Page 172 of Nearly Roadkill
Scratch has entered the room.
Jabbathehut:::sighing heavily:: Five.
Winc:Oh yay, it’s a family!
Gwynyth:::suppressing a smile:: *Jabba Knows Best*?
Toobe:*The Jabba Bunch*!
Scratch:::eyeing Jabba’s scowl:: *Mama Jabba’s Family* ::ducking::
Jabbathehut:::utterly speechless::
Jabba signed off immediately, of course, but if you can tell such a thing onscreen, I think the old dear might have been secretly pleased.
END GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT
Pennsylvania Station, New York.
New York will be the next station stop.
Finally. Wally checks his watch: It’s stupid o’clock. Four-thirty in the morning. This train has been like a goddamn party for the past four hours.
“Wanna round up the troops, Shel?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” She grins.
The agents were easy enough to spot. They were the only ones sleeping in this lively crowd of revelers. Wally Budge leans over to the woman seated across the aisle, vaguely wondering if she’s one of his “men,” since she doesn’t seem to be chatting like all the other lamebrains around him.
“Pardon me, ma’am, I couldn’t help notice you weren’t joining in the festivities here.”
She turns to him slowly, strawberry-blond waves falling down across her right eye. She’s smiling.
“Is that a crime, Officer Budge?” Husky voice, kind of Lauren Bacall. He’s always liked Lauren Bacall.
“Heh-heh,” he laughs nervously. “Saw me on television, huh?”
“And who in the entire country hasn’t, officer?”
He shakes his shaggy head. “Yeah, I suppose. Do you have any idea why everyone’s so happy? It’s a national emergency, after all.” Damn, her legs go on forever.
She laughs lightly. “Well, Lieutenant Budge, I suppose it’s like getting a day off from school. People are actually talking with each other—without keyboards and monitors. They’re not stuck in their houses.”
“And you?”
The train is pulling to a stop.
“Oh, I’m visiting an old friend in the city.”
She shakes her hair out of her eyes, revealing a waterfall tattoo dropping from her right eye down to her cheekbone. Wally can’t stop himself from asking. He points awkwardly at the tattoo.
“So, you’re a Winc fan, huh?”
This is Pennsylvania Station, New York.
She raises her hand, drawing a long, slender finger down the length of the design. Smiles into his eyes.
