As if he had conjured her with the thought, Psycho rang out from his phone. Coop glanced over at him, and Had shrugged, pointing at the cell. She nodded for him to go ahead and take it. He stepped outside the convenience store, avoiding a gaping hole in the cement that was right outside the door.
“Hey, Mama,” he said as he answered the call.
“Pumpkin!” his mama crooned, her voice sputtering a bit through the weak connection. “How’s my boy doin’?”
Had was guessing that there wasn’t a cell tower anywhere close. This gas station was about the only thing for miles in either direction. He filed the information away for future reference. With Mama, you never knew when you might need a quick getaway from an awkward conversation.
“I’m doing fine. In the middle of an investigation, though, so…” He let his voice trail off in what he hoped was a significant way.
She didn’t catch the hint.
“I was just thinking of that Arab girl. Naddie.”
“Mama, that’s not her name.” Had ran a hand through his hair, fighting the desire to pull a chunk of the stuff out of his scalp. This was a reaction not uncommon to conversations with his mama.
“Oh, shush, cucumber. I know that,” she answered. “But I think she would learn to love it if she’ll give it a chance.”
“Did you want something, Mama? I’ve got to get back to the investigation.”
“Right, right. I was just wondering how you felt about a multicultural wedding.”
Had felt a flush creep up his neck toward his face. “We haven’t even gone past our second date,” he exclaimed in frustration.
“Ooo. Your third date? You’ll have to wear somethin’ sexy, puddin’.” While she mused on that, Had wondered about his mama’s penchant for identifying him with different kinds of food. A psychologist would have a field day with that one.
“Mama, there might not even be a third date.”
“What do you mean?” The question felt like an accusation. “Did you do something to mess this up?” No, Had was wrong. That question felt like an accusation.
“No!” he answered, perhaps a little too fast. Was it possible that she was right? It wouldn’t be the first time. “I mean, I don’t think so.”
Concerned that the conversation was taking too long, Had glanced through the filthy glass window. The group was still huddled around the envelope, which appeared to still be closed, but not for much longer. Had needed to get back inside.
“Well, have you showed her that you’re interested? Sent her flowers? Smoked her some meat?”
“Mama, barbecue’s not the answer to everything.”
She cackled at that. “Shows what you know, sweetie pie. Smoked meats can do wonders for a relationship. Speaking of which, what would you prefer for the reception? Pork butt or brisket?”
“Mama…” he warned.
“Oh, you’re right, of course. Both. That was silly of me.”
“Mama!” he shouted into the phone. “I haven’t even asked her yet.”
Had cringed. The word had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Once it was out, there was nothing he could do. A pregnant silence filled the air, Mama’s building emotion filling the space between this nasty gas station in Virginia and Had’s ancestral home back in Michigan.
But maybe that was just Had’s imagination. Maybe she hadn’t heard. Maybe…
“Yet?”
Well, poop.
“Mama…”
“My baby’s gonna get married!” The tone in Mama’s voice was beginning to worry Had. It sounded like she might be on the verge on an infarction. “Oh, I’ve got so much to do.” A thought seemed to strike her. “How soon do you think I can expect grandbabies, muffin?”
“Mama…”
“No, no, you’re right. One thing at a time. Can’t be thinkin’ about buying onesies before we’ve picked out a color scheme for the weddin’.”
Had opened his mouth to try to stop the freight train that was now moving down the track with irresistible momentum. Who was he kidding? He might as well have tried to throw himself in front of a bus.
“Had, honey, I gotta go. I’ve got way too much to do for me to stay on the line chattin’ with you.” The line went suddenly dead, and Had found himself wondering how Nadira was going to feel about pulled pork at the reception. Wasn’t there something about Muslims and pork? He couldn’t remember.
He shook his head. It wasn’t even clear that she wanted to go out with him again. For that matter, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that she wasn’t going to try to kill him. Again.
But thinking back on the conversation with Mama, Had wondered if even that would be a hindrance to the juggernaut that had been released on Had and Nadira’s lives. There wasn’t much that could stand in her way once Mama got an idea in her head.
Even a possible terrorist in league with a serial killer.
* * *
Joshua,
You imagine that you’re one step ahead of me. Let me assure you that will never happen. Just when you think you have me in your crosshairs, you’ll sense me behind you, breathing down your neck. Do you like the feel of that?
Doesn’t it make you thirsty?
Love and kisses and choppety, chop, chop,
HD
The card lay like a sleeping viper on the counter.
Joshua was thirsty. The letter had created in him a ravenous, murderous craving that ached in his bones. He wanted that drink so badly. The cold locker at the back of the convenience store called to him with a siren song, promising relief.
Bella whined at his side, pressing her muzzle against his leg. He came to himself, realizing that he’d been spoken to, that all of the team minus Salazar was there, gazing at him with concerned eyes. Well, the clerk didn’t appear to be too concerned, but he’d gone back to his copy of Gear.
Who had spoken to him? Lobo? Coop?
No, it was Reggie. Something about whether or not he was okay.
Of course he wasn’t okay.
Didn’t really matter, though. No matter how he was feeling, Humpty was out there. Now the real question was whether or not they continued forward with their plan.
Rather than answer Reggie’s question… it was far too late for anyone to believe him if he claimed he was fine, anyway… he clapped his hands together. The sharp sound caused Reggie and Lobo to jump a bit. Joshua grimaced.
“All right,” he said into the stillness. “I say we keep going.”
Had grinned at him, even if the expression was a little strained. Joshua had to say one thing for the guy, he didn’t stay down long. Nor did he seem to get too stressed out by hurdling himself headlong into danger.
Coop, on the other hand, was frowning. She didn’t seem to agree.
Fantastic.
“Okay, what?” he asked her, turning to face the argument he could see clearly on her face.
There was a pause as Coop seemed to be marshaling her arguments. Then she seemed to switch gears midstream. She shook her head.
“No. Nothing.”
But Joshua had been down this path with her before. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes he had the last time they were here at this impasse.
“You have a problem with going on with the plan,” he stated. It was not a question. “Last time you held back a concern, people died.”
Coop’s face flushed and the muscle beside her jaw clenched and worked for a moment. Lifting her eyes to meet his, the agent showed a spark that Joshua hadn’t seen in her for a while. It wasn’t a comfortable expression to take in, but it was encouraging to see her stepping back up.
“Our whole purpose in coming out here was to have the jump on Humpty. To get out ahead of him.”
“We still are,” Joshua responded.
“Um… I realize you weren’t watching yourself, but the reaction you had to the note would beg to differ.”
She might have a point there. His reaction had been visceral, a punch in the gut. It shouldn’
t have been unexpected, not with the almost certainty of them having a mole. But still, seeing that card…
Humpty didn’t know what they were doing out here, and he wasn’t happy about it. That was the reason for the note. Demoralize the team, get them to go back to where Humpty had the upper hand.
Get them back onto familiar territory.
“You’re right,” Joshua spoke into the charged lull in the conversation. “He got to me. But I think we’re getting to him as well. This…” He indicated to the card on the counter. “… was sloppy.”
“Not that sloppy,” Lobo interjected. “I didn’t find anything on the card other than the nasty ass fingerprints of our clerk here.”
“Hey!” the man behind the counter called out.
“Have you looked at your hands lately?” Agent Lobo shot back. “Seriously, ese. They’re gross.”
She bagged up the card along with its envelope as she spoke. The clerk subsided, unmollified but clearly backed off by his own sense of internal integrity, as he glanced down at his hands and put them underneath the counter.
“I’m not talking about the physical act here,” Joshua asserted. “It’s more about the fact that he did it at all. I think he wants us to have the reaction we’re having right now. He wants us to turn around and go back.”
“And I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” Coop said. She held up her hand as Joshua turned his gaze back to her. “It’s not like we have the home court advantage out here, you know. We’re as in the dark as he is.”
Joshua struggled to find the way to express what was going on in his head. No, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t something he was thinking; it was something he was feeling. It was a gut-level reaction, and he knew better than to ignore those feelings when they showed up.
“I know Humpty. This is the way to go.”
Coop held his look for another moment, then shrugged and waved for the team to move out. After they had filed past, she leaned in closer to say something to Joshua in private.
“You’re in charge. This is your call.” She pinned him with her gaze. “You sure about this?”
Of course he wasn’t. This was Humpty they were talking about. The man who had snuck past Joshua’s defenses to get to his family.
But it felt like the right choice. They were out of their element, but so was he. And Joshua trusted his team. Well, the original team, anyway. He nodded.
Coop nodded back, her face unmarked by the usual worry that would normally cover her face. The weight of responsibility had been taken off her shoulders, and she knew it. So did Joshua.
He knew because he’d felt the weight settle down on his own, in spite of his best efforts to keep it away. His idea had been to keep things running, while still not taking the public responsibility for the outcome. Turned out, once he had known he was in charge, the responsibility had followed, whether or not he’d made it an invitation.
And accountability was an unwelcome guest in Joshua’s home.
* * *
The town of Pottsville was a lot more colorful than Sariah would have ever imagined. As they drove down Market Street, the rows of townhouses crowded both sides of the street, some of them more Victorian, others more modern and square. All of them seemed crammed together into as little space as possible.
Had piped up from the front seat. “Did you know that Pottsville used to have an NFL football team?”
Sariah stifled a groan. It never failed. No matter where they went, Had always seemed to know something bizarre about the location in which they arrived.
But the groan was misplaced. There were many reasons to be glad that Had was back to spouting useless factoids about their next destination, not the least of which was the fact that he seemed to be emerging from his grief at Bilal’s death.
“The Pottsville Maroons,” he continued. “They fielded a team from like 1925 to 1929, and get this.” Had’s eyes shone with excitement. “They still feel like they should have won the 1925 NFL Championship from the Cardinals.”
Sariah thought once more on the ramifications of the evidence they’d found that pointed to Bilal, the Pakistani cab driver, and his daughter. While Had seemed to be doing fine now, what would happen if it turned out that they truly were at fault?
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Agent Lobo responded, leaning forward to talk to Had over the seat. “Why should they have won?”
“Well,” Had responded with what looked like glee. Sariah sighed. He’d now found a willing and captive audience. “The Maroons had the best record in the league through most of the season, and they’d beaten the Cardinals on the field.”
In spite of herself, Sariah was now interested. “Seems like they’re right, then.”
“You’d think so,” Had agreed. “And they probably would’ve won, except they were suspended right at the end of the season. Chicago won a few more games against sucky teams, which gave them a better record than the Maroons.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Lobo said, her face collapsing into a frown. She seemed to be taking this controversy seriously.
“That’s what Pottsville says. They were suspended because they played an exhibition game that hadn’t been cleared. Most of the town thinks it was bogus.”
“But was that against the rules?” Sariah asked.
“Yeah, but it was kind of a technicality.”
Sariah shrugged. “Rules are rules. Sounds like the Cardinals won.”
“That’s what the NFL keeps saying,” Had agreed, although his tone seemed to say that he held a differing opinion.
Agent Lobo sat forward, her face grown even harder. “Technicalities aren’t worth shit. Technically the Cardinals might have won, but who actually showed up to play?”
Sariah glanced over at her car mate. Lobo seemed to be taking this whole thing personally. As if the decision to give the championship to the Cardinals was an affront to her on some level.
But Had didn’t seem to notice. He chuckled and spoke over his shoulder.
“That’s what Pottsville thinks. They made their own NFL trophy out of coal.”
Coal? That seemed odd. “Doesn’t sound like it would make a very nice trophy,” Sariah said.
Had grinned. “That’s because you haven’t seen it. Thing’s made out of anthracite.”
“What’s anthracite?” Lobo asked, mimicking the question Sariah had been thinking.
“It’s a harder, shiner form of coal that burns super clean. It’s almost pure carbon. Only a tiny part of the coal in the world is made out of it.” He leaned over the seat, making Sariah nervous. Had was picking up way too many bad habits from having hung out with Nadira. “Burns with a really cool blue flame. Awesome stuff.”
Well, Sariah guessed that it might be a good idea to know a bit more about the mineral that had put Pottsville on the map. It was a coalmining town, or at least it had been until the fire.
As if she’d conjured the thought in his head, Had turned almost completely around in his seat. “When do you guys want to go out to Centralia?”
“I don’t know if that’s on the agenda,” Sariah said, hoping to nip this one in the bud. Had’s penchant for odd tourist traps was all fine and good, but this was an area that was condemned. And for good reason.
“Why do you want to go out there?” Lobo asked.
“The underground fire?” Had answered, his tone incredulous. “That doesn’t sound cool to you?”
“Sounds dangerous,” she said. “Collapsing roads and toxic fumes coming out of the ground. Yeah, I did my homework.”
“Suit yourselves,” Had muttered, shaking his head. “But if I get even an hour’s free time, I’m heading out there. They say its best in the winter, ‘cause you can see the steam rising off the road and stuff, but there’s still smoke and stuff.”
“Uh huh,” Lobo said with skepticism. “Toxic smoke.”
Had gave her a wry grin in the rear view mirror. “Chicken.”
“I prefer to call it courageously challenged,” she
quipped back.
Turning from Market Street onto Centre Street, the town changed from the crowded but charming townhomes into more of a downtown area. Still charming, but more open in terms of the buildings on either side. Old bridal stores and banks and pawn shops vied with a gorgeous Catholic church and government buildings.
They took a left onto a side street, rounding the block to get to the Ramada, where they were staying. It was an older hotel, looking outdated but still welcoming.
It was crazy, but Sariah could identify, from a simple observation of the lobby, what kind of amenities the place offered, from pool and workout rooms down to how the minibar might be stocked. And with all of the differences she found in each individual hotel, they all still ended up being the same. Same feel, same look, same smell.
There was a moment where the sensation of crushing monotony almost overwhelmed her. But then she looked up to the front of the car, and there was Had, his face aglow in the excitement he always seemed to experience whenever they checked into a new place.
Well, at least someone was going to have a good time. And somehow that helped to lift the sense of despondency that still threated around the edges of her perception.
But another feeling lurked there.
Before the gas station incident, Sariah had assumed that they would be taking their time, working the boring case that had, on the surface, brought them out here. Waiting for Humpty. Preparing for his eventual arrival.
The note from their prey had changed all that. She looked to the shadows created by the entryway of the hotel, as if sinister figures were poised there waiting to spring as the team made their way inside.
With Humpty’s apparent connections within the department, it was possible that they could have a present awaiting them even here, at the hotel they had selected before they left. A bomb could be awaiting them around each and every corner. The thought was enough to make her want to jump at every random movement or sound.
“I’m starving,” Had said, interrupting Sariah’s growing fear. “Once we check in, you wanna head over to Ruby’s Kitchen? It’s supposed to be great.”
“I think I’m just going to check in,” she said, rather than voice her paranoid fantasies. But how paranoid was it when you had just received a message from a notorious murderer who had shown a recent penchant for bombings? “My stomach’s a little unsettled from the trip.”
Nursery Rhyme Murders Collection_3-4-2017 Page 58