‘No,’ I said as she parked. ‘I think we’re looking for a dragon.’
She threw a Nike windbreaker over her gun and BDUs.
‘You didn’t see me do this,’ she said as she opened her door. ‘Teun would kick my ass to the moon.’
‘You’ve been around Marino too long,’ I said, for he rarely minded rules and was known to carry beer home in the trunk of his unmarked police car.
Lucy went inside, and I doubted that she fooled anyone in her filthy boots and faded blue pants with so many pockets, and the tenacious smell of fire. A keyboard and cowbell began a different rhythm on the CD as I waited in the car and longed for sleep. Lucy returned with a six-pack of Heineken, and we drove on as I drifted with flute and percussion until sudden images shocked me straight up in my seat. I envisioned bared chalky teeth and dead eyes the grayish-blue of boiled eggs. Hair strayed and floated like dirty cornsilk in black water, and crazed, melted glass was an intricate sparkling web around what was left of the body.
‘Are you all right?’ Lucy sounded worried as she looked over at me.
‘I think I fell asleep,’ I said. ‘I’m fine.’
Johnson’s Motel was just ahead of us on the other side of the highway. It was stone with a red and white tin awning, and a red and yellow lit-up sign out front promised it was open twenty-four hours a day and had air conditioning. The NO part of the vacancy sign was dark, which boded well for those in need of a place to stay. We got out, and a welcome mat announced HELLO outside the lobby. Lucy rang a bell. A big black cat came to the door, and then a big woman seemed to materialize from nowhere to let us in.
‘We should have a reservation for a room for two,’ Lucy said.
‘Check-out’s eleven in the morning,’ the woman stated as she went around to her side of the counter. ‘I can give you fifteen down there at the end.’
‘We’re ATF,’ Lucy said.
‘Honey, I already figured out that one. The other lady was just in here. You’re all paid up.’
A sign posted above the door said no checks but encouraged MasterCard and Visa, and I thought of McGovern and her resourceful ways.
‘You need two keys?’ the clerk asked us as she opened a drawer.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Here’s you go, honey, and there’s two nice beds in there. If I’m not around when you check out, just leave the keys on the counter.’
‘Glad you got security,’ Lucy said drolly.
‘Sure do. Double locks on every door.’
‘How late does room service stay open?’ Lucy played with her again.
‘Until that Coke machine out front quits,’ the woman said with a wink.
She was at least sixty with dyed red hair and jowls, and a squat body that pushed against every inch of her brown polyester slacks and yellow sweater. It was obvious that she was fond of black and white cows. There were carvings and ceramic ones on shelves and tables and fastened to the wall. A small fish tank was populated with an odd assortment of tadpoles and minnows, and I couldn’t help asking her about them.
‘Home grown?’ I said.
She gave me a sheepish smile. ‘I catch ’em in the pond out back. One of them turned into a frog not long ago and it drowned. I didn’t know frogs can’t live under water.’
‘I’m gonna use the pay phone,’ Lucy said, opening the screen door. ‘And by the way, what happened to Marino?’
‘I think some of them went out to eat somewhere,’ I said.
She left with our Burger King bag, and I suspected she was calling Janet and that our Whoppers would be cold by the time we got to them. As I leaned against the counter, I noticed the clerk’s messy desk on the other side, and the local paper with its front page headline: MEDIA MOGUL’S FARM DESTROYED BY FIRE. I recognized a subpoena among her clutter and posted notices of reward money for information about murders, accompanied by composite sketches of rapists, thieves, and killers. All the same, Fauquier was the typical quiet county where people got lulled into feeling safe.