Shit.
3:06. Time was running out. Fourteen minutes left.
Call me, goddamn it!
He stopped at a construction site on 17. He took half a dex; then he went back to the trunk but couldn’t remember how it opened. He looked everywhere before he finally checked the glove compartment and found the release switch. He went back and opened the trunk and took out the Phoenix .22. Above him were black stormclouds. The very air was stressed. He’d have to start killing any moment. He needed the whirling. Oh shit. Shaw, call me.
Burris called the Lieutenant as he drove toward town. He didn’t want to be overheard so he used his cell phone. It took a while to get through. When he did, he said, “Lieutenant, I need a BOLO on this guy and I need it right now. His name is Romeo Zderko.”
“Who?”
“Friend of Shaw McBride’s.”
“Burris, you can’t work this case.”
“This time I’ve got real evidence.”
“Chief’s gonna fire your ass.”
“But this guy, this Zderko, he’s stalking the Boatwrights. He’s got a map of Brunswick with little stars where all the Boatwrights live.”
Silence, while the Lieutenant tried to process this. It was painful for Burris to wait, but he did. After a long while the Lieutenant said, “What do you mean, stars?”
“It’d take too long to explain. The point is, he’s targeting the Boatwrights.”
“Where’d you find this map?”
“The trailer where he’s been staying.”
“You had your warrant and all?”
“Didn’t need one. His girlfriend gave it to me.”
A sigh. “OK.”
OK was just two letters but the Lieutenant drawled them so slowly it was like he was reeling out the whole alphabet. Then he said, “Burris, this map, would you say it represents an imminent threat?”
“He’s never met them! Yet he’s got a map showing their houses!”
“Yeah. I guess that’s a threat. You bringing this in?”
“Fast as I can. But we need a BOLO right now.”
“Can it wait till the Chief gets back from lunch?”
“For God’s sake. Jimmy! Gimme the fuckin BOLO!”
He hadn’t called him Jimmy for years — not since his demotion. Soft crackle of static.
Finally: “All right, Burris. I’ll put it out there.”
“Thank you.”
“But now it’s my own nuts hangin over the coals.”
Shaw leaped out of the boat the moment it touched Lonsdale’s dock — then reached back and pulled Tara off, and the two of them left the others behind. They sprinted down Lonsdale’s curving elegant driveway to where the Liberty was parked.
“Get in,” he ordered her. “Drive.”
She got behind the wheel. As they were turning onto Sea Island Road, she asked, “Where?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back to Brunswick.”
“How much time do we have?”
He checked his watch. 3:11. “Nine minutes.”
“I can’t get to Brunswick in nine minutes!”
“Try.”
At the corner of Frederica Road, she ran a red light, leaning into the horn. She shouted, “Who does he kill first?”
“I’ll tell you when we’re closer.”
“Can’t you just call him on my phone?”
“I don’t know his number,” he said. “I just press 7.”
She gave a sigh of disgust.
Shaw thought, was he supposed to have foreseen this? That her brother would be a psychopath, and throw his phone in the sea? Get out of my head! What we want is light, pure light, not all these questions. Who sent you to destroy my dream? This ugliness, I can’t bear this right now.
She was doing eighty on the Sea Island Causeway, weaving through the lanes.
She tried to speak gently: “Shaw, please tell me where’s he’s going first.”
“When we’re closer.”
“But I could call and warn them.”
“Not without giving me away.”
“But it’s not Nell? Nell’s not first?”
“You’ll know soon.”
“For God’s sake, just tell me this one thing! Is it Nell?”
“Drive as fast as you can.”
Romeo was coming down Indian Mound Road toward Shelby and Miriam’s. There were still three more minutes left before he’d be obliged to kill anyone, but it was time for him to get into position. He should be ready. It wouldn’t be too hard. The kids, MacKenzie and Benjamin would still be at school. So he could just waltz in there. Then Shelby would be bound to say something nasty, and that would get the whirling going in Romeo’s head.
He pulled up across from the house. The kids were not in school. They were out on the lawn, playing badminton. He was horrified to see them. But he said to himself, you’re a soldier. Good soldiers say fuck the kids.
The girl MacKenzie stopped playing a moment. She looked straight at him. She even seemed to remember him. She gave him a little wave. He lowered his eyes.
Think about Shaw. They’ve got Shaw. Remember what Shaw said that night of the Perseids party, looking up at the stars. “This thing we have, between the two of us. This friendship? This will last. In some form. Because this is the only worthwhile fucking thing in history.”
Go. Keep your head down and don’t look at her, if that’ll make it easier. But go. Now.
Tara and Shaw came off the causeway, and finally Shaw revealed their destination: “Shelby and Miriam’s. He said that’s where he’d go first.”
Her first thought was, it’s not Nell!
Not Nell! Thank God!
Then she thought about the kids. MacKenzie and Benjamin. Oh Lord the kids. I’m thanking God that Romeo’s killing the kids? She took a right on 17 and went north — and floored it. Running a red light and then sliding across the traffic and running another, horns lighting up all around her, and she shot into the oncoming lane to pass a half-dozen cars, and found herself in the path of a truck. Panic rushed up from her chest and blinded her. She jerked the wheel back, and somehow found her own lane again, and held on, and the car steadied.
The whole time, Shaw sat silently. Keeping his eyes on the road, holding his gun in his lap, saying not a word.
The clock on the dashboard said 3:24. So time was up, she thought. Time was up already! They were already four minutes late!
But still Shaw was quiet. Maybe none of this was real? Maybe it had all been staged, just to scare her?
But if it was real, and they were too late — if they found that Shelby and Miriam and the kids were already dead — then what would Shaw do? He’d kill her, wouldn’t he? He’d have to. Instantly. What other choice would he have?
She skidded right onto Belle Point, then left on Indian Mound Road.
The house. Badminton net out front, on the pristine carpet of grass. There were two rackets and a white birdie, lying there. Would the kids have done that? Shelby’s kids, ever? Just left their stuff out on the lawn like that? She burst her car door open and ran into the garage, and Shaw followed her.
The door to the kitchen was ajar.
She gave it a little push. As it swung open, she called, “Hello?”
The fieldstone walls returned an echo. No one called back. Lucky didn’t bark. She stepped inside. Shaw was right behind her.
They walked through the kitchen and the only sound was the murmur of the refrigerator. She was too scared to call again. She felt Shaw’s presence at her back. I’m dead, she thought, the moment we find the bodies. Where are they? Where are they? She stepped into the great room, where everything was immaculately arranged: the tall vase full of lilies, the candlesticks, the Architectural Digests. A broad view of the marsh. No movement anywhere. She thought, I should run now. Why am I looking for them? They’re dead — I can’t help them. Make a dash for the front door and start screaming.
Then she heard a small voice. One word: “Marco.”
&nbs
p; Again. “Marco.”
It was a boy’s voice.
Then a girl: “Polo.”
Followed by a frenzy of splashing. Tara went up to the sliding glass doors till she could see the pool in the backyard, where Benjamin and MacKenzie were playing happily.
Lucky the dog spotted her and starting barking. MacKenzie cried, “Tara!”
Tara went outside, followed by Shaw. MacKenzie ran up to her still soaking wet, but Tara gave her a huge hug anyway.
Miriam, sitting by the pool, said, “Hey darlin. Hello, Shaw.”
MacKenzie cried, “Come into the pool!”
Tara said, “We can’t. We’re looking for Shaw’s friend. Has he been here? Kind of a small guy? With big eyes?”
Miriam said, “That’s your friend? The religious guy? He was just here. He scares the heck out of me.”
“Did he speak to you?”
MacKenzie said, “He spoke to me! He asked me who was winning. We were playing badminton. I was winning. Now Mom won’t let us play.”
Miriam said, “What’s he doing talking to my children? He doesn’t know my children. I don’t like it. I was about to call the police. What does he want here?”
“I wish I could say,” Shaw murmured. “I’m afraid he’s kind of gone off the deep end.”
Romeo turned off Altama onto Poinsettia Circle, and parked in front of Vanessa and Henry’s little house. If I go quick I can do this. The secret is going quick.
He stepped out of the car, the Phoenix .22 at his side, and crossed the street. He went to the side door, the kitchen door. Vanessa was standing there, at the island, turning a crank. Grinding something. Was she making fresh pasta? Yes she was. There were sliced tomatoes, eggs and onions and cloves of garlic on her cutting board. And of course Romeo thought of his mother, and felt that somebody or something was trying to make his job as difficult as possible.
Strike. Go. Can’t kill children, OK. But this sour banal bitch? You’ll be done in twenty seconds and you’ll feel a million times better.
His hand was on the knob, the old-fashioned mother-of-pearl knob. He couldn’t turn it.
For shit’s sake. This bitch is one of them! She’s one of the soulless bastards who suffocated the life out of Shaw, with their fear and their dullness, and she’s complicit in his death, so kill her.
But this line of thinking didn’t work.
After half a minute, he gave up. He went back to the car and sat there, and had a memory of Shaw telling him, But it all comes down to you. To you suffering in that darkness. To my knowing that you won’t let me down. Romeo put the muzzle of the gun into his mouth. That cutting blood-metal taste. OK, this you can do. For God’s sake. Get out of this world now, while you still can.
But he couldn’t. He tossed the gun on the seat beside him and turned the key and drove away.
Soon Shaw would know. How Romeo had driven around Brunswick killing no one not even himself. Effecting no revenge. Wreaking nothing. Making a mockery of Shaw’s vision. How Romeo had stained with his cowardice all of Shaw’s dreams.
Back at Altama Avenue he turned south. He clenched the steering wheel and threw his head forward, slamming his brow as hard as he could into the windshield. But the windshield didn’t break, and he was dizzy but still conscious, and his shame was not assuaged. He saw a convenience store and pulled in. He drove up to the pumps. He got out of the car and took the fuel nozzle and aimed it at himself, and squeezed the trigger. Since he hadn’t paid, though, nothing happened.
He hit the HELP button.
“Yes?”
“I need gas,” he said. “Turn the gas on.”
“Sir, if you’re not using a credit card, you’ll have to prepay.”
He fished his wallet out, found his credit card, and shoved it into the slot. RECEIPT? YES/NO. He pressed NO, and then START. He held the nozzle over his head and this time gouts of golden gasoline came pouring out, and for one instant this was refreshing. But then he started breathing in the fumes and they made him so sick that he had to fling the hose down. Also he got some in his eyes which stung like a bitch.
He wiped his face with a T-shirt from the backseat. Then he ran up to the store.
But the clerk had locked the door.
Romeo pounded on it. “I need your help, man! I’m not gonna hurt you or anything. I just need you to light me up!”
But the clerk didn’t respond. He was probably cowering behind his counter.
“Come on man! You just have to toss a match! I’ll give you five hundred dollars for one fucking match! I’ll take out five hundred dollars from the ATM, right now, and it’ll be yours! Please!”
No reply.
Romeo kicked at the door. “I’LL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING I HAVE! I’LL GIVE YOU LIKE THIRTY MILLION DOLLARS! JUST LIGHT ME UP, MOTHERFUCKER!”
But the clerk didn’t come out.
Romeo limped back to the car and got in.
He had no idea where he was going but it didn’t matter. He only needed to find someone who would do him this favor. He drove down Altama heading south, and saw some black kids on bikes. Ask them? No, I doubt they’ve got matches and anyway they’ll take off the moment they get a whiff of the gas. He passed the Cypress Mill intersection. Suddenly there were sirens, sirens everywhere. Wailing-ghost sirens, machine-gun-electronica sirens, barking air horns. Everything became unstable. Even the daylight flickered. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the pork blasting toward him. Three cruisers. And they weren’t coming to put him out of his misery; they were coming to get him. They’d have a big show trial of all his failures. If Shaw was still alive he’d hear of Romeo’s every fuckup and cowardice in vivid detail. They’d put Shaw in a cell no bigger than a crypt, and for sixty or eighty years he could stew over Romeo’s failure, over the courage that Romeo hadn’t shown when the barnyard-fuckjuice came raining down. Romeo himself would be in the next cell, and every night Shaw would shout out COWARD and TRAITOR all over the cellblock, and tell them all how Romeo had fucked up the whole world.
For the next sixty years.
He jammed his foot into the accelerator. The Bel Air coughed and stalled out, and sat in the middle of the road with the three squad cars bearing down.
They sailed right past.
Howling, lit up like shooting stars, one, two, three they blew past him and left him sitting there. They had some other mission in mind.
A stillness settled around the car. A dragonfly came buzzing up to his window. He thought, OK. There is something I can do about this suffering. Give it to her.
Burris was on Newcastle Street, just a few blocks from the station, when the call came that the Tercel had been pulled over outside Spanky’s restaurant off Altama Avenue.
He hit the siren and spun around, and came roaring up MLK Boulevard, making Spanky’s inside of three minutes. And there, in the parking lot, it was: that boxy, zero-colored, ’91 Toyota Tercel. Police lights flying all around it. Already there were five or six units, and more sirens homing in from all compass points.
The Lieutenant had gone all out for him.
Burris emerged from his cruiser. A moment later, the Lieutenant himself arrived, and then the Chief. Though the Chief seemed appalled by all the hubbub. He said, “This is not the way I like to see my city run.” He also declared, “I was eatin my damn lunch. Three o’clock, I can’t eat my lunch? Would you tell me what is so important I can’t eat my lunch?”
A sergeant barked into a megaphone: “STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD.”
The door of the Tercel opened. A lanky man with a goatee and a pompadour of white hair emerged.
The megaphone told him: “LIE DOWN! LIE DOWN! LIE DOWN ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW!”
As Goatee was splaying his limbs on the pavement, Burris decided to come right out with it. Don’t try to preamble or anything, because it won’t do any good. Just say it.
“That’s not him.”
“What?” said the Chief.
“Th
at’s not Zderko.”
“That’s not the car you wanted?”
“No, that is the car. It’s not the guy though. It’s some other guy. Maybe it’s a friend of his, or something.”
The Chief fixed him in his gaze.
“Corporal. Didn’t I tell you to get off this case?”
“Yes sir.”
“Did I slur my words?”
“No sir.”
“I spoke clearly?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then you’re fired. Now can I eat my damn lunch?”
Patsy and Mitch and Jase got a ride back to the fairgrounds from Henry Lonsdale’s driver, who let them off in the big field.
Twice as many pilgrims as there had been in the morning.
Trevor said, “Where’s Shaw?”
Mitch shrugged. “Off with Tara somewhere.”
“There’s a cop here to see him,” said Trevor.
“You know what he wants?” Trevor asked. “Is everything OK?”
Mitch said, “Everything’s fine. But pray for us.” He walked over to the cop, and Patsy stood there thinking, Please God, protect my daughter. Please God that she’s safe and she comes back to me. And Lord, please take care of Shaw. Don’t let anything happen to Shaw.
She was vaguely aware that cameras were clacking away at her.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “We love you, Patsy!”
Others echoing: “We love you!” “Praise the Lord!” “Praise God!”
She looked out and smiled at them, these simple folks. It was Shaw who had taught her to love them back. She felt as though she were looking back at this scene from some future vantage, and she thought, “That was the moment, Diane. That’s when first I truly felt the power of Shaw’s love.” Diane listening with all her quiet intensity, and perhaps grasping her hands. It brought tears to Patsy’s eyes to foresee this moment.
And the pilgrims’ cameras saw her tears, and feasted on them.
Shaw and Tara slowed beside Vanessa and Henry’s house.
There was Vanessa, working obliviously and happily in her kitchen.
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