He walked the rest of the way home without once looking back over his shoulder.
The white limo was now parked in front of his house. The driver stood beside it, but when he saw Armpit, he got back inside and locked the doors.
Armpit knocked on the window.
The driver showed him the cell phone and started pushing the buttons.
“It’s me! Theodore Johnson. I’m the guy you’re here for. Just let me get my stuff.”
He hurried into the house, unsure if the driver would still be there when he returned. When he saw himself in the mirror he was even more doubtful. He looked like a wild man. Sweat and blood dripped from his face onto his torn clothes. Even he would cross to the other side of the street if he saw himself coming.
There was no time to shower. He took off his shirt and splashed his face and upper body with cold water, then sprayed himself with Sploosh. A knuckle on his right hand was bleeding, so he put a Band-Aid on it.
He put on a clean shirt and put three others in his backpack, along with a pair of long pants and some socks and underwear.
In the bottom of his sock drawer was Kaira’s letter and the money from the ticket sales, almost a thousand dollars. He took it all, including the letter.
He went into the kitchen, and, looking out the window, he was a little surprised to see the limo still parked out front. He wrote a note on the pad next to the telephone.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I won’t be back until Sunday night. It’s just something I got to do. Don’t worry.
T
He didn’t know what else he could say. He realized he should call Jack Dunlevy, but there wasn’t time and he didn’t know what he’d say to him, either. He just had to hope that X-Ray would cover for him. He grabbed his backpack and went outside.
The limousine driver came around and opened the door for him. “Welcome, Mr. Johnson,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t realize who you were before.”
“I’m just glad you’re still he
re,” Armpit said, settling into the backseat.
“There’s water and a newspaper,” the driver pointed out.
“Thanks.”
The Austin American Statesman lay on the seat next to him, and there were two bottles of water in side cup holders. Armpit finished the first bottle before the car made it onto the highway.
In the panel above him were the radio and temperature controls. Armpit studied the knobs, then turned the air conditioner to MAX.
“I’ve got an envelope for you with your travel documents,” the driver told him. “Apparently your fax machine wasn’t working.”
Armpit smiled.
Kaira’s voice came over the radio.
A sad circus clown who has hopes to inspire
The love of the long-haired, blue-spangled trapeze highflyer,
Kicks off his floppy shoes and changes attire,
Just like Clark Kent, or Tobey Maguire,
And goes up the circus ladder, higher and higher,
’Cause a clown is someone she could never admire,