LADY LUNA SEES ALL!
By dawn the dogs had been called off. I came out of the brush covered in mud. It had rained all night and all I had done was run and crawl through godforsaken sewage until the only scent the dogs could get was that of the surrounding mud and filth. There was no point in the deputies dragging the tired K-9's through any more torture than they had already endured. Standing on a bluff overlooking the highway, smog rising across the river over the low-lying buildings of the big city. If I could get that far I could lose myself in the hustling crowds, check into some fleabag hotel and collect my thoughts. I had no money with me though, and as I watched the morning sky lighten, I realized I hadn't anything in my stomach but the sour residue of Old Milwaukee and that was no help. My head was painfully sober and the taste in my mouth was that of rancid and dirty fungus.
I walked along the dusty highway, not even attempting to hitch a ride from the speeding cars, busses and trucks that kicked dirt in my face as they rushed past me. I was glad to go unrecognized. Eventually I'd get somewhere where I could dine and dash. I'd dare anyone to stop me. I walked for a mile or two, eventually coming upon to a windblown clapboard house. The dust bowl relic seemed incongruously placed and out of its time. I walked up the wooden steps to the front door, thinking to myself that if anyone lived here, it would be a little old lady wrapped in faded shawl and she'd have hot food laid out on the table. I opened the door and walked in, eyes adjusting to the dim and smoky candlelight. It was like walking into a dream. The little old lady was there, complete with shawl. There was fresh bread, meat, beer, and wine. That was all I needed to see. I thought I had died. I checked my guns in their holsters; they were snug and secure, heavy with lead. I sat down and dug in without ceremony.
"You did not see the signs," she croaked.
"I don't believe in astrology," I said, shoveling her food into my face.
"The signs say, 'no trespassing.'"
I looked up, drew a glinting Rossi, and casually waved it at her, fork in my other hand holding a chunk of beef. "I got a skeleton key, see? You don't like it, you can be a skeleton, see?"
She sat upright in umbrage and I continued to chow down.
"My daughter will be here shortly. She will help you."
"That's nice," I said.
"We were expecting you," she continued, and I stopped, chewed and swallowed, looked around for the first time and saw why the old bag was being so weird. The place was a fortuneteller's parlor. Against the moth eaten wallpaper hung posters of turbaned seers with flashing third eyes, colorful pictures of luminous pyramids, planetary charts, and other esoteric symbols. On a bureau top was the requisite crystal ball, and crystals laid out for display. I pushed the empty dish aside, sat back with my gun on the on the blackened wooden table.
"So you were expecting me?"
"Yes," she wheezed eerily. "You are running. You were an innocent man, accused of a vicious act, which you could not prevent. Is this true?"
I'd have thought her psychic abilities due more to news radio than to any clairvoyance, but when she mentioned the fact that I was wrongfully accused, that got me. No one had ever uttered a word in my defense. I was presumed guilty before trial and subsequently locked away with no hope of appeal.
"This daughter of yours," I began, when the rickety door floor open and slammed shut behind me. I leapt to my feet, snatching the Rossi and swinging on whoever had just come in. There stood a tall redhead, eyes blazing with violet fire. Her skin was a dark and rich olive, her shoulders broad and square. She wore a long tattered coat over a meager black housedress. Her feet were naked, strapped into a pair of flimsy stiletto sandals. Her fingers were thin and she held a brown paper grocery bag in her skinny arms. She looked at me like I stank, and I did. I pointed the gun at her as if facing a man-eating beast.
"You the daughter?" I questioned sardonically.
Saying nothing, she took a few steps to the table, set the bag down and glancing at her mother. "Have you told him?" she said to the now quietly rocking old woman, who suddenly didn't seem to have a sense in her head.
She turned back to me. "You did not see the signs."
"She told me. Guess I missed it. So I'm trespassing. So what?"
"You cannot stay here. They will come for you."
"You're ahead a'me, sister. I know they'll come. I don't know how you know, but if you give with more details, I'll figure out where you got your information."
"My people know. That is our gift. To know."
"I think you're full of it. Where'd you just come from?"
"The supermarket. If you did not hear my car pull up just now, what makes you so sure that you will hear them when they come? You are tired and your senses weary. You are a hunted man and if you stay here you will be a trapped man."
"Cut the crap," I said, and brandishing the pistol, "Hand over the car keys."
Her eyes lit up and widened. She took a few steps back towards her old mother. "I'll kill you both and take them, so you'd better hand them over!" I demanded.
"They're in the car, outside."
"Thanks," I said, grabbed a piece of bread from the table and backed out of the house quick. There was nice little rice burner parked right where she had said. I got in, turned the key in the ignition, and started the car. The gypsy girl came running from the house, flung open the passenger door and got in beside me, her eyes met mine transparently, then she looked away.
"What the hell," I said.
"They are coming," she said urgently, producing a .38 snubnose. "Drive!"
I stepped on the gas and the little car roared like a cat, squealing onto the road and I was driving.
"What about your ma? What'll she do when they get a hold of her?"
"Do not worry. She is old, senile, and blind. They can get nothing from her."
"What does that make you?"
"Insane."
"I'm for that, sister."
I drove the winding highway, speeding at first, then slowed down. The closer I got to the bright skyline and tunnels going into Manhattan, the more comfortable I felt. The girl sat beside me saying nothing the whole trip. The tank was full and I didn't have to worry about stopping until I was safely over the state line.
"What else do you know about me?" I asked as the first tollbooth came up, an array of official vehicles lined against the roadside.
State troopers and guys in dark suits that I supposed were feds were milling around mulling over some paperwork that didn't look too healthy for anybody. She straightened herself, then reached over and buttoned my flack jacket for me. I let her because the two big guns were conspicuously poking out from under my arms.
"Okay," I pressed, "What now, psychic?"
"Keep driving. They are looking for one man, not a couple."
"Smart," I said and drove forward.
I paid the toll with a dollar she passed me, and kept driving without the troopers or the suits ever taking a good look at me. It was almost a miracle, but it was too good, had gone too smoothly. I knew there'd be trouble down the line. 'Insane', she'd said. We'd see how insane she was when the time came to use that .38.
"What will you do in New York City?" she asked as the sun was setting and the marquee lights of the theater district were coming up.
"Don't you know?"
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