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effects of the sun. "I never saw a highway patrol car like that before."
He looked back at the parked cruiser. "Like it? It's the latest model."
"Pretty sharp. What is it? A Camaro or Firebird?"
"Naw. Want to see? You're going into town anyway."
She frowned slightly. "I don't think so. I think my dad's going to want to go
straight through to Las Vegas once he gets the engine fixed."
The patrolman laughed uproariously, as though she'd just made the perfect
joke. "That's beautiful! You're too much. Just meeting you has made my day."
Instantly she forgot her initial and obviously unwarranted suspicions.
"I'm glad I was able to make somebody's day. Ours hasn't been exactly
perfect."
"How could it be, headed the way you're headed, on the road you're on?"
He put a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let me show you the car.
We've got a communications system you won't believe."
Wendy allowed herself to be nudged along. "My mom said I should stay near the
motor home."
He stopped, took his arm away. "Hey, you're not afraid of me or anything, are
you?"
"Of course not. Why should I be?"
He nodded. "Somehow I knew you wouldn't be. I'm looking forward to meeting
your folks. You're really a special family."
"We aren't all that special."
She had to admit the patrol car intrigued her. It was low and sleek and looked
like it was doing a hundred standing still. It wore a full complement of roof
lights, the yellow ones rotating brightly as they approached. The emblems on
the doors were kind of funny, but if it was a local sheriff's car, it wouldn't
wear the familiar California Highway Patrol symbol.
The paint job made up for the odd insignia. Yellow on crimson, she decided,
was much cooler than white on black.
"Fuel filter."
The resonant voice brought Frank's head around fast. He breathed easily when
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he caught sight of the uniform, badge, and the smiling, clean-shaven face of
someone his own age looking concernedly back into his own.
"Didn't hear you drive up."
The sergeant jerked a thumb backward. "Parked behind you. Don't like backing
up when I don't have to."
"Neither do I. Especially in this sucker." Frank indicated the motor home.
The other man chuckled appreciatively, nodded at the filter Frank had removed.
"Why don't you let me do that?"
"It's all right. I can handle it."
"Please? As a favor. Playing with combustion's a hobby of mine. Don't get much
of a chance to get my hands dirty, working patrol."
Frank shrugged, stepped aside. "Suit yourself." He handed the sergeant the
plastic cylinder. "Get many breakdowns hereabouts?" he inquired
conversationally.
"Not a lot." Sunlight flashed from his mirrored sunglasses.
His smile was bright as the sunshine, which surprised Frank. You'd think a cop
forced to work this featureless, miserable stretch of interstate would be in a
bad mood most of the time, especially with summer coming on fast. But this one
appeared downright ebullient.
"What trouble we do have is with folks who try turning around once they get
this far. They pull out into the median and get themselves stuck. Then we have
to call a tow to pull 'em out. You should hear the wails and screams when they
get the bill."
"You mean they get this far and then they try going back to Barstow?"
For some reason this struck the sergeant as insanely funny. When he finally
stopped laughing he could only shake his head weakly at the memory of it.
After wiping his eyes he held the filter up to the sun. He kept it there,
studying it intently, until Frank started to worry for him.
"Better watch it."
"No sweat. Light doesn't bother me." He lowered the cylinder, rolled it
between his fingers. "This is your problem, all right. Clogged."
Frank nodded. "Thought it might be. Old fart down the road apiece sold me some
bad gas."
"Tall, skinny, ugly son of a bitch?"
"You know him?" That was a stupid question, Frank thought. Of course he'd know
him. Anyone working this piece of highway would know every full-time and
semipermanent inhabitant within a dozen miles, probably by name.
He wondered if the sergeant would know anything about intelligent rat-things.
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