Buick Cannon: (A Joke From the Moon) Read online

  But something prevented him, an understanding that something more was out there. An explanation existed, and by golly, he was going to find it!

  ~

  Big black houses, hah! He didn’t give a damn about murderers, werewolves, brain damage, cirrhosis, constipation, formaldehyde, or Christine without any clothes on.

  The thought of her, though, drove him to the phone. She picked up after four rings.

  “Hello, sir. It’s good to hear from you.”

  “Cut the crap, Christine. Can you come over? Are you busy?”

  “Man, I love the way you talk to me. So civil. So polite. I regurgitate just thinking about it.”

  “Yeah yeah. You make me want to do the Lambada, too. Look, this is important. Can you come over or not?”

  “I’m out the door now.”

  “See ya soon.”

  She hung up and Buick waited. Fifteen minutes later, Christine rang the doorbell.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Buick said, after he opened the door.

  “I got held up in downtown traffic, what the hell do you think? I had to walk. I’m not a big bookstore owner with a brand new Cutlass.”

  “You say the nicest things.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down?”

  “What do you want, something to drink, too?”

  “I’ll take a Chivas.”

  “This isn’t Gilmour’s.”

  “Gilmour’s doesn’t have Chivas, either. Dan just has beer.”

  “Jesus, can you be serious for one minute?”

  Christine looked at Buick and raised her eyebrows. “You have my undivided, sir.”

  Buick took a deep breath. “I need to know something, Christine. I need you to be serious when I tell you. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal, sir.”

  “What?”

  “Bright as day.”

  Buick shook his head, sighing. “I think I’ve been going crazy, Christine. I’ve been seeing the damndest things. People crawling out of walls. I smell animal breath all the time. UFO’s have been chasing me, for God’s sake! I can’t tell when I’m dreaming, when I’m awake…I don’t know what the hell is going on. Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Christine looked at him for a second, then smiled. “I wish you would have told me that a lot sooner, sir.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’ve fallen madly in love with you.”

  “I don’t need any of your sarcasm right now, Christine. Can you give me this one minute?”

  “How about a raise?”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “A raise would do me great honors, sir. Just a little extra. I can’t even afford to order a pizza.”

  “Okay okay. Christ. Give me a break, will ya?”

  “Thank you, sir.” Christine smiled. “You were saying, sir?”

  Buick wanted to snap her in two and run his fingers up her skirt at the same time.

  “Oh yes, people crawling out of the walls,” Christine said. “Quite horrific, sir. But that’s what I was saying. I wish you would have told me sooner.”

  “I don’t want to go into that again, Christine. I think I love you, too, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “You do, sir?”

  “I’m thinking that, yes.”

  “That’s wonderful, sir.”

  “I thought so. Could we get on with this?”

  “You’re thinking you’re a werewolf, is that correct?”

  “That’s correct,” he said. “How the hell did you know?”

  “We all feel like the victims of werewolves, sir. The entire town of Peekie. It’s that mad apprentice doing dastardly deeds. He doesn’t know when to stop, sir.”

  “Have we met before, Christine?”

  “I don’t believe so, sir.”

  “It must be all in my head. I’m going quite mad.”

  “Mad as a hatter, sir.”

  “You want to go out for wiener dogs?”

  Christine beamed. “I love wiener dogs, sir. And I know where there’s a really great Wienersnitzel.”

  “We’ll take the car,” Buick said. “Lead the way.”

  ~

  “How much do you love the Wienersnitzel, Christine?”

  “About as much as you love Becks beer, sir.”

  “This place had better be good, Christine. If not, I’m calling the cops.”

  Christine cocked an eyebrow.

  They drove west out of Peekie. Buick was trying to figure out why the Wienersnitzel wasn’t in town, but Christine had sworn by it. Nothing pleased him more than spending time with Christine, who was better than any Wienersnitzel could ever hope to be.

  “Buick, Buick,” he said. “Just two quick beers and a loud chili dog. Whattaya say?”

  “Are you talking to yourself, sir?” Christine asked.

  The sun was setting. Clouds turned pink, orange, and red under the oncoming stars. Night was beginning to fall. The mountains were patches of black blotting the skies and the stars.

  “I’m beginning to see the sign now, sir,” Christine said.

  “You must be some kinda idiot, right? Out here? In the middle of nowhere? I think you’re trying to take me out here and kidnap me, slaughter my bones with those beautiful eyes. You’re not making much sense to me lately, Christine, and I wish you’d explain yourself.”

  Christine smiled, pointing ahead, but suddenly turned and said, “Sir, have you gone completely out of your mind? Are you all used up, thrown in, disheveled, abandoned, ruined, made for dust? Have you given your last breath, sir? Because if you have, I have something to say about it. The Wienersnitzel is just up here on the right. I don’t want you to lose it. The end comes way too fast for us sometimes, sir, and I’m not sure what advice you want me to give concerning your sudden lunacy. You are loony, aren’t you, sir? It’s not just my imagination, is it?”

  “Maybe if you had an imagination, it would mean something, Christine. As it is, you seem like nothing more than a blabbering imbecile. What am I supposed to make out of this—Wienersnitzels in the middle of nowhere, lost dogs, lost lives, turning into a werewolf and slaughtering the townsfolk? Can you make something out for me, Christine, because that’s what I’m asking you? It’s not some big, unsolvable puzzle, you know? I’m getting a little tired of all the shenanigans. If someone doesn’t start explaining things around here, it’s going to get awfully bloody.”

  He was irate and tired. Christine told him to pull off at the Wienersnitzel, which lit up the side of the mountain like something in a Douglas Adams novel. This was the end of the universe, and the only restaurant they could find was a Wienersnitzel. As far as Buick was concerned, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense. But seeing the unmistakable brown and yellow line and orange of the sign, and thinking about hot dogs, chilidogs, and French fries, made him feel better. No, life wasn’t getting any easier. It was merely a facade into darker regions.

  “Stupid!” Buick said, aloud.

  “There’s nothing stupid about it, sir. It’s called hunger. You ought to try it for a change.”

  “I eat enough people throughout the night to satisfy me plenty. Who are you to talk anyway?”

  “Go through the drive-thru, sir. This is my treat.”

  “Like hell it is!” Buick said. “You think you got money to spend! Who makes more, huh? I own the bookstore! This is my treat, so just lay off. I’m not asking for favors, Christine. I just want you to sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Christine smiled, nevertheless. They pulled up to the drive-thru, scanned the menu, and soon heard a male voice, wrapped in static:

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Nothing for me tonight,” Buick said, already laughing. “Just the ticket!” He roared with lunatic delight. Christine was not amused.

  “Excuse me, sir?” said the static voice.

  Buick wiped tears from his eyes. “Uh, just a minute…” He turned to Christine. �
�What do you want?”

  “A chili dog, some fries, and a large Sprite.”

  He turned back to the intercom. “You still there?”

  “I’m tense with delight, mister,” the voice said.

  Buick looked at Christine, and they shared the same quizzical expression. Buick turned back to the man on the intercom: “Uh, that’s four chilidogs and three orders of fries, one large Sprite, one large Coca-Cola, two chocolate malts, a slice of pecan pie, four banana splits, and twenty-three breath mints. Hold the mayo,” Buick finished, and started chucking madly.

  “Sir, you’re gonna get us in trouble,” Christine said.

  “Oh, who they gonna call, Christine, the weenie patrol? Bunch of squad guys with bottles of ketchup and mustard in their holsters? Throw an onion in your eye? Christ in a pick-up!”

  “That’s four chilidogs,” the static voice said, “three orders of fries, one large Sprite, one large Coca-Cola, two chocolate malts, a slice of pecan pie, four banana splits, and twenty-three breath mints. Hold the mayo on the weenie dogs. Is that correct?”

  “You’re a sport,” Buick said into the intercom.

  “Forty-seven eighty-two at the window,” the voice said.

  Buick pulled forward and stopped the Cutlass at the window. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a fifty. It was Monopoly money, small and blue.

  “Sometimes, I wonder how this money gets here,” he said to Christine.

  She did not reply. The man approached, sliding the window open. He was young, probably seventeen, Buick guessed. He handed the boy the fifty and received a pink five, two white ones, and some change in wooden nickles.

  “Much obliged,” Buick said.

  The boy grunted.

  Buick looked over at Christine and smiled. She rolled her eyes. The kid came back with two large drinks. Buick handed the Sprite to Christine and set the other between his legs. The kid handed him two large white bags, and Buick handed these to Christine.

  “Thanks a million,” Buick said.

  The kid nodded, but didn’t smile. He wasn’t amused. Buick pulled the car into a parking space, overlooking the road. He shut the engine off, kept the radio on, and turned off the lights. “Hand me one of them goddamn chilidogs before I starve to death,” Buick said.

  “Sir, you had better just start being nice to me, or I’m throwing this bag out the window.”

  Buick wasn’t in the mood. He looked at her for a second and snatched one of the bags from her hand. Christine looked offended. Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Goshdamn school kids,” Buick mumbled, digging for a chilidog. He peeked at Christine out of the corner of his eye and pulled out three chilidogs and two orders of fries. He threw the bag at Christine and smiled victoriously.

  “Damnnit, sir! Be careful!”

  “Don’t be such a gloop, Christine. This isn’t your time to pout. Eat that dog and those fries and then we can get outta here. Don’t touch those malts or that pie, either. Did he remember the breath mints?”

  Christine shook her head as if she wanted to kill him. Buick wasn’t too concerned if she did. He was a werewolf, after all.

  Buick took several gulps of the coke and another wolfish bite of the chilidog. He smothered ketchup on his fries and plopped some into his mouth—seven, eight fries at a time. He finished three chilidogs and the fries and was slurping down the rest of his Coke when Christine looked at him warily. She was only halfway through the one chilidog and hadn’t touched a single fry. Buick ate a banana split and pulled out the chocolate malt.

  “You women eat like rabbits,” Buick said. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Christine looked suddenly afraid. Her face had gone a pasty white, and she wasn’t swallowing. Was she choking, he thought?

  “What the hell is the matter with you, Christine?” Buick asked, suddenly worried.

  Christine took a gulp, presumably swallowing her food. “Sir, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone eat that fast before. It’s kind of frightening, and I don’t think I can eat the rest of this—”

  “Well, then, gimmee that,” Buick said, disgusted, and took the remaining dog and fries from Christine. He wolfed them down, which only frightened Christine even more. She looked not only appalled, but horrified.

  “I’m glad you have no concern for my welfare, Christine. After all, it wasn’t your money that paid for those chilidogs, was it? Jesus, you make me sick sometimes.”

  Buick started the car and pulled out of the Wienersnitzel, heading deeper into the mountains. The stars were bright overhead—the sky a vast stretch of indigo blue with black mountains on every side.

  Black mountains?

  No…that was a black house.

  Black mountains, he started to think again and got paranoid.

  He started to scratch himself, was gripping the steering wheel with more strength than was needed. His head began to twitch. He looked over at Christine and tried to smile.

  Nothing wrong here, babe, just the early twilight of a twitching werewolf. This hair isn’t really my own. It’s just my claws and teeth confusing you.

  He suddenly pulled over, not knowing what he was thinking, not understanding why he hadn’t taken this seriously to begin with. Why hadn’t he seen it coming? How could he have been so stupid?

  Buick stopped the car on the side of the road and opened the door. “Get behind the wheel, Christine.”

  “Sir?”

  “Jesus! Christine! Don’t you see what’s happening? I should’ve never brought you along. It’s dangerous. I should have known, but…look…just get behind the wheel, will ya? Quit stallin’. Drive back to your house and bolt the doors. Don’t let anybody in, Christine. And drive fast. Be careful, but drive fast.”

  Christine nodded. She seemed to understand. She didn’t look frightened anymore, only worried. “Sir,” she said. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I thought I told you to quit calling me that?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I forget. It’s just—”

  “Jesus, if you can’t call me Buick by now, what good is this relationship—calling me ‘sir’ all the time. For crying out loud! Will you get going? Do you think you have time to waste? This isn’t the cocktail hour. The Honeymooners isn’t on for three more hours.”

  “Sir?”

  “Get in the goddamn car and drive, Christine! Don’t make me tell you again!”

  This seemed to get Christine going. Something snapped, and she saw what he was talking about. His head started to twitch even more, and he was suddenly…growing, looking…thicker. He had more hair than she remembered.

  Christine slammed the door and put the car in drive, breaks screeching, and headed back toward Peekie.

  In the red taillights, Buick grabbed his head in both hands and began to change.

  ~

  Christine was worried. She hated leaving him out here alone, but God!—he was so persistent sometimes! It drove her crazy!

  She gave the car more gas and zipped through the canyon roads, passing the Wienersnitzel in the dark again. “Please don’t be a big ugly monster, sir,” she said to herself, gripping the wheel with both hands, white knuckles glowing from the dashboard lights. “Please don’t be a big ugly monster. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  She saw him in the taillights then, running after her on all fours. It wasn’t the Buick she knew and loved—yes—the one she was falling for. She didn’t care how old he was. What did age matter these days?

  Ah, girl, you’re just not paying attention!

  A werewolf loped after her in the rearview mirror. How could it be anything else? Loping on all fours, Buick was ten times the size of a normal wolf.

  Christine gave the car more gas and saw the speedometer climb past 50, 60. He was gaining stride, not missing a beat. Catching up had been a cinch. In the mirror, in the red taillights, it looked like some freakish prank, a funhouse ride gone completely awry: a red werewolf, loping after h
er at 70 miles and hour now; and suddenly she couldn’t take her eyes off the beast.

  It swiped at the rear bumper, claws digging into the metal. Sparks showered. Christine screamed, gave the car more gas, and looked toward the road again. The guardrail was right in front of her. The grill of the car split the perimeter. A loud crash of metal and sparks showered in front of her eyes. Tires sailed over the pavement. Christine, in Buick’s car, was suddenly airborne.

  “Stupid stupid stupid girl!” she yelled at herself.

  The car sailed through the air and over the cliff. If Buick had known, he would’ve been sooo upset, she was thinking. He loved this car.

  The next thing she knew, the Cutlass nose-dived into the rocks below. The motor slammed upward through the dashboard, killing Christine instantly.

  CHAPTER VI

  Coming home was no easy chore. The sun had been up for an hour; it was warm, bright, and cloudless. Even the angels could see him. Remembrance, at some time, brought him close to home. He was only a block away before he’d been spotted. Someone, a few houses down, watering their lawn, looked his way. He didn’t recognize them, didn’t care, just covered his crotch with both hands and hurried, naked, down the street. If he could just get to the porch…hoping he hadn’t locked the front door. Who knew where his keys were?

  They were, of course, in the ignition of his car with Christine’s blood all over them, but he didn’t know that.

  Buick ran down the street, coming to his house, up the sidewalk, and to the front door. He checked the knob. It was locked. “Damnit,” he muttered.

  Covering his genitals, he ran around the back, opening the gate, and saw Mrs. Palenski, the widow next door, not ten yards from him. Her back was turned, thank God, so she didn’t notice him.

  Buick hurried along, passing the barbecue, the lawn mower, and tried the back door.

  Locked.

  “DAMNIT!” he said, hopefully not loud enough for Mrs. Palenski to hear. He turned, and she was still digging in the garden, pulling weeds with her back to him.

  “Jesus,” he said, and went to the kitchen window. It was barely open. All he had to do was take the screen off.