Charlie’s eyes narrowed as he peered beneath the bus. The weeds sticking out of the dry earth appeared to be green and healthy, suggesting the bus had only arrived there recently. He stood up and gazed around at the ground and bushes. The immediate vicinity looked as if a cluster of vehicles had recently been parked nearby. Moving cautiously closer to the bus, the officer’s right hand instinctively found the solid comfort of his Smith and Wesson. He slid along the side of the bus, and reached the open door. Darting his head around to glance through the opening, he found the drivers’ seat was empty. Most likely whoever had dumped the bus here was long gone.

‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Police. Is anyone aboard the vehicle?’

There was no reply.

Holding his gun before him like torch, Charlie Taylor boarded the bus.

Stepping up into the silence of the vehicle, the officer noticed an unusual smell that reminded him not of public transport, but a hospital or dental surgery - clean and antiseptic. He moved slowly along the central aisle, suppressing the urge to run his hands along the headrests. A sweep of the bus revealed it was not only empty, but utterly spotless. This fact struck Charlie as seriously weird. He had been on numerous buses in his life, but none of them looked like you could eat your dinner off the floor.

As he stepped off the bus and into the bright sunlight, Charlie decided the best way to deal with the situation was to radio it in, and get a team out here to investigate the scene. The technicians could use their tape and tubes, and Charlie could sit down for lunch. Turning his head to one side, he brought his hand up to the chest-mounted radio and paused. There was something wrong beneath his feet. It was the combination of sound and texture that drew his attention. Staring down at his feet, he realised he was standing on a wide square of clear plastic sheeting. This was something that had definitely not been there before he boarded the bus.

Before he had time to process the terrible implication of this shift in his environment, Charlie Taylor felt a sharp wasp-like sting on the left side of his neck. His hand shot up to the site of the pain, where his fingers found the small source of his discomfort. Pulling the foreign body from his flesh, he stared at it, and momentarily thought it was some type of insect. But, as he brought his hand closer to his face, Charlie found himself staring at a steel dart, with an orange furry tail. Before he had time to process this development, his right leg suddenly buckled beneath him, and Charlie felt himself collapse on to the slick plastic sheeting.

The material felt strange against his sweating face, and smelled faintly chemical. As he tried to move his limbs, the police officer felt his energy drain away, leaving him face down in an unnatural position. In the dreamy haze of the paralytic agent, Charlie was vaguely aware of a figure walking towards him. He tried to turn his face around to get a clearer view, perhaps see a face, but by then, the paralysis was complete. All that he could see was a pair of work pants, the bottom half of a Hawaiian shirt, and the dull grey metal of a tranquilliser gun.

‘Hey there, Snoopy,’ a voice said quietly. ‘I think you were sniffing around ‘cause you wanted a ride on my bus. Well, okay, let's get on, and see where it’s heading.’

13

The inside of the car felt sweltering to Vicki as she closed the door. The car turned out of the dusty track and onto a real road. It had taken a moment for the groaning air conditioning to kick in. During this time, Vicki’s eyes had remained fastened on the reflection of the ramshackle house fading away in the wing mirror. However, once they had turned off, it was lost from sight … much like the owner.

‘So, where do you want to eat?’ Leighton asked, as he pulled on his seat belt.

‘Huh?’ Vicki shifted from being lost in the past.

‘I asked, where you wanted to go for lunch.’

‘Well,’ Vicki pretended she was thinking, ‘how about we visit The Palm Café?’

‘Is that where Laurie worked?’

‘Ah.’ Vicki smiled. ‘Now somebody’s back in detective mode. Yeah, it’s where she worked. It’s just off the main drag, back in Barstow.’

Following Vicki’s directions, Leighton drove the car along a business loop of Route 15, and pulled into a small parking lot covered with a patchwork of tarmac. The midday heat was heavy and unrelenting, as the young woman and older man left the coolness of the car to cross the hot grey expanse. Vicki struggled to shake of the strange numbness of the sense of loss she felt.

Inside The Palm Café, Vicki and Leighton found a seat next to the window, but thankfully out of the scorching sunlight. They ordered a couple of burritos – vegetable for Vicki; chicken for Leighton - and two iced teas. The two members of staff, who were mopping the red tiled floor and serving the food respectively, were cheerful, and the place was bright and airy, but the view from their table was of little more than the Nu-Way car wash and, beyond that, Soutar’s Ford Dealership.

‘So.’ Vicki smiled. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’

‘Yeah.’ Leighton glanced around. ‘We could write a travel guide to the fast food joints of North America.’

‘Somebody would buy it.’ Vicki shrugged then added, ‘Possibly.’

‘Is the town what you expected?’ Leighton asked, as he undid the cuff buttons of his pale blue shirt.

‘I suppose it is … kind of. A bit hotter and dustier.’

‘Well, once you head inland from the coast, this is what you get. Have you only ever lived by the water down in Oceanside?’

‘Yeah, but not always at the beach. We used to live in a house over on the west side, in Parkland Heights.’

Vicki saw by the slight arching of one of Leighton’s eyebrows he knew of the exclusive area and the ridiculous price of the homes located there.

‘Yeah, I know. My father is a cosmetic dentist, and my mother is a maxillofacial surgeon, so they pulled in the dollars.’

‘How come you moved from there?’ Leighton asked.

‘After the divorce, my father moved into the beach house for a time, and I spent most of my time down there. That suited me; I always preferred that place to my mother’s palace. Anyway, eventually, when my father moved down to San Francisco, my mother sold the big house.’

‘It must have been hard, leaving your home, and coping with divorce.’

‘I guess. To be honest, I never really thought of the place in Parkland Heights as home. It was too clinical and so large it felt almost empty. Even the gardens up there all have high walls, like prisons. You never see or hear any of the neighbours. Living there was like being a prisoner in a big empty palace. It probably sounds really messed up, but when I was looking at Laurie’s little place back there, I was thinking how more like a real home it seemed.’

‘Well,’ Leighton smiled, ‘the other side of the tracks always looks more appealing than the one you’re on.’

‘I know, and I like the beach house best of all – that’s where I got to be a regular kid. But, it’s still on loan from my mother.’

‘She charges you?’ Leighton’s eyes widened.

‘Not exactly. Despite spending most of her time in New York, she wanted to keep the beach house for her retirement. She couldn’t stand the idea of renting it out to strangers who would – and I quote “contaminate the place”. So, she told me I could live there rent free and maintain the place, but only on the basis I change none of the décor, and use the alarm system on a daily basis.’

‘Seems very practical.’ Leighton smiled sympathetically.

‘That’s my mother for you.’

The conversation was halted by the arrival of a waitress, carrying a tray to their table.