Had he ever in his career encountered anyone more troubled? No. Back in ’87 he’d worked on the security detail that had transferred Leroy Massequa to Reidsville. Leroy had just killed his whole family, believing (correctly) that his girlfriend was cheating on him with his own father. Yet even he had seemed tranquil compared to Romeo Zderko.
And why was Romeo Zderko in such turmoil?
Because, Burris believed, he was under the thumb of Shaw McBride. Because he was the cudgel that Shaw McBride was using to terrorize the Boatwrights.
Though Burris had no evidence for this. He had nothing but conjecture. And since he’d never even met McBride, and had seen him in the flesh but once — in church yesterday — he thought he ought to be careful before laying any judgment on him.
I ought to at least meet the lying extortionate snake.
He turned the cruiser around and headed for the fairgrounds.
Romeo drove past Shelby’s house and saw, through the great-room window, that the Braves were on. Somebody in that house liked the Braves. But he had no idea who. The boy? Uncle Shelby? MacKenzie? Or maybe they just left the TV on when they went out; maybe the house was empty?
As he drove away he thought, what a useful visit. I’m learning so much on these patrols.
He went over to Vanessa and Henry’s house on Poinsettia Circle. Just as he passed, Vanessa came out to her mailbox, and when she went back in, she opened the kitchen door without using a key. Good, he thought. She leaves the door unlocked. Whenever he needed to, he could just walk in. That was important to know.
Why the hell was he still making these rounds?
He drove past Enoch Emery’s office. Then past Alfred’s house, then past Nell’s. And so around. In the center of his circuit was the Rotary Club fairgrounds. If he were a moth, that’s where his flame would be. Shaw had said, don’t get too close. But couldn’t he just stop by for a minute? For the sake of his sanity? Just take a little break from these orbits and go check out the crowd at the fairgrounds, see the heart of things, the pulse? Just for a minute. What could be the harm in that?
Tara lay in bed in one of the camp cabins with Clio next to her.
Came a soft knock and the door opened. Tara didn’t look, but by the very breeziness of his approach, she knew.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Checking on Clio. How is she?”
“Asleep.”
He brought a stool next to the bed and sat down. He spoke quietly so as not to wake Clio. He said, “Listen. Thank you for standing up to me today. For saving her life.”
“Yeah? OK. Fuck you.”
He said, “I don’t ever want to hurt you. Ever. Or anyone close to you. You know that?”
She just looked out the window.
Said Shaw, “You know what I do want?”
She shrugged. “Yeah.”
“What do I want?”
“Love.”
He wanted everyone’s love. Hers, Dad’s, Mom’s, Jase’s, Nell’s. And from everyone else he seemed to be getting it. One by one, they’d fallen; everyone submitting but her. And maybe soon, her too. Or maybe not. She half-wished he’d try to take her right now. Either she’d kill him, or he’d overpower her and she could surrender and call him Lord and turn into some kind of gray nothing like Dad, and after that no one’s life would be in her care.
But he didn’t touch her. He only sat there in the gathering dark, without saying another word.
Burris knew the cop who was stationed outside the fairgrounds. Name of Mims, county guy. Burris had worked with him in his days with the Coastal Area Drug Abuse Task Force.
“Hey, Mims.”
“What’s up, Burris?”
“Well. I’m investigating a theft.”
“Oh. Here?”
“Yeah.”
Mims waved him in. No further curiosity, no bother. Well, right, thought Burris. If I’d been parbroiling all day in that Crown Vic I probably wouldn’t give a damn who came or went either.
He drove up past the big cabin to the grassy field that met woods on three sides and a pond on the other. The sky was still brimming with light, but dusk had started to pool in the trees. Shaw’s followers crowded the picnic tables, and sprawled on the grass and on the porch of the big cabin. Mercy. So many of them. And they were all eyeing Burris warily and seemed to be deeply suspicious.
A man advanced. Baby-faced, dressed like a scarecrow, but nevertheless carrying himself like a big tuna. Burris lowered his window. “I’d like to talk to Shaw McBride?”
“He’s busy.”
“Would you tell him a police officer wants to see him?”
“About what?”
“Just tell him.”
The man withdrew.
The rude starers stared. Burris stared right back. Y’all are getting the airs of a damn cult, you know that?
After a few minutes, Shaw McBride came sweeping toward him from across the field, with a half-dozen acolytes trailing behind.
“Officer? Can I help you?”
Burris said, “Got a minute?” He unlocked the passenger door, and McBride got in — then Burris raised the windows and relocked the doors. Asking solicitously: “It’s not too cold for you, is it? Air’s not blowing on you?”
“I’m fine,” said McBride. His devotees were out there gawking unashamedly, as though the cruiser were some kind of aquarium.
Burris asked him, “You used to this?”
“To what?”
“People staring at you all the time.”
“I think it’s you they’re staring at. They’ve seen enough of me.” His grin seemed natural and unforced. “So tell me, Officer, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I was just wondering. You went into Chummy’s convenience store the other day? The day after you won the lottery? You recall that?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Oh, well. Seems silly now, but I felt I just had to go back there. To see where it all came down? That make sense?”
“The counter girl says you didn’t even know. Till she told you.”
“Know what?”
“That you’d won the jackpot.”
“Well, right. We were keeping it a secret.”
That easy smile again. He was good. Anyone else getting grilled in a patrol car might be squirming and sweating, but not McBride.
Burris got down to business: “Sir, you know a man by the name of Romeo Zderko?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d like to know the answer, sir.”
But be my guest, Burris thought, and deny it. I’d love to hear you deny it.
McBride didn’t deny it. He offered, in a surprisingly calm and flat voice, “Romeo used to be my best friend. Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Used to be? No more?”
“Uh-uh.”
“What happened?”
“Well. We came down here together, on vacation? We’ve been friends since we were kids. And we worked together up in Ohio. So we were coming down 95, and I saw the sign for Brunswick, and I remembered this was where Mitch Boatwright was from. So I said to Romeo, hey, I want to look up this guy I know, OK? This guy who helped me when I was so nuts? And he was fine with that. So I called Mitch, hung out for a while. And then, you know, I go back to the motel, and then I get that call from Mitch, he says, ‘Shaw, I think we won the jackpot.’
“So I told Romeo about this, and he says, ‘We won the jackpot?’ And I say, ‘Well, I won it.’ He goes, ‘Oh, no. We got a deal for this trip. We go half on everything.’ I say, ‘What? I’m not giving you half my jackpot ’cause of some deal about splitting expenses.’ And he goes, ‘Not giving me. What I’m due.’ I say, ‘You’re my best buddy, and you will get something good out of this. A Porsche at least.’ But he says, ‘I want my half.’ He starts, like, swearing at me. I mean he went completely apeshit. You know what I’m saying?”
It was hard for Burris to think straight. The radi
o kept buzzing in with news of trivial misdemeanors around the city. And all those silent spectators were staring at him, and fireflies were flashing their secret messages and this interview might have been the strangest thing he’d ever done in his life. But the story McBride was feeding him did have a sort of lit-from-within plausibility.
Could it all be moonshine? All of it?
Just then he noticed that one of the devotees had a video camera and was taping this encounter. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Is that from a news station?”
“Uh-uh,” said McBride. “One of our own. I could tell them to cut it out, if it’s making you uncomfortable.”
Burris murmured, “Too late now.”
Though he had a strong sense he’d wind up on the eleven o’clock news, and by morning be nothing but ashes. His job gone, his pension gone, and Nell would get wind of this visit and think he was harassing her family and never speak to him again. So that’ll be it then. So strike the tents.
McBride was going on: “Officer, you know the thing that’s setting Romeo off? What I think? This might sound odd, but I think it’s not the money. It’s just that he’s alone now. I mean we’ve been good friends for a long time, and then we come down here, and me, I’m welcomed into this family. This world. But Romeo… well, he’s just out there, you know? He’s just all alone and drifting. You know? You understand?”
It did seem to cohere. Burris mumbled, “Yes I do.”
“So if you do have to pick him up,” said McBride, “Try to be kind to him, OK?”
“OK.”
“Oh, and I think there’s still some barbecue shrimp. The ladies made it. It’s kind of amazing. Can I fix you a plate?”
“No sir,” said Burris. “But thank you, sir. Been a long day. Feel kinda whupped.”
Romeo had to jump a drainage ditch and negotiate a barbed-wire fence, then hike through swampy woods in the dark with only a rind of pale damp moon to guide him. It was the smell of the fairgrounds that he got first — bug repellent and lamp oil and roasting marshmallows. Then he started to hear the shouts and laughter, and finally he came to the edge of the trees and beheld a field full of running kids. They were pursuing some peculiar game. A few of them, wearing red bandanas, were chasing the others around the field. It took Romeo a moment before it came to him: this was the old game from Piqua, the game that he and Shaw had made up when they were kids: Hawks and Sparrows.
Shaw himself was ‘base’. He called, “Come out, little Sparrows!” and the kids came running toward him, except the ones with red bandanas — those were the Hawks. Their job was to catch the Sparrows. As Romeo remembered, if a Hawk caught you then you had to go to the Hawks Nest. But you were safe so long as you were touching Shaw, or touching someone else who was touching him. But since Shaw was always moving, the Sparrows had to scramble wildly to keep their holds, shrieking and climbing Shaw’s back, and the Hawks hovered close to them and taunted.
When Shaw shouted, “Hide, little birds!” all the Sparrows had to leave him and run for their lives.
Romeo could see that everyone was in bliss. Because of the wild cycles of the game, of course, but also on account of the dusk, the fireflies, the colliding fragrances.
A small flock of Sparrows came running into the shelter of the trees. They saw Romeo, and cried, “Hawk! Hawk!” and ran off again. He felt abysmally banished and unreal, and wished he hadn’t come. Yet he didn’t leave. He stayed there, watching. Even when the game faded, after the kids were called to their cabins and tents and campers and RVs, he stayed.
In the dark, his alarm buzzed. Time to call Shaw. He pressed 7 on his keypad — and across the field, Shaw opened his phone.
“How you doing, Romeo?”
“OK.”
“I’ve got news. That old cop came by to see me. But I think I broke him. I mean really, I think he’s shattered. You know what’s amazing? It’s amazing how much these people want to protect me. Jesus. Romeo, you wouldn’t believe these people.”
Even as he spoke, Romeo was watching him stroll along near the line of tents, like a general inspecting a bivouac. While Trevor, his aide-de-camp, lagged fifteen steps behind, to give him privacy for the call.
Shaw murmured, “Of course we have tricky moments ahead. Have to find some way to take our winnings and move on, and keep the Boatwrights scared from a distance. But we’ll do it. I have a plan for that. Oh listen, you have to dump the Tercel.”
“I do?”
“That old cop will be watching for it now. Get a new ride.”
“But I like the Tercel.”
“Jesus,” said Shaw. “You should see these fireflies!”
“Yeah. I see them too.”
“Where are you?”
“Patrolling. Shaw, I got a question.”
“OK.”
“Who should I kill first? I mean suppose you don’t answer my call? I was thinking Nell but that seems too obvious. That’s the first place the cops would cover, right? So how about Vanessa and Henry? Tara said how much she likes Cousin Vanessa’s art and all. Right?”
Shaw had stopped in the field. “Romeo. You won’t need to kill anyone. We’re good now.”
“Or I could do Shelby,” Romeo went on, as though Shaw hadn’t said a word. “But he’s got those kids and could I really kill them? Maybe I could. Though if it’s daytime the kids’ll be in school and then I’m pretty sure I’d want to do Shelby first.”
“Hey!” said Shaw. Sudden flash of impatience. “Stop talking about killing! This isn’t about killing! This is about love!”
Romeo fell silent.
“Stop worrying,” said Shaw, and he was soft again. “The whole world is on our side now.”
Burris, checked off by doom, unsalvageable, sat in the cruiser in front of Nell’s house, and watched Nell working in her kitchen. Nell was facing away from him, but by her slight hunch and the small rhythmic movement of her shoulders he figured she was washing dishes. He knew he should get away from there before he was tempted to do something stupid. Like going in and trying to talk to her. No. Drive away now. What are you doing here?
I have business, he told himself.
No you don’t. Move along.
I have to warn her.
Go home.
Nell turned and hung a washcloth on a little hook. And Burris got out of the Taurus and marched toward the porch.
Losing steam quickly though. By the time he reached the top step of the portico he was thinking, this is suicide. This will be added to the long list of memories that make me cringe and weep, and will stay with me forever. He was at the point of retreating — but then the automatic porchlight flicked on, and Nell came to the door to see who it was.
Through the open screen door she said, “Burris?”
He felt deeply the chill in her tone.
“How are you, Nell?”
“I’m fine.” But she spoke it briskly, and pointedly she wasn’t asking him in.
Behind her, two cats were on the kitchen table, one was on the floor, one was in the rocking chair. All were eyeballing him. The one in the rocker looked like a living electric shock. Burris knew he was an imbecile to have come, but now he had to play it through. He said, “Sorry to be visiting so late. I saw your light.”
“I was just about to turn in.”
“OK. Could I have one minute though?”
“Why?”
“Just something I need to talk to you about.”
“What is it?”
What an indignity having to stand out here. What a rude stony-hearted woman. Which she’s always been, come to think of it, and I was a sap to have ever chased her. She’s always been a diva, and her looks which were never much are now completely shot. Also, this house reeks of too many cats.
Still, it gave him vertigo to be so close to her.
Finally she threw him a crumb: “Burris, you want to come in?”
“Thank you.”
The screen door creaked. She gently purged the kitchen table of its c
ats, and he took a seat. Noticing the trophy head he said, “That’s not a real buck, is it?”
“No. It sings.”
Not deigning though to make it sing for him. She just sat across from him and folded her arms and waited.
At last he began. “Well, what I’ve come about? I’ve come about Shaw McBride.”
“Yeah?”
“You notice any, anything suspicious about him?”
He’d wanted to avoid using the word suspicious — it sounded like phony cop-talk. But right away it had slipped out.
She said, “Suspicious? Burris, what’s this about?”
“Well… well, maybe I got a tip that maybe, um, Shaw isn’t really in on this jackpot deal.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe he didn’t really give Mitch that twenty dollars to buy lottery tickets with. Maybe he made that part up.”
“Made it up?” she said. “I’m lost.”
“I guess there’s no way to ease into this. Nell, there’s a chance this could be an extortion scheme. A terror scheme.”
She gaped at him.
He said, “I think Shaw is threatening Mitch.”
“What?”
“I got a tip. So think. You haven’t sensed anything odd? Mitch hasn’t shown any fear of Shaw McBride?”
“No.”
“Or has Patsy, or the kids?”
“Uh-uh. They like him. Particularly Tara does. And I know her pretty well. If she were living in terror, it wouldn’t escape me. Come on, where’d you get this tip?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I mean, is somebody making up stories?”
Just at that moment, one of the cats leaped up onto the table. The electric-shock cat. Christ, he hated that one. Nell said sharply: “Buddy Bailey, get down!” She dipped her fingers into her tea and flicked them, and the cat shrank away.
Meanwhile the other two million cats were skulking around. Mercy. He hated all of them, and hated that she’d given them surnames. It was just too damn cute. Suddenly he was glad she’d treated him so cruelly these forty years. Jesus. What if she’d fallen in love with him? Then he’d have married her. Then all this cat-stink would be his?
He rose. “Nell, I better go. Sorry to have bothered you so late.”
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