Long Gone Man by Phyllis Smallman Page B

John. And I still have doubts about you, by the way.”
    â€œBut you saw my lights.”
    â€œHow do I know they belonged to you?”
    Singer waved an arm towards the cliff. “Who else was crazy enough to be out here? And if there was someone else driving up the mountain, where did they go? But there’s another thing bothering me.”
    â€œOnly one?”
    â€œWhy did you go into Johnny’s office last night? I mean, I don’t get the feeling that you normally sought him out for a little chitchat.”
    â€œYou’re right about that at least; John and I were experts at avoiding each other. The only chitchat we had was about food. I went in there last night to tell him I was leaving. I’d had enough.”
    Lauren turned away. “Missy, come.” The dog, digging madly in a pile of leaves, ignored her. “Missy, come.” Missy was reluctant to leave. Lauren went back and snapped the leash on again, but still it took several pulls to get Missy started and then she darted ahead only to be brought up short by the line.
    Lauren, moving quickly, almost as if to distance herself from Singer, walked ahead through the thick woods. Singer didn’t try to keep up. She followed at a gentler pace, looking around her with interest at the world Johnny Vibes had inhabited, so different from the world of a rock star. Most of the trees around her were evergreens but with a few arbutuses and oaks mixed in. The floor of the forest was hidden deep in giant ferns. “Crazy fairy tale woods,” Singer called to Lauren. “It only needs a wicked stepmother.”
    A bark of laughter came from Lauren. “That would be me.”
    At the road, an RCMP car was parked between the two totem poles that marked the entrance to Syuwun. Singer pointed at the nightmarish forms carved into the wood. “What do those mean?”
    â€œI’m not exactly sure,” Lauren replied. “I think the one with its tongue out is called Hamasta. John said it had something to do with cannibalism.”
    â€œPerfect. A cannibal is the right symbol for Johnny Vee.” Bitterness and anger filled Singer. “He lived off people his whole life.”
    â€œWow,” Lauren exclaimed, more interested in the yellow van rusting on the edge of the road. “What is it?”
    â€œBeautiful beast, ain’t it?” Singer said.
    â€œNot exactly the words I’d use to describe this heap,” Lauren replied.
    â€œDon’t hold back, will you? Tell me just what you think.”
    â€œI can’t believe it runs,” Lauren continued, taking in the holes and dents as they walked around the van. “And you travel and live and everything in this?”
    â€œYup, ‘and everything’ about covers it.” Singer ran her fingers over the new bright silver scratches from where she’d scraped along the wall of the mountain.
    â€œMight have been better to leave it right where it was,” Lauren suggested.
    â€œThanks, for taking care of it.” Singer opened the driver’s side door. “Hop in and we’ll go back to Syuwun in style.”
    â€œWhat style would that be, gypsy modern?”
    Singer laughed. “That’s me all right.” She climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’m a gypsy and I’m modern.”
    The passenger door shrieked open, metal grinding against metal. Lauren peeked inside and hesitated. A small cooler and various plastic shopping bags, filled with unknown contents, littered the floor. Over this debris a shoebox, stuffed with scraps of papers, had fallen off the seat and exploded.
    Lauren pointed at a sign on the dash that said GET IN, HOLD ON, SHUT UP, AND PRAY . “Is that your driving style?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œExplains a lot.”
    Lauren stood there with Missy in her arms while Singer started pitching things over the motor mount and into the back. “Sorry about that; when you live