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26 2 Down the freeway to Islay, Lyson drove along with what his eyes saw as hundreds of vehicles but what his mind perceived as millions bound for New York, all bypassing Suffex. He stayed in the slow lane on the right. If his new car was to be damaged, let it be confined to one side, he anxiously thought. Besides, it is the king of beasts that moves slowly, deliberately, while the lesser, more nervous animals proclaim their inferiority by their frantic speed. And his Lincoln was a truly splendid automobile , with tremendous length and breadth, enhancing in his mind the space he allotted himself on the surface of Planet Earth. He still marveled at how readily Mary’s folks had come forth with the money. All he had to do was, at Mary’s prodding, tell them his dream, and the vault fell open. At first Mary had resisted trading in their Datsun for the Lincoln, but as she sank into those rich velvet seats and saw how they could be adjusted to various positions with a little switch, including lowering the back of the seat all the way down for a nap, and marveled at the sliding skylight, napkin dispenser, adjustable steering wheel, padded seat belts, map lights, cassette player—for Mary had a bit of hearing, enough to enjoy loud music. Even the ashtrays were roomy enough to serve as auxiliary glove compartments, but she exacted a concession from Lyson to never, ever smoke cigars, a practice certain to occur once his head swelled with the idea that he was an important man. He certainly could flourish a cigar all he wanted to, but if he ever lit it . . . Mary did not need to spell out the consequences. Yes, it would be a costly smoke, Lyson thought as he rolled a cold cigar in his mouth, keeping his hands on the glove-leather steering islay 27 wheel and away from the lighters concealed in the ashtrays. There was relief, though, in the aroma of hot coffee, dispensed in the car. Another button unknown to Mary opened a secret compartment out of which slid a bottle of whiskey to spike the coffee for further gratification. Lyson sat back and luxuriated in his new status as the great automobile smoothed the maddening, chaotic journey toward his destiny. He believed, now that Mary’s folks had come through with the grubstake, that his dream was within reach, that he really could take over the state of Islay. So easy! Buy it all up, and—and— A slight hitch on that journey: Just a few miles before Fremont the Lincoln did what the Datsun never did—it ran out of gas. What could be wrong? Lyson panicked as he pulled onto the shoulder . He surveyed the dashboard, which was glowing with red warning lights: GEN, OIL, and GAS. Lyson slapped his forehead as he remembered the salesman cautioning them that, instead of a gas gauge, the car had a speaker that, upon pressing a button, called out the quantity of gasoline left in the tank. The speaker also shouted a warning whenever the tank was running low. Lyson recalled feeling some kind of noise on the back of his head a while back but thought it was from the roar of passing traffic. The automobile rocked from the passing traffic, which seemed to burst out of his left and shoot down the freeway like tracer bullets. It was as if the world were passing him by despite the fact he was right in the epitome of success as measured by his Lincoln. Lyson collapsed into laughter against the steering wheel, rocking his head in his hands. A little while later the giggles subsided enough for him to feel a strange, persistent buzzing. The horn! He was leaning on it! He sat upright and was startled by a shadow close by his shoulder. A state trooper was peering through his window. The trooper’s trained stance indicated that he was perfectly prepared in case a fast draw was needed. Bewildered, Lyson meekly raised his hands. A stern look came over the trooper’s features as he made almost imperceptible movements with his lips, movements impossible to read. Lyson sat up even straighter and made a helpless gesture, pointing to his ear and shaking his head. The trooper nodded in recognition and made a cranking motion, pointing to the window. Lyson groped for [3.137.192.3] Project MUSE (2024-04-23...
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