Chapter 49
Becker dragged himself off the
floor of the bus
and collapsed in an empty
seat.
“Nice move, dipshit.”
The kid with the three spikes sneered. Becker squinted
in the stark lighting. It was the kid he’d chased onto the bus. He glumly
surveyed the sea of red, white, and blue coiffures.
“What’s with
the hair?” Becker moaned,
motioning to the others.
“It’s all…” “Red,
white, and blue?” the kid offered.
Becker nodded, trying not to stare at the infected perforation
in the kid’s upper lip. “Judas Taboo,” the kid said matter-of-factly.
Becker looked bewildered.
The punk spit in the aisle, obviously disgusted with Becker’s ignorance. “Judas
Taboo?
Greatest punk since Sid Vicious? Blew his
head off here a year ago
today. It’s his anniversary.” Becker nodded vaguely,
obviously missing the
connection.
“Taboo did his hair this way the day he signed off.” The kid spit again. “Every fan worth his weight
in piss has got red, white, and
blue hair today.”
For a long moment, Becker said nothing. Slowly, as if he had been shot with a tranquilizer, he turned
and faced front. Becker surveyed the group on the bus. Every last one was a punk. Most were staring at him.
Every fan
has red, white, and
blue hair today.
Becker
reached up and pulled
the driver-alert cord on the wall. It was time to get off. He pulled again.
Nothing happened. He pulled a third time,
more frantically. Nothing.
“They disconnect
‘em on bus 27.” The kid spat again. “So we don’t fuck
with ‘em.” Becker turned. “You mean, I can’t get off?”
The kid laughed.
“Not till the end of the line.”
Five minutes
later, the bus was barreling along an unlit Spanish country road. Becker turned to the
kid behind him. “Is this
thing ever going to
stop?”
The kid nodded.
“Few more miles.” “Where are we going?”
He broke into a sudden wide grin. “You mean you don’t
know?” Becker shrugged.
The kid started
laughing hysterically. “Oh, shit. You’re gonna love it.”
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