Giles Blunt - No Such Creature

“Says who?”

“Says Confucius.”

“Uh-huh, and look where it got the Japanese. Sleeping in drawers, and subways so packed you need a key to take the lid off.”

“Confucius was Chinese.”

“Even worse. Look at the pollution, the child labour. How about a little exorbitant desire for clean air? How about a little exorbitant desire for democracy?”

Ozzie was sitting on the edge of his bunk, peeling the foil off a chocolate bar he’d squirrelled away somewhere. Zig couldn’t help noticing the Eastern philosophies did not apparently advocate sharing your Mars bar with your cellmate.

“Confucius wasn’t talking about political systems, bro, he was talking about personal happiness. If you’re going to be happy, you can’t be yearning for things you got no possibility of attaining.”

“What’s so exorbitant about beer and pussy?”

“Look around you, bud.” Ozzie had waved his Mars bar at the steel bars, the peeling grey paint, the stainless steel toilet. “You see any teenage pussy in here?”

“So, according to you, if I get a hard-on for Luther T. down wing, that’s gonna make me happier.”

“Absolutely. Because that is a desire that has every chance of coming true.”

“So Confucius say, Happiness is a huge black dick up your ass.”

“No, Zig. Happiness is a huge black dick up your ass if that’s what you want and that’s what’s available .”

Fucking Orientals. Zig wanted the good things in life, and no Buddhist, Communist, Falun Gong claptrap was going to talk him out of it. Early on in life he’d developed a taste for good whisky, two-hundred-dollar hookers, and suits that made people sit up and take notice. He liked luxury cars and sunny climates, and by his early twenties he’d understood very well that the world does not hand such things to high school dropouts-unless they happen to play mood-altering guitar or have a tricky way with a basketball.

Right now, for example, instead of seeing a lot of useless Mississippi trees, and stupid little Mississippi towns populated by more spades than he’d seen in his entire time at Sing Sing, he could have really used a couple of weeks on a beach in the Bahamas, maybe take in some deep-sea fishing out of Bimini. He would park his ass on the back of a boat, stick a Cuban cigar in his mouth, and tan himself dark as a saddle. The fish were entirely beside the point. Unfortunately, his perennial cash flow problem demanded that he chase down some little slut he didn’t even know because she happened to have her hands on a set of emeralds that-according to the news reports-could practically fucking talk .

Another Podunk town shot by. The laptop beeped and he eyed the screen. It was flashing an icon of a battery and a lightning bolt.

“Fuck you,” Zig said. “Don’t you do that to me. Not now.”

He hit the Okay button and the map came back. He was definitely closing in on the bitch, and he hit the gas a little harder. She was a looker, he had to admit. He had the photograph he’d swiped from Bill’s room on the seat beside the computer. Green eyes you could swim in, and a smile that was, well, let’s just say you can keep Saint Pete. When you die, this is what greets you at the Pearly Gates-silky wings and a smile like this girl’s. So, the order of business would be: scare the living shit out of her till she hands over the emeralds, have a little fun with her, then, sadly, switch off the light before you leave.

That switch was getting increasingly easy to throw, Zig noticed. There’d been Melvin; he’d had a pang or two about Melvin, mostly because it hadn’t been necessary-he’d been too impatient. The Pookie guy had been an accident; you couldn’t be held responsible for other people’s health problems. But he was a little surprised at himself for doing Clem-that hadn’t actually been part of any plan. In fact, that had made him feel pretty bad for a couple of hours. Stu? Well, the truth was he didn’t know Stu all that well, so he didn’t care that much. He’d been twiddling the radio dial for news all day. There was nothing about any bodies found in Dallas, other than Bill Bullard.

That was another no-brainer: guy shoots you, you have to kill him. According to the radio, the cops were looking for a man in a blue suit and a red tie, both of which he’d dumped a couple of hundred miles ago.

An Allied moving van in front of him forced him to slow down. Zig took the opportunity to hit the Update button on the laptop.

The little red arrow was pulsing near Lost Gap, less than ten miles ahead.

“Fuck you, Allied,” he said, and swung out across the solid line, flooring it. A Mazda coming the other way honked incredulously, then hit the brakes and swerved onto the gravel shoulder, fishtailing in a cloud of dust.

Zig got back into his lane and tried to keep things at a good clip without screaming to be stopped by a trooper. Last thing he wanted was a conversation with some redneck in a Smokey outfit and aviator sunglasses. He had to get this babe’s shapely butt in his sights in the next few minutes or he’d lose her for good.

Sabrina switched the music off and then there was just the wind in her ears and the thrum of the Mustang’s engine. The sun was burning bright and she was getting a little concerned about skin cancer. But how can you think about skin cancer when you’re having so much fun?

This was fun, right?

She would have been having fun if it weren’t for this little ache floating around under her rib cage. She kept hearing Owen’s voice, that throaty whisper when he’d said, “God, you are so beautiful.”

It wasn’t the first time a man had said that to her, but there was an intensity about Owen that made her just know he really meant it, that he was truly thrilled to be with her. A quarrel developed between Sabrina the Romantic and Sabrina the Free.

Sabrina the Romantic: Owen saved me from a beating and I shouldn’t have swiped his stuff.

Sabrina the Free: Oh, please. He’s a guy. He just wanted to get into your pants. And you shouldn’t have let him.

Sabrina R.: Owen knows stuff. He likes lots of things. He’s curious and funny. I liked being around him.

Sabrina F.: He’s a born thief and liar, and if the circumstances had been reversed he would’ve done exactly the same thing to you.

Sabrina R.: He seemed like he always wanted to give me things, not take them. Besides, we have a lot in common. How many guys am I going to meet who know what it’s like to grow up in a criminal family?

Sabrina F.: Since when is that a recommendation? How many guys in Facebook put Professional Thief in their list of good qualities? You want to be free, you stay away from romantic entanglements, especially with junior criminals.

Sabrina R.: Yeah, but he made me feel so good.

Sabrina F.: Oh, please. Now we’re going to be led around by the crotch?

Sabrina R.: Not just that way, in every way. He made me cheerful-not a word you hear a lot. That afternoon at Carlsbad was one of the best times I’ve ever had in my life.

Sabrina F.: Girl, don’t be a fool. You got yourself a Mustang and the open road and a lot of money. The world is your oyster.

Sabrina R.: Then how come I feel so bad?

Sabrina F.: Take a look at yourself in that rear-view, honey. What could be better than the wind in your hair and a tank full of gas?

As a matter of fact, Sabrina did not have a tank full of gas. The needle was showing about an eighth of a tank.

A sign on the road said, Been taken for granted? Imagine how God feels . And then the red and white disc of a Texaco station appeared at the top of the next hill.