David Bischoff - The Blob

“Look at him,” said Briggs. “He’s too stupid to know how much trouble he’s in.” The deputy turned his back to Brian. “Why don’t you wise up?”

“I told you everything. I’m tired of hearing myself talk.”

“We’re not boring you, are we?” said Briggs. “Bright kid like you?”

Anger spilled out of Brian. “Look, am I under arrest or what? If I am, I want a lawyer.”

Briggs turned to the sheriff. “The man wants a lawyer,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah, that’s right,” continued Brian. “And if you’re not gonna book me I’d like to leave. Either way I want you out of my face.”

That apparently tore it for Briggs. He grabbed Brian by the front of his jacket and dragged him up so that they were nose to nose. “Oh, yeah, hard-ass? I’m in your face to stay. What are you gonna do about it?”

Brian kissed him.

Disgusted, Briggs pushed him back in his chair, wiped his mouth, and cocked his fist back.

“You little shit. I oughta bust your head open.”

“Bill,” interrupted the sheriff softly. That stopped Briggs, who realized he was out of line. If there were any heads to be busted around here, that was the sheriff’s job. Briggs went back to work, scrubbing his lips.

Sally Jeffers waddled in. Sally, Brian knew, was the radio dispatch operator. He listened to what she had to say. Maybe this would clue him in on what was really going down.

“Can’t locate his mother,” she said.

“Well, we know his father’s not around,” said Geller.

“Probably passed out drunk in some whorehouse somewhere,” sneered Briggs.

Brian clapped his hands. “Oooh, good one, Briggs. Call a shrink, I’m a broken man.”

The sheriff beckoned the deputy over, then pulled him to where he thought they were out of earshot. They weren’t, however, and Brian could hear every word.

“Turn him loose,” said the sheriff.

“Herb, we got witnesses placing him at the scene of the crime,” Deputy Briggs protested.

“No motive. No evidence. Not a spot of blood on him. Flagg’s a punk, but he’s no murderer…”

“I think it’s a mistake.”

“Your objection is duly noted,” said the sheriff. “Now, turn him loose. We’ve got work to do.”

Briggs sighed heavily and walked over to Brian.

“Take a hike,” he said.

Cripes! After all this hassle they put him through! They’d just wanted to scare him. It pissed him off. “Gee, Brian. We’re awfully sorry we troubled you. Seems we went and made a mistake. Stupid us!” Brian taunted.

Briggs stuck a finger under Brian’s nose. He was so angry, he looked ready to explode. “You’re pushing your luck!”

“Go on, Flagg,” said Geller. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Brian got up and strode toward the door. He stopped and turned to the deputy. “You oughtta change your lipstick, Briggs. It tastes like shit!” He spun on his heel and cruised out.

God, he was pissed! They’d haul him down here like this for nothing! And all because he’d tried to help that poor old bastard, for Chrissakes.

The street was deserted, still dry and warm from the day’s heat. His hands jammed into his jacket, Brian Flagg strode angrily along the sidewalk. He heard the muttering of a small motor behind him and turned around. A Volkswagen bug, red, pulled up alongside of him. Meg Penny was at the wheel.

“Brian!” she said. “I need to talk to you!”

God, would they never stop hounding him! He wanted nothing to do with this chick. She was just trouble. He kept on walking.

“Brian!” Meg called after him.

She pulled the car over, turned off the ignition, and raced after him, finally catching up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Brian asked her.

“I came down to bail you out.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Meg was carrying a credit card in one of her hands, and she was showing it to him.

Brian jabbed a finger back at the jail. “What do you think that is, Neiman-Marcus? They don’t take plastic.” He took the card and slipped it into her shirt pocket, relaxing a bit. “Look, I appreciate the thought. Now go home.”

“But I need to talk to you,” Meg insisted.

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. I really am. But I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m in no mood for conversation.”

He swiveled around and headed off away from her. Up ahead the neon of the Tick Tock Diner flashed invitingly, and Brian Flagg desperately wanted to put a cheeseburger into his gurgling stomach.

He didn’t hear her following him, and it surprised him that he was disappointed she hadn’t. You’re getting soft, boyo, he told himself, and struck out at a faster pace for the Tick Tock.

When he got there, Fran the waitress was still tending shop, cleaning up while George the short-order cook hauled out a mop and a pail to clean up the tile. They looked as if they were closed for business, but Brian had to give it a try.

He opened the door and headed straight for the counter. “George, Franny. ¿Qué pasa?”

Fran flashed him a crooked smile. “Hey, hotshot. We’re closed.”

Brian flopped onto a chair and leaned his chin into his hands. “Fran, please, I’ve been dumped on all day. Gimme a break, huh?”

Fran was cool. She liked to trade quips with him, and he enjoyed that. “Aww, what’s the matter, dear? Tough day at the office?” She returned his grin, then stuck a thumb behind her, indicating the kitchen. “Grill’s shut down. How about a sandwich?”

He’d had his heart set on that cheeseburger, but his stomach would accept anything. “Beautiful,” he said. “I’ll just sit in one of these booths here, get outta your way, George, okay?”

He folded into a booth, trying to let the tension go from his muscles. He closed his eyes. Shit, what a day. If he could just forget everything…

The next thing he knew, he heard the door fly open, followed by the sound of footsteps on tile, and the thump of a fanny hitting the booth seat across from him.

He opened his eyes, and there was Meg Penny.

“Jeez,” he said. “You don’t give up.”

“I need your help,” she said insistently.

“What a surprise. And I thought you came out of the goodness of your heart.”

“I came because I thought we could help each other.”

“In three years of school you haven’t said shit to me, but now that you need my help we’re old buddies, huh.”

She looked down. She knew he was right. She was one of the preppy chicks he’d tried to talk to before. But she’d given him the cold shoulder, then and always.

Now she spoke in a low, almost pleading voice. “Nobody believed me about what happened tonight.”

“What did happen?”

“You were there. You saw!” she said.

“All I saw was an old man with a funky hand.”

And then Fran was there with a plateful of Lebanon-bologna-and-cheese sandwich, along with a big pile of chips and a fat dill pickle. His mouth watered at the smell of the vinegar and the mustard and the sweet scent of fresh chips as she set it down in front of him.

“Can I get you something, hon?” she asked Meg, looking at Brian as though to say, What’s a clean-cut looker like this doing hanging out with a guy like you?

“No, thanks,” said Meg.

Fran shrugged and left. As Brian stuck a corner of sandwich in his mouth, Meg leaned over to him, speaking in a low and desperate voice. “That thing on his hand… it killed him. And it killed Paul. And whatever it is… it’s getting bigger. I saw it.”

Brian chewed, giving her a long, blank stare. After he swallowed, he said, “That what you told the cops?”

She nodded.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”