Free The 37th mandala : a novel by Marc Laidlaw Page B

the car? Thanks. What about this laundry, Lenore?"
    "Throw it in the well."
    "No engine parts in there or anything? No KFC buckets?"
    "It's clean."
    Derek moved away from the car, watching Doakes lean into it and shove the piled laundry into the little well under the rear window. Then Doakes pulled up the entire backseat, hauled it out of the car, and laid it on the roadside. Michael aimed his flashlight into the dark compartment thus revealed. Derek heard the clank of metal parts in the shadows.
    "It's what I thought," he said. "Broken cotter pin. This whole assembly just fell apart. Easy to fix, though. You got a bobby pin, Lenore?"
    "Are you kidding?"
    "I knew I shoulda brought Scarlet along on this expedition. Well, come on, something."
    "How about a paper clip?" Derek suggested.
    Doakes shrugged. "I guess, sure, I could wrap it around—might hold for a while."
    Derek dug into his valise, removing the paper clip from the manuscript of the evening's lecture, and handed it to Doakes, who went back into the car and worked there for a few more minutes. When he was done, he wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up the seat, shoving it back into the car.
    "That should get you home," he said. "I'll put a real cotter pin in there tomorrow."
    "We've got to get to the airport first," said Michael.
    "Whatever. You try that out, see if she's okay. Come on, I got a feeling Scarlet's cooling fast."
    "Sure." Michael started the car, put it into gear. It lurched forward, then into reverse. "Working!"
    Tucker was already climbing into his truck. "See y'all later." The truck backed into the road, then screeched around and drove off.
    Derek held his seat up so Lenore could climb in; she did so without looking at him.
    "How are we on time?" Michael asked. "Airport's another fifteen minutes, ten if I floor it."
    "We should just make it," Derek said.
    Lenore didn't say another word on the drive; she didn't need to, because Michael more than filled the silence until the stark white lights of the airport finally appeared through trees ahead of them. In the mirror, ovals of glare slid over Lenore's cheeks like dislocated eyes. She seemed oblivious to their conversation; he wished he could be equally detached. He wished he could speak with her in private again; wished he could somehow take her back into trance, tie up any loose ends, wake her up properly. But she seemed fine, and what did he expect? It wasn't as if he'd been performing brain surgery.
    Instead of heading straight toward the terminal, Michael brought the car into the short-term parking lot. Derek assumed it was because he was distracted by his own chatter.
    "You can drop me off at the door," he said.
    "No problem. We'll keep you company till your plane leaves. Nothing else to do."
    Derek sank back. "If you say so."
    "I guess I wasted my breath in those letters I sent, huh? I have some ideas about the mandalas, maybe I could bounce them off you sometime if you wouldn't mind, you know, giving me your address? They're questions you could ask the mandalas next time they come around. I swear I won't abuse the privilege."
    The privilege? Derek smirked, thinking of all the winos who had been "privileged" to puke in the piss-stains on the front steps of his address.
    "All right," Derek said. "It's the least I can do in exchange for the ride." He picked up the paper sack that held Michael Renzler's copy of The Mandala Rites and scrawled his address on it, taking care not to include his phone number. The car jerked to a halt. In the backseat, a match flared and a cigarette began to burn.
    "You want one?" Lenore said, putting her hand between the seats. He was tempted even though he didn't smoke. Michael took the cigarette absentmindedly, as if he had summoned it out of midair. Most of his attention was on Derek's address.
    "Okay," he said. "I'll send you something."
    "Wonderful." Derek opened the door.
    Outside, he started to freeze again instantly. He hauled his bags over the seat, helped