Page 139 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

“You could have let me make you some!” Henry objected.

“Well, we need to get to Sunrise Mall early for what I have in mind,” Jackson told him.

“What’s at Sunrise Mall?” Randy asked.

“Nothing.” Twenty years ago, it had been an active little indoor shopping center, and while the place across from it, Birdcage Center, was now all refurbished and outdoor accessible and busy, the mall itself had not fared so well.

“Literally,” Henry said, frowning. “Absolutely nothing.”

In the fall, it had pop-up Halloween stores in one of the cavernous old department store shells, but now? Maybe half the venues were occupied, and attendance, even during holidays, was grim. Jackson had seen it on Sacramento’s Ten Most Haunted Places lists—many, many times.

“Yup,” Jackson said grimly. “Absolutely nothing.”

There was a moment of quiet, and then Henry said, “Oh.Oh.Nothing. I get it now.”

“Yup,” Jackson said, sighting a Dutch Bros. on Fair Oaks with relief. “Not a goddamned thing.”

The mall was all but deserted when they arrived, and Henry wanted to know where the employees were.

“On the back side, facing the roller rink—”

“Wait! Shutup!” Henry told him, enchanted. “Aroller rink? As inskating?”

Jackson grunted. “Straight out of an eighties movie, yes. Skating. On four wheels. I think the popcorn oil is older than I am. But we’re not going there.” He guided Jennifer to the far corner, where Macy’s used to be, and threw it into Park near the curb, near Greenback Lane. “Okay, Randy, I’m leaving the keys in so she doesn’t stall. We’re going to get out and switch places. It’s fine.”

Once they were back in their seats, Jackson made Randy put his seat belt on and sighed.

“Okay, we’re in Park. The right pedal is the gas—that makes it go.”

“I’m not stupid, Jackson,” Randy grumbled.

“I’m not repeating this because you’re stupid,” Jackson told him patiently. “I’m repeating this because you’ve got acres of nerve endings between your head and your foot, and sometimes you need some reinforcement to make that happen without thought. So, left pedal stops, right pedal goes. Say it with me.”

Randy rolled his eyes. “Left pedal stops, right pedal goes,” he muttered, but his foot twitched as he said which pedal was which, and Jackson had some hope.

“That’s right. So you step on the brake and shift into Drive. Never shift into Drive unless your foot is on the brake. Repeat after me.”

“Never shift into Drive unless your foot is on the brake,” Randy said, and apparently it only took the repeat ritual once.

“So put your foot on the brake and shift into Drive.”

Jackson tried not to hold his breath, but Randy apparentlydidhave a connector between his foot and his mouth—and it didn’t always work against him.

In this case he shifted the minivan into Drive and waited for further instructions.

“We’re going down this lane,” Jackson said. “There is absolutely nothing here, not lane lines, not obstacles. I will tell you if you stray out of the lane, and what you might hit if this wasn’t the ninth vacant circle of hell, but I will not get excited unless you stand on the gas, jump the curb, go over the sidewalk, take out the stoplight, and head directly into traffic. Anything short of that and there will be no yelling, do you understand?”

“Yessir,” Randy said, and his relief was palpable.

“So if Iamraising my voice, that means simply that I don’t want to die and not specifically that I blameyoufor my imminent death. Are we clear?”

Randy laughed a little. “Yessir. I understand.”

“Good. Take your foot off the brake, and put it gently on the gas.”

The car jumped forward, but, hey, there was nothing in front of them but empty parking lot, made interesting only by faded parking lines and a few plastic bags being pushed around by the wind.

After the jump—and no yelling—Randy pulled his foot off the gas a little, and Jennifer meandered forward, like an old cow smelling flowers.

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