“What the Dickens is going on here?” said a voice.
Howard turned and saw the two police officers approaching. Lovecraft stood slightly behind them and followed as if he were pushing them along in front of him. Like hand puppets, thought Howard.
The other officer tapped a billy club absentmindedly against his thigh. “What’s the commotion, folks?”
“They were takin’ her against her will,” said Howard, gesturing toward the odd man and the sedan. “He has a knife under his jacket.”
“And what do you say to that, Mister?” the policeman said to the odd man.
“Knife. Under. His. Jacket,” said the odd man, still in Lovecraft’s voice.
“You makin’ fun?”
“He was about to stab me, Officer.”
The odd man said nothing.
The policeman stepped forward and directed the tip of the billy club at him. To Howard’s eyes, the black wood seemed to distort the aura around the odd man without piercing it, but the officer was oblivious.
“Open the jacket, Mister.”
The odd man complied, almost graciously, with a smooth sweep of his arms. Both flaps of his jacket flared back in the breeze like black, silk-lined wings; they shimmered luxuriously in the sunlight, rippling subtly like vertical pools of black water. There was no blade to be seen.
“What did you say he had under his jacket, eh?”
“I swear, Officer, he had a knife. A ceremonial dagger.”
“You been drinkin’?”
“Drinking,” said the odd man.
“Shut up,” said the policeman. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong I can think of at the moment, but I don’t like the looks of you, Mister.”
The odd man closed the wings of his jacket, furling them around him like the fleshy black wings of a bat. Howard could see the inhuman quality permeate the air around him, the aura expanding, but again the policeman didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.
“Maybe I’m mistaken,” said Howard. “But they were harrasin’ the lady, like I said.”
“Miss, was this man bothering you? Miss?”
Howard jostled Glory, then he thumped her on the back as if he were burping an infant before he swung her down to her feet, where she blinked her eyes in confusion. The two policemen exchanged glances before the first one asked again, “Was this man botherin’ you?”
“Why, no,” Glory said, rubbing her eyes like someone just awakened from sleep.
“Were you botherin’ him?”
She looked suddenly alert. “Just what are you insinuating?”
“We don’t like the looks of you, neither, in our town. I suggest you take the first bus out of here.”
“Why, you son of—”
Howard put a hand on Glory’s mouth before she could finish the sentence and get herself into trouble. “Sorry, Officer. I suppose we got this all under control now, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, this ain’t no kidnappin’ by my reckoning, though I can’t say I’d be all that concerned either way.”
Lovecraft saw Howard’s response. Before his friend could do something foolishly chivalrous, he stepped up between them and thanked the officers for their help. “I am most grateful for your assistance in this small matter of law enforcement,” he said. “My friend and I shall escort the lady now to her destination.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said the policeman. “You folks just get outta town, if you get my drift.”
“Before sundown, certainly,” Lovecraft said, amused by his own wit.
“I’d say before I have a mind to put you in the damn slammer,” said the policeman.
“I beg your pardon.”
Lovecraft rejoined Howard and Glory at the car. He paused momentarily to look over his shoulder at the odd man, who had been standing in the same posture during the past few minutes. He could feel the ill intention radiating from him, so strongly, perhaps, that the small crowd of babbling passersby left a distinct space around him.
“Jake,” called the other officer from where he stood by the odd man’s black sedan.
“Yeah?”
“This car here’s parked in a police zone. That’s illegal, far as I know.”
“Why, ain’t it just?” He turned to the odd man. “Well, Mister, I think we got some legal matters to discuss. Now, what do you say to that?”
The odd man showed absolutely no change of demeanor. “Discuss,” he said.
Lovecraft turned away, determined that they should escape during the distraction. Howard was having words with Glory. They each had a hand on the handle of her suitcase, though Glory had only been able to slip one finger past Howard’s beefy paw.
“Look, Miss,” said Howard, “we’re takin’ you to Vegas, and there ain’t no more arguin’ about it.”
“I could say you boys were kidnapping me.”
“And I have a notion to tap your jaw after we saved you back there.”
“Saved me? From what? The gentleman in the car was perfectly nice. He said he was headed to Vegas, and his car is a hell of a lot nicer than yours!”
Lovecraft cleared his throat. “I am rather loath to interrupt such a lively quarrel,” he said, “but consider for a moment the unlikelihood of such a coincidence. Two vehicles with a destination that happens to be identical to yours.”
“And what’s so odd about that?” said Glory. “He was very nice, and he offered to take me all the way to my sister’s front door.”
“And was this at your prompting?” Lovecraft asked.
“No. He volunteered, as a gentleman should.”
“And you explained to him that you were on your way to see your sister?”
“Why, of…” She trailed off.
“How was he cognizant of the fact that you were on your way to visit your sister if you did not divulge such information?”
“So what’re you sayin’, HP? Now you’re gonna tell us they read minds?”
Lovecraft nodded, and to Glory’s puzzled and confused look, he replied, “Those creatures that pass for men are minions of Cthulhu. Their intentions, I must say, are evil, and you are unfortunately associated with the current focus of their unholy attentions.”
Glory’s expression didn’t change noticeably, so Howard added, “They woulda kidnapped you and who knows what the Sam Hell they woulda done to you.”
“Why?”
“They are Cthulhu’s minions,” said Lovecraft, as if that explained everything.
“They’re after HP,” Howard said. “And now that they’ve seen you with us, you’re in danger, Miss.”
“What would they want from me? Call the police.” She seemed to be emerging from her daze now. Howard and Lovecraft ushered her into the Chevy while she was still compliant. They tossed her suitcase in after her, got in, and drove off before she could fully regain her wits and perhaps call the policemen herself.
As they pulled away, Lovecraft couldn’t help but glance back once more at the black sedan. The odd man was still speaking to the police officer, and the small crowd had now encircled them and the car, blocking traffic in front of the bus station. The officer had his pad open and jotted something in it while his partner absently slapped the tip of his billy club against his palm. Lovecraft felt a sudden sense of relief wash over him, but just then the odd man turned his way, and in his eyes Lovecraft could see the message as clearly as if it had been written in the pages of a book: “Die.” Lovecraft turned away, his heart pounding, before he could see more. He looked out of the windshield, westward, at the sun hanging ominously over the horizon.
7
DRIVING ON INTO THE RED GLARE of the westward sun toward Amarillo, Howard tried to blink away the weight of sleep. The episode at the bus station had left him enervated and full of a strange languor. He had accused Lovecraft of being like a lizard, but now it was he who wanted, more than anything, to stretch out on a warm rock and drowse in some interminable torpor. In the backseat, Glory was unconscious, having drifted off into a fitful sleep within moments of leaving the outskirts of Vernon.