns, and just shook my head. In the end, however, she somehow managed to munch her way through both burgers, all the chips and then stole half my pecan pie -- which was almost sublime it was so good -- before finally giving up. I had to tap her knuckles with my spoon before she gave up trying to snaffle the ice cream as well. I realised it was true: everything was bigger in America, and I had to learn to think in those terms.

"Damn, I needed that!" she said, reclining in the cane back chair and slurping noisily at the huge glass of soda, the top of the straw only just managing to break the surface when it was served.

"How much was it?" she asked when the bill arrived, then looked completely blank when I told her.

"What the hell's a pony got to do with it?"

"A pony, my poor uninformed colonial lass, is twenty-five pounds, although this time I'm talking dollars. How much should I leave?"

"Leave five dollars for the tip." She frowned at my raised eyebrows. "Twenty per cent, cheapskate! They need the tips!"

"Don't they pay their staff properly?" I asked, dropping thirty-five dollars on the table. Her comment had stung. I wasn't a cheapskate by any means, but I thought a surcharge of twenty per cent for simply taking an order and bringing the food to the table was still a bit steep. I wondered if I was supposed to tip the cashiers and shelf-packers in the shops, and mentally shrugged; perhaps that was just how it worked here.

I checked our bearings with the cook behind the counter, who was wearing a rather grubby apron and a white... whitish hat of some sort. Disappointingly, and contrary to my expectations, he was quite thin, wasn't sweating hugely and was clean-shaven. He gave the information I needed, but when he pointed out directions for me, he waved his spatula in wide arcs. I felt redeemed. To my mind, that was how a short-order cook was supposed to act.

"Head toward the silos over that way. Turn onto 6^th and keep going till you hit 56."

"But I need to be on 77," I protested.

He sniggered. "Same thing..."

I could hear the word 'dummy' unsaid in that sentence. At least it explained how I'd got so lost while never deviating from the right road.

"Aah. Thank you," I said, and after a few more questions, returned to the car.

"There's no sheriff in this place," I commented to Summer. "We can find one in Wichita, I guess, although I don't think we really need to."

There was a silence between us as we passed an attractive brick church and a few rather more upmarket houses. The local council or its US equivalent should put in a one-way system to ensure that all visitors had to go through this part first, I thought.

We reached the highway, and turned south towards the I35, the silence stretching out to uncomfortable levels. I was about to make some inane remark, when she turned to me.

"Tell me a joke."

"Really?" I had definitely not expected that.

"Why not, we're both on edge. It couldn't hurt."

"Okay." I put on a West Country accent. "Near my house there's a little office park with just two offices. One is a genealogist and the other is a gynaecologist. A friend asked me what the difference was. I explained that one looks up the family tree and the other looks up the family bush."

Summer stared at me for the longest moment, while I kept my face absolutely straight. I was about to apologise to her and berate myself for the inappropriateness of the joke in her circumstances -- although she hadn't actually told me of them, so how was I to tell her I'd guessed? Then her mouth twitched and her nostrils flared a couple of times. She snorted, then giggled and then loudly gave one of the sweetest and yet filthiest belly-laughs I'd ever heard. Soon we were both laughing - her at the stupid joke, me with pleasure at the sound of her mirth. Damn, she had a sexy laugh.

The rest of the journey passed very pleasantly with both of us telling jokes, and silences suddenly broken by a cry of, "I know one, I've got one! Listen to this..." The jokes ranged from pre-school all the way to filthy, with both of us rocking from side to side with laughter.

I made my way hesitantly through the toll and the interchange, remembering to drive on the wrong side of the road at all times and brutally suppressing every instinct to move to the left, and in no time, we reached the eastern approaches to Wichita. I followed the signs and soon parked up alongside a humungous mall, finding a shady spot in the parking area.

"Please stay here," I said as I switched the engine off. "I promise I won't be long. I'm going to put your seat back and you can take a nap. Nobody will see you unless they walk right past the car. I'll lock the doors, but you can open them from the inside if you absolutely have to."

She looked worried.

"I'm not going to report anything to any policeman, okay? No harm, no foul I guess, so don't worry about that. If you leave the car dressed like you are, they may very well pick you up as a tramp -- as a vagrant, I mean not a... and either move you on or put you up for the night. If you go into the mall, ten to one they'll think you're a shoplifter and put your face on video -- without that bonnet you're wearing. Now, I don't know who you're running from, but I'm guessing you don't want your picture flashed around."

She gave a tiny nod.

"I'll be back soon," I said, looking at her steadily. "Please stay safe!"

Another tiny nod. I reached over her, ignoring the way her body suddenly stiffened up, and used the backrest lever to lower the back of her seat so she could lie down.

"Do you want the blanket?" I asked quietly as I sat back.

Yet another nod. Her eyes were locked on mine, questioning my motives and actions within their depths. I ignored the question, reached back and dragged the travel blanket to the front. She curled up, looking for all the world like a little girl after a long outing, and I spread it over her, unable to resist tucking it under her here and there.

She gave a deep sigh, and drifted off to sleep.

I stared at her. How did anyone drift off that quickly? Actually, she hadn't 'drifted' off at all; it was more like the start of a Formula 1 race, she was away so fast.

I locked the doors, pocketed the keys and hurried into the mall. I found the right shop and began to make guesses as to what would be best to buy. Then it was onto the huge store nearby for basic essentials. There, I discovered that Summer wouldn't have been out of place at all, and that some people seemed to dress up to go shopping in pretty much anything they'd found in a bargain bin at a charity shop. One woman was actually wearing pyjamas as she herded a small group of children from aisle to aisle -- pushing three trolleys full of bulk-buy items between them.

It took almost forty-five minutes in the end, partially due to my standing and gawping at the passing parade, but when I hurried back I found I could have taken my time. Summer was still fast asleep, and didn't seem to have moved at all since I'd left.

Cognisant of the fact that she wasn't wearing a seat belt, I drove very slowly and carefully through the car park -- which could have contained Wembley Stadium within its perimeter -- to the other side of the mall and repeated the exercise in different shops, returning to stow new bags on the back seat alongside those I'd already left there. The rear half of the car was becoming very congested. I put the two bog-standard suitcases I'd bought for her in the boot alongside mine.

I carefully wafted the contents of one of those bags under her nose and sat back, watching her. Her nose wrinkled and her chin lifted slightly. I gave the bag another waft and her eyes popped open.

"Panda's orange chicken?"

I stared. "How the hell could you know that just from the smell?"

She clicked her tongue dismissively. "I'd know that scent anywhere. When I was little, my grandma used to take me to Panda every time I visited her. It was the best scent in the world to me."

"Duly noted. I shall try never to get between you and a box of this stuff for fear of being steamrollered flat."

She sat up, keeping the blanket over her, took the carton out of my hands and proceeded to demolish the contents at a rate of knots.

"Oh, did you want some?" she said as she finished the last scrap, having the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"I wouldn't have dared to ask," I said. "I try never to risk having a hand bitten off just for the sake of fast food."

She sighed contentedly as she peered around to see if there was anything else that might be edible. I passed her the bag of spring rolls I'd bought for myself, and she dove right in.

"You have good taste," she muttered through a mouthful.

"Good to know."

"You ate already?" she asked as she withdrew another spring roll and contemplated it.

"Yes." I'd eaten a really early breakfast on the plane, and with my background I was always careful about what I indulged in. The diet plan I'd taken on was simple -- eat little, but eat the best. Take-away Chinese food didn't really fit into that plan, and I'd only ordered the spring rolls so that she wouldn't feel awkward at eating alone. Her diet, on the other hand, seemed to be to eat everything edible at the earliest opportunity at the fastest possible speed, and after what she'd been through -- if she was telling the truth -- then I couldn't fault her on it.

The thought of my airborne breakfast brought me to marvelling how everything had happened so quickly. That morning I'd been over the Atlantic, and before much more than half the day was up, I was in a car with a runaway of some sort who had threatened to kill me, helping to hide her from pursuit while watching her demolish Chinese takeaway.

In fact, I rather enjoyed watching her eat. She didn't take enormous mouthfuls, quite the opposite. The food still seemed to disappear at an astonishing rate.

She noticed me watching her and paused in her efforts to get the Panda Group a top-100 rating on Wall Street by doubling their turnover in one sitting.

"So, what's in the bags?" she asked, still chewing, and nodding towards the back seat.

"That's just a few things so that you don't draw attention to yourself. I mean, my shirt and shorts somehow look better on you than me, but you still look like you got dressed in the dark... in your Dad's wardrobe."

She looked a little sad for a moment, but she was completely woman, and in seconds was diving in, delving through the bags to look at the clothes I'd bought for her, little noises of approval or approbation coming from her as she investigated each article in turn.

Holding up a small crop top, she smiled sardonically. "Really?"

"I thought that if you wore that, people might be looking more at your... your figure, rather than your face." I offered in my defence. "I know it's all cheap as chips, but I wasn't sure of your sizes, so I got a bit carried away in the store. Look, we can get you better stuff when we get into the city itself and find you a boutique and—"

I broke off as she took a quick look around the car park and then calmly whipped the tee-shirt off. I heard a noise emanate from deep within my throat as those wonderful little round creations came back into view and Mr Happy gave a little leap of joy. So perky!

Sadly, within seconds they were covered up again by the plain white crop top, which somehow managed to make her look every bit as attractive as she'd been while topless. It wasn't low cut, but it fit her tightly enough that I could clearly see the shape and texture of every inch of those breasts. The garment was sleeveless and as she adjusted the thin shoulder straps, her tits jiggled and shook slightly, which was more than enough to make old Mr Happy salute her once again.

I noticed she was watching me out of the corner of her eye. Still no complete trust there. Fair enough.

"I got some underwear as well, although I wasn't sure of your bra size, so..."

"You didn't just show your cupped hands to the assistant and ask for one that size?" she asked seriously, and then grinned.

"I've never had my hands on yours, so how would I know?" I came back at her.

"I thought all men were pretty good at judging size when it came to tits."

"We are, but women are equally good at making them look bigger, so we always get it wrong."

She grunted noncommittally and delved into another bag. Then she burst out laughing.

"Seriously?" she giggled. "Pink panties with a teddy bear on them? You still think I'm twelve?"

"I like teddy bears. I still have mine from when I was a baby," I said, stalwart in my self-defence, while wishing I hadn't mentioned it at all.

"Let me guess; you were hoping to see me in these to bring back childhood memories, and not because you're a pervert?"

I stammered a denial. The thought had never crossed my mind. I'd simply bought a dozen different pairs and hoped that one of that volley would hit the target size.

"Relax! How does someone your age still blush?" she demanded.

I frowned at her, which she simply ignored.

"Watch out for me," she instructed, and swept her shorts off, pulling the pink teddy bear panties up over her legs and arching up to draw them tightly over her hips. Once again, I got a flash of that wonderful colour at the isthmus of her thighs. Then I saw the resultant camel toe with the teddy bear now comfortably ensconced just above it, and realised that it was almost as sexy. There was definitely something to the idea that hiding and hinting was sometimes better than all out in the open. I just couldn't decide which I preferred.

She started pulling on a pair of jeans. "When I said watch out for me, I meant outside the car."

I started guiltily. I'd known what she meant, but hadn't been able to even blink, while my eyes were fixed on every movement she made. I looked around, but there was nobody close enough to the car to see her.

When she was finally settled, after pulling on socks and the lone pair of sneakers that actually fit of the three pairs I'd thrown in the shopping trolley, she adjusted the mirror on the visor to try and see how she looked. She chose one of the two baseball caps I'd got, and substituted it for the handkerchief. It was black with quite a long peak that I hoped would help hide her face, and the word 'London' across the forehead in order to throw out the suggestion that she was a tourist.

"You look good," I offered. "Like a university student."

"I am a university student," she replied. "Or I was until..."

She broke off abruptly. "So? Now that I'm respectable, is this the moment you hand me over to the police?"

I pulled an exasperated face. "No! Why do you keep asking that? I already said that I wasn't going to do that. I'll take you wherever you need to go, or I can book you into a hotel if you want to lay low for a while. Whatever you want."

"My Good Samaritan, huh?"

I shrugged. "No, but I can't just dump you on the street and drive away. That wouldn't be right."

"And you always do the right thing!"

I laughed bitterly at that thought, which actually sounded more like a bark -- not a pleasant sound. She drew back slightly.

"God no! I fuck up all the time!" Sad Alice, who enjoyed constantly mourning her last lover; Rosalynn, who was the life and soul of every party -- with a lot of chemical assistance; Dinah, who was oh-so determined she had no worth, and needed to sleep with every man in the world to try and prove it; and, of course -- Phoebe, my over-ambitious and ever-angry ex-wife. They could all attest to the truth of that statement.

Her head tilted to one side slightly as she considered my words, her eyes locked on mine. Then she sighed.

"Where are you headed?" she asked, seeming to want to change the topic.

"Some hotel called the Drury Plaza."

"Can I come with you to get a real shower and clean up, and then I'll get out of your hair."

I thought for a moment, and realised the White Knight didn't want her to go yet; but I couldn't allow it to take over my decisions.

She noticed my hesitation. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked. Just drop me wherever's convenient."

"No, I was just thinking of something," I said. "Of course you can. We could both do with a real shower. You also need to sort out the stuff on the back seat before you go, and it will let you do it in peace while keeping you out of sight. And I promised to take you to a proper clothes shop. I'd be glad to help."

"I still don't have any money—" she started.

"Oh stop!" I said, grumpily. "I know that. You're broke, you're being chased by someone, and you need help. I get it. So let me do that for you!"

I pulled up the map app on my phone with some difficulty, and handed it over to her. "In fact, you can help me by directing me to the hotel. You pointing the way would be better than a voice trying to talk me through it. It's somewhere near a river. And keep an eye on my driving! Don't let me turn onto the correct side of the road."

She sniggered softly. "Jackass!"

¬¬¬*****¬¬¬

Drifting on down the winds of the sea

Hiding away from your blatant decree

Seeking the deepest trenches of time

For the infinite pressures of deep blue brine

Shades of Blue (B. Lake) 2015

¬¬¬*****¬¬¬

ZERO HOUR +3

We set off from the mall, and within fifteen minutes I drew up outside a big square red-brick building. One of the staff brought out a trolley and loaded the cases and Summer's shopping bags onto it, before leading us towards the reception desk.

A little niggle in my brain suddenly came to the fore and I drew her to one side. "I only have one room booked. I'm going to have to tell them that we're a couple. Are you okay with that?"

"It's all right. Don't worry about it. I do know how hotels work," she replied. "I haven't been trying to be anonymous my whole life. Show them your passport."

Summer fussed with the bags as I presented my passport and sapphire credit card at the same time, which seemed to create bigger smiles all round, and do away with any questions while the receptionist booked us in.

"What's the round building over there?" I asked, trying to distract her from asking for ID from Summer. I wasn't sure how it worked here, but in Europe everybody booking in had to show ID.

"That's the Century Two," she said, returning my credit card and handing me a room card with it. "It's one of Wichita's landmarks. Would you like a brochure?"

"Please," I said, turning and giving the room card to Summer. "Why don't you head up to the room, love. I want to find a place we can go this evening."