The night passed quietly. Well, actually, the night passed rather loudly, with lots of rumbling trucks, cars and the general cacophony that surrounds a truck stop. Hep and Scroat, of course, had enough liquor in them to sedate most of the west coast, and slept through everything. Had an atomic bomb detonated next to them, they might have sat up slightly and muttered "whuzzat?" before rolling over and sleeping again.
When the sun was high enough, Hep woke up and groggily assessed his current location. Grass. Parking lot. Bikes. Sky. Sun. Headache.
Penguin? Nope.
Jim saw him sit up, and came over. "Good morning."
"Mm. So did that thing with the penguin really happen last night, or did we get ourselves kicked out some other way?" Hep asked.
"It really happened."
"Crap. Anything happen while we were asleep?"
"Obviously not." Jim said.
"Ok."
Hep dug a bottle of water out of his sidecar, and splashed a bit on his face. "Man, I feel like I slept in a ditch last night. Oh wait..."
He put the water back and pulled out his hammer, then made his way over to where Scroat was sleeping.
He swung and the hammer thumped into the ground next to Scroat's head. Scroat didn't so much as twitch in response. Hep stood back and looked at Scroat. It seemed he was still breathing. There wasn't anything covering his ears. "Damn, how much did we drink last night?"
Hep spotted a rusty old muffler laying in the parking lot nearby. He went over, grabbed it, and laid it next to Scroat's head. Hep slammed the hammer into it, making a terrific racket. A flock of birds nearby took off, and the people filling their tanks at the gas station nearby all turned to see where the wreck was.
Scroat snorted, rolled over, and began snoring loudly.
Hep looked around, and asked Jim to look away for a minute. When Jim did, Hep took aim and swung straight at Scroat's head. The hammer struck with a mellow "thump."
Scroat cracked one eye and muttered "cock-blocking ass goblin" before going back to sleep.
"Dammit!" Hep said. "I'm going to get some coffee."
He walked to the gas station and bought two coffees and a small packet of aspirin. Outside, he sat down on the curb, took two of the aspirin, closed his eyes and started drinking his coffee. He heard a noise in the distance that sounded like a shopping cart rattling towards him. It got louder and louder, to the point that it was aggravating his hangover.
The sound was right next to him, and then stopped. Hep opened his eyes and saw a bird-like man on a bicycle with no front tire, just the metal rim.
"You know, that thing'll be a lot easier to ride if you put a tire on that wheel." Hep commented.
"Not nearly loud enough. Won't scare any spirits away that way," the man said.
"Yeah, but you'll irritate many fewer hungover travelers."
"Not important. Are you Hep?" the man asked him. Hep looked at him warily, and began regretting his choice to walk to the gas station instead of riding. If he had to run, he was going to have problems.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Elvis sent me. With a message."
"What's the message?" Hep asked.
"They know where you're heading. Be careful in Denver. Tommy has gone missing. He may be headed east. Have a good day." The man started riding away.
"Hey, wait! Is that all? Hey!" The strange cyclist kept pedaling, and didn't look back.
Hep got up and hustled back to where Scroat, Jim and the bikes were.
***
"Damn, I feel like you hit me in the head with that fucking hammer to wake me up this morning. Some night, huh? Thanks for not waking me up the way you usually do." Scroat said, while rubbing his temples.
"Well, I would have, but it was still too early when I went out walking." Hep replied.
"Hey, that's..." Jim started.
Hep gave Jim a deadly look. "That's what?"
"Uh, that's a cup of coffee. That was nice of you to bring back."
"Oh yeah, I'm a nice guy, after all. Here, Scroat, coffee and aspirin." Hep said.
Scroat took the aspirin and coffee. "Thanks buddy, you're all right, sometimes." He swallowed the aspirin with some coffee.
"That's me. So, some weird guy just came up to me at the gas station and told me that Tommy is missing, and that they know we're headed to Denver." Hep said.
"Really? And who told him that? How'd he know who you were?" Scroat asked.
"Apparently, Elvis sent him." Hep answered.
"Fuck! Do we go through Nebraska instead?" Scroat asked.
"Nah, I don't know anyone there. Do you? They're obviously not having any trouble finding us, so we might as well at least try and get some folks on our side."
"So where to first then?" Scroat asked.
"Aspen." Hep said. "We'd better get moving."
Scroat finished his coffee quickly, and they got moving.
They stopped in Craig, Co to rest and have some lunch. There wasn't much there, but they managed to find a small Mexican place called Casa Loya. The special for the day was shrimp enchiladas, so that's what they had. They ate in silence, partly from their hangovers and exhaustion from sleeping in ditch, and partly from a fear of giving away their whereabouts.
When they were done eating, they quietly paid the check and left. Hep found a liquor store and bought a couple bottles of rum.
Hep, Scroat and Jim rolled into Aspen around five o'clock that afternoon. They were stopped at an intersection while Hep tried to remember how to get to his friend's place. Scroat looked around, did a double-take, and then a triple-take.
Across the way was a tall man with a narrow face, aviator sunglasses and colorful hunting jacket standing by an old BSA 650 Lightning. He, like Jim, was kind of transparent.
"Uh, hey. Hey Hep." Scroat said. "Is that..."
Hep looked across the way. "It sure is. He looks good, too. Happy."
"Who is that?" Jim asked.
"That's the man. Dr. Hunter S. Thompson." Hep answered.
"Who's..." Jim started, but Scroat interrupted him.
"Do you think it'd be ok to go talk to him?" Scroat asked.
"No. He doesn't need this weirdness." Hep said. "I think I remember the way. Follow me."
They waved to Hunter as they rode by, and he solemnly nodded to them.
Soon they were at an isolated ranch. A muscular man wearing bib overalls, no shirt and engineer boots was waiting for them in front of his garage. He smiled as they rolled up, and yelled "Welcome!" They got off their bikes and walked over to shake hands with their host.
"Hi Charlie. It's good to see you." Hep said, smiling.
"It's good to see you too. Scroat, howzit? Hey, who's the ghost?" Charlie asked.
"This is Jim. We met him in California. Jim, this is Charlie. He's a blacksmith like me, only from the Caribbean."
"Pleased to meet you Jim. I'd shake your hand, but I don't want to get slimed or nothing." Charlie said.
Jim's smile faded "Hey, wait a second.."
Charlie interrupted him. "Well, let's not just stand out here like a bunch of dopes. Bring your stuff inside."
Hep and Scroat gathered their bags, and the four of them went into Charlie's house. His house was rather rustic looking and, they soon discovered, very well armed. Charlie had rifles, swords, knives, even a shillelagh displayed across his walls, on solid looking iron shelves and strewn about the room, evidently for easy access.
"I've got a room all set for you, come this way." Charlie said. He led them to a room in the back of his house.
"This'll be great, thanks Charlie." Hep said. He dug in his bag and pulled out the bottles of rum. "Here, I thought you might like these."
"Damn, this'll be good. Winters coming on soon, and my balls get damn cold. This'll help keep 'em nice and toasty." Charlie grinned. "Hey, what do you all say we start a fire, cook up some meat, and break one of these bottles open?"
"That sounds mighty fine." Scroat said.
Charlie led them back through the house, and out into his back yard. There was a large fire pit, already stacked with wood. Charlie lit a match, and casually tossed it into the firepit. The wood caught instantly, and was blazing in a matter of seconds.
"I love that trick." Charlie said and grinned at Hep. "So! It's been a while since I've seen you Hep. Shoot, it was just after that brawl with the Aztecs, wasn't it?"
"Yep." Hep said. They all made small talk for a while and waited for the wood to burn down so they'd have some good embers to cook over. Soon enough they were roasting balls of hamburger on sticks over the coals.
After they ate, Charlie pulled out a bottle of rum and cracked the cap open. He poured a bit out on the ground, and threw a lit match at it. The rum caught fire, and Charlie watched it burn, smiling faintly.
"One for my homies, you know," he said. Then he poured them each a good knock of rum in jelly glasses.
"So, it sounds to me like you have some Mr. Bungles on your trail. What on earth did you do? I thought you guys were pretty quiet down there in the desert." Charlie said.
"Yeah. Well, Tommy came to visit, and he left his tobacco pouch." Hep said.
"Ah-ha. Isn't he ever going to get tired of that trick?" Charlie asked.
"I guess not." Hep said.
"Hmm. I bet he didn't plan on having outsiders get interested in taking it away from you. Any ideas on where he is?"
"Nope. All we know is that he might be headed East." Hep said, and then drained his glass. Charlie filled it with rum again, then topped off Scroat's glass, then his own.
Charlie sat quietly for a few minutes.
"Any idea on who'd want to get his tobacco pouch?" He asked.
"Nope. You?" Hep answered.
"No." Charlie drained his glass. "Oh, that's good. Warms me, you know.
"Well, it sounds to me like I'm going to need to ride with you guys. At least for a while. I know you can hold your own in a tussle, but you aren't carrying any weapons except for that hammer, are you?" Charlie asked.
"Didn't think I'd need any." Hep said.
"Well, don't worry, I've got plenty for all of us!" Charlie said, and laughed out loud.
Hep was relieved that Charlie was coming with. It was good that he had a huge arsenal at his disposal, but Charlie was also a natural politician. He could talk his way out of bad situations. Scroat and Hep, on the other hand, tended to make situations worse when they started talking. Scroat especially.
Charlie threw more wood on the fire, and soon they had a roaring bonfire going. They drank, and smoked, and laughed about past adventures. Once the rum was gone, and the fire had died down, they went to bed.
***
Hep and Scroat had vivid dreams that night.
Hep dreamt that he was back in the Church of Elvis. He and Elvis were discussing the situation he and Scroat were in.
"Yep, you're in one hell of a pickle," Elvis said. "You're safe right now, though. No one's going to fuck with Charlie on his own turf. If I were you, I might load that cane of yours up with iron before you leave. Just in case. I'll keep an ear on the underground for you, too. If anything comes up, I'll send my pal again."
"Thanks Elvis, you're a hell of a guy. Your buddy gives me the willies, though." Hep said.
Elvis laughed, and then the dream ended. Hep slept deeply.
Scroat, meanwhile, dreamt that he was back at Sue's Fantasy Club with two ladies. They tied his wrists up, and teased him a bit. It was fun at first, but then they started to wash his mouth out with soap, and kept telling him "No more swears, now." He woke up spitting and sweaty.
"That had to be the worst fucking dream I've ever had about fucking," Scroat said to Jim, who was looking out the window.
"Sorry to hear that." Jim said.
