CHAPTER SEVEN

Zeek pulled the door shut and locked it with his key, only the key got stuck. So he poked his tongue out and began fiddling it around in the keyhole.

“This damn key.” He pulled hard and the key slid out.

“Did you have to wear that outfit?” Bess asked, waiting with arms crossed.

“You said I was on duty. I always wear my uniform when I’m on duty.” He looked down at his hazchem suit. “You don’t like it?”

“Wait. You said uniform.”

“Yeah?”

“Ah. It makes sense now,” she said, a wry smile twisting her mouth. “The sidekick thing and now the suit. You think you’re a superhero.”

“What? Pfft! No, I don’t.” He put his lips together and blew a mouth fart.

“I think you do.” She crossed her arms. “I bet you even have a name for yourself.”

Zeek’s eyes suddenly widened and his cheeks blushed. “Quick, we better get out of here before Mr. Moore shows up.” And he darted toward the stairwell.

At the bottom of the steps, a teen with coke-bottle glasses and oversized clothes sat fiddling with an old transistor radio .

“Hey, Zeek, my man,” he said, reaching up. Zeek put out his gloved hand and they completed a three stage handshake, ending in a fist bump and subsequent explosion with their mouths.

“Heya, Tech, watcha working on?”

“Just some old junk. You’ll set for tomorrow night, my man?”

“You know it.”

Zeek and Bess continued walking into the parking lot.

“Tomorrow night?” asked Bess.

“Just a tradition we’ve got going on.” Zeek got his keys and stepped up to his car.

“What is that?”

“That,” Zeek put his hands on his hips and admired the vehicle, ‘is the Z-Mobile.” Every time he saw it, he felt a sense of pride, a grin forming across his face.

 Zeek’s car was almost an identical twin of the 1976 AMC Pacer in the ’92 cult classic, Wayne’s World. Although it was the same powder blue, it was missing the flames down the side, and the faded paint was covered in rust. Three worn stickers were stuck on the rear hatch window: I Believe (with an Aliens head beneath it), ACDC, and one of Yoda with the quote, Smell my fumes, you must.

“She’s a looker, ain’t she?” he asked proudly.

“You could say that.”

Zeek opened the rear hatch and checked the vacuum’s battery charge.

“Ah-hum.” Bess stood with one hand on her hip, looking over the car at Zeek.

“Got a fly in your throat?” he asked.

“Be a gentleman would you.”

Zeek frowned, then realized what she meant. He stepped around and opened the door. She climbed in and Zeek slammed it shut with everything he had. She jumped and scowled up at him through the window.

“Sorry, the latch needs to be slammed otherwise it doesn’t shut properly,” he yelled through the glass, pointing down.

Then he made his way around to his seat, got in, started the engine and pushed the tape into the deck. ACDC’s Thunderstruck started playing.

His eyes narrowed and he stared at Bess. “Let’s ride.” Then he crunched the gears, stalled it twice, and finally left the parking lot of the Roaches Motel in a cloud of white smoke.