Free Tourists of the Apocalypse by C. F. WALLER Page A

and I’ll give you a car,” Lance counters, “and an extra fifty per round-trip.”
    “Oh, I, Oh,” he replies, but verbally falters. “Guh, guh, got me a car already, but you could toss in for some tires, we’d be square.”
    “T-Buck can get you anything you need.”
    “Thuh, thuh, then we got a deal,” he agrees, putting out a hand.
    Lance shakes it and glances back at Izzy with a look of disapproval. Izzy wipes the side of her nose with her middle finger and pushes past me back inside the party. I look to Graham for some context, but he just shrugs and rolls his eyes. These people are a soap opera.
    “You will have to stay in your mother’s house,” Lance stipulates. “I need you close by.”
    “Thuh, thuh, that,” Dickey stammers through a toothy smile. “That’s okay. With this fancy driver job I outta be able to fight off the bank.”
    “Come see me tomorrow and I’ll get you paid up front for the first week,” Lance orders. “Nice having you onboard Dickey.”
    “Yuh, yuh, yessir,” Dickey answers enthusiastically.
    Lance grins and smokes, flicking his ash to one side. He looks pleased at Dickey using the words Yes Sir . I imagine he likes to feel in charge of everyone. Dickey seems confused now. He’s happy at the outcome, but at a lost for a direction. I assume he was going to go home and sit alone to ponder his misfortune. That’s what I would have done . In this case, he pats Lance on the shoulder and heads inside.
    “Sup, sup, suppose I should go in and make an appearance,” he whispers to me as he passes. “Besides I am powerful hungry.”
    Once he’s gone, it leaves just Graham and myself with Lance. It’s full on dark now, the only light is the yellowish glow from several street lights that circle the cul-de-sac. Lance finishes smoking and tosses the butt in the grass.
    “Since when does the Fail Safe just wander off when I’m not here?” Lance demands. “How was the funeral by the way?”
    “Let’s not do this here,” Graham snaps. “In front of the kid.”
    “We are on his front porch now aren’t we,” an inebriated Lance argues. “Can’t just order him to leave?”
    “I’ll go,” I whisper to Graham.
    “No, that’s fine Don,” Lance blusters, waving us off with both hands.
    “It’s Dylan,” I correct him.
    “Right, Dylan, sorry” he mumbles. “Just get back to me on that Graham. You signed up to be the guy. So let me know. Are you the frigging guy or not?”
    I want to yell something back, but Graham puts up a hand. Lance stumbles to his own house and disappears inside, lights coming on in the windows as he moves about.
    “Go back inside and find Izzy,” Graham orders me. “Get her a glass of wine and don’t let her go home right away.”
    “What’s with this Fail Safe thing again?” I demand as he turns me by the arm, shoving me back inside.
    “Find Izzy, give her wine, keep her here until Lance falls asleep,” he repeats his instructions.
    “Where are you going?” I argue while being guided back through the door.
    “To check on Mr. Dibble and stay away from Lance,” he chuckles. “Do me one favor though.”
    “Yeah,” I pout, looking through the screen door. “What?”
    “After you ply her with drink don’t forget to send her home.”
    “Right.”
    I watch him trudge across the lawns between our homes and let himself inside. His door is always locked. The garage light is on, meaning Mr. Dibble is hard at work. There are several large machines inside with white plastic hanging everywhere. I wonder what the mysterious Mr. Dibble is working on tonight.
    “They leave?” Izzy whispers in my ear causing me to bang my head on the door frame.
    “Crap, you scared me half to death,” I blurt out.
    The scent of lavender wafts around my head for the second time tonight, leaving me somewhat preoccupied. Izzy always smells nice, but up close its intoxicating. Girls remain partially a mystery for the time being. Turning, I see Izzy grinning