Free Detour to Apocalypse: A Rot Rods Serial, Part One by Michael Panush Page B

denting the metal―but missing the tires. Roscoe glanced over his shoulder and looked at Dodd in the seconds before Angel twisted the wheel to round the corner. He stood in the center of the road, pistol in his hand. He didn’t look angry or disappointed. He looked bored, tired, already weary with his job. The Cadillac switched around the corner and Agent Dodd disappeared from view.
    Roscoe settled back in his seat. He glanced over at Angel.
    “Any damage to my ride?” Angel asked.
    “Rear bumper caught a slug.”
    “Great,” Angel muttered. “But I suppose it could’ve gone worse.”
    “Very true,” Roscoe said. Up ahead, Wooster’s Packard rumbled its way down the open road. “And we got what we came for.”
    “So where to now?” Angel asked.
    “Home,” Roscoe said. “I got the feeling we’re gonna be on the road come morning.”
    They sped on through Los Angeles. Up above, the purple sunset gave way to the black of night. Stars appeared, faint in the smog. Roscoe wondered if Townsend Mars and Doc Schlock were right. Maybe the world was set to end. Maybe it had endured too much, and was finally ready to stop turning. He shook the thoughts from his head as he leaned back. They had a long way to go.

    The little two-car convoy hit La Cruz an hour or two after nightfall. They drove down La Cruz’s Main Street, quiet and mostly deserted now apart from a few teenagers breaking curfew, and headed to Donovan Motors. The lights in the living quarters behind the garage flashed on. Angel and Wooster parked their automobiles and got out. The Captain opened the door for them as they walked inside.
    Betty and Felix waited for them at the table. Felix was blinking back sleep, but he still turned the pages of some ancient leather-bound tome, which seemed bigger than he was. Snowball lay as a white pile in his cushioned dog bed, fast asleep. Felix looked up from his work as Roscoe, Angel, and Wooster came inside and sprang up. “Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Rey, Mr. Stokes―it is very good to see you.” He pointed to the books. “I have been examining certain writings of Sir Caleb Craul and his descendant, Cassius Craul. They are most interesting, full of conversation with divine beings and demonic entities.”
    “Cassius Craul,” Roscoe repeated. “I think I met him.”
    “He is dead, sir,” Felix said. “He has been for several years.”
    “Ain’t it past your bedtime, kiddo?” Roscoe sat next to Felix. He glanced up at Betty.
    She shrugged. “I let him stay up. He was too excited to sleep anyway.”
    “He should get some rest now,” Angel said. “We gotta hit the road in the morning.”
    The Captain walked back in. “And go where?”
    “Las Vegas,” Roscoe said. “Townsend Mars had a business relationship with Frankie Fink―smuggling dope along with artifacts. They’re apparently bosom buddies and Fink’s Sandpiper Casino is probably the most secure place Mars knows. You want my bet? He’s there right now, hiding out with Dr. Bolton.”
    “Las Vegas,” Wooster repeated. “That’s a rough town.”
    “Will we visit it?” Felix asked.
    “Yes.” The Captain walked over to Felix and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now prepare for bed. We’ll be leaving tomorrow and you need your rest.” He gave Felix’s head a quick pat. “Sleep well, son. I’ll wake you up tomorrow morning.”
    “Yes, sir. I will look forward to the vacation.” Felix hurried to the corner, picked up Snowball and darted away. The yeti whined at the disturbance and Felix soothed him in German as he hurried outside.
    “We’ll take Felix with us?” Betty asked. “Captain, are you sure it’ll be safe?”
    “I don’t want to leave him alone in La Cruz,” the Captain said. “He was separated from his parents before and he never saw them again. I don’t want that to ever happen when I’m around.” He sat at the table and faced Roscoe. “Did you encounter any difficulties in the reconnaissance?”
    “Sure did,”