How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

Chapter 10

It was true, Randy did fix cars. Of course, he also dabbled in various illegal activities related to cars and parts and that sort of thing, but that wasn’t worth mentioning. It didn’t really matter at the moment, and they could probably figure that part out on their own.

Naomi’s eyebrows lifted. “Randy?” she asked, disbelief thick in her voice. She’d heard a few of my tales about my ex. “Why would he help you?”

But Kyle lifted a hand. “Give her a chance to tell us,” he said to Naomi, eyes on me.

I shot him a grateful look. “I don’t know for sure that he would,” I said. “I’d have to feel him out first, but, well, we go way back.” I shrugged. “We dated, like, forever, and if we could get a car from him, then we wouldn’t have to worry about getting hooked for having a stolen car.”

“It’s worth a try,” Philip said, and Kyle gave a nod. “Where do we need to go?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s Friday, so he’s probably at Pillar’s Bar, on Kapp Street.” That was the bar where we used to hang out the most. It was also where some asshole put a date rape drug in my drink, which led to my becoming a zombie in the first place.

“Got it,” Philip said, making a turn. About ten minutes later we pulled into the gravel lot. The old neon sign on the roof simply spelled out BAR in big block letters like a beacon to outsiders. Everyone around these parts knew it was Pillar’s, so why waste money on the sign? Over thirty cars and pickups crowded the lot, along with half dozen motorcycles up near the entrance. Randy’s 1968 red Dodge Charger sat in the first space at the end of the building, where he always parked. Nothing had changed.

An odd curl of nerves wound through my belly. I hadn’t set foot in this place in over a year, and I hadn’t spoken to most of the people from that old life in just as long, including Randy. “It might be best if I go in by myself,” I said.

“Probably so,” Philip agreed. He reached into the bag resting on the console and pulled out a packet, handed it to me. “Eat that first. I’ll be right outside.”

I obediently sucked it down, then scraped my fingers through my hair to get it to lie down in a slightly more orderly fashion. “Wish me luck,” I said, then slipped out of the car and headed toward the entrance. I heard a car door close and looked back to see Philip following me.

“I’ll be right outside,” he repeated.

My nerves eased slightly. “Thanks.”

The people clustered by the door gave me a glance then returned to their cigarettes and low conversation. Music poured out when I opened the door, like hot air on a cold day. I quickly stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me, feeling as if I’d let all the music out if I left it open.

The four piece band on the crude stage against the back wall kicked out a decent version of a Blake Shelton song while a cluster of worn lights flashed to the beat of the music, sending weak pulses of red and blue through the haze of cigarette smoke. Loud conversation, drunken laughter, and the occasional crack of pool balls surrounded me like a comfortable blanket. How much time had I wasted here?

Winding my way through familiar faces with forgotten names, I returned glares and scowls with defensive ones of my own and made my way toward the man behind the bar. He gave an odd double take when he saw me, then pushed a beer toward a regular at the other end of the bar. He took the bills offered and stuffed them into the till, then came over to me and leaned an elbow on the bar.

“Been a while since you been in here, Angel,” he said as I racked my mind for his name. Bill. Yeah, that was it. I’d scored Percocet from him a time or two. Bill had pills.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to raise my voice enough to be heard over the din without actually shouting. “It’s been a weird year. Can I get a beer?”

His mouth twisted into a sneer. “I heard you got Clive busted. Called the cops on him.”

Shit. Now I understood all the hostile looks. I narrowed my eyes. “Is that what he told you? That weasely little shitball. I guess he left out the part where he called the cops on me. And I can fucking prove that shit. That’s on motherfucking nine-one-one.”

That took him slightly aback. “He told everyone you set him up,” Bill said, expression remaining accusing.

“Why the hell would I set him up?” I demanded. “I was trying to get clean after fucking overdosing. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.”

A frown started between his eyebrows. “Huh. Yeah, I heard you almost died.” He picked up a rag and swiped at some unknown liquid on the bar.

“You heard right,” I said. Kind of did die, depending on how you defined it. “Clive was a whiny bitch and was all butthurt ’cause I wouldn’t buy from him anymore.” It wasn’t a total lie. Clive had been pissed when I wouldn’t steal confiscated drugs from the Coroner’s Office and pass them his way. “He called the cops on me because he’s a little prick, then when the cops came and wouldn’t arrest me for his bullshit, he fought with them and got his own ass busted.” I couldn’t help but smirk. “And of course he had a car full of steroids, so they busted his stupid ass for that too.”

Bill’s gaze remained hard and distrusting for another moment while the band shifted to a crappy cover of a Garth Brooks song. Finally he reached for a beer, popped the top off and set it in front of me. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Doing my best not to show relief, I took the bottle and sipped. “He’s a fucking moron.”

“You still clean?” he asked. He glanced at the bottle in my hand.

“No drugs, no pills in a year,” I said then set the bottle down and gave it a tap. “This is as hard as I go anymore, and not much of that.”

A smile kicked up one side of Bill’s mouth. “That’s cool, Angel,” he said, and I decided he really meant it. “I got my one month chip last week,” he continued, ducking his head a bit as if embarrassed.

“Yeah?” I smiled. “That’s fucking awesome. Must be hard to do while working here.”

Someone called his name from farther down the bar. He held up a finger to him, then looked back at me and shrugged. “Nah. Not as long as I keep my head on straight. Every day I see how fucked up people can be, and it helps me remember why I’m doing it.”

“I get that,” I said.

“Look.” He leaned slightly closer. “You need to watch your back in here. Pretty much everyone thinks you fucked Clive over.” Then his brow furrowed. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m looking for Randy,” I said. “I saw his car out front.”

Bill jerked his head toward the back. “He’s playing pool. Him and Carol Ann.”

At the mention of that woman’s name, my face heated in a flush of anger that should’ve been dead. For the last two years of my relationship with Randy, she’d hung on the edge, trying to slide her loser self between us any time we had one of our breakups.

“They’re together?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

He shrugged. “According to her.”

In Carol Ann’s world, that was all that mattered. “Thanks.” I pushed a couple of bills across the bar to pay for the beer. “Keep the change. And good luck.”

“You too. Watch your back.”

With a parting nod I took my beer and headed toward the pool room. Now that I knew the reason for the hostile looks it was easier to glare right back. The band thumped out the last notes of their pathetic ballad and announced a break.

The crowded pool room off to the left of the stage reeked of old cigarette smoke and a hint of sewage, with a touch of chemical-flowery air freshener thrown in for good measure. A chubby guy with flushed cheeks and a bubba buzz cut casually flipped me off as I descended the two steps to the grimy linoleum, then turned away to fish pool balls from the return on the farthest of the three faded tables. Most of the people in here were too focused on their game to give much of a shit about me, and I didn’t recognize more than a handful anyway. A few gave me quizzical looks, likely wondering why I deserved a middle finger, then apparently decided it would use up too many brain cells to figure out the mystery. A cluster of barely legal bimbos whispered and giggled by the cue rack, eyeing some young stud. A stud by their standards, at least. Hell, a year or so ago I’d have overlooked his slight beer gut and shaggy mullet too.

I took a fake sip of my beer to hide my smile. Damn. At least I had standards now.

A woman with screaming red hair leaned over a table to get a shot, giving everyone behind her a great look at her red thong underwear as her way-too-short jeans skirt hiked up. Carol Ann Pruitt. She hadn’t been “barely legal” in damn near a decade, but she still clung to it with her acrylic nails and over-whitened teeth.

Carol Ann took her shot and missed badly, laughing as she straightened and tugged her skirt down—though only enough to barely cover the cheeks of an age-and-beer-widened ass. She swept a hopeful gaze around, probably to see if anyone was watching her show. Her slightly unsteady looksee went past me, then snapped right back, to my annoyance. Like I had time for this shit.

“You!” She stabbed the pool cue in my direction. “You got some kinda nerve dragging your narc cop-lovin’ ugly ass in here!”

I gave her a lazy look and shrugged. “I needed a laugh and figured I’d come see the chunk of hair on the back of your head that you miss every fucking time you do your color. Seriously, do you even own a damn mirror?”

Titters went through the room in a wave, which didn’t ease Carol Ann’s mood one bit. She tightened her grip on the cue and started toward me with murder in her eyes. Shit. I’d forgotten just how much bigger she was than me.

“I got a mirror, bitch, and I use it to see how much better lookin’ I am than you!” she shouted. “Randy don’t want nothin’ to do with you, so get your skanky ass outta here before I get pissed.”

Behind her I saw the men’s room door open and Randy step out. My pulse quickened as he saw me, but I was too busy having fun with Carol Ann to spare him a second of attention. “Aw, will you turn green and get big and ugly?” I taunted her. “You got all but the color part down already.”

This time the laughter and catcalls were unmistakably in my favor. Narc or not, this was a crowd that loved them some good putdowns. Unfortunately, Carol Ann couldn’t appreciate the finer social points of insult-trading. The only comeback she could muster was a rage-sputtered “Stupid bitch!” right before she swung the cue at me as if she was Babe Ruth driving in a homer.

The air seemed to disappear from the room as everyone sucked in a breath. Logic and experience told them that Carol Ann was about to split my head wide open and probably be arrested for murder—or manslaughter at the very least—after which she’d no doubt end up as the head of her own prison girl gang with a few bitches willing to be at her beck and call in exchange for dubious protection from the other mean girls. It’d be a good step up for Carol Ann, an opportunity for her to take a strong leadership role in a way that she’d never been able to manage as a waitress at Jiggy Joe’s Truck Stop. She wasn’t a smart woman by any stretch, but with a little coaching she could pull off savvy, and after about five years she’d probably get paroled and maybe even go on to speak to underprivileged kids about anger management, being good, and staying in school. Hell, she might be held up as a positive role model—someone who made a terrible mistake in the heat of the moment and then turned her life around to become a good and decent upstanding member of society.

All that went through my head in a flash, followed by: Pool cue. Coming at my head. With the help of some good ol’ zombie speed I shifted my beer to my left hand, ducked under the stick, then came right back up and drove my right fist into Carol Ann’s double chin, killing forever her chances of becoming a reformed murderess. Well, maybe not forever. I doubted this would be the last time she flew off the handle and tried to split a head open.

The cue went flying out of her hand, and several people managed to dance out of its way before it smacked into Bubba Buzz Cut Guy’s shin. He let out a yelp and a curse as Carol Ann went down in a totally unattractive sprawl.

“And stay down, bitch!” I said, mostly for effect, since everyone seemed to expect me to say something in that vein. I shook my hand out, even though apparently I’d finally managed to learn how to punch without breaking my hand. That was a nice change. Sensei would be so fucking proud. Well, maybe not with the whole bar fight thing without a shred of jiu jitsu. He’d sigh and get that pained look on his face. But, hey, I’d even kept hold of my beer. Now that took skills that weren’t taught in a dojo.

I backed away to make room for the people taking cell phone pictures of Carol Ann as she moaned on the floor. I almost felt sorry for her before remembering that she had pretty much been the total aggressor and would’ve probably killed me if not for some sweet brain-charged action on my part. So, yeah, a few humiliating pictures on the internet wouldn’t kill her, though I did keep half an eye on her to make sure no one in this crowd took the wrong kind of advantage of her. Fortunately—since I really didn’t want to babysit the bitch—a couple of her girlfriends rushed over and scooped her up, and gave me reproachful and wary looks while they helped her stumble to the bathroom.

That’s right, darlin’. I’ll be the leader of my own girl gang.

A hard shove from behind put my internal revels to a harsh end, and I stumbled into a table, bruising my hips. Before I had a chance to react something hit me hard in the back around my left kidney, and in the next instant my vision went white as pain seared through me. And kept searing while I fought unsuccessfully to resist or jerk away or anything to get away from the source of the agony.

After several endless seconds the pain stopped as abruptly as a light going off. My legs buckled as much from the pain as from the sudden end of it, and I stumbled sideways to fall hard to the floor.

“And stay down, bitch!” a familiar voice sneered.

Stun gun, I realized as I fought to catch my breath. A lot like the time I was Tasered by Kristi Charish’s goons, though not quite as sucktastic. And the voice belonged to Debbie Stewart, another Carol Ann crony. I tried to turn to deal with her, but to my surprise Randy stepped between us. Good thing, since I wasn’t moving all that well.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing, Debbie?” Randy challenged.

I managed to push up to a swaying kneel, shifting enough to see Debbie with a stun gun in her hand and a defiant look on her face. Good thing Randy had my back since my left side was a mass of pins and needles thanks to her holding the stun gun on me for so long. If she’d tried to hit me again, there wasn’t a damn thing I could’ve done about it.

Debbie took a step back in the face of Randy’s anger, then jerked her chin up. “You saw what that narc whore did to Carol Ann!” she declared, a vicious gleam in her eyes. “We don’t take that shit around here.”

Seriously? I thought as I accomplished one knee up. Half the stains on the floor were from bar fights. This place was a staph infection’s wet dream.

Randy’s shoulders tensed. “You just pulled some low shit even for ’round here,” he said, words clipped. He only talked like that when he was really riled up. “And, yeah, I saw what she did to Carol Ann.” He took a step toward Debbie, and it warmed my heart to see her back away in response. “She kicked Carol Ann’s ass, so I’m thinking you best get your ass outta here before Angel gets up.”

That sounded like the perfect cue for me to do exactly that, though it probably would’ve been a lot more impressive if I hadn’t been swaying. Damn it, my left side still didn’t want to behave, but a familiar ripple of hunger told me my parasite was on the job.

“She ain’t gonna do shit,” Debbie said, then brandished the stun gun. “And you best back off!” She looked around at the crowd for support, but frowned when she saw that most were simply watching or recording the entire event for future shits and giggles.

A mild stir in the crowd behind her drew my attention long enough for me to see the familiar blond head of Philip. Relief shot through me, quickly followed by worry. The rugged, clean-cut operative and former soldier would stand out in this place like a lion among kittens, and the last thing I needed was for Randy to get spooked or for even more fighting to break out. Yet even as I caught Philip’s eye and gave him a slight It’s cool head shake, I realized he wasn’t attracting anywhere near the attention I’d expected. He had a bit of a slouch in his shoulders now, and an unhurried air that fit with the overall vibe of the crowd. The instant he caught my signal he smoothly shifted direction to amble to the bar as if he’d been headed that way the entire time.

Fortunately all Debbie saw was that the crowd wasn’t as firmly on her side as she’d hoped. Scowling, she swung her attention back to Randy. “Why you have to go get in the middle of things?” she whined. “You should be taking up for poor Carol Ann!”

Randy folded his arms over his chest, ignoring the stun gun completely. “Carol Ann took a lot less hurt than she was planning to give out,” he said. “I’d say that’s even. It’s you buttin’ into things now, so you’d best back the fuck off.” He sounded laid back again, but I knew him well enough to know he was still pissed. Right now I was fine with letting him handle things. Even though my left side wasn’t buzzing anymore, I felt just enough brain hunger to know I wouldn’t have any zombie super speed going for me.

Debbie hesitated, defiance flickering in the face of Randy’s staunch defense of me along with the lack of overwhelming crowd support. Glaring at Randy, she waved the stun gun in my direction. “She got off easy!” she announced, then turned and flounced off toward the bathroom.

For an instant I considered charging after her to tackle her face first into the grimy linoleum, and even took a step forward to do so, before deciding it wouldn’t be the best idea considering my overall goal here. Eyes on the prize, Angel.

With the excitement over and no blood to clean up or ogle, the onlookers drifted away to return to their games or conversations or drug deals or whatever the hell they’d been up to before. No one was giving me Fuck You looks anymore, so apparently I’d proved myself by decking Carol Ann. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but I understood it all the same.

The bartender said something to Philip and gestured toward the back room. Philip nodded and headed that way without a single glance in my direction as he passed. My guess was that he planned to duck out the back door, though I already saw girls angling in his direction like sharks scenting hunky blood in the water.

I gave Randy a fervent smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “There’s dirty fighting, and then there’s fighting dirty, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I rubbed the crook of my left arm where it still had a bit of tingle. “It’s okay. I’ll get her back someday when she’s not expecting it.”

Randy chuckled, and the last of the anger slipped away from the set of his shoulders. “Carol Ann’s gonna be pissed when she can think straight again,” he said, smile tugging at his mouth that told me he didn’t really care and that he’d enjoyed the scene as much as any of the others. Probably would’ve enjoyed it more if we’d ended up in a classic roll-on-the-floor catfight where we ripped each other’s clothes off, but I could forgive him that since he’d stepped in when I needed the help.

“What are you doin’ down here?” he asked, cocking his head. “Come back for a little of what I got?”

Here I’d been worried that Randy would tell me to fuck off, kind of the way I’d told him to fuck off the last time I’d seen him—right after he asked me to steal drugs from the Coroner’s Office for Clive to sell. We sure as hell hadn’t parted in a nice way. Then again, we’d broken up and got back together so many times over the four years we’d dated, he’d apparently taken it in stride just like all the other breakups, even though it’d been over a year.

Hell, if he really thought I wanted to get back together with him, who was I to set him straight? An uncomfortable tickle of guilt fluttered in my belly for leading him on, and I couldn’t entirely push it away. Randy was a loser, sure, but we’d been losers together, and right now he was a loser I needed. So, what the hell did that make me?

I just gotta be careful, that’s all, I told myself as I put on a smile for him. “Yeah, something like that.” That part wasn’t a lie. I was back for a little of what he got.

He moved closer. “Where’s that cop asshole you been fucking?”

“We broke up,” I said and shrugged, doing my best to keep the ache of it off my face.

Lingering tension in his face relaxed in what seemed like relief. “I like the sound of that.” He leaned against the post beside me. “You need another beer?”

“I can’t stay long,” I said, and set the barely touched beer down on a convenient table. “Can I come by your place in a bit? There’s something I need to ask you.”

Pleased surprise lit his eyes. “Sure you can.” He grinned. “I got answers for all your questions.”

“I bet you do,” I said, unable to resist a low chuckle at the good ole Randy charm.

The women’s bathroom door opened, and a sniveling Carol Ann came out, flanked and supported by her two cronies. Randy glanced at her then gave me an easy smile. “It’s gonna take me a while to clean up the mess here. How ’bout I see you in an hour or so?”

“An hour or so it is.” I gave him a wink and a smile, then turned and sauntered out, sashaying as much as my skinny hips would allow. As soon as I made it outside and the door closed behind me I blew out a breath and let myself slump. Philip pushed off from the wall where he’d managed to be damn near invisible in the shadows, judging by the startled reactions of the junkies clustered near the corner of the building. They skittered off like roaches in sunlight when Philip moved toward me.

“You sure you’re okay?” he said as he raked an assessing look over me.

“Yeah. Thanks for having my back,” I replied, then grinned. “Worth getting zapped to deck that skanky bitch.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’m going to his trailer in about an hour.”

“He has a vehicle we can use?”

“Dunno yet, but at least he’s willing to talk to me.”

We returned to where the car was parked on the perimeter of the lot, and I settled in the back with Naomi. Philip climbed into the front passenger seat, then tossed a small handful of cocktail napkins onto the dash before giving Kyle a sly look.

“Seven, in under three minutes.”

Kyle gave a dry chuckle. “Nice.”

Naomi frowned. “Seven what?”

I leaned forward to peer at the napkins, then laugh-groaned. “Phone numbers of girls who thought Philip was a filet steak in a room full of cafeteria hamburgers.”

“Good lord,” Naomi breathed. “I’m surprised he made it out alive.”

“It was touch and go for a minute there,” Philip replied. “Or rather, I felt touches where I didn’t want them and knew it was time to go!”

And on that note we got the hell out of there.

Once we were away from the bar and headed to the highway I downed some dehydrated brain chips then filled the others in on the conversation with Randy. Naomi remained fairly quiet while I spoke, and I figured she still thought it was a bad idea to ask Randy for help. Hell, she was probably right, but no one else had come up with a better solution. And, no, stealing a random car was not a better solution.

“He was cool?” she finally asked. “No jealousy crap?”

“He was cool,” I replied. “I think he got turned on when I knocked his girlfriend on her ass.”

Kyle made a noise that sounded almost like a snort of laughter, but when I looked at him his face was as stoic as ever.

I gave Kyle directions, a little surprised when he knew the roads. Randy didn’t exactly live in a high-traffic area of St. Edwards Parish.

At least I thought he knew them. I straightened when he made a right instead of a left onto Locust Lane. “Hey, you went the wrong way. You need to go toward the river.”

His gaze was on the rearview mirror but he wasn’t looking at me. “Tail,” he said and it took me a couple of seconds to understand.

“Shit!” Immediately I craned around in my seat to peer behind us. “How do you know? Maybe it’s just someone else going the same way?”

He was nice and didn’t give me an Are you fucking kidding me? I really do know what I’m doing look and simply said, “Made two turns with us plus this one.”

Fair enough. If Kyle said we had a tail, we had a tail. “Can you tell who it is?” Saberton or Tribe? I didn’t need to say it. We all wondered the same thing.

“Headlights,” he said simply. “No details.” Then, “Hang on.”

He made a sharp turn and floored it, but the other car obviously had a better engine. Within seconds they were right behind us. I clung to the seat, utterly certain that our pursuers were about to ram us and send us flying off the road.

Kyle abruptly did something that I couldn’t follow at all. I only knew it involved brakes and tight turns and skidding, and at one point we were going backward at what had to be sixty miles-per-hour, but when we straightened out we’d miraculously gained a substantial lead.

“Holy shit, I know this area!” I said as I realized where we were, practically flapping my hands in excitement. “There’s a game trail I used to take back in junior high and high school when . . .” I hesitated, then realized these guys wouldn’t hold my past against me. “It leads to a clearing where some of us used to smoke pot. It goes on through to the road that runs past Randy’s property.” I’d met Randy for the first time in that clearing.

Philip’s frown was reflected by the other two. “We’re more vulnerable on foot,” he said.

“But we’ll be off road,” Kyle put in. “I doubt they’ll have dogs to track us.” His eyes met mine. “You sure you can lead the way and not get us stuck in some godforsaken bog?”

“I only know nice god-sanctioned bogs, I promise,” I replied. “Turn at the broken signpost right up there.” Kyle made a turn that left my stomach behind, and we bounced over rutted and winding dirt road for about a minute. “Here! Stop here!”

Kyle did so, and we quickly grabbed everything we had with us, which wasn’t all that much, thankfully. As we bailed out of the car, Philip snagged his jump bag from the trunk, and Kyle looked back toward the main road. “They went past,” Kyle said. “The brush is high enough to hide the car from the road, but they’ll be coming back to see where we turned off. We have about two minutes to get some distance and then go to ground.”

“Not a problem,” I insisted, then took off into the chest-high grass with the others close behind. Less than a minute later we heard the sound of tires on the bumpy road.

“Down,” Kyle ordered. We dropped to the wet, spongy ground and didn’t need another order to tell us to be still as statues. I concentrated on slowing my breathing, listened as the car stopped. The beam of a powerful flashlight skimmed by, but the grass was tall and we’d made it far enough away from the road that they couldn’t see any sign of us.

I heard a muttered and angry conversation, filled to the brim with curse words. After some more cursing, the men returned to their car and backed out to the highway. I began to rise, but Philip seized my arm and shook his head. Muscles taut, I listened for any evidence of our pursuers but only heard the retreating sound of their car. Even after it reached the highway and peeled out we remained still in the grass, and it took everything I had not to shriek and leap up when something slithered across my calf.

After what had to be ten minutes Kyle muttered, “Clear.”

Philip released my arm, and I shot to my feet. “Snake,” I gulped.

Luckily, Philip didn’t laugh at my reaction. Good thing, since I’d have decked him like Carol Ann, zombie baby or not. Or at least tried to. Okay, maybe just thought about it really hard.

“Which way?” he asked.

Fighting the deep desire to make a bunch of noise to chase off any lurking snakes, I turned and headed away from the dirt road and toward the thick darker darkness ahead that I knew was the woods. I had a panicked minute when I couldn’t locate the game trail, but finally found the dead tree that marked it. Philip pulled out a keychain LED light and clicked it to red as we started working our way through the brush and trees and sticker bushes. At long last, lights glimmered through the trees, and in another hundred feet the trail opened out onto a road.

“We lost them, so that’s good,” Naomi remarked. “On the other hand, after that jaunt through the brambles, I have thorns in unmentionable places.”

I grinned. “I’m not helping you with those.” I pointed to a rusted mailbox about fifty feet down the road. Beyond it the road turned to gravel. “That’s Randy’s driveway.” I brushed at mud and dirt and finally gave up. I couldn’t see what I was doing anyway.

“We’ll wait here,” Kyle said.

“Yeah, I think he’d freak if all four of us trooped up to his door.”

Naomi gave me a worried look. “Be careful.”

I had a feeling she was more worried about my mental well-being than the physical. “I will,” I replied, then jogged to Randy’s driveway.