Free Tourists of the Apocalypse by C. F. WALLER

in a beer at the table.
    My mother instructs me to grab a seat on the porch and greet people as they arrive. There are only thirty or so actual attendees to the gathering, but the house feels crowded and full of life. After a half hour Dickey pulls up. He looks sullen as one would expect. Lighting up a cigarette, he stands out on the front lawn in silence. I assume he will go inside and make an appearance, but after a second smoke he starts back to his car without saying a word.
    “Suh, suh, say thanks to Missy for me.”
    Before I can answer, Lance comes out the door holding up a hand. Izzy and Graham follow, but hang back. Lance looks odd in dress slacks and a white shirt as he always wears his cargo pants and leather jacket. His man-bun has been replaced by a pony tail on this special occasion. To me, he also seems a bit inebriated. He catches up to Dickey in the yard and puts a hand on his shoulder.
    “Should we do something?” I whisper to Izzy.
    She shrugs and frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.
    “Sorry about your mom Dickey,” Lance offers a bit too cheerfully.
    Dickey nods. Choosing not to speak in these situations is a self-defense mechanism with him. If it can be answered by a nod or a head shake use that. No reason to advertise your handicap if you don’t have to.
    “Got a smoke?” Lance inquires.
    Looking confused, Dickey hands one over and lights it. Once he does, Lance blows smoke out the side of his mouth. Does Lance smoke? He doesn’t look like he needs to cough or anything? Most people who try to fake it cough like crazy, but not Lance.
    “Heard the plant shut down,” Lance states, pointing the cigarette in the direction of the town. “That’s where you were working wasn’t it?”
    Dickey nods.
    “With your mom’s passing, I’d imagine you’re probably going to lose her benefit checks,” he suggests in a blunt way, using his cigarette to highlight the points of emphasis.
    “Leave him alone,” Izzy begs, stepping off the porch and pulling on his sleeve.
    “Just wait a minute,” he mutters drunkenly, pulling his arm out of her grasp.
    “It, it, it’s okay Miss.”
    “What I meant to ask was if you were seeking employment?”
    “Aye, aye, I gotta find something,” he shrugs, looking at his work boots as he talks.
    “As it turns out, I am looking for someone,” Lance announces a hand tapping Dickeys shoulder. “I need a courier to go between here and my job site.”
    “Cah, cah, curry, what?”
    “Courier,” Lance repeats slowly. “A driver to shuttle packages between here and my jobsite. It’s a long drive, but I’d pay well for the right man.”
    Dickey stares blankly at Lance. It’s like watching the Big Bad Wolf standing over Eeyore.
    “Are you the right man Dickey?”
    I’m sharing glances with Graham and it appears he may have known what Lance was planning to ask. I doubt this was Graham’s idea, but he is signaling me to go along. Izzy backs up the steps and joins us once again. The scent of lavender floats in the air around me as she stands nearby. I enjoy it, but try not to appear as if I am sniffing her.
    “Suh, suh, so I do what?” Dickey demands, shaking his head as if his hair was wet. “Just drive all the time?”
    “Yes, you’d have to be available around the clock. What did they pay you over at the cement place?”
    “That’s not relevant to this,” Izzy barks, drawing a nasty glare from Lance. “Just make the kid an offer.”
    “Fine,” Lance growls, but then puts on a happy car salesman face. “What say you to a grand a week?”
    There is a pause while we wait to hear Dickey’s reply. I’d imagine that’s twice what he was making before and he won’t be paying taxes on this. Izzy starts to speak, but Graham taps her arm from behind and shakes his head. What’s with all the silent gestures here?
    “Thuh, thuh, that with me paying for the gas or you?” he challenges, surprising us with such an astute question.
    “You buy the gas