49. Moonlight Drive
By Ewan
- 478 reads
Margarita had tuned the digital radio to WTAF. More country music, with the occasional soupçon of bluegrass. No doubt Mr D had this kind of welcome arranged for me if I fell far enough from grace to spend eternity as one of his special guests.
‘Where to, Gabe? DC? Are we flyin’ or drivin’?’ Red took her eyes off the road for just a second too long for comfort.
Sam Sara shouted from the back, ‘Can’t we fly? I ain’t puttin’ up with her drivin’ for 36 hours.’
Flights would be available in Vegas, but the best way to stay under the radar was not to fly. Perhaps that was why Lucifer had made sure that a certain angel was grounded with two Earthbound women: to make sure yours truly would not be unfurling his golden feathers anytime soon.
‘Since we’re going to be driving 36 hours, we’ll be sharing the time at the wheel.’
That earned me a sharp glance from Miss Cansino and a deep sigh from Sam Sara.
‘You’re wheel skills ain’t so hot either, Gabe, as I recall.’
An hour later Sam was asleep and the atmosphere had warmed up a little. I was hoping the temperature wouldn’t get too high, but by the time we passed the Flagstaff, AZ exit off the interstate, Margarita’s right hand was on my thigh. It was still there when we passed the sign for Gallup. It was a long drive from there to a gas station by the the Alberquerque intersection. The three of us got out to stretch our legs. Sam offered to drive as she’d been asleep. I hadn’t slept much, so I thought about tossing a coin for the back seat, but by the time I’d filled the tank, Ms Cansino was flat out in the back, some of her red hair over her face and moving as she breathed in and out. Sam was in the driver’s seat. The limo was a stick-shift. Sam drove well, I didn’t, it was true. Furled wings can make any driver’s seat uncomfortable, even a limo’s. I asked Sam to change the Radio Station.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
I poked at the buttons, but no dice.
‘She did it.’ Sam nodded towards our sleeping partner.
Since she probably had, we both laughed loud and long, but the redhead was still in the arms of Morpheus.
We were quiet for a while, Sam probably had to concentrate as we were driving into the sunrise, more or less. It was pretty much all Interstate-four-oh for the next 8 hour leg. Finally, Sam cracked and turned the radio off. I was glad. Later, we pulled into a gas-station near the Oklahoma City junction. Cansino woke up, stretching like a cat.
‘Shame you didn’t tune it to an oldies station, maybe they’d have played Route 66.’ I said.
It didn’t raise a laugh from either of them, but it was four in the afternoon and we were all tired. I filled the tank and paid an old-timer a dollar to wipe the windscreen and another to stop whistling Bobby Troup’s song.
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