by Don Winslow
Of course, it would require a spectacular televised fatality to truly popularize the sport…
He dismissed this pleasant thought and concentrated on the task at hand, lugging a 150-pound sandbag into the starting chamber for the safety test. Mrs. Landis had vetoed his idea—which Jack had heartily approved—of using volunteer convicts, which would have given them a much more aquadynamically accurate test. It wasn’t that Watanabe had any doubts about his engineering—it was meticulous—but he did have some concerns about the cheaper materials that Mr. Foglio had insisted on using.
Watanabe flipped the starter switch and water gushed up into the chamber. He waited two minutes for the slide to get nicely wet, then gave the sandbag a kick.
“Banzai!” he yelled as the bag plunged down the long drop, swept around the double corkscrew, swooshed down the next straightaway, negotiated the first high turn, zoomed along the edge of the second big bank, double corkscrewed again, then drifted down the last straightaway and into the first pool.
The suction dragged the bag across the pool and into the tube. Four seconds later, the bag dropped out of the tube, dropped twenty feet, and exploded on the bottom of the empty receiving pool.
Goddamn cheap American sandbags, Watanabe thought. Now he’d have to vacuum the sand out again.
But Banzai worked like a Swiss watch.
Then the world went black.
Overtime finished duct-taping the Japanese guy’s mouth shut and made sure he was firmly lashed to the ladder.
Quite a view, Overtime thought. You can see everything from here, the Ferris wheel, the roller-coaster, the putt-putt golf course with the statue of Moses on the sand trap. When he looked through the scope, he could even see Joey Beans and his idiot Sancho la Bonza a good three hundred yards away on the vast Jack and Candy Plaza.
And coming from the other side … Candy Landis in the company of a tall silver-haired guy and … is that Peter? He’s put on the odd pound.
And … could it be? Yes! Walking behind them is none other than America’s Sweetheart, the girl with the nation’s most precious little bun in the oven.… Ladies and gentlemen … let’s hear it for … Miss Polly Paget!
I have to hand it to you, Joey. When you set up a shot, you set up a shot. Mr. Magoo couldn’t miss from here.
Problem: A target-rich environment demands prioritization.
Analysis: Targets are standing in a big open square.
Solution: One shot at a time.
Neal and Karen watched through binoculars from the terrace. Foglio has that cocky wise guy rolling gait, Neal thought, although his bodyguard looks nervous as hell. Candy’s walking with her no-nonsense stride, stopping here and there to point something out to Hathaway, who seems to have a special interest in the water slide. And Polly has her head down. Probably terrified to face Joey Beans.
“What do you think?” Karen said.
“I think I wish you hadn’t come,” Neal answered.
“I think it’s going to be fun.”
“What if Joey Beans goes berserk?” Neal asked.
“Then I think it’s going to be more fun.”
But what the hell does Hathaway find so interesting on top of the damn water slide? His eyes are flicking up there like he’s expecting …
“He’s up there,” Neal murmured.
“Who’s up where?” Karen asked.
“Overtime,” Neal answered.
All right, think for a change and think fast. Even if you can run down from the terrace, you’d never make it across the plaza. He’d see you, make his shot, and then gun you down. He’s waiting for a better shot or he’d have already done it. So see if you can get behind him.
Behind him, you dickhead? He’s on top of a tower. How can you get behind him?
“Stay here,” he said to Karen. “Please, for once just do what I ask without a discussion and stay here. Please.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just for a walk up the water slide. Now promise.”
“You think the killer’s up there?” Karen asked.
“Karen, we don’t have time.”
“We can shout and warn them!”
“They wouldn’t understand and he’d start shooting,” Neal said. “Think on the bright side: It’s probably just my paranoia.”
Neal started running for the base of the water slide. Then he heard the voice—that voice—booming across the PA system.
“Joey! Joey Beans! It’s Stumpy the Clown!”
Overtime peeked up from his hiding place.
This is different, he thought as he watched Joey freeze in place. Harold pulled his pistol. But that damn Candy Landis just kept walking. She didn’t look surprised at all.
“We have some unfinished business, Joey!”
“Where are you, you rat bastard?” Joey yelled.
Overtime saw Candy Landis walk to within about five feet of Joey. He should have shot then, but it was just so damn interesting.
“Hey, Joey! Carmine Bascaglia heard this tape last night. It goes something like …”
This is a nightmare, Joey thought. I’m going to wake up any second beside some luscious broad and laugh and—
“You didn’t leave us with any choice,” Candy Landis was saying. “We tried to tell you nicely, but you just wouldn’t listen.”
The PA system played a scratchy leader for a few seconds and then boomed: “BLESS ME, FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED, IT HAS BEEN ONE DAY SINCE MY LAST CONFESSION.”
Joey turned white.
“It sounds good,” Joe Graham said to John Culver, who was operating the system.
“A little more treble, perhaps,” Culver suggested. He tweaked a dial. “Primo system. Very tasty.”
“Keep playing it,” Graham said. Then he went out to enjoy the look on Joey Beans’s face.
Neal reached the first pool and was pleased to see that the water was running.
Of course. God would never let you climb a dry water slide. That would be too easy.
He grabbed the sides of the slide and started to pull himself
I’m wrong, he thought. There’s no one up here. They wouldn’t dare take another shot at Polly, not now, not when Bascaglia called them off.
He slipped and landed on his face as he heard:
I HAVE COMMITTED ONE ATTEMPTED MURDER … TWICE.… MAY BE PLANNING ANOTHER.… IS PLANNING A MORTAL OR VENIAL SIN? THE HELL AM I ASKING? YOU DON’T SPEAK ENGLISH.…
“You tapped a man’s confessional?” Joey croaked. “You came between a man and his God? What kind of people are you!”
“DEA,” Chuck answered.
“Baptists,” Candy said.
THERE WERE FIVE FORNICATIONS … OKAY, THREE … TWENTY-EIGHT IMPURE THOUGHTS … AND I THINK AN EXTORTION. MAYBE IT’s BLACKMAIL. HARD TO SAY.…
“You had it coming, Joey,” Polly said.
“You should talk, you whore,” answered Joey.
THEN, OF COURSE, THERE WAS THE DAY’S PROTECTION MONEY, BUT THAT SKINFLINT CARMINE GETS A BIG PIECE OF THAT.…
“For God’s sake, Joey,” Harold moaned. “Did you think this was a priest or dear fucking Abby?”
“Shut up.”
Graham arrived on the scene.
“Carmine heard this last night, Joey,” he said. “But I told him we wanted to surprise you. I figure you got maybe a three-hour start if you get going now. Unless Carmine’s already talked to Harold here.”
Joey looked wildly around.
“Harold, shoot somebody,” he said.
Harold’s eye was sending telegrams.
“Sorry, boss,” he said.
“Leave now, Mr. Foglio,” Candy said. “There has been more than enough dying.”
Foglio straightened himself up and looked her dead in the eye. “You’ll get yours, you bitch.”
Any second now.
The high-banked curves were tough because he kept slipping and getting water in his mouth. Neal found he could dig one foot into the curved side and push while h
e pulled himself up with his hands. It was taking time, though, and he was running out of time.
Karen tried to stay on the terrace. She really did. But she saw her friends down there, people she loved: Candy Landis, the flawed but somehow lovable—and pregnant—Polly Paget, and Joe Graham.
Dear, dear Joe Graham.
She ran down the stairs and started across the terrace, waving her arms and yelling.
NOW THERE WAS ONE MURDER MAYBE I HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH, BUT IT WAS REALLY THAT MUTT OVERTIME.
Excuse me, Overtime thought. I think we’ve all heard about enough.
He leaned out of the starting chamber and raised the rifle. He caught some movement from the corner of his eye and shifted the scope.
Oh, this is too good, he thought. There she is, running like a deer across a meadow. And no baseball bat. No dog.
Decisions, decisions.
Problem: So many targets, so little time.
Analysis: If you shoot her first, you’ll spook the money targets.
Consideration: Always shoot for the money. When they start dropping, she’ll freeze and you can drop her where she stands.
Decision: Get to work. Shoot for the money first, then protection, then pleasure.
Just in, just out. Professional.
Of course, there are two money targets.
ONE JERK-OFF, TWO PETTY THEFTS, ONE ASSAULT … I PRAYED FOR CARMINE TO DIE. IS THAT A SIN?
“I ain’t going down alone, Hathaway,” Joey said pointedly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hathaway asked.
“It’s all on the tape, Mr. Hathaway,” Chuck said as he pulled his revolver and pointed it at Hathaway’s chest, “but we do thank you for coming today.”
“You set me up,” Hathaway accused Candy.
Graham saw his eyes glance up at the water slide.
I MEAN, CARMINE’S WHACKED MORE GUYS THAN CARTER HAS PILLS.…
Neal was winded by the time he hit the last long slope to the top. He had to lie on his stomach and pull himself up, and his hands kept slipping.
And he heard Karen yelling. Then his hands slipped and he slid backward.
“Get down!” Karen yelled.
“What’s she saying?” asked Candy.
“Bye-bye,” Joey Beans answered.
OKAY, ONTO VULGAITIES …
Overtime centered the crosshairs on Foglio’s square forehead. He had worked out his priorities: Make Carmine happy first, then Peter, then take Polly out, then the bitch from Nevada, then maybe the one-armed dwarf who’d set him up, the gray-haired cop …
As they say, Idle hands are the devil’s playground.
He started to apply that gentle persuasion to the trigger.
Or … do Candy first, which will make Joey think he’s safe, then whack the bitch from Nevada, then the one-armed dwarf, then …
Neal grabbed onto the side and caught himself. He threw one foot out and managed to get straight and start pulling up again. Water streamed into his face. He had his mouth clamped shut, but the water was coming into his nose and he started to choke.
He craned his neck and saw Overtime’s back and the rifle come up to his cheek.
The killer was just out of reach.
Neal opened his mouth to scream.
No … do the bitch first before she spooks everyone, then Joey, then Candy, then …
One thing at a time.
He was drawing the lead on Karen when he heard a drowning voice yell, “NOOOO!”
He squeezed the trigger just as the hand grabbed his arm.
Chuck heard the crack of the rifle, knocked Candy down, and lay on top of her.
TWELVE F-WORDS, TWENTY OR THIRTY SHITS …
Karen felt the rush of wind over her head and dived for cover.
Joe Graham crawled toward her.
Polly stood in the middle of the plaza, asking, “What the hell is this?”
TOO MANY GODDAMNS, FOR WHICH I’M SORRY, OKAY?
Hathaway ran.
Harold looked at Joey and said, “Get outta here, Joey.”
“The hell difference it makes?” Joey asked. “If Carmine wants me …”
“A day at a time, huh?” Harold said. “Go on … before I don’t have an excuse not to whack you.”
Another rifle shot went off.
THAT’S ABOUT IT, FATHER, TAKE IT EASY ON THE ACTS OF CONTRITION, HUH?
“You’re okay, Harold,” Joey said.
“Long life, boss.”
Joey Beans ran for the relative safety of the putt-putt golf course.
The second shot went off as Neal pulled back on Overtime’s arm and tried to haul him out of the starting chamber. Overtime rammed the stock back and hit Neal on the collarbone. Neal kept his grip on Overtime’s arm, braced his feet against the side of the slide, and jerked. He reached his left hand around, grabbed the killer under the chin, and pulled.
Overtime pushed his rifle hand out and probed with the barrel until he felt it touch a body.
Neal felt the barrel against him, rolled back, and pulled the man onto the slide with him as the gun went off. He was lying sideways across the slide now, with his feet braced on the edge and Overtime lying on top of him.
Neal felt as if he was drowning. Jets of water were shooting into his face and he couldn’t get his head up high enough to get a real breath. Add exhaustion, terror, and the thought that a bullet was going to blow his head off any second and it was not a happy situation.
Then why are you holding on? he asked himself.
He was considering this question when Overtime’s elbow crashed into his rib cage and he let go.
He felt the killer slide away from him as he dug his feet back into the side, reached over his head, and gripped the edge.
This isn’t as bad as the Newport Bridge, Overtime thought as he careened down the long straightaway.
Problem: Escape.
Analysis: You’re moving at high speed away from your adversaries. You still have your weapon. You can still make it out of here.
Solution: Go with the flow.
Overtime lay back to increase his speed, slid around the double corkscrew, built up tremendous velocity on the next straightaway, and flew around the first high bank. The problem came when his two hundred pounds hit the next bank a little roughly and one of Joey’s cheap sections gave way and he crashed through it like a rocket and was launched fifty feet into the warm Texas sky.
Witnesses later said that his screams were truly unsettling.
The water in the pool below got pretty hard when he hit it at the speed he was going, so he was probably already pretty banged up when the current sucked his unconscious body into the tube, plummeted him thirty feet, and shot him out like a bullet into the final pool.
There were no flotation devices, lifeguards, or emergency personnel there to meet him. There was no water, either—just the rock-hard pool bottom, a busted canvas bag, and some sand—so the twenty foot high-speed dash headfirst into the concrete is what killed him.
“Was that the man who shot Mr. Withers?” Charles asked Polly a few minutes later as they looked into the dry pool.
Polly looked at Overtime’s shattered remains and said, “Hard to tell.”
Joe Graham held on to Karen as she crawled out and grabbed Neal’s hand, but they couldn’t get enough leverage to pull him out.
“Mmmmmmm,” Watanabe said behind the duct tape.
“What’s he saying?” Graham asked.
“He’s probably telling you to shut it off!” Neal hollered. “In any case, shut it off!!”
“Oh.” Graham found the switch and the flow of water stopped.
Graham yanked the tape off Watanabe’s mouth.
Karen pulled Neal up.
“Ready to go home?” Neal huffed.
“I think so,” answered Karen.
“I am,” Neal said.
“By the way, I forgot to tell you that you’re fired,” Graham said.
“That’s good,” Neal answered as
he put his arm around Karen. “That’s very good, Dad.”
Then he and Karen walked down the water slide.
Epilogue
Neal lined up the putt perfectly, gave it a gentle stroke, and bounced the ball off King Herod’s lip for the third time.
“You’re awful at golf,” Karen said.
“The only thing that could improve golf,” Neal said, “are snipers.”
“Not funny.”
It was a beautiful spring day in San Antonio. Both the bluebells and Candyland were in full bloom, and Neal and Karen had flown down for a long weekend.
Brogan snored away on a chaise lounge as Brezhnev watched the one-sided match and wagged his tail when Karen hit her shot. The old bartender and the dog had a free lifetime condo at Candyland and used it frequently.
“You want to go on the water slide?” Polly asked Neal. She held six-week-old Karrie Landis—the reason for Neal and Karen’s visit—in her arms.
“No thank you,” Neal said. He lined up the ball again and this time got it past Herod’s molars. A moment later, Herod’s tongue spat it back out.
“Where’s Graham?” he asked.
“Three holes ahead,” Karen answered. “With one arm.”
Graham loved miniature golf. It was so tidy.
A lot had happened over the fall and winter.
Marc Merolla cashed in his marker with Ethan Kitteredge and ended up with 50 percent of the Family Cable Network in his own name. His grandfather died in prison shortly afterward.
Ed Levine bought a house down the street from Marc Merolla and became the managing director of Friends of the Family. Ethan Kitteredge stayed on as director emeritus but spent most of his time on his boat. One of Ed’s first official acts was to confirm the termination of Neal Carey with the brusque message: Get a life.
“The Polly and Candy Family Hour” became a huge hit on FCN, barely skipping a beat. They gained a lot of new viewers, lost some old ones, but most of the audience stayed for the recipes. And the show took a slightly new direction—it still stressed family but broadened the definition to include just about any combination of people living together and caring for one another, including the big house that Candy, Polly, and Karrie shared. The day that Candy endorsed gay adoptions cost her a few thousand viewers and half a dozen sponsors, but most of the audience still stayed for the recipes and new advertisers signed on.