Two: Another Sunrise

The door made that sudden grunt of flinging back the automatic bolt, and Obi shoved it open just in time to let two sales weenies in for the coming shift. He squinted. The sun was heaving itself up between the distant tress, and already the brightness was far too much. He turned his back on it, and leaned against the low wall that ran along the front sidewalk.

Another shift. Another 35 cents. At least it felt that way. He rubbed his eyes with one hand while he fished around in his shirt pocked with the other, feeling for the smokes. A flick later and he could feel the nicotine hitting the region of the skull above the back of the neck. After all these years, he could still feel it, especially on any day when he didn't smoke much.

On the backs of his eyelids, Obi saw trees. These were trees lit by car headlights, the same trees he'd seen while riding home on the turnpike two nights ago. Something about these trees bothered him. They were two kinds of trees - some kind of palm, and some other tree, deciduous, maybe. Something with lots of branches, and not straight like a pine. He wanted to go back and look again in daylight.

If he could stand the daylight. It was bugging him pretty badly already, stinging his eyes and making him vaguely queasy. At least it wasn't stinging his dark, dark skin. He closed his eyes again, and he still saw the trees. Four palm, seven of the other kind, ten palm, three of the other kind. Maybe a quarter to half a mile between stands of trees, the numbers of trees per stand varying according to no plain pattern. Like a code.

He'd wondered about that as he'd stared out the passenger window. No more than ten trees in any given stand. No fewer than two. What kind of code was this? A code that generated only numerals? Or maybe a code that needs another piece, some kind of algorithm to render a wider array of results.

He rubbed his face and took another drag. It was hard to think that deeply about anything, right on the heels of another shift, right before bedtime.

"Hey, man." A bulky figured burst out the door to squint at the light, purple mohawk glistening. It was Duncan. Same shift, different team. Better team. "How's it going?"

"It's going."

"What's the van count these days?"

"Ever since I moved, I don't count the vans much anymore. I don't see them as much up here. You have to be down around Sample to really see them swarm."

"I saw like five today; one had a lot of people in it." Duncan leaned against the low wall next to him.

"Windows?"

"Yeah, all around."

"Doesn't count."

"What do you mean it doesn't count? It was white, it was unmarked."

"Cargo vans, bro. Passenger vans don't count."

"Okay what are the rules again?"

"White cargo vans. No seats, no windows. Unmarked. That means no company name, no logo."

"No bumper stickers?"

"NO bumper stickers. That would make the van identifiable, and I don't think they want that."

"So, who's 'they'?"

"I don't know. Whoever. That's the mystery part."

"So what's the highest count been for you?"

"Forty-two."

"All day?"

"No, that was just one trip, about twenty minutes. That was from Sample and Lyons, over to 95, then up to Yamato."

"Wow, forty two?"

"Yeah, most of them around like Sample and Powerline."

"Woah." They both pondered that a moment, then Duncan said, "The South Florida White Van Conspiracy."

"Yeah."

Everything in South Florida is thirty minutes away. If your destination is further than that, it's the wrong one. There's got to be a closer whatever-it-is than that.

Tish was driving. Sometimes Tish felt that she was always driving, but the fact was that she drove less these days than at any other time since she first got her license. She rarely went out, she never went Shopping. That's Shopping with a capital S.

Ew. Ew ew ew! That made her think of The Mall, an alien land. Every once in a long, long while she had to go there. For instance, with the next paycheck would come the opportunity to buy boots. She only had two pairs of shoes, and both of them were ridiculous for everyday wear. The sneakers were coming to pieces and the dress boots were not good for long term wear. The boots were necessary.

Guess where the only place in this part of the county was where one could get said boots? Okay, if one wanted cowboy boots or hiking boots, there would be a few options, but only a store in The Mall had just the boots to satisfy her needs. The mall was also the closest location of the Radio Shack. Radio Shack was important.

But the mall creeped Tish out. A lot. All the bleating sheeple, moving like zombies, laden with their shopping bags. All the blaring SALE! SALE! SALE! signs. All the Oh My Gawad! teenagers. It was depressing. Kids who looked like punks but acted like so much homogenized suburban kittens. Geriatrics in pastel green scowling at her short green hair in disapproval. Slickly polished and perfumed sales weenies.

She couldn't feel a brain wave in the whole place. She couldn't detect any stray cluon emissions. She felt like she'd entered a movie in which the corpses live.

She made a mental note: get the boots right away or give up on it until after January. The Mall is going to be a hideous nightmare, even more so than usual, through Christmas. Gack. The thought made her cringe. Decorations, gifties. Buy now! Buy for everyone! Buy extra in case you forgot something! Buy something ultra cool! Top the Joneses! Bigger, faster, more high-tech!

Tish really needed a pleasant subject to think about now; her jaw was starting to clench. Oooooooh sushi! Sushi yum, sushi yay! Sushi, sushi, any day! A compilation of older, political punk songs was coursing through the stereo system while she savored the flavor of the tender melting flesh of tuna nigri. She whimpered at the thought of sweet vinegary rice and salty-spicy tang of shoyu and wasabe. Her head was jerking out the driving tempo of the song while her eyes narrowed to smiley little crescents. She remembered flavors and textures and that feeling. Almost like sex. In fact, very much like sex, only not as powerful.

Sex. Sigh. That's some good stuff. Damn, and not enough of it. She again realized she was clenching her jaw and opened her mouth wide to stretch those muscles out. Hold, hold, until they start to grow sore and cramp. It was in the middle of a blowjob that she realized she had a problem. After only a few minutes, Tish got this massive cramp in the left jaw muscles. It wasn't the first time, but it was the worst, and it was on an occasion when she was trying to be especially impressive. What had happened?

There was a time, when she was much faster and much looser, when she was renowned for her blowjobs. There were pages of poetry dedicated to her cocksucking prowess. Now look at her. Reduced to mere minutes before cramping up. She'd wanted to cry.

So now she was trying to catch herself in the act of jaw clenching and stretch those muscles out. Next fellatio attempt would tell the tale of whether this tactic would pay off or not.

Her cellphone began to deedle out its silly tune. Tish frowned; she didn't like using the phone while driving, but for anyone to call her at all meant it was likely very important. It was the house phone number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Tish." It was Roberta, and she sounded funny. Strained, or nervous maybe.

"Hi, Roberta, what's up?"

"Nothing much, I just kind of ... what are you doing today? Anything important?"

Tish considered this. How important is important? "Grocery store. Milk, corn dogs, and Bubba Burgers, but that can wait. What is it?"

"Let's get lunch." They agreed to the place, and Tish made straight for it.

Three: Of Faith