Somehow, someway, the Cantinians once again found themselves stuck in a van – this time with the vile creature that was once named Fido. They were all packed in – Zifnab driving, Jw riding shotgun, Kip and Virvel in the back seat with the beast, Kratos gagged and tied up in the trunk, and Sax surfing the top of the van. It all seemed so nostalgic, how could they resist the chance.

Racing and drooling, Zifnab twitched every time anyone spoke.

“Remind me again,” demanded Kip. “Why are we letting Zif drive? He’s like a monkey jacked up on drugs. Look at him, his eyes haven’t blinked for the past hour.”

“Shut up,” Zif ejected suddenly. “I’m driving. I need peace and quiet. Someone put in Colma. That’s soothing.”

“See what I mean?”

“I dunno, Kip,” bleated Jw as he extended his index finger and dug it into the space between Zif’s ribs. “He’s kinda fun to play with.” Zif screamed bloody-murder and flailed madly. The van sped into the left lane.

“Don’t. Do that. I’m. Driving.” A tic in Zif’s neck caused him to jerk involuntarily.

The sun burned fire in the endless blue sky. The van kicked up dust. The road called.

“Why’s it being so damned quiet? I was getting used to the barking,” Jw asked Kip.

“I’onno,” Kip responded. “It must be tired. I can’t wait ‘til we get rid of it, to be quite honest.”

“What are we going to tell our neighbors?” asked Virvel, stroking the motionless bag which contained the mongrel. “I mean, they saw Krates. They’ll know it was us.”

“They don’t know nothing without proof, Virv. We got away clean and easy. Easy as pie—”

Kip stopped mid-sentence. He hadn’t meant to say it, it was a complete accident. Pie. We all know that pie is a life-giving substance. What we don’t know is that pie is the “secret ingredient,” if you will, of the Cantina. All life was created in pie. There is one “man” who knows this, and the knowledge drove him completely sane.

“You’ve done it now,” said Virv gravely. She had grown ashen. She stretched her arm out and caressed Jw’s arm. He was twitching in a similar manner as Zif had been. “Are you all right, Jw?” No response. “Dammit, Kip. Now you’ve done it. The last thing we need is for Jw to fall back into his old ways. You know how it used to be – the lies, the sneaking out in the middle of the night to steal a hit. Dammit.”

“Zif, pull over,” commanded Kip. “Zif. Zif. Pull over.”

He did so, and immediately Jw barreled out of the van and dove into the long grass. Retching was heard. Kip got out of the car and cast a glance at the pale, shaking Jw before unlatching the trunk of the van. He untied the handkerchief he had gagged Kratos with and asked him if he was doing all right back here. Kratos incoherently mentioned that the purple daises were doing just swell and that he was very, very cold. Sweat poured off of the lad in gallons. Kip used the handkerchief to wipe it away before slamming it shut again.

“He’ll be fine. Move over, I want to drive. You drive like an old grandma.” He pulled Zif out and they switched places. Jw got back into the front seat and, with a damp, cool towel over his face, passed out. Kip blasted The White Stripes as they cruised down the empty highway toward their destination.

---

The house where they finally stopped was dainty. Surrounded by destitute gardens and an old, dilapidated fence, the little place was in need of some renovation. Half the shingles were missing, for one, and the front porch was horribly cluttered with knick-knacks of every kind – ornamental frogs, hand-made wind chimes, rusted bits of metal, bits of stuffing from a couch with pee stains, etc… Also, stacked neatly by the wall was a cornucopia of rocks of literally every shape and size. Zif was flabbergasted, because for some odd reason he loved rocks. It was a habit instilled in him that he should bring a rock back from everywhere he goes – something his grandmother would do.

“Well,” sighed Kip happily; “this is it. This is the place. This is the last stop. The end. Finito. Bye-bye mister dog.” He laughed. It had been a long day of driving, and the heat seemed to have gotten to his head.

“Where exactly are we?” asked Virv.

“Didn’t I tell you? Well, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll humor you. We, my dear, are at my grandmother’s house.” It was obvious that Kip was in jovial spirits, because he typically would not have had the kindness to explain something again.

“Why exactly?” Virv was pushing her luck.

“Because!”

The door burst open. An old tan woman in house slippers and a bath robe wielding a double-barreled shotgun appeared at the doorstep.

“Who is it who dares to trespass on my property?” she shouted in her old lady’s voice.

“It’s me, grandma!” Kip said, grinning.

She cocked the gun.

“Ex-nay on the andma-gray,” whispered Zif to Kip.

“Mama!”

“My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but I don’t think a gun like this needs expert precision!”

Kip tossed the dog-filled bag onto the porch and jumped into the van. The rest followed suit, and they hit the road just as the first three shots had been fired.

“What the hell, Kip?!”

Kip couldn’t tell who the exclamation belonged to, but he was too cheerful to care.

“That was my grandma,” he said. “I’m so proud. When we get back to the Cantina, I’m buying the next round of drinks.”