Dillon walked out of the busy little gas station building, a look of disconcerted irritation on his face. He stopped after a few feet, gripping his pants near the top of the thigh and lifted his foot off the ground slightly, shaking it and hopping on his balance leg. He wiggled his hips as he walked a few more steps, then repeated the jiggling hop-dance, bending his knees and shifting his hips. He continued toward the car, pausing to do his bizarre ritual like a mating exotic bird.
JD watched carefully as he approached. He was filling the car with gas, his face stamped with a sort of confused curiosity. Dillon stopped once more before opening the car door and shook his hips again.
"Wh ... what're you doing?"
"Well ... I know I'm going to regret this, but -- what are you doing?"
"What're you talkin' about?"
"That ... little ... move you keep busting. What are you doing?"
Dillon looked lost. "I still don' know what th' hell you're talkin' about."
"You're walking away from the store and ... dancing. Why - why are you dancing?"
"Yes. I guess that's what it is."
"I ain't dancin', dude. I'm a bomb-diggity dancer, dude. You'd know if I was dancin'."
"Okay, it's not dancing, but it's not normal either. What're you doing?"
"What the fu-- OH! Oh, that? Dude, what're you, a girl? I'm adjustin'."
"Adjusting? Adjusting to what?"
"Not TO what, dumb-ass. I'm adjustin' my schlong."
"I knew I'd be sorry I asked."
"You know ... I hadda go t' th' bathroom, and when I put my anaconda away, it waddn't in there right. I'm adjusting."
"I -- I really ... I really didn't need to know that about you."
"Of what? Your inability to pull your pants up properly after going to the bathroom? Hardly."
"If you ain't gotta adjust from time t' time, you're a girl. With NO anaconda."
"I've certainly never had to deal with a large constricting South American snake in the restroom, but then -- I did learn how to use the potty when I was about 2."
"Pff. You ain't gotta schlong, do ya? Why's Wen like you again? 'Cause you're sensitive an' can relate to 'er feelings an' shit?"
"I have all the necessary anatomical parts for her, thank you. And I don't want to have to stop again, so did you use the bathroom all you needed to?"
"Hey, I goes when I goes. That's jus' how I roll, baby."
JD hung up the nozzle on the pump, and pressed the keystroke combination to print the receipt from the purchase.
"Well, we're almost home, so you'll have to hold it now until we get there."
"Blah, blah, blah," Dillon droned dryly, opening the door wider. He paused a moment and jiggled again, then slid into the seat as JD came around the other side.
"All right, let's get back."
"Missin' Wendy, pussy-whip?"
"Pff. You ain't called her all weekend. I'm kinda surprised."
"She had a bridal shower to attend. She said she'd call when it was over."
"What 'bout yesterday?"
"What about yesterday?"
"You didn't call her yesterday either."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause I was eavesdroppin' an' stuff, how else?"
"You're spying on me?"
"Why?" JD said over his shoulder, as he watched for oncoming traffic while he pulled onto the road.
"You're boring. I wanted t'see what you did now thatcha gotta girlfriend an' all that."
"Why would I do anything differently?"
"You said you loved her."
"I did, and I do, and I'm still the same person. Why would that change anything?"
"'Cause, now thatcha told 'er ya love 'er an' crap, you're gonna get all PW'd."
"Stop it, that's ridiculous. Wendy's not that type of person."
"Obviously not, Einstein. Or I'd have called her."
"I think you couldn't call 'er."
"Oh, and why would that be?"
"That's what I'm askin' you, dumb-ass. Why didn'tcha call her?"
JD was silent.
"You couldn't, right?"
"Just because I couldn't call her doesn't mean I'm ... PW'd."
"Does to. If ya coulda, ya woulda."
"So, that's the first sign o' bein' PW'd, chump."
"All right," JD said deliberately, "let me ask YOU something. If you were dating a woman like Wendy, would you want to be with her every moment possible?"
Dillon said nothing.
"Well? Would you?"
"Hmm. You see?"
"Wull ... it IS Wendy ..."
Dillon lifted himself slightly in the seat, squeaking the supple leather quietly, and shook his hips side to side as best he could.
"What are ... still??"
"Dude, I ain't got it right yet."
"Please don't do that."
"I ... gotta ... " Dillon fussed with his crotch and shifted his weight, holding his backside off the seat slightly.
"Dillon, I really, really don't need to know all this about your personal ... business."
"Almost ... almost ..."
"Oh for God's sake ..."
"So why couldn't ya call 'er, dude?" He grunted tightly, still pulling and tugging at himself.
"It's not comfortable to have a conversation with you while you're groping yourself, you know."
"Almost ... not quite ... "
JD pulled to a stop at a traffic light, and noticed the passengers in the cars to their right watching Dillon closely and laughing. He turned to look out his window so he wouldn't see them, or be looking at Dillon as he yanked and wiggled beside him. JD flushed deeply and tried to sink into his seat.
"Please stop doing that."
"THERE!" Dillon exclaimed, and JD jumped. "GOT IT!!"
"No shit, man. That was drivin' me nuts. So t'speak."
JD shook his head.
"Okay. So -- why couldn't ya call 'er?"
"Because she and some friends were out shopping for the bride-to-be's gifts, arranging the bachelorette party ... things like that. She was busy, and needed to be left alone. Satisfied, nosey?"
"So she gonna get a stripper?"
"A stripper. Lotsa chick-parties get a stripper. She gettin' one for her party?"
"It's not her party, and I don't know. What difference does that make?"
"Pff. Dude -- ask Wen how she'd like it if you was goin' to a party with a stripper. Betcha she won't say 'what difference does it make?'. I'll bet she ain't too happy 'bout it."
"Well, I'm not concerned. I trust Wendy and she trusts me, so why would I have a problem with her being at a bachelorette party with a stripper?"
"'Cause he's gonna show his dong, dude."
"No, he's not."
"His ass, then."
"She could see that on TV."
"But at the party she can touch it."
"I -- Wendy wouldn't -- that's just --"
JD's phone rang, the sound emanating from the car's sound system through the wireless connection. Both of them started. The light turned green and JD pressed the button on the display to answer the phone as he accelerated through the intersection.
"Hello?" he said casually.
Static fired suddenly through the car, making both of them jump again. Dillon quickly turned the volume on the radio down.
"Hello?" JD said again, brows knitting over his eyes.
"He -- anyon -- rows?" The voice crackled, coming partially through the crackle of the hissing noise.
"I'm sorry, could you say that again? You're breaking up and I --"
"A -- ou -- Burrows?"
"Yes," JD said, his voice instinctively louder, "this is JD Burrows. Can I help you?"
"I w -- recom -- a -- end."
"I'm sorry, you're still breaking up, can you repeat, please?"
"I was --commended to y-- -y a friend."
"A friend recommended you to me?" JD said, trying to decipher the caller.
"Yes," the voice said, a bit more clearly.
"What friend? Recommended you to me for what?"
"As a paranormal investigator."
JD paused, glancing at Dillon. Dillon's eyes were wide and he raised his eyebrows.
"I'm sorry, did you say you were recommended to me as a --"
"Yes, as a paranormal investi-ato-."
"Uh ... yes, I've done some work in that area. How ... how can I help you?"
"I --ink I ma- -eed -our help."
"I ... who did you say gave you my number?"
Static, quiet hissing.
"Hello? Are you there?"
"Yes," the voice said back softly. "I'm here."
"Who recommended you to me?"
There was a delay.
"Bea Jenkins did."
Ready to go on to Chapter 2?