High above the crisscross of highway, a murky rainbow shines under the wisps of smoke, staining the sky like an oil slick. It dead-ends in the distance near the rippling pennants of a car dealership. And then I remember the orange balloon in our room.
“Come on,” I say, shouldering my backpack. “Screw mass transit. It’s time we got ourselves some wheels.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
In Which We Buy a Car and the Gnome Gets a New Outfit
We have to use fifteen dollars of our precious cash to cab it across those highways to Arthur Limbaud’s lot. The place is huge—acres of cars with prices shoe-polished across the windshields. Nothing as low as what we need, though. It’s looking grim. We make our way to the low concrete building in the center. It’s decorated with colorful plastic flags that flap in the breeze, going round and round like the blades of windmills. Inside the showroom, beautiful shining cars sit on raised, revolving platforms. These are the Don’t Even Look Because You Can’t Afford Us cars. A tall man in a Western-cut suit, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat strides over. His face is weathered as an old map, lines everywhere. He’s got a solid black mustache and a toothpick poking out of the side of his mouth, which he works with his tongue, rolling it back and forth. “Hi-dee,” he says, shaking my hand hard. “Arthur Limbaud—that’s an ‘O,’ not an ‘aw’ by the way. Welcome to Limbaud’s Resale Beauties: Every Car a Beauty. That’s our motto. What kin I do fer you, gen’lemen?”
“Well,” I start.
“You two boys going somewheres special? Let me guess, you just gradjeeated high school and now you wanna see this fine country of our’n? Am I right?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, copping my best Eagle Scout imitation. “You are right.”
“Well, ain’t that grand. Where you headed first?”
I say “Montana” at the same time that Gonzo says “Florida.”
“It’s a long trip,” I say.
“Well, that’s mighty fine, mighty fine.” Arthur smiles with the toothpick between his teeth, which are the color of nicotine stains. “What kind of beauty did you have in mind?”
“We’re sort of on a budget,” I say, hoping he doesn’t laugh and throw us out when he hears what we’ve got to spend.
“We work with all kinds here, son. No budget too small.”
“We need something for under three thousand dollars …,” I say, watching Arthur’s smile fade. “Or so.”
“Three thousand, huh?” he says, letting out a long whistle that vibrates the toothpick in his mouth.
“Or so,” Gonzo adds.
“That do put me in a bit of a pickle,” Arthur says, shaking his head sadly. “But seein’ as you boys got your hearts set on seein’ the country, and since I were a young man myself once, lemme see what I kin do fer ya. Hold on.”
“Why don’t you just fax our itinerary to the police?” I say to Gonzo as Arthur disappears into the office.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Could you get me one of those free Danish?” Balder asks. He’s propped up on the hood of a shiny pick-up truck like a bizarre cross between a hood ornament and a traffic-accident victim. I bring him a Danish and some strong black coffee with nondairy creamer that freckles the surface with little white marks. It looks diseased, but Balder drinks it anyway.
“I hope you can hold your coffee, yard gnome, because we’re not stopping,” Gonzo says.
“I’m the one who’s clever enough to eat the free food before we get on the road.”
“You don’t know how long those things have been sitting there,” Gonzo says with a shudder. “Or who’s been touching them. They’re like little pastries of salmonella.”
Balder licks a big dollop of cream cheese out of the middle. “Ummm.”
Gonzo pales. “You’re one sick dude.”
Arthur returns. I grab Balder and shove the rest of the Danish in my own mouth. I feel him sigh under my arm.
“Weeeell now, boys, never let it be said that Arthur Limbaud wouldn’t work for his money. I looked at my records and it jes’ so happens that I got a car might work out, a very special ve-hicle. It’s a rehabbed Caddy called the Cadillac Rocinante. Boys, they do not make cars like this anymore. I mean that—they stopped production on ’em back in ’sixty-eight. She’s a special car, yessir. And she can be all yourn for … what’d you say you had? Four thousand dollars?”