Giles Blunt - No Such Creature

He opened it now on his own computer and warmed up by taking a scroll through her music files, recognizing almost none of the so-called artists listed there. Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, that was about it. What the hell was Arcade Fire? Was that a band? A movie? Bjork? Wolf Parade? How could you listen to people with names like that?

Her photos were more interesting, although ultimately disappointing. A more than passing familiarity with online porn had given Bill the notion that young women liked nothing better than to photograph each other masturbating. Sabrina had apparently resisted the temptation. Even when they were blurred and obviously drunk, her friends remained completely clothed. There were lots of pictures of someone called Aunt Rachel-in fact, she had her own folder. And she occurred a lot in another file called Dallas 2007.

Sabrina’s email was more revealing. Between its Sent file and its address book, it contained everything a man on a mission could want.

At Wickenburg, the highway became 60/89, and Max took the wheel. His nap had left him grumpy and uncommunicative, and the three of them travelled in silence. Owen blasted aliens on his laptop for a while, and read some material he had downloaded about Tucson, but he had trouble concentrating-not because of Sabrina this time. He kept seeing Pookie in his mind’s eye, bald head and goofy smile. Why would anyone want to hurt Pookie?

It was late when they arrived in Tucson, and they had trouble finding the trailer park. As soon as they were parked, they couldn’t wait to escape the Rocket, so they unhitched the car and went into town.

“Ugh,” Max kept saying as they passed miles of concrete buildings on eight-lane streets.

They had a late dinner at a Mexican joint called the Poca Cosa, but even a couple of margaritas failed to cheer Max up. He asked Sabrina what her plans were for the next day.

“I guess I’m not sure,” she said.

“You can still stay with us if you don’t have anywhere to go,” Owen said. “I mean, if you want to come along to El Paso and see your dad …”

Sabrina smiled, shook her head. “That’s okay. You two have been great, but I can look after myself.”

Now it was Owen’s turn to be depressed.

When they got back to the trailer, Max went straight to bed. Owen made popcorn, and Sabrina sat beside him on the couch to watch an old Clint Eastwood western. She fell asleep about halfway through, and Owen-he didn’t exactly stare-but he observed her out of the corner of his eye. She was out like a little kid.

She woke immediately when he switched off the TV.

“Why’d you turn it off?”

“You weren’t watching, and I’ve seen it too often.”

She stretched, revealing a good deal of midriff. “What’s Max so upset about? It’s not because of me, is it?”

“Max is just moody.”

“But he seems different from yesterday. Did something happen in Vegas?”

“We had some bad news. Family news. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I thought all your relatives were in England.”

“I really can’t talk about it.”

“Okay.”

She reached out and touched his cheek, which made him wince.

“You have a nasty bruise,” she said.

“Yeah. Preacher Bill has a wicked jab.”

Sabrina shifted on the couch and planted a kiss, feather-light, on his cheek. “You’ve been really good to me.”

He turned his face slightly, and this time she kissed him on the mouth. She gave it just a second, then sat back.

“It’s too bad you’re not a girl,” she said. “I’d probably rip your pants right off.”

“How about if I put on one of your dresses? Would that help?”

“I don’t own any dresses. And I don’t ever want to see you in one, either. Even though you are pretty cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Now he’s digging for compliments. That’s it, I’m going to crash.”

Owen lay on the couch staring at the blank television while she got ready for bed. He tried not to listen for the sound of her clothes coming off.

Max woke up in a better mood and was pom-poming and tiddle-tiddle-tiddling under his breath as he fussed around the Rocket’s galley. He sprinkled raisins into the oatmeal, whipping the porridge around the pot as if he were baking a cake. Owen always sat with his back to this, because it gave him a terrible urge to yank the pot from Max’s hand and bonk him over the head with it. Sabrina sat sleepy-eyed over her coffee, not a morning person, apparently.

“We have some time to play tourist today,” Max said. “I trust our navigator has made plans?”

“There’s a couple of options I’m considering.”

He was looking at Sabrina across the table. Even with her eyes all puffy and her hair messed up, she looked great. Especially with her eyes all puffy and her hair messed up. Owen began to understand an advantage of marriage: getting to know a person backstage, so to speak.

Max set bowls of oatmeal before them. “Where are we going, then, my prince?”

“I have the perfect spot for our criminal history theme.”

Owen drove them all to Tombstone, where they walked the wooden sidewalks among locals dressed up in period costumes. They saw a horse-drawn hearse once owned by Wyatt Earp, and in the window of the Tombstone Epitaph a real-estate ad informed them that “the mild year-round climate and low humidity make Tombstone an attractive place for retirement.”

“Hey, Max. Maybe you could retire here.”

“Please do not mention that word to me again. I have no wish to be buried in Boot Hill.”

They watched an animatronic re-enactment of the shootout at the O.K. Corral, jerky robots playing Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday.

“Appalling wigs,” Max said. “I don’t see why you go to the trouble and expense of building a robot and then ruin it by making the wig out of horsehair.”

Afterwards they sat in the shade at an outdoor cafe and had sandwiches and lemonade. Beyond the storefronts, the Dragoon and Whetstone mountains loomed. A quiet descended on the three of them, and Owen knew that Max was worrying about Pookie and what it might mean for the rest of the trip.

When they got back to Tucson, Sabrina insisted on moving to a hotel. “Don’t worry,” she said, seeing their reaction, “I’ve managed to save a little bit, thanks to Bill, so I’ll be okay.” She went over to Max and thanked him for everything.

Max rose to his feet with much huffing and exclamation to receive a hug. “Sweet Lady,” he said, “I hope we shall meet again. When I visit your sainted father in Texas, I hope to hear from him that you have fulfilled your filial duty.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sabrina said, but her smile was faint.

Owen drove her to the Delta. He wrote out his cellphone number and handed it to her as the doorman took her suitcase.

“Um, listen,” he said. “I don’t know how you feel, but I’d really like to see you again.”

“You mean in New York?” Sabrina looked up at the tower of the hotel as if consulting it. “Owen, I’ve pretty much decided to leave crime and criminals in the past.”

“I told you,” Owen said, “this is our last road trip. Max is going to retire, and I’m going to be at school full-time.”

“Let me think about it, okay?”

“You have my number. Just think ‘yes,’ okay? Yes is good.”

“What state or nation is divided by the Great Dividing Range?” Roscoe held his beer up to the light, inspecting it like a chemist.

“Existence,” Max said. “It divides the living and the dead.”

Roscoe shook his head. They were sitting at a table in the Red Rose Tavern, the kind of bar that looks friendly at night but in the daytime looks tawdry and forlorn. It reeked of last night’s cigarettes, the fashion for clean lungs having yet to reach Tucson. The only other patrons seemed to be the two blobs sitting at the bar, one in a stetson, the other in a John Deere cap.