Glitch: The Future is Unwritten: Glitch, #2

By S. A. Hicklen

The Journey of Sandra and Ike enters a new stage.

 

 

  This precarious duo avoids capture by law enforcement and reaches the Star 69 nightclub in Sin City. Delivering the gemstones to the proprietor, Vincent Dupree, Ike gives his best friend his notice. Suffering from severe wanderlust, Ike decided he didn't want to be a bouncer at such a sketchy club for the rest of his life.

  Stubbornly refusing to return home, despite knowing how much suffering her disappearance has placed upon her mother, Sandra chooses to leave Las Vegas — with Ike. Naturally, this decision fills Ike with consternation, not just because he is on the cusp of starting a new life. During their time together, Ike's growing feelings for this pretty girl have given him enormous unease.

  Heading south into Arizona, Sandra and Ike get entangled with parole violators, bootleg explosives, racist Walmart employees, and horny teenagers.

Ike knows that their luck will not last forever. And he is also aware of the likelihood he'll lose all inhibitions with Sandra the longer she stays with him. Thus with their lives on the knife's edge, there is no assurance that Sandra or Ike has a future in this world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. A. Hicklen
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215365885

S. A. Hicklen

"you should never take yourself too seriously; it will only give you acid reflux," S. A. Hicklen. A longtime writer, but first-time author, S. A. Hicklen has always admired Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, Tennessee Williams, Evelyn Waugh, and Kurt Vonnegut. But since those guys are permanently retired, he felt someone should pick up the slack. In the great cavalcade of existence, the author sees himself as a clown whose purpose is to provide fanciful tales filled with adventure, mystery, intrigue, humor, and romance for your enjoyment. However, the author is abundantly aware that God is the greatest ringmaster of all time. It was no accident that humanity ended up on this third rock from the sun. We are here to entertain God and all his angels with our antics.

Book preview

* * *

Las Vegas isn't just the legendary capital of sin but the largest concentration of casinos anywhere.

Monte Carlo, Atlantic City, and Macao are unique, but Vegas is bigger, louder, and crazier.

Like Disneyland turned on its head, the city has become a cluster of theme parks for adults. So whether it's imperial Rome, Renaissance Italy, ancient Egypt, some fantastic future world, or modern cities like Paris, New York, and Rio de Janeiro, whatever theme you want, you'll likely find it there.

There are some famous old-school casinos for straightforward gambling, but this place is about fun and money. The people here taking your money, and you having fun while giving it to them.

At the Northeast fringe of the city, Ike stopped at a fuel station. With its blue and white color scheme, the place was brightly lit, with pumping islands surrounding its mini-market on three sides; and the pumps themselves looked like some tech geeks designed them.

Those gas-pumping computers gave the customer many options, from buying gas with a handheld device to watching TV programs that usually appear on basic cable.

Ike reckoned that some techies are getting paid since why else would anyone stream low-wattage shows to a gas pump.

As he put gas into the Lincoln, Ike watched various vehicles streak pass on Interstate 15, the main highway leading into town.

He then glanced down at a thoroughly beat-up pretzel bag lying in the gap between the Lincoln Continental and the concrete island the pumps sat on.

Looking over his left shoulder, at nothing in particular, Ike used his right foot to kick that bag underneath the car where other junk food packages from the back seat are now. Though he has no intention of keeping the Lincoln, Ike prefers not to drive a messy car, which is why he swept all that junk underneath the vehicle as soon as Sandra took off to the little girl's room. He also felt that this unseen garbage would be the gas station's problem after he and the girl departed.

There were random corn chips and cheesy curls on the ground around Ike's feet, but in a gas station after dark, who will notice that.

Looking back on Interstate 15, his eyes follow those multi-lanes to the city and at an incredible sight.

The lights of Vegas formed an immense bright aurora that reached high into the dark sky, looking like an enormous dome of white. Even though he must've seen that sight more than a few times, Ike finds it remarkable that light pollution can be so beautiful.

Sandra wasn't witnessing any of this since she was in the bathroom. It wasn't large, just a single beige stall, a pair of porcelain sinks, and a rectangular mirror mounted on the blue-tiled wall above them. And it wasn't filthy except for the stickiness of the white tile floor, which Sandra guessed was from a lousy mopping job.

But the only thing that counted for the girl was that she had it all to herself because it was a pay toilet, and the occupied sign was on.

Putting her disguise and T-shirt in the left sink, Sandra used the other to wash up. It was an awkward task for the girl, not just because she was half-naked.

The antibacterial soap she used came out of its wall dispenser like shaving cream, and while that lather covered her well, she knew to rinse it off would get her pants wet.

Having no interest in dropping her pants, Sandra took a clump of paper towels and wet them in the sink.

Once she used them to get the soap off, the girl grabbed more paper towels from its stainless steel dispenser to dry herself.

Ignoring the sight of her now clean self in the mirror, Sandra focused on those items in the other sink.

She thought it would've been nice to have a clean shirt and a proper place to bathe, but when you're on the road, you deal with what you got.

Grabbing all those used paper towels cluttering the sink in front of her, Sandra stuffed them as best she could into the trash bin. However, the girl instantly discovers that this wall-mounted receptacle will only hold so much garbage.

Like a Jack-in-the-box, a big clump of that soggy rubbish popped out of the trash bin, ending up on the floor.

Sandra could only grimace as she glanced down at the mess she had made, but she had no intention of doing anything about it.

Looking down at her naked chest, the girl noticed the paper towel residue clinging to it. As she quickly brushed that stuff off with both hands, Sandra suddenly realized she was living like a fugitive.

She didn't see herself as a crook like Ike, running from the law. Instead, she looked at her situation as if she was on some extended vacation.

As Sandra slipped her T-shirt back on, she also realized something else. Being on the run not only means you're running from something, in her case, a miserable life but towards something. And she didn't have a clue what that could be.

Throwing back her hair, the girl checked herself in the mirror; something different popped into her head.

Taking hold of some of those long locks in her right hand, Sandra ran her fingers through them; that's when she confirmed her suspicions. She had noticed kinks the last time she touched her hair, but now it was worst.

She's also worried that any attempt to get these kinks out might wreck her otherwise lovely hair despite having the proper hair tools.

––––––––

Moving through the clean, white-tiled interior of the mini-mart part of the station, Ike stopped and grabbed an ice cream from an open freezer.

Despite the crisp desert air outside, he craved something cold and smooth. And since they didn't have the good stuff, namely Breyer's or Ben & Jerry's, this will have to do.

Taking the wrapper off that ice cream sandwich, Ike suddenly slowed down as he saw something unexpected.

Parked at the end of one aisle was a big yellow basket filled with women's roll-on deodorant, and they were on sale for $2.50 each.

Remembering how the girl wanted some when they were at Sally Mae's, she likely wouldn't turn it down now, especially since she told him her desire to clean up as she took off to the bathroom.

Grabbing one of those deodorants, Ike then moved to the checkout.

And as he did, he knew that women are funny with their hygiene products, but in this case, Sandra should be happy she's getting any at all.

Sucking on that frozen confection, he queued up behind two other people as they all stood near an oval-shaped, blue, and white cashier kiosk.

A giant flat-screen TV hung from the ceiling next to the kiosk, showing something he didn't expect.

It was a report from a 24-hour news channel with exclusive black-and-white security camera footage of a girl standing in the alcohol section of a convenience store. It was a scene that looked familiar to Ike. But underneath that video image was a banner headline that read, Is This Sandra Verhoeven?

He then heard the newsreader as he said, we haven't yet heard from FBI officials, who have taken over the investigation. But we brought in our own expert to look at the tape, and their conclusion is that despite the hat and sunglasses, it could be the missing teen model.

Ike stood there dumbstruck; his eyes locked onto the screen, and with the slacking of his jaw, that ice cream sandwich threatened to tumble from his mouth. But his ears still worked as he continued listing to the TV.

This footage came from an isolated convenience store in eastern Nevada, and it shows the girl calmly shopping along with a man who doesn't appear on the tape, the newsreader proclaimed.

The scene on the screen then switches to a view taken from behind the front counter, showing Sandra dumping the shopping basket and Ike standing beside her, but an ad sign obscures his head.

The newsreader says, The store owner described the man as a Hispanic or perhaps an Arab, 30 to 40 years old, with a shaved head. He also said the car he was driving was a black Cadillac or Buick.

Sir? Sir?

Still frozen in place, Ike heard a woman's voice. Looking over at the cashier's kiosk, he saw a pretty, college-aged blonde girl with a long ponytail. Waving to him from behind that counter, she was trying to get his attention.

You can come up now, she quickly adds.

It's apparent to Ike the other customers had paid and taken off, leaving him standing there like an idiot.

Taking hold of that teetering ice cream sandwich, Ike pulled it from his mouth with his left hand. Under normal circumstances, that chocolate cookie mixed in with the vanilla ice cream would satisfy him immensely.

But now, the shock of seeing that video seemed to short-circuit the nerve endings in Ike's head, but at least his legs still worked as he stepped forward to the kiosk.

Putting the deodorant down on the counter, Ike then says with a fake smile, I got 5 gallons on the No.8 pump.

Yes, I noticed, Sir, The girl said without looking directly into his eyes.

As the blond rang up his stuff, including the soft ice cream in his hand, Ike noticed a different TV. To the right of the cash register, he saw a black and white security camera monitor. And among the four individual video feeds running on it, there was a clear view of the Lincoln Continental. As that news report continued, Ike became worried.

If this girl is paying attention to that news report and gets a good look at him and his car, he's screwed, especially if she's the suspicious type, like the old guy from The Last Kind store.

Taking two licks off that ice cream sandwich, the smile on Ike's face became fuller. Tasting its sweet creaminess once again, it was like someone hit the restart switch in his head, and all his functions came roaring back to life.

$29.52, The girl said to him with a generous smile.

Giving the blond two 20-dollar bills, he replied with a friendly tone, Keep the change, sister.

Oh, thank you, sir. Do you want a bag for this? The girl said, holding up the deodorant. Then, taking it from her, Ike says, that's OK.

Stuffing that deodorant into his right jacket pocket, Ike moved to the exit. He also felt lucky that the cashier didn't stick her nose into why he was buying ladies' deodorant since he was in no mood to make excuses. Pausing at the mini-mart exit, Ike looked back at the TV.

The newsreader now had one of those know-it-all TV psychologists on-screen with him. And as the two started to chit-chat, this bald doctor with a Texas accent claimed that the girl showed signs of Stockholm syndrome. 

Leaving the mini-mart, Ike forced down that ice cream sandwich as it turned into a sloppy mess in his hand. As he went to the car, he saw the girl waiting in the front seat. Unfortunately, he also noticed she wasn't wearing her disguise, which wasn't good since the car was still under the gaze of this station's security cameras.

Getting inside the Lincoln, he went to the glove box and pulled out some leftover napkins from the Happy Hunting Grill to clean off his messy fingers.

Once he made his hands a lot less sticky, Ike started the car.

Glancing over at the girl, he says, Sandra, we got trouble... But, actually, it's you who's got the trouble.

As the Lincoln glided smoothly onto Interstate 15, Ike continued, Remember the old guy that kept givin' us the stink eye at that store with the funny name? Well, he recognized you.

Sandra's eyebrows jumped as she glanced back at him. She then said with genuine astonishment, How?

Don't know. But that old man gave the TV news, surveillance video with you all over it.

And you're in it too? She said with concern.

Strangely enough, no, he replied. Somehow, the cameras missed my face. But according to the news, no one is certain if it's you — At least not yet.

As she focused on her companion, Sandra's eyes quickly darted as if all the gears in her head were trying to process this unwelcome news.

She then says, So... So what should we do?

We can reconsider dressing you up as a boy, he suggested while giving her a quick glance.

No! She barked with the same fervor the last time he brought it up.

––––––––

Rising out of her seat, Sandra moved to climb in the back. But she froze, with her torso dangling over the back seat, as Ike said, Well, if you have any ideas, I like to hear them.

The girl notices the Krylon spray paint can poking out of the plastic bag behind her seat.

With her long wavy locks obscuring most of her face, the girl turns her head towards Ike. Looking at her in the rearview mirror, Ike jumped. And that's because she resembled the ghost from Ringu: a creepy Japanese film that gave him the willies a few short years ago.

Damn! Ike uttered, along with a big exhale.

Ignoring his outburst, Sandra answered her companion's question in a flat tone, I think I do.

Finally, migrating to the back seat, Sandra landed on something crunchy underneath her butt. Quickly moving her ass, she found a broken tortilla chip.

At this instant, the girl figured out that Ike had cleared off the seat of that junk food she had left there, but he didn't do a great job.

However, out of sheer human decency, Sandra spoke her gratitude.

Thanks for cleaning up back here, Ike, she says.

Yeah, anytime, he responded.

Glancing up at the rearview mirror, Ike saw something he didn't expect.

The girl was positioned comfortably on the back seat and pulled up her shirt. And though he knew he shouldn't be doing this, he watched as the bottom of her shirt reached the edge of her breasts.

But Sandra looked up at the rearview mirror and saw his eyes looking dead at her. Surprise then exploded all over her face. Ike reacted the same way, embarrassed that the girl caught him spying on her at such a private moment.

Before Sandra could utter anything, he quickly averted his eyes. Then, he said with equal speed, I don't know what ya doin' back there, girl. But don't worry, I won't look.

But it was too late. The girl felt violated since Ike had no business watching her undress, but she knew how to fix that problem.

Immediately, jumping off the back seat, Sandra smacked the rearview mirror sideways with her left hand. Though she hurt her hand a little, at least he couldn't use that mirror to look at her now.

Hey! He protested. But only because she almost knocked the mirror clean off its windshield mounting.

After a moment, the hissing of the spray paint can hit his ears, along with that noxious paint smell.

What the...! What are ya doin' back there? Ike demanded.

Ike moved his large frame as he was about to look back to see what the girl was doing.

Noticing this, the girl instantly shouts, Don't look! 

Not knowing what she was up to, Ike did the only thing he could do. Fumbling with the buttons on the drivers-side door, he rolled down all the windows of the Lincoln to blow out that paint smell. The hissing sound from that spray paint then stops.

With a grimace on his face, Ike was frustrated at not knowing what the girl was doing.

Parroting himself, Ike again demanded, what are you doin' back there?

Can you wait? I'm almost done, the girl responded.

He then heard what sounded like the girl blowing her breath as if trying to make whatever she used the paint on dry faster.

And yet, Ike felt spray paint in a moving vehicle is beyond foolish and not just from the risk of asphyxiating from the fumes. In addition, there was the risk of having paint flying through the car's interior, giving him and Sandra a paint job they didn't need.

After a few moments, she says, OK, you can look now. 

Ike was about to adjust the rearview mirror when the girl suddenly jumped up. Grabbing the top of his seat, Sandra pushed her thin body halfway through the gap between the front seats. 

Her sudden appearance startled Ike enough to where he refrained from adjusting the mirror.

How's that for a change of disguise? she says with a grin.

Tilting his head slightly to the right, Ike noticed that the girl had used the Krylon on her shirt. But when he turned his head completely to get a better look, he saw what she did.

Those sloppy black paint splotches covered a part of her T-shirt's slogan, namely, the section that once read, 'and,' 'get used to it.' What remains of that slogan now read, 'I'm pretty... young....'

Ike couldn't help it as a grin burst across his face. It was self-evident that Sandra was having fun, more than changing her appearance, and to top it off, the shirt now describes the girl precisely.

A chuckle popped out of Ike as he focused back on his driving. He felt that whatever tension between them over his naughtiness disappeared, giving him a pleasant feeling inside.

Ike then finally answered the girl's question the only way he could. Glancing back at her sloppy paint job, Ike says, Well, you probably don't have a future as a graffiti artist.

Looking at Sandra's face, Ike saw her furrow her eyebrows at him. She then says, what? You don't like it?

Glancing back at the road, Ike shook his head a little. He had noticed this before during their short time together, but now he's convinced that Sandra is uptight for her age since she can barely tell when he's joking or sincere. Or, as his mother would say if she were here: this girl needs to loosen up.

Not looking back at her, Ike then says, what I meant to say is, if you're gonna change your appearance, you might as well go all the way, like painting a mustache and goatee on your face... Here, let me help you.

Suddenly, and without looking, Ike reached toward the girl with his right hand. But he didn't realize that his hand was headed right toward her chest. Reacting with equal speed, the girl suddenly shrieked, no!

Sandra immediately sprang out of that gap between the seats and landed in the rear with such force that it caused the Lincoln to shake just a little.

The girl then realized that her traveling companion was messing with her and had no real intent to fondle her.

Remembering what he had in his jacket pocket, Ike says, Oh, I got you this.

He retrieved the deodorant from his windbreaker and held it out for the girl. But looking at that white plastic tube, Sandra, at first, wasn't sure what it was.

She then uttered, is that?

Yeah, it's the deodorant you asked about?

Deodorant! Oh, thank you!

The girl then snatched the thing out of his hand.

As she unscrewed its plastic top, Ike said, I know it's probably not the kind you regularly use, but...

Oh, that doesn't matter, Sandra cut him off. At least you finally got me some. Thanks again, Ike.

But as soon as the girl sniffed that deodorant, she immediately regretted saying that.

Checking the bottle's label, she saw that it had a brand name she didn't recognize, but it reminded her of Cool Water by Davidoff, a mishmash of mint, citrus and floral her mom loved, but she could do without. 

It wasn't that Cool Water is stinky. Her mom sometimes overdoes it with the stuff to where she can't be in the same room with her. But since Sandra isn't going to hose herself down with this deodorant, it should be OK. 

Reaching underneath her shirt, Sandra swiped her underarms with that deodorant; but she didn't stop there. 

Unbuttoning her tight pants, the girl pulled down the zipper just enough to expose a slice of her soft, dark pubic hair. While she didn't wash down there today, Sandra felt she could make it smell better.

Sandra's eyes widen as she presses the deodorant down into her most intimate spot. And it isn't because she was touching herself erotically.

Seeing Ike adjusting that rearview mirror, the girl shouted, What are you doing?

Startled by that, Ike replied, Damn, girl! Why are you screaming?

Why are you messing with that mirror? She demanded.

I was just trying to fix it after you almost broke the damn thing.

Well, don't, she said forcefully.

Why? What are you doin' back there?

And as Ike turned his head, Sandra shouted, don't look!

The girl's tone became less excited as she quickly added, Just wait till I get finished, OK.

At that point, Ike had a bizarre thought: Was that girl doing something freaky with that deodorant?

* * *

West of the Las Vegas strip, Ike turned the Lincoln Continental into the parking lot of the Star 69 nightclub. Not affiliated with the big casinos, Star 69 is one of the few independent nightclubs left on the Vegas night scene.

This three-story club had charcoal gray stucco walls and exterior lighting that gave the illusion that those walls had V-shaped orange, pink, ultramarine, and yellow flourishes. And on its large, rectangular purple marquee sign, they wrote the club's name with a peculiar mix of designs.

They wrote The Star part in a broad, cursive style, inflamed with pink neon lighting, while a pair of silhouetted female bodies formed the 69 portions of its name. 

But what caught Ike's attention was the near emptiness of the parking lot. He knew that you're usually on a corporate schedule with Vegas nightlife since many clubs affiliated with the big casinos typically open only on the weekends, some from Thursday to Monday. And many of them don't even open their doors till 10 pm. 

However, Vince does things differently because Star 69 is a six-day-a-week operation, with only Mondays off; he usually starts the party at 7. Therefore, the sight of only three cars in the parking lot and no rope line at the entrance surprised Ike since today was only Thursday. Quickly glancing at the clock on the dashboard, Ike saw it was barely ten after nine, which meant this place should be busy with people.

Parking near the front of the nightclub, the lot seemed gloomy, despite the blue-tinted halogen lights all around. Ike's memory behind why his buddy installed those lights strangely floated to the surface. 

Two years ago, one of their patrons claimed someone jacked them in the parking lot, and when she threatened to sue the club for having an unsafe environment, Vince didn't mess around.

Though his buddy felt they were facing a slip-and-fall scam, there was no guarantee he would win in court. So, therefore, he paid off the woman and followed it up by putting in those lights.

In the aftermath