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of the bridge, Kyna stopped to lace up her boot and to get her bearings from a map plaque next to a mock Sioux tepee. |
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The more Cyrus saw of the fairgrounds, the less he liked the place. It was too big, too dirty, too deserted. Most of the buildings were dark, the crowds having retreated to the warmth and safety of their homes and fires. The streetlights were just beginning to come on and the wind roamed like a wild animal through the midways, converting the street trash into tumbleweeds. |
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"Damn, it's cold," Cyrus muttered. "Where the devil are we going, anyway?" |
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"That pavilion over there." Kyna pointed to a three-story, prefab, aluminum building about a quarter of a mile away. |
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"This place reminds me of a scene from Death Wish. All we need are a few ten-dollar bills hanging out of our pockets." |
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"Don't be such a baby," she said not unkindly. "I do this all the time and nothing ever happens." |
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No sooner were the words out of her mouth than two cowboy types came sauntering around the side of a pronto pup stand. Both men had cigarettes dangling from their mouths and both were dressed in out-of-date cowboy chic: faded jeans that hugged their thin frames like blue skin, long-sleeved plaid shirts and wide leather belts with large silver-and-turquoise buckles. |
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"Keep walking," Cyrus whispered. |
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The cowboys were walking slowly, blowing smoke and laughing. They could have been exactly what they appeared to be: two friends having a smoke together after work. There was nothing in their behavior to indicate that they were even aware that anyone else was around. And that's what made Cyrus suspicious. For unless a man was gay or dead, he couldn't help but notice Kyna. |
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Something deep inside Cyrus's mind clicked. All at once his body started to tingle. The smell of the sour sweat oozing from the men's pores reached his nose and made his eyes water. To his suddenly supersensitive ears, their footsteps thundered like giant redwood trees crashing to earth. He no- |
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