Going Nowhere

Chapter 17 - Free pass

                  

Al was gung-ho about going undercover. I knew this because he told me, and he told me using the actual phrase gung-ho, which was an indication that he was way more middle-aged than I hoped I'd ever become.

"You won't be disappointed," he said gravely. "I will go so deep undercover you won't recognize me. I'll develop a persona that matches theirs. Act like them."

Oh, God. Al in a speedo. Just... no.

"Okay," I said. "No need to go overboard. Just meet Gramps, ask him a few questions, that's all."

"Exactly. I'll infiltrate the brotherhood, gather evidence of their activities and report back asap."

Uh. I had created a monster, it seemed, but it was too late to do anything about it because we had arrived at my parents' house in Nowhere.

Grandma Hazel sat on the porch swing and read a book.

"Yoo-hoo," she called out, threw the book over her shoulder and got up to greet us. "Who might this be?"

"A friend of mine," I said, and turned toward Al to add, "This is my grandmother."

"I'm Hazel," Grandma said. "I usually don't date middle-aged gentlemen, but I could make an exception for you. I like your tattoos."

"He's taken," I said quickly and pushed a suddenly reluctant Al forward.

"Of course," Grandma Hazel said. "What's your name?"

"I can call you Betty," Al said.

I rolled my eyes with a sigh.

Here we go again.

"Ooh, clever," Grandma said without missing a beat. "Come on Al, let's get you something to drink. Kitty's grandfather is inside, you'll like him, he's nuts."

I wasn't sure why the nutty part of Grandpa Hunter would appeal to a regular as regular as Al, but I didn't get a chance to question her judgment because Dad, Janie, and Grandpa walked through the door.

"Huh," Dad grunted and surveyed Al with lowered brows. "Who are you?"

Al swallowed.

"Hello," he said nervously when no one said anything. "I can call you Betty."

"Not if you want to live," Dad snorted, but Janie giggled.

"Funny," she said. "Hey, Al. I'm Janie, this is Biff and," she indicated gramps, "Hunter."

I bugged my eyes out at Dad, relishing the fact that someone had pulled a dad-joke on the king of dad-jokes, and he hadn't gotten it. This did not make my father happy.

"Which Clint Eastwood movie is your favorite?" he asked Al, trying to regain ground.

"None."

The silence was suddenly thick. Like, jello-thick and not in a happy jello-shot way. It was more an I'm gonna slit your gut wide open and feast on your intestines way.

"You don't like the Clint?" Dad asked menacingly.

I tried to pull Al backward in case Dad decided to maul him, but Al held his ground.

"No, I don't."

Dad pushed out air with a wheezing sound that I'd never heard him make before.

"I knew I'd like you," Grandma Hazel squealed. "I don't like the Clint either."

Dad's head whipped around, and he glared at her.

"Hazel," he said warningly.

"Well, I don't. His movies are boring, and he isn't even sexy."