Tick Tock

not.”
    “Wimp.”
    Outside, the Peterbilt was still idling.
    Blinking back her tears, her expression toughening, Mrs. Dai turned to Del, looked her up and down, and said suspiciously, “Who you?”
    “A total stranger.”
    Mrs. Dai raised an eyebrow quizzically at Tommy. “Is true?”
    “True,” Tommy said.
    “Not dating?” asked Quy Trang Dai.
    “All I know about him is his name,” Del said.
    “And she doesn't get that right half the time,” Tommy assured Mrs. Dai. He glanced at the big garage door, certain that the truck engine outside would suddenly rev… “Listen, are we really safe here?”
    “Safe here. Safer in house but…” Mrs. Dai squinted at Del, as though reluctant to grant admittance to this obvious corrupter of Vietnamese male youth.
    To Tommy, Del said, “I think I could find some vipers if you'd be willing to dig a pit.”
    Mother Phan spoke to Quy Trang Dai in Vietnamese. The hairdresser witch lowered her eyes guiltily and nodded and finally sighed. “Okay. You come inside. But I keep clean house. Is dog broke?”
    “He wasn't broken, but I had him fixed,” Del said. She winked at Tommy. “Couldn't resist.”
    Mrs. Dai led them into the house, through the laundry room, kitchen, and dining room.
    Tommy noticed that the heels of her running shoes contained those light-emitting diodes that blinked in sequence from right to left, ostensibly a safety feature for the athletically-minded who took their exercise at night, though the effect was footgear with a Vegas flair.
    In the living room, Mrs Dai said, “We wait here for dawn. Evil spirit have to go at sunrise, all be fine.”
    The living room reflected the history of Vietnam as occupied territory: a mix of simple Chinese and French furniture with two pieces of contemporary American upholstery. On the wall over the sofa was a painting of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. In a corner stood a Buddhist shrine; fresh fruit was arranged on the bright red altar, and sticks of incense, one lit, bristled from ceramic holders.
    Mrs. Dai sat in an oversize, black chinoiserie chair with a padded seat upholstered in gold-and-white brocade. The chair was so large that the diminutive pink-clad woman appeared even more childlike than ever; her twinkling shoes didn't quite reach the floor.
    Taking off her plastic rain scarf but not her coat, Mother Phan settled into a bergęre-style chair and sat with her purse on her lap.
    Tommy and Del perched on the edge of the sofa, and Scootie sat on the floor in front of them, looking curiously from Mother Phan to Mrs. Dai to Mother Phan again.
    Outside, the Peterbilt engine still idled.
    Tommy could see part of the truck, all of its running lights aglow, through one of the windows that flanked the front door, but he couldn't see the driver's cab or the Samaritan-thing.
    Consulting her wristwatch, Mrs. Dai said, “Twenty-two minutes till dawn, then no one have to worry, everyone happy”—with a wary glance at Mother Phan—“no one angry with friends anymore. Anyone like tea?”
    Everyone politely declined tea.
    “No trouble to make,” said Mrs. Dai.
    Again, everyone politely declined.
    After a brief silence, Del said, “So you were born and raised along the Xan River.”
    Mrs. Dai brightened. “Oh, is such beautiful land. You been there?”
    “No,” Del said, “though I've always wanted to go.”
    “Beautiful, beautiful,” Mrs. Dai rhapsodised, clapping her small hands together. “Jungle so green and dark, air heavy as steam and full of smell of growing things, can hardly breathe for stink of growing things, so many flowers and snakes, all red-gold mist in morning, purple mist at twilight, leeches thick and long as hot dogs.”
    Tommy muttered, “Lovely, lovely, with all the resurrected dead men slaving in the rice paddies.”
    “Excuse please?” said Mrs. Dai.
    Glowering at Tommy, his mother said, “Be respectful.”
    When Tommy declined to repeat himself, Del said, “Mrs. Dai, when you were a girl, did you ever notice anything strange in the skies over the Xan River?”
    “Strange?”
    “Strange objects.”
    “In skies?”
    “Disc-shaped craft, perhaps.”
    Perplexed, Mrs. Dai said, “Dishes in sky?”
    Tommy thought he heard something outside. It might have been a truck door closing.
    Changing tack slightly, Del said, “In the village where you were raised, Mrs. Dai, were there any legends of short humanoid creatures living in the jungle?”
    “Short what?” asked Mrs. Dai.
    “About four feet tall, grey skin, bulbous heads, enormous eyes, really