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Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM

ToC
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[This page ought to have been written at the end of Chapter 3, and before the previous Interlude. I'll cut-n-paste it into the right place later.]

Jessica's farewell was still echoing down the alleyway behind the theater as Barbara Abernathy gave a final wave and stepped out onto the street. I've made a friend. An interesting datum.

She wished she had a wristwatch. She was guessing it was close to when she had to return to the HQ. It had been a busy morning.

The van was still parked where he'd left it, a few blocks down. It might raise some eyebrows to see the special police parking permit on the dashboard, but it was far too handy an item to not use when she went out on the town, especially if she had several stops to make.

She pressed the combo lock on the driver's side. Keys would have been easier, but carrying around extraneous items made things more difficult. One had to deal with containers, satchels, and so forth. That meant she was without ID, but that was rarely, if ever, a problem.

She slid into the driver's seat, then frowned. Too short. Her image blurred, bent, twisted, and it was her brother, the one who hadn't gotten the role, who was sitting there. Since he'd driven, the seat and mirrors were just right.

Except that the ignition key was hidden in the back seat -- where nobody would be likely to look for it. Most auto thieves would check the visor, under the mat, and then just break open the column and hot-wire it. Of course, the van has a few security features they wouldn't expect, but why make it easy for them? It would be inconvenient to have the van stolen.

His features flowed, contorted, compacted, and little Barbara Koenig, in her pretty blue dress, easily slipped between the front seats, into the back to recover the key.

Back up front. Before she could shift back to Bobby Abernathy, she saw some teenagers eyeing the van. Hispanic. Probably Puerto Rican. They might be able to see there was someone inside, but the windows were glazed such that it was difficult to see details. Handy, that. I'm glad I suggested it.

One of the youths came over to the driver's side, while the other went to the passenger window. The leader, the one on the driver's side, rapped on the window with the butt of a switchblade. There was also a gun tucked into his belt. "Hey, open up."

The driver's side window rolled down. "Can I help you, son?" the Reverend Robert Abernathy asked, his New England twang thick. He was still in his robes.

"Oh. Father. Never mind." The teen and his buddy headed off.

Interesting. They would possibly rob me, steal the van, even do injury to me, except that they thought I was a priest. Is it respect for the position, superstition, or something else? He would have to investigate that part of that human subculture further. Perhaps in the next week, after this exchange was completed. He suspected that the two visitors from Chicago would be interesting enough to study for the next several days.

Proteus, still in the form of the Episcopal deacon, cranked the motor, inserted the Bare Naked Ladies CD that Iris had given as a gift, and slowly pulled away from the curb.