(xxxv.)

He stared off into the twilight.

In the distance, he could hear the truck stalling, as the others tried futilly to start it up. He sucked in the sweet night air.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He turned and faced the others. "You fuckers almost ready?"

A faint chorus of "Yeah, almost!" echoed through the early evening.


He pulled the lighter from another pocket and flicked it. It sparked in defiance. He flicked it a few more times, and, not getting to light, he threw it aginst the ground.


The District Coordinator walked up behind him. "Uh, sir?"
"What is it?"
"Well, I think we may be stranded for a while. But there was a gas station at that rest stop--"
"The one that was twenty-five miles back that way?"
"Well... yeah."

Chet growled.

"Or, well, we could abandon the van and just call the AAA."
"Wh-What? Are you insane?"
"No. We're members. See?" he asked, pulling out his wallet, and showing off his American Automobile Association card. "We just call the number, and they'll come get us."
"Weapons and all."
"Well, they don't have to know about the weapons. We can hide them."
"How do you hide a six foot rocket launcher?!"

He hit the District Coordinator in the back of the head, before storming back to the broken-down van.

The District Coordinator stared at the lighter.

"Do we really need the rocket launcher? I mean, is all this--"
"Yes."


[chapter xxxvi.]