They went up the stairs to Ashley's personal room.
The walls were covered with pictures of boys her age posing with musical instruments and sporting paraphernalia.
Ashley sat on the edge of her bed and took off her shoes and socks. "I hated beer the first time I tasted it, too," she said to him. "But you can get used to it after a while, don't you think?"
A device on Ashley's desk began ringing. Ashley picked up the ancient communicator and, retreating to the far corner of the room, began a quick, hushed conversation. Hunter could hear every word. Ashley was telling the person on the other end how she met him, how they got gas, what went on inside the gas station and how he had just spit up beer.
"But he is so not a freakazoid," she whispered. "Wait till you see him."
There was a short silence, then Hunter heard Ashley say, "OK, in an hour. And don't be a bitch, promise?"
Then she returned the device to its place and said to him, "Want to go to a party?"
The golf course was two miles east of Ashley's house.
It was getting dark by this time, and the moon and all those stars and the necklace of heavenly bodies began brightening all over the deep blue sky.
Hunter let Ashley drive; he wanted to study the sky through the open sun roof, in faint hope that he might recognize something shining way up there, something that might give him a clue as to where he was.
But no such clue could be found.
They reached the golf course, parked the car, and walked across a huge fairway. Ashley was wearing a short white skirt, a white blouse, and white sneakers. She looked gorgeous. Hunter tried his best to walk quickly beside her, his eyes still gazing at the stars. Ashley was talking to him, explaining that this was where all the kids came to do the party thing and avoid the authorities. They reached a small clump of trees located in the middle of the vast fairway. Other kids were already there. Some had blankets and tents and were obviously planning to stay overnight. Ashley met a guy who sold her six bottles of beer. Then they walked out of the clump of trees, over another fairway, to a nearly perfect circle of short green grass beyond.
Two girls were waiting for them there. Ashley introduced him as her friend. The girls showed Ashley a bottle of clear liquid they had secured. It was called vodka. Ashley explained to Hunter that they liked this location because it was far out on the fairway, and they could see the cops coming from any direction.
Hunter studied the perfectly manicured grass within the circle. There was a tiny, shallow hole in the middle with a flag sticking out of it. He sat down next to the hole and studied the stars further. Ashley conversed with the two other girls. One approached him and asked if he wanted a drink of vodka. Hunter agreed and took a slug from the bottle. From the moment it touched his tongue, he thought he was going to die. It tasted like a combination of liquid fire and bilgewater. Truly awful. Far worse than beer.
"I can't believe anyone would want to drink that stuff," he told the girl with a cough.
She smiled and took a swig herself. "That's what they all say at first," she told him.
At that moment, there came a small racket over his shoulder. Hunter turned to see three guys walking up to the green. They were obviously drunk and belligerent. One went up to Ashley's other friend and began a loud conversation with her about a broken date. The girl was trying to ignore him, but then the guy began screaming so loudly, the other girl started screaming at him to quiet down or the cops might hear him.
"It's good advice," Hunter called over to the bigmouth, not taking his eyes off the stars.
The next thing Hunter knew, the three guys were standing around his head, looking down at him. This was Reggie, Moose, and Weed. Reggie was the one with the big mouth.
"What are you?" he asked Hunter. "A wise guy?"
Hunter thought about that for a moment, then got to his feet and brushed himself off. He was roughly the same size as Reggie, even though the guy was obviously younger than him by at least a dozen years.
Hunter asked him, "Am I a what?"
"A wise guy," Reggie roared back. "An asshole, pal. What's the matter? They don't speak like this wherever you come from?"
Hunter shook his head no. "No, they don't. Can you explain it to me?"
"Explain it to you? You are stupid then."
"I won't be, if you explain it to me."
"Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I don't know either. How can I explain it to you if I don't know either?"
Hunter just shrugged. "Well, then I guess that would make you just as stupid as me."
This confused Reggie. He looked to Moose and Weed; they were no help of course.
Reggie turned back to Hunter. He swigged his beer and switched tactics. "I just bet your car sucks, man."
"It does, when it runs out of gas," Hunter replied.
Reggie went right in his face. 'Wow whad the fook do you mean by that? I already asked you. You being a wise guy? You being a wiseass?"
Hunter just laughed at him. He couldn't help it; it was funny. A 0.1783622-second bolt from his blaster pistol could reduce Reggie to a pile of ash. Half that would render him a babbling idiot for the rest of his life, maybe a slight improvement. But clocking Reggie wouldn't be in line with Hunter's low-key policy. He had to amuse this fellow somehow.
"Maybe it's your car that sucks," he told Reggie with a grin.
Reggie's friends immediately went, "Ooooooo…"
Even the three girls gasped. Obviously, Reggie was sensitive to what people said about his car.
Again, he went nose to nose with Hunter.
"Are you saying my car sucks? Is that what you're saying? Let me tell you something, you freak. My dad and I built that car. Hear me? Me and my dad. We built the engine. We built the frame. We built the chassis. Me and my dad. Get it?"
"You do a lot of stuff with your dad?"
Reggie's neck vein nearly popped. He was so furious he could barely speak.
Moose and the other guy closed in around Hunter. Were they threatening him? He couldn't tell. At this point, one of the girls started crying.
"Well?" Hunter said to the beet-red Reggie.
"Well — the fuck — what?"
"Well, show me your car," Hunter told him. "If it's so fooking special, show it to me."
Reggie hung there, like in suspended animation, for about ten seconds. With one fist cocked, he was using the other to slowly crush his beer can.
"OK, wiseass," he said finally. "I'll show you my fucking car."
With that, Reggie ran off, across the fairway and into the woods from whence he came. Before anyone could say a word, there was a screech and the sound of rubber skidding on mud. Suddenly another roar, this of a car engine. Then from the woods to the south, wheels turning madly, headlights wildly lighting up the night, came Reggie, driving his precious auto at high speed across the formerly pristine fairway.
There now were a few seconds when those standing on the green weren't sure whether Reggie intended to stop or mow them all down. Even Moose and Weed looked like they were ready to bail out should their overly sensitive friend forget they were standing there, close to his intended victims.
But Reggie did stop. He stood on the brakes, and the car fishtailed wildly on the knoll leading up to the green, tearing up huge chunks of dirt and sod in the process.
"Oh God," one of the girls moaned. "The cops will kill us!"
Reggie jumped from the car even before it had stopped moving. He was again right up in Hunter's face.
"There's my car asshole. See it? See it?"
"How can I not see it? It's right there."
"Yeah. Yeah it is… So you like it, you freak?"