The Pigman's Legacy (The Sequel to The Pigman) by Paul Zindel Page B

start someplace.
    I pulled back out into a lane of traffic. By the time I finished that maneuver I looked over and I thought Gus had dropped dead; instead he was sleeping. I thought it was terrific the way the old guy could catch a snooze whenever he felt like it. A couple of raindrops started to fall, but if anyone thought I was going to put the top back up on the car they were crazy. Besides, I saw there weren't enough clouds in the sky for it to really pour, but the wind sure picked up and the car started to swing in the breeze. Near the bottom of Victory Boulevard I had to make a sharp turn to the right. That's when Gus fell over and his head dropped right into Lorraine's lap. She let out a scream as though someone had just dropped a bucket of worms on her, and looked absolutely absurd trying to push him back up into a sitting position.
    “Are you sure he isn't dead?” Lorraine gasped.
    “No, he's snoring. Just listen hard.”
    “John, where are we going?”
    “Look, the town house is in St. George, right? He just wants to get some black trunk. Check the glove compartment.”
    Lorraine pounded the glove compartment until it finally plopped open. She went through a pack of manuals and pamphlets until she found a registration. We were surprised to see it wasn't in Gus' name, but it would do. She read aloud. “Glenville, Parker, 107 Stuyvesant Place.”
    “Oh, yeah, that's got to be right down by the museum. Do you remember in biology when Miss Bensen took the whole class down there to see all those stuffed birds of America?” I reminded her.
    “John, it's raining ,” Lorraine insisted on pointing out.
    “It will be over in a minute.”
    “Put the top up.”
    “Then nobody can see us.”
    “John, you're crazy.”
    I took a quick glance in the backseat because sub-liminally I had noticed a lot of junk on the floor. There were some tools, loose papers, and ripped shopping bags. I also saw the handle of an umbrella.
    “Use the umbrella,” I ordered, “the umbrella on the backseat.”
    Lorraine looked at me as though I had just told her to eat a cockroach. “I'm not going to use an umbrella in a convertible just because you don't want to put the top up.”
    “Then get wet,” I suggested.
    “John, this is insane,” she babbled as she turned and reached over to grab the umbrella. “You are going to get the old man wet and he'll die of pneumonia.”
    “It's going to stop any minute.”
    “John, I feel ridiculous,” she said emphatically, as she pressed the little button near the umbrella handle and it opened up its huge black ribbed form.
    “Look at the people look now ,” I pointed out.
    “Oh, they're looking all right,” Lorraine bellowed over the engine. I had to swerve again quickly to the left and Gus' head fell forward again and crashed into Lorraine's lap. She was quite a sight trying to right him with one hand. And then I had to make a right, so his head came flying over and crashed onto my shoulder.
    “John, if you don't turn more carefully, you're going to break his neck.”
    Suddenly a black cat came running out into the road in front of us and I smashed on the brakes. I stopped just in time and the cat moved slightly to the right of the front fender and stared at us as though it needed a quick visit to an exorcist.
    “John, I just know this is an omen,” Lorraine said.
    “Lorraine, please keep your omens to yourself while I'm driving. This road isn't exactly a picnic.”
    “Ah, my old town,” Gus said suddenly, his head lifting up off my shoulder. “Can you smell that fresh sea air?” Lorraine and I looked at the speaking old head between us. By this time we were heading down Hyatt Street and could see the Statue of Liberty and New York Bay. Also right in front of us was Borough Hall, and beyond that the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. There were also a couple of wild bars right there where all the Coast Guard guys and shipyard workers get drunk and beat each other up so you read about