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Japanese lost the war and that gives them the right to dominate our car
market. And certainly many of these Avalons could reasonably be heading for
home along the same crowded route I took. Logically speaking, there are only
so many directions in which to go, and it made perfect sense for a white
Avalon to go in any one of them. And it was not logical to assume that anyone
would want to follow me. What had I done? I mean, that anybody could prove?
And so it was perfectly illogical of me to feel that I was being followed,
which does not explain why I made a sudden right turn off U.S. 1 and down a
side street.
It also does not explain why the white Avalon followed.
The car kept well back, as any predator would do to avoid spooking its chosen
prey-or as any normal person might do if they just happened to take the same
turn by coincidence. And so with the same uncharacteristic lack of logic, I
zigged again, this time to the left, down a small residential street.
A moment later the other car followed.
As mentioned, Dashing Dexter does not know the meaning of fear. That would
have to mean that the roaring thump of my heart, the parching of my mouth, and
the sweat pouring out of my hands was no more than massive uneasiness.
I did not enjoy the feeling. I was no longer the Knight of the Knife. My
blade and my armor were in some subbasement of the castle, and I was on the
field of battle without them, a suddenly soft and tasty victim, and for no
reason I could name I was sure that something had my scent in its ravening
nostrils.
I turned right again-and noticed only as I went by it the sign that saidNO
OUTLET .
I had turned down a cul-de-sac. I was trapped.
For some reason, I slowed and waited for the other car to follow me. I
suppose I just wanted to be sure that the white Avalon was really there. It
was. I continued to the end of the street, where the road widened into a small
circle for turning around. There were no cars in the driveway of the house at
the top of the circle. I pulled in and stopped my engine, waiting, amazed by
the crashing of my heart and my inability to do anything more than sit and
wait for the inevitable teeth and claws of whatever was chasing me.
The white car came closer. It slowed as it reached the circle, slowed as it
approached me&
And it went past me, around the circle, back up the street, and into the
Miami sunset.
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I watched it go, and as its taillights disappeared around the corner I
suddenly remembered how to breathe. I took advantage of this rediscovered
knowledge, and it felt very good. Once I had restored my oxygen content and
settled back into being me, I began to feel like a very stupid me. What, after
all, had really happened? A car had appeared to follow me. Then it had gone
away. There were a million reasons why it might have taken the same route as I
had, most of them summed up by the one word: coincidence. And then, as poor
Dithering Dexter sat sweating in his seat, what had the big bad car done? It
had gone past. It had not paused to stare, snarl, or throw a hand grenade. It
had just gone by and left me in a puddle of my own absurd fear.
There was a knock on my window and I bumped my head on the ceiling of the
car.
I turned to look. A middle-aged man with a mustache and bad acne scars was
bent over, looking in at me. I had not noticed him until now, further proof
that I was alone and unprotected.
I rolled down the window. "Can I help you with something?" the man said.
"No, thank you," I told him, somewhat puzzled as to what help he thought he
could offer. But he did not keep me guessing.
"You're in my driveway," he said.
"Oh," I said, and it occurred to me that I probably was and some explanation
was called for. "I was looking for Vinny," I said. Not brilliant, but
serviceable under the circumstances.
"You got the wrong place," the man said with a certain mean triumph that
almost cheered me up again.
"Sorry," I said. I rolled up the window and backed out of the driveway, and
the man stood and watched me go, presumably to be sure that I did not suddenly
leap out and attack him with a machete. In just a few moments I was back in
the bloodthirsty chaos of U.S. 1. And as the routine violence of the traffic
closed around me like a warm blanket, I felt myself slowly sinking back into
myself. Home again, behind the crumbling walls of Castle Dexter, vacant
basement and all.
I had never felt so stupid-which is to say, I felt as close to being a real
human being as it was possible for me to feel. What on earth had I been
thinking? I had not, in truth, been thinking at all, merely reacting to a
bizarre twitch of panic. It was all too ridiculous, too patently human and
laughable, if only I had been a real human who could really laugh. Ah, well.
At least I was really ridiculous.
I drove the last few miles thinking of insulting things to call myself for
such a timid overreaction, and by the time I pulled into the driveway at
Rita's house I was thoroughly soaked in my own abuse, which made me feel much
better. I got out of my car with something very close to a real smile on my
face, generated by my joy in the true depth of Dexter Dunderhead. And as I
took one step away from the car, half turning to head for the front door, a
car drove slowly by.
A white Avalon, of course.
If there is such a thing in the world as justice, then this was surely one of
the moments it had arranged just for me. Because many times I had enjoyed the
sight of a person standing with their mouth hanging open, completely
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incapacitated by surprise and fear, and now here was Dexter in the same stupid
pose. Frozen in place, unable to move even to wipe away my own drool, I
watched the car drive slowly past, and the only thought I could muster was
that I must look very, very stupid.
Naturally, I would have looked a great deal stupider if whoever was in the
white car did anything other than drive past slowly, but happily for the many
people who know and love me-at least two, including myself-the car went by
without pausing. For a moment I thought I could see a face looking at me from
the driver's seat. And then he accelerated, turning slightly away into the
middle of the street so that the light gleamed for an instant off the silver
bull's head Toyota emblem, and the car was gone.
And I could think of nothing at all to do but eventually close my mouth,
scratch my head, and stumble into the house.
There was a soft but very deep and powerful drumbeat, and gladness surged up,
born from relief and anticipation of what was to come. And then the horns
sounded, and it was very close now, only a matter of moments before it came
and then everything would begin and happen again at last, and as the gladness
rose into a melody that climbed until it seemed to come from everywhere, I
felt my feet taking me to where the voices promised bliss, filling everything
with that joy that was on the way, that overwhelming fulfillment that would
lift us into ecstasy-
And I woke up with my heart pounding and a sense of relief that was certainly
not justified and that I did not understand at all. Because it was not merely
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