By the light of the moon

Great Expectations flat on
the table in front of him, the book light switched off. Hunching
forward, he lowered his face within eight or ten inches of the
page, although he had no vision problems. While the waitress was
present, Shep moved his lips as he scanned the lines of type, which
was his way of subtly establishing that he was occupied and that
she would be rude if she was to address him.
    Because no other diners were near them, Dylan felt comfortable
discussing their situation. 'Jilly, words are your business,
right?'
    'I guess maybe you could say that.'
    'What's this one mean – psychotropic ?'
    'Why's it important?' she asked.
    'Frankenstein used it. He said the stuff , the stuff in
the syringe, was psychotropic.'
    Without looking up from his book, Shep said, 'Psychotropic.
Affecting mental activity, behavior, or perception.
Psychotropic.'
    'Thank you, Shep.'
    'Psychotropic drugs. Tranquilizers, sedatives, antidepressants.
Psychotropic drugs.'
    Jilly shook her head. 'I don't think that weird juice was any of
those things.'
    'Psychotropic drugs,' Shep elucidated. 'Opium, morphine, heroin,
methadone. Barbiturates, meprobamate. Amphetamines, cocaine.
Peyote, marijuana, LSD, Sierra Nevada beer. Pscyhotropic
drugs.'
    'Beer isn't a drug,' Jilly corrected. 'Is it?'
    Eyes still tracking Dickens's words back and forth across the
page, Shep seemed to be reading aloud: 'Psychotropic intoxicants
and stimulants. Beer, wine, whiskey. Caffeine. Nicotine.
Psychotropic intoxicants and stimulants.'
    She stared at Shep, not sure what to make of his
contributions.
    'Forgot,' Shepherd said in a chagrined tone. 'Psychotropic
inhalable-fume intoxicants. Glue, solvents, transmission fluid.
Psychotropic inhalable-fume intoxicants. Forgot. Sorry.'
    'If it had been a drug in any traditional sense,' Dylan said, 'I
think Frankenstein would have used that word. He wouldn't have
called it stuff so consistently, as if there wasn't an
existing word for it. Besides, drugs have a limited effect. They
wear off. He sure gave me the impression that whatever this crap
does to you is permanent.'
    The waitress arrived with bottles of Sierra Nevada for Jilly and
Dylan, and with a glass of Coca-Cola, no ice. Dylan unwrapped the
straw and put it in the soda for his brother.
    Shepherd would drink only through a straw, though he didn't care
if it was paper or plastic. He liked cola cold, but wouldn't
tolerate ice with it. Cola, a straw, and ice in a glass at
the same time offended him for reasons unknown to everyone except
Shepherd himself.
    Raising a frosty glass of Sierra Nevada, Dylan said, 'Here's to
psychotropic intoxicants.'
    'But not to the inhalable-fume variety,' Jilly qualified.
    He detected faint quivering energy signatures on the cold glass:
perhaps the psychic trace of a member of the kitchen staff,
certainly the trace of their waitress. When he willed himself not
to feel these imprints, the sensation passed. He was gaining
control.
    Jilly clinked her bottle against his glass, and drank thirstily.
Then: 'There's nowhere to go from here, is there?'
    'Of course there is.'
    'Yeah? Where?'
    'Well, not to Phoenix. That wouldn't be smart. You have that gig
in Phoenix, so they're sure to go looking for you there, wanting to
know why Frankenstein had your Cadillac, wanting to test your
blood.'
    'The guys in the Suburbans.'
    'They might be different guys in different vehicles, but they'll
be related.'
    'Who were those phony duffers, anyway? Cloak-and-dagger types,
you think? Or some secret police agency? Aggressive door-to-door
magazine salesmen?'
    'Any of that, I guess. But not necessarily bad guys.'
    'They blew up my car.'
    'As if I could forget. But they blew it up only because
Frankenstein was in it. We can be pretty sure he was a bad
guy.'
    'Just because they blew up a bad guy doesn't mean they're good
guys,' she noted. 'Bad guys blow up bad guys sometimes.'
    'Lots of times,' he agreed. 'But to avoid all the blowing up,
we'll go around Phoenix.'
    'Around Phoenix to what?'
    'Maybe stay on secondary highways, go north somewhere big and
empty where they wouldn't think to look first, maybe up near the
Petrified Forest National Park. We could be there in a few
hours.'
    'You make this sound like a vacation. I'm talking about –
where do I go with my life .'
    'You're focusing on the big picture. Don't do that,' he advised.
'Until we know more about this situation, it's pointless to focus
on the big picture – and it's depressing.'
    'Then what