Deb regarded the man with care. “You know something.” Coyote smiled. Deb slipped her hand towards her purse. “You know, there could be money involved, if you were to help me find this Davidovitch guy.”

“Dave,” Coyote said.

“Excuse me?”

“I prefer ‘Dave.'”

Deb smirked. “Right,” she said. “Now you’re Sidney Davidovitch.”

“Have been all my life,” Dave said.

“Sorry, pal,” Deb said. “You’re a little too young.”

“You mean a lot too young,” Dave said. “That’s why the cops left me alone. Said I couldn’t be the man they were after.”

“So what happened?” Deb prodded. “You discover the Fountain of Youth?”

“Sorta,” Dave said. “But I doubt I’m gonna get any younger. I think I’ve leveled off. It’s been seven months.”

“So it was a one-time deal?” Deb asked, smiling now.

“Yep,” Dave said. “Since it doesn’t look like Brian’s coming back.”

Deb’s smile collapsed. “You do know something.”

Dave chewed his lip, wiggling his moustache. “So do you, looks like,” he said. “How do you know about Brian?”

“I met him in Africa.”

Dave leaned forward. “You saw him?”

“Yes,” Deb said. “For a little while. I thought for sure he was dead, but…” She stopped. “We’d better compare notes before I say any more.”

“Brian isn’t dead,” Dave said. “He just ascended to a higher plane.”

“That’s what Gale kept saying,” Deb said, almost to herself.

“If you were in Africa…”

“Oh, I was there, believe me,” Deb said. “I was kidnapped, escaped, kidnapped again, and in a helicopter crash.”

“And you survived?” Dave asked.

“Well, a crash landing,” Deb replied. “And I met Brian Alderman there.”

Dave’s expression changed. He looked sad, though he kept smiling. “My boy did good,” he said. “Real good.”

Deb shook her head. “You can’t be Sidney Davidovitch,” she said. “You’d have to be thirty years older.”

“I figure thirty-five,” Dave said. “Whatever Brian did to me, it cut my age by half.”

“Good God,” Deb said. “I’m tempted to believe you.”

Dave chuckled. “I’m going to assume you know Brian’s girlfriend?”

“Gale,” Deb said. “Have you met her?”

“Met? Sorta. How is she?”

“That’s the craziest thing of all,” Deb said.

“I’d love to hear the story,” Dave said.

“And tell me yours?” Deb asked.

“So you believe me now?” He laughed. “Sure. I’ll tell you. Not that anyone will ever believe it, if you do write it down.”

“Yeah, I know,” Deb said. “It’s too fantastic.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll market the book as fiction.”

“It’s not fiction,” Dave said. “It’s Myth. Doesn’t matter whether people believe it or whether they don’t. The point’s the same.”

“I suppose,” she said. “I’m Deb, by the way. Deb Ashemoore.”

“Well, Miss Deb Ashemoore,” Dave said. “It just so happens, believe it or not, that the best rib place in the Southwest is just a few miles from here. If you’ll permit me to buy you dinner, we could talk about all this some more.”

“We’ll go Dutch,” Deb said. “But I think I’d like that, Mr. Davidovitch.”

“Dave, please,” he said. “Dave,” she repeated.

By TheCheezman

WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS, specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced, and directed (and occasionally acted in) over two dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and True Crime genres. He obtained a doctorate in Occult Studies from Miskatonic University and is an active paranormal investigator. Is frequently told he resembles Anton Lavey. And Ming the Merciless. Denn die totden reiten schnell!

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