“I guess we don't need guards for the press any longer,” Natasha said as she pushed down on the accelerator.
“Looks like the party's over,” Ward said. “Thank God.”
“You can say that again.”
“Looks like the party's over. Thank God.”
FIFTY-ONE
Her hair wet from a long, hot shower, Alice stood looking into her closet trying to decide what she was going to wear to the “toys for bucks” exchange at the mall. She thought about Earl when she looked at the box on her dresser where his gun was hidden.
The question was whether she'd dress comfortably as always, or maybe dress up like a serious businesswoman. It was business she was going to be doing. Two thousand dollars for a little toy car whose doors and hood didn't even open up. For that kind of money there should be a little toy driver who moved his hands and head and maybe even changed the toy oil. It was mind- blowing that anyone would pay that much money for a toy Alice dried her hair, feeling she deserved the money for, if nothing else, keeping it safe.
The car reminded her of visiting her father and his bimbo wife, a Vegas Barbie whose boyfriend was plastic surgeon Ken. She'd already had her lips pumped up so she looked like she lived in a beehive. Alice's three- year- old half brother was an annoying little dork with a nose that ran constantly. He couldn't talk without yelling demands at the top of his shrill voice.
Alice's mother had new breasts, probably thinking that with the bigger breasts she could hold a man, or some other silly shit. She read brochures about face-lifts, buttock inserts, and all manner of cosmetic- enhancement nonsense. Alice knew it was a waste of money, but there was no way to convince Delores Palmer, who had the money to waste. If her mother didn't think she could have the pert figure of a sixteen- year- old, Alice could be driving a nice new BMW convertible instead of a shitty little beater.
Alice decided to dress formally. She stretched on a tight pair of black designer jeans her stepmother had bought her in Vegas, a crisp black T-shirt sporting a Jolly Roger where the skull had been replaced with a silhouette of a doughnut, and lightweight socks with yellow bathtub ducks on them. She slipped on a pair of dark gray sandals.
Going down the stairs, Alice heard odd sounds. Slipping to the kitchen door, she looked in to see her mother lying on the butcher- block island, with her skirt hiked up and her legs spread. Her blouse was open and her new and very erect breasts were exposed for the benefit of Bruce Benning, a neighbor who had just turned seventeen. He lived five doors down and had mowed the lawn since spring. Alice herself had flirted with him on several occasions over the years, but to no avail. Now, standing on tiptoe, his shorts a nylon puddle on the floor, he thrust his hips, driving himself in and out of Delores Palmer, his gaze moving between her breasts and his member's mesmerizing vanishing act.
Furious, Alice turned and went to the den and started to go out through the French doors, thinking she'd slam the door to jar the couple. With her hand still on the handle, a thought occurred to her and she looked at the telephone. She crossed over to the table, punched in 911, and waited for the operator to answer.
“Nine one one. What is the nature of your emergency?”
Alice cupped the receiver and whispered, “Hurry, help me. I'm afraid … he's going to rape me.”
She set the phone down, leaving the connection open so they couldn't call back and spoileverything. The best thing about living in a good neighborhood was that there were lots of cops with not much to do.
Delores Palmer might figure out Alice had called them, but whatever shit she caught would be worth it. Her mother knew Alice was home, since her car was in the driveway. Delores conducted her life as though she was a busy, single woman without a worry in the world … or a child.
Alice went out the door, closing it gently so her mother wouldn't be disrupted. Alice imagined that the interruption would be much more impressive when accomplished by armed police officers peering in at the fuck session from the freshly mown backyard.
FIFTY-TWO
Standing in his bedroom, Watcher slipped on black jeans and a long- sleeved black T-shirt. His flashlight and the Randall lay side by side next to his black sneakers.
Watcher's mind locked on a memory three years old. One cold night, after spending two adventurous hours in bed with a young sergeant's wife, Ross had just fallen asleep when Watcher slipped out of the man's closet, overpowered the older man, tied him up, and gagged him. He wrapped the naked man in a sheet and carried him, kicking and twisting, out to his waiting car. Watcher drove to an abandoned house trailer ten miles outside Fayetteville. After lashing the sergeant to a kitchen chair, Watcher had gone back into the bedroom and led in his own wife, who began sobbing when he tied her into a chair facing her lover.
Sergeant Ross begged Watcher to let him live, and cried that he was sorry about the affair. Picking up a section of heavy iron pipe from the counter, Watcher broke both of the man's knees with two swift blows. The sergeant's screams reverberated on the cheap paneling and leaked out through the broken windows, carrying over the vacant fields surrounding the trailer.
Watcher had next taken up a propane torch and lit it. Evelyn was new to violence and was certain that she was going to soon follow the sergeant's fate, so her screams were even louder than her ex- lover's. The sergeant was a fit man of forty, which helped him last two hours while Watcher first played the torch over his naked extremities and then went to work on his torso, neck, hair, and finally his face. Thick smoke and the unmistakable smell of cooking meat filled the trailer to the point that it was difficult for Watcher to see through it.
The last thing Watcher did was turn off the torch, shake up a can of spray- foam insulation, and push the plastic straw into the barely conscious man's throat. Pressing the trigger mechanism, Watcher heard the hissing as the foam shot out, filling Ross's throat with the yellow foam that expanded rapidly, oozing back out of his mouth and nostrils. That done, he removed the sticky surgeon's gloves, slipped on a second pair, and smiled at his wife, who looked at him with terrified eyes. Roughly, he tied rope around her knee, then pulled the loose end behind the chair and tied it around her other knee, opening her legs wide.
“Evelyn, my darling slut,” he said emotion-lessly aiming the straw's tip at the exposed target. “Could I interest you in a refreshing douche?”
FIFTY-THREE
The gates into pastoral Oakwood Cemetery faced Church Street in Concord. Behind the painted iron fence, narrow asphalt roads serpentined among gently rolling hills lined with stone monuments dotted with evergreens, boxwoods, and stately oak trees. Barney's grave was located just to the left of his grandfather's in the family plot where McCartys had been buried since 1918.
Natasha parked under a large oak at the top of a hill.
Ward reached to the floor for the flowers purchased from a florist on the way, leaned over to kiss Natasha, then opened his door and stepped out into the afternoon heat to the buzz of insects.
They walked hand in hand between the rows of graves to the familiar cluster of headstones. Still clutching hands, they stood before the newest stone and gazed down. The grass was brown due to the drought. Dried flowers crumbled in a vase that leaned against the granite base of Barney's headstone. Ward handed the new flowers to Natasha and she replaced the dead ones.
“It's so nice here,” she said. “Peaceful.”
“Barney, we love you,” Ward said, his voice choking. “We'll always love you.”
“He knows that,” Natasha said, squeezing Ward's hand. “He knows.”
Ward took Natasha into his arms and together they wept softly.
“Maybe we should come here more, together,” Natasha said.
“He isn't here,” Ward said. “Barney is in heaven. I truly believe that. He isn't in there,” he said, looking at the grave. “But we can visit this place … for us.”
They stood holding each other for ten minutes. Ward kissed Natasha gently on her lips and put his forehead against hers. Tak
ing her hand, Ward led his wife back to the car.
FIFTY-FOUR
When they returned, the TV van was gone. Ward stopped beside the guard standing near the throat of the driveway and rolled down his window. The guard, a tall, wide- shouldered bald man, smiled when they stopped. He had a black garbage bag in his hand, fairly full by the look of it. The street looked pristine compared to only hours earlier. Several bags were already filled and lay side by side near the NO TRESPASSING sign the guards had put up around the property.
“We can pick up the garbage,” Ward told the guard.
“Gives me something to do,” the guard said, smiling.
“Looks pretty quiet,” Ward said. He noticed calluses on the man's strong hands. The black uniform looked uncomfortable in the heat. There was a large survival knife on the gun belt. The man's eyes weren't smiling in concert with his lips.
“Word's out that you're not news anymore,” the guard said. “That FBI agent told the media creeps they were wasting their time and could call Tom Wiggins if they wanted the scoop. They checked it out and hauled ass. I'm just waiting around to be officially dismissed. Todd said with the hole behind your house, you might want some protection until you don't.” He put a hand on the gun at his side. “I'll make sure nobody bothers you guys.”
“I guess you should hang around a little while,” Ward said.
“I'm not going anywhere as long as there's a threat. We'll leave the go- away sign,” he said.
“Thanks,” Natasha said. “We really appreciate it. I don't know your name.”
“People call me Thumper. Y’all have a nice evening. As long as I'm here, you won't be in any danger from any hole- dwelling creep.”
Ward pulled away, rolling the window back up as he went.
“Somehow I don't feel any safer,” Natasha commented. “He is sort of…”
“I know,” Ward answered.
Ward parked the Lexus in the garage and went into the house, closing the rolling door behind them.
“Sometimes I wish we had a big dog,” Natasha said.
“That's doable,” Ward said. “How about a wolf?”
“I was thinking more like a Labrador,” she said. “Or a golden retriever.”
“So, what do you want to do with the rest of the evening, after?” she asked him.
“After what?”
She put her arms around his waist, and kissed him. “If you'll follow me, young man, I'll show you what.”
FIFTY-FIVE
Alice Palmer pulled up in front of Earl's ramshackle house just as the sun was going down. The Tucker home was in a downwardly mobile subdivision off Brookshire Boulevard. As Alice pulled up she saw a girl leaving the porch steps, walking away without looking back at Earl. Earl stood at the porch steps and ambled slowly to the Toyota like an old man shuffling in fast- moving water. He opened the door and slunk into the car, buckling his belt slowly.
“Heeeey now,” he said.
“Are you drunk?” Alice demanded, furious that he could get loaded when something this important was going to be happening and she needed him watching her back.
“I just had a couple beers an’ some little weed is all. Know ah'm sayin’? Ah'm chillin’, babykins.”
“You're drunk as hell,” she said angrily. “You know how important this is to me!”
“It's a deal to me, too, you know,” he replied sluggishly. “Show me tha moneeeey!”
“Shit,” she said. “I don't believe you. You are such an asshole.”
“Come on, baby doll. It's my money too- we-oooowe.”
She stared at him as he turned slowly and stared at her, his eyes bleary and unfocused. There was something red, which looked suspiciously like lipstick, smeared on and around Earl's lips, on his pocked cheeks and his chin.
“Know I love you, baby.” He placed a hand on her thigh and moved his fingers between her legs. “See ah'm sayin’?”
“Never mind,” she said, grabbing his wrist, lifting his hand, and putting it onto his own lap. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“You sure know how to hurt a man's pride. Mens got they needs, Brenda.”
“Brenda? Who the hell is Brenda?”
Earl squinted, waved his hand dismissively “I said Alice.”
“No, you said Brenda. I'm not high. I heard you distinctly.”
“Naw, baby. I never said no Brenda, know ah'm sayin’? That gal was at the house wasn't Brenda. Jus’ some friend of my sistah. In fact, wasn't no gal up in there at all.”
“No, I don't know what you are saying. Why do you always talk like some inner- city Americo-African thug? Do you know what I am saying?”
“So, I been thinkin’ on how all I'm gonna spend the two grands.”
“Is that right?” Alice said.
“Firstest, we go gets my tat completed up, know ah'm sayin’? Then I gots my eye on niss fat chain what's ultra hot. And some kicks that on be mean time fo’ tha feets. You wants yo man to be kickin’ it cool. Look, baby doll, two grand ain't all that much bread. We gots us a major opportunity here to score a lots more.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“We ain't settlin’ for no two. We gettin’ a whole ten. Know ah'm sayin’? We put the three-eighty up that cracker's nose and tell him ten, Brenda.”
Alice cut the wheel to the right and back hard to the left twice before pulling to the shoulder.
“Whasup? You driving crazy.”
“Do me a favor, Earl.”
“Like what?”
“Get out and make sure my back tire isn't going flat. The car is driving funny. Let me unbuckle your seat belt,” she said.
She undid his seat belt.
Earl grinned dumbly. “I ain't gots to get all the way out, on account I can lean out and see up under at the wheels.” He opened the door, turned in his seat, leaned out, and put his head down close to the ground, stretching to look under the car.
Alice swung her legs up and, pivoting around, planted her back against the door. When her feet connected, Earl flew from the car and landed limbs akimbo, facedown in the gravel. Alice roared away, leaving him lying beside the road. In the rearview she saw him turning his head to watch her.
She slammed on the brakes, opened the door, got out, planted her hands on her hips and yelled, “Walk home, you stupid ass! And screw yourself!”
She would have to just get used to the idea of doing this all alone. After all, she only had to hand over the little car and she could do some shopping at Game World with her reward money.
FIFTY-SIX
Todd arrived at the enormous mall early. In a plain envelope in his front pants pocket, Todd had twenty crisp one- hundred- dollar bills. In a second envelope he had an additional twenty crisp fifties. With someone as squirrelly as Alice Palmer, he had to hedge his bets. This had to end tonight.
After parking, he locked his Colt 1911 in his glove box before climbing out and locking the doors. Pocketing his keys, he walked toward the entrance, joining the throngs filtering into the building.
Hartman made his way to the food court, ordered sesame chicken at the Hunan kiosk, and sat down with his back to that restaurant to eat a leisurely meal and wait for Alice Palmer to show up. From his vantage point he could keep his eyes on both ends of the enormous open space, packed with hundreds of tables and chairs. During the peak hours scores of trash receptacles were emptied every ten minutes, and the tables were filled with patrons. It was a perfect place as public spaces went. At least this way even a wing nut like Earl shouldn't be a potentially dangerous variable.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Natasha poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle they'd purchased on the way home from the cemetery. She opened Leslie's laptop on the counter and waited for it to power up. She heard the TV come on and a few familiar bars of music flowing from the den.
“It's about the virus,” Ward yelled from the den. “Breaking news!”
She rushed into the room to stand beside her husband while th
e newscaster explained that the child- porn virus was planted on the computers at RGI by a saboteur. The announcer said the FBI and the Charlotte police department would be holding a joint press conference the next morning, but that RGI had been cleared of all accusations.
“All right!” Ward hollered, hugging Natasha. “That's it. Damnation be gone.”
For ten minutes Natasha read her e-mails. About half of them were from people that were furious because her computer sent the virus to theirs. She was careful not to open any e-mails with attachments since the virus was still out there, and probably in some of those e-mails.
The other half of the e-mails were from people saying they knew Ward didn't have anything to do with the virus. It was warming to read those. She had e-mails from her parents, and other members of her family in Washington and Oregon, expressing their support. Her mother asked for Natasha to call them as soon as she could because her phone stayed busy. There were several “call me's” in the stack. All of her partners (except for Dan Wheat) had e-mailed saying they hoped she'd let them know if they could help in any way. They were all time- dated before Ward had been cleared.
And even though she and Ward hadn't discussed it since Barney's birth, they could have another child, and she hoped Ward would be up for that, because she most certainly was. No child could ever replace Barney, but they had plenty of love to give a new child, or children. She smiled at the thought of another McCarty
Gizmo. The odd word kept rattling around in Natasha's mind, because she was sure she'd heard it before under circumstances related to her practice, even though she couldn't zero in on an image her memory could replay. Maybe, because the word was a source of anxiety she was imagining it meant more to her than that. The nearly hieroglyphic decoration was obsessively executed and had to have taken untold long hours of concentrated effort to accomplish. The five letters had been as uniform as letters chiseled into a tombstone by a stonemason.
The Last Day Page 16