by David Wiltse
Rae had become more fascinated with Aural than she was with Tommy. And growing rebellious and uppity in little ways under the girl's influence, too. The Apostolics sure weren't the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but they were trained and docile and worked cheap and without them and without Rae to do the hundred little things she did, Tommy would be without a show, without a livelihood, without a goddamned prayer. He was too old to start over again with nothing more than a gold Bible and a winning way and ten thousand feet of patched canvas tent.
Tommy looked over to where Aural stood amid her fans. She was smiling that little smile she used when she was being saintly, nothing big enough to show actual mirth. It was the kind of smile a mother used when watching her child do something endearing for the umpteenth patient, knowing, ever tolerant of her beloved. The around her were lapping it up. He saw Rae standing at the edge of the crowd, studying Aural with the same devotion as all the others, as if she actually believed the act, as if she didn't have access to the real Aural whenever she wanted it. The flock attending Tommy had dispersed, many of them gravitating towards Aural's crowd, so that Tommy stood alone, watching the phenomenon he had helped to create.
Either he had to harness Aural in a way she couldn't get loose from him … or he had to get rid of her, quick.
He didn't have any idea of a way to harness her-she could shrug him off and walk off with his show anytime she wanted to-and it wouldn't be long before she realized that as well as Tommy.
But he did know how to get rid of her.
Cooper had to walk three miles to work because there was no public transportation to the restaurant and he did not have a car, but the walk did not bother him. On the way to work it gave him a chance to run over in his mind his course of action for the day, and on the return trip, when it was dark outside except for the headlights of cars going past on the road, he used the time to pore over the day's events and see where he had done right and where he had gone wrong. It wasn't like the life in prison; there were so many ways to make a mistake here in the world.
Nobody yelled at him at the job when he made a mistake-Cooper was not the kind of man to raise your voice to-but they had other ways of letting him know. Ways that made him feel much worse. He knew they were all talking about him behind his back, mocking, him, laughing at his incompetence, smirking at his slowness.
But he had ways of getting back at them. That was what he considered on his walk to work, the methods he would use to get even with all the snickering, condescending shitass little clerks who worked in the restaurant with him.
A different way for each one. He could just squeeze them all together and punish them at once, but that wouldn't be any fun. He wanted to get them one at a time and do it leisurely so they knew why they were being punished, and he wanted to do each one in a different way-because that would be fun.
He didn't know exactly when he would start repaying his fellow employees, but he knew he would have to have a car first, for two reasons. If he had a car he could transport them somewhere away from the restaurant. Finding a place wouldn't be hard-the road was lined by scruffy, piney woods on both sides and there was nothing in there but trees and bushes and snakes. Cooper knew that because he had gone exploring. The land was no good for yfarming, too close to the road for living. It was junk land and Cooper was thinking of ways of putting a whole lot of junk on it. Or under it.
The other reason he'd need a car was to go away in when he was finished.
He'd have to be stupid to just stick around, still walking to and from the restaurant when there was nobody left to work in it but him. And Cooper wasn't stupid. Sometimes it took him a while to figure out exactly what he wanted to do, but that didn't make him stupid.
The clerks at the restaurant would find out just how smart he was, soon enough. As soon as he got a car.
And he wasn't going to steal one, either. He knew better than that, that was the way to have every cop in the state pulling you over and asking for your registration. It would be his own car, it would belong to him, he would pay for it with his own money. Or at least he'd make the down payment. He could see himself doing that, walking into the used-car lot, pointing to the car he wanted, then wiping that smug smile off the salesman's face by pulling a wad of bills from his pocket and counting them off. He could see himself taking the keys from the hands of the clerk who would be impressed now, getting behind the,wheel, and driving right out of there with the registration in his pocket. After that Cooper couldn't see any more about the car; that was the only picture he had in his mind.
But it was enough. It would be fun, and he knew what he'd do once he got the car. That part was a little fuzzy, too, but not because he couldn't see it clearly. Rather, because he could see too many possibilities.
Meanwhile, the walk was fine with Cooper. Once in a while some stranger would slow down and offer him a ride. Cooper liked that, as long as they didn't try to talk to him too much. He liked sitting in a different car, he liked studying the driver from the corner of his eye, he liked imagining what he'd do to them if they tried any funny stuff. Sometimes they would ask him what he was grinning about. He hadn't told any of them yet-but he might.
He remembered the girl. Her car was old, but big, with lots of room, even up front. It had a muffler problem, but what Cooper remembered best was that she let him drive and got him onto the highway and then urged him on until he was going fast, so fast he couldn't do anything but drive. She kept telling him to go faster and faster and that's when she did the amazing thing and slipped down on that big front seat and told him to pay attention to his driving or he'd kill them both. But it was very hard to pay attention to his driving with her doing that to him, and she wasn't just teasing about it either. She went at him Re she was starved, with all kinds of moans and sloppy noises which he thought were probably words but he couldn't make them out because of what she was doing and he didn't know why she'd bother talking then anyway. But she was very good at it. And fast, so fast he hardly got to the part where he thought about how easy it would be to kill her before he was finished. Cooper tried to watch the road, but he swerved badly a couple of times towards the end and nearly put them into the ditch.
When he howled and cried out at the finish, she lifted up from the seat, wiping her face and laughing.
"I gather you liked that," she said, still laughing. "Either that or you got it caught in the zipper."
She was slouched against her door now, looking real pleased with herself. Her blouse was open and he saw her reach her hand inside.
"Keep driving," she said.
"Where?" he asked.
"See, that part's easy," she said. "You just point the car and the road'Il take you where it's going."
Cooper didn't like her tone of voice now, but after a minute she slid her naked foot across the seat and started playing with his leg with her toes. He didn't remember seeing her ever take her boots off.
She was kind of purring now and her hand was working under her blouse but Cooper didn't like being touched so soon after and he felt like kicking her out of the car while they were speeding along.
"I could kill you, you know," he said.
"You're about to get your chance, sugar," she said.
Her foot was now in his lap, but what she thought she was going to accomplish with her heel was a mystery to Cooper. Grinding it around like that now just annoyed him.
"Uh huh," he said.
"My turn," she said.
Cooper looked at her face. If she thought he was going to do what she had just done, she must be even crazier than she was acting.
"Keep your eyes on the road," she said. "I'll show you where to turn off."
He pulled the car onto a dirt lane that wasn't much wider than the car itself and that was the first time Cooper explored the piney woods.
Walking to work, he grinned at the memory.
The retard with the bug eyes was all right, Cooper liked him, he decided. He just smiled a lot and said friendly things and ne
ver tried to give Cooper advice and never made comments on how he was doing. But the guy who hung around the french-fry vat, Lyle, Kyle, whatever his name was, was beginning to be a real pain in the, ass.
Cooper had seen his kind before. He was scared shitless of Cooper-the only sign that he had any sense at allbut was trying like crazy to be friends with him. Cooper just knew he was going to have to hurt him some, if only to stop him trying to be a buddy. Cooper didn't want Kyle for a buddy, he didn't need some pimple-faced teenager for a pal, the kid didn't know his ass from a sandwich bun. If Cooper hurt him some, the kid would stop trying to be so chummy, and it would also serve to make him realize that Cooper really was dangerous. Once they thought he wasn't dangerous, they would think they could do and say anything, make fun of him any way they liked.
"Where's that girl I saw you with?" he was saying now, winking at Cooper like they shared a secret.
"Who?"
"The one I saw you with," Kyle said.
"You never saw me with a girl," Cooper said.
"Yeah, I did," Kyle insisted. "You drove off in her car. An Oldsmobile about a hundred years old."
Cooper did not think anyone had seen him with the girl.
Kyle slipped an order of frozen potato slices into the simmering fat, which convulsed briefly with a subdued hiss.
"What was her name?" Kyle asked.
"I don't know," Cooper said, honestly.
"Sure you do. Mayvis, ain't it? I see her around here a lot. She's a real beauty, ain't she?"
Cooper pulled the rubber garbage can from under the counter and dragged it towards the door. It wasn't really his job, it belonged to the reetard, but Coop needed to get out of that kitchen. How come he hadn't noticed Kyle watching him when he drove off with the girl?
"She's okay," Cooper said.
"What did you do with her?" Kyle asked, his voice insinuating all kinds of things.
Cooper looked up from the garbage to stare at the kid.
He wondered if he shoved the boy's hand into the boiling fat if that would shut him up.
"Something," Cooper said.
"I just bet you did," the kid said, and winked again.
Then, to anyone else in the kitchen who wanted to hear, he said, "I just bet old COOP did something mighty interesting with Mayvis."
Somebody grunted something which Kyle took as encouragement to continue.
"He did it so good she hasn't come back," Kyle said.
"Ain't that right, Coop?"
Cooper thought of shoving the boy's whole head into the french-fry vat, but instead he lifted the garbage can in his arms and backed out the door.
"Where'd you leave her?" Kyle persisted. "Some of rest of us would like to find her."
"Somewhere," said Cooper. The screen door was yanked shut by its hinges, but Cooper could still hear them talking about him.
Clamden's chief of police loped heavily after the soccer ball, holding on to his holster with one hand while the rest of the paraphernalia on his belt-radio, baton, keys, cuffs-slapped against his hips and butt.
'You destroy the myth of the graceful fat man," Becker said.
Tee swung mightily at the ball, catching it glancingly off the side of his boot so that it dribbled ineffectively in the general direction of Becker.
"Not fat," Tee puffed. "That's a paunch. It's a sign of respectability."
"You're getting awfully respectable," Becker said. He got to the ball in a few quick steps and rerouted it towards Jack.
Tee patted his stomach affectionately. "Think of it as a symbol of authority," he said. "Underneath all this flesh and equipment, I'm lean as a whippet. The uniform is very misleading. Right, Jack?"
Jack grunted something that could have been agreement as he concentrated on the ball, his mouth open with the effort. He and Tee had basically the same skill level, and each had been kicking a ball about the same amount of time.
"Your basic criminal type is skinny," Tee was explaining. "Righteous bulk just naturally intimidates him."
Jack kicked the ball to Becker and once again Becker deflected it to Tee with apparent ease. The guy was like one of those flippers in a pinball machine, Tee thought.
He barely touched the ball, hardly kissed it, and it seemed exactly where he wanted and with speed and power.
He was, once again, impressed by the easy athleticism of his friend.
Tee kicked another shot and laughed at himself.
"I'm more of a football player," he said. "This is a damned European game. Whoever heard of not using your hands? It's unnatural."
"Most popular sport in the world," Becker said, dancing to the ball and flicking it over to Jack.
"Oh, sure, the world. What do they know?"
"Speaking of your basic criminal," Becker said.
"Now you're talking," Tee said. "I know him well. I can pick him out of a crowd by the dishonest way he looks and moves."
"Nice talent," Becker said. "Must have its uses."
"It's why they made me chief of police," Tee said.
"The old unerring eye. I can not only pick out your malefactor-that's police talk, Jack, very sophisticated-" Jack nodded to indicate that he was listening. "I can even tell you his criminal specialty."
"How is that done, exactly? That specialty thing?"
Tee picked the ball up and placed it on his hip.
"You know how pets and their owners start to resemble each other after a while? It's the same with your average perpetrator. After a few years, he looks like what he does.
Your burglar develops big ears and shifty eyes, for instance."
"Pay no attention to him, Jack," Becker said.
"A sex fiend grows hair on his palms, just like they warned us."
"I was told you'd go blind," Becker said.
Jack took the ball from Tee's hands and the big man seemed hardly to notice. Jack recognized this tone in their voices; when the two men teased each other like this, Jack was better off playing by himself until the mood passed.
'You'll notice I do not wear glasses," said Tee.
'I hadn't noticed, but then I can't see too well."
"I feared as much. Always sad to see a good man go bad "Well, now, given your expertise in these matters…"
"I am, after all, the chief of police."
"And have the paunch to prove it," Becker said. "So, as the expert, what can you tell me about the man watching us from the hedge?"
Tee studied the forest hedge surrounding the playing field. It took him a moment to discern the shape of a man standing amid the foliage. He shook his head, acknowledging Becker's ability to see things without seeming to look. The man was behind Becker's back, and Tee could not remember that Becker had ever so much as turned around.
"What do you do, smell them?"
"This one is a little riper than most," Becker said.
The man was at least forty yards away. Tee had been joking; he was not sure that Becker was. He had asked Becker once how he did it, how he appeared to notice everything without paying attention. Becker's answer had only increased the mystery. "The way a deer does it," Becker had said. "He notices everything because everything is a threat. He's afraid." Tee could see nothing deerlike about his friend, nor could he detect any fear. The man he knew was not a passive prey animal, cringing at shadows. He was the shape within the shadow; he was a carnivore.
"He could be a scout," Tee ventured of the man in the bushes. "My legend may have spread. Or Jack's perhaps."
"Could be, I suppose," Becker said.
"You sound dubious. I'd say a soccer scout or a fan.
Or he could be lost."
"Waiting for a bus?":'Or a pervert."
"That's a fan of sorts," Becker said. "Maybe your legend has spread."
"Don't look at me. I don't attract that kind of attention.
I have my admirers, of course."
"Being the chief, you would."
"Can't be helped. But they're all manly men and homey women."
&nbs
p; "I've heard about the women. Are you still chasing Mimi at the doughnut shop?" 'We're just good friends," Tee said, his voice temporarily serious. He cast a look at Jack to see if the boy was listening. "I want that understood."
"I believe you, but then I'm gullible."
"Do you think I should walk over there and intimidate the guy?"
"I wouldn't bother."
"I could beat him senseless for loitering. The chief is allowed to do that, you know."
"Or you could just shoot him from here and save yourself the walk."
"Not the worst idea. Then again, I have a radio on my hip, you'll notice."
"Let's have some music then," said Becker.
"I could summon help, provided there are any batteries in it."
"Actually, I wouldn't bother with any of that," Becker said. He signaled for Jack to kick him the ball. Becker scooped it up with his toe and caught it niidair on his ankle, bouncing it to his knee. "He'll be coming to visit us pretty soon. You can pound him senseless when he arrives."
"Oh, good."
As if on cue, the man stepped out of the hedge. and started towards them. How does he know these things?
Tee asked himself Associate Director Hatcher of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the man in charge of the various Violent Crime Divisions on the East Coast, stood in the bushes and watched John Becker kick a ball. He hated the way Becker kicked a ball, hated the way the man moved, the way he seemed to do everything with an effortless grace that mocked the clumsy efforts of those around him. It was one of the reasons that Becker was the most effective agent Hatcher had ever seen. One of several reasons, and Hatcher envied him all of them. Except one.
Hatcher, for whom most things came only with practice and diligent effort, had one consummate skill that Becker couldn't touch. Hatcher knew that he wasn't the brightest agent around, nor the bravest, nor the best organized. He certainly had no natural talent for sleuthing, no instinct for the profession, no insight into the criminal mind beyond what he had been taught in class. What Hatcher had, what Becker lacked totally, was the ability to manipulate people. They didn't usually give awards and medals for such a skill-they gave promotions. It was not a talent that others would praise or envy, and other men did not yearn to be close to it as they did to athleticism or humor. In fact, it made many people dislike the possessor. Many, but not all. It was recognized by others who had the skill, and they manipulated Hatcher to manipulate others, and it would work that way until he rose to the top and did all the manipulating himself. That was how it was with power.