Ravens. Part 6

What was the matter with him? How did he think he could survive this? This lunacy? Now there was no way out. Only way out was prison or death. No retreat, no running away. I even gave them our real f.u.c.king names I even gave them our real f.u.c.king names.

He looked at the clock on his phone. Twelve till two. Romeo should make his check-in in twelve minutes. But oh Christ, he was depending on Romeo? Romeo was his dark servant? If the cops ever touched him, he'd buckle. How had he gotten into this? Because of that Mys.p.a.ce page, because of Tara. Tara and her whole family coming off so naive and big-eyed and pliant and spineless: she had sucked him into this; it was her fault. He had been minding his own business and their 'innocence' had roped him into this. Oh, you f.u.c.kers.

The heat built up inside his skull till all his fear was gone and there was nothing but fury.

He drew a deep breath. He reached up and turned the light on, and instantly the room was filled with toy warplanes and a glow-in-the-dark Iron Man doll, and behind the warplanes, a ceramic statue of Jesus. Shaw sat there gathering himself. Holding the gun. Jase was in the other bed pretending to sleep. Though he knew the kid was awake; of course he was awake: like everyone in this house he was scared out of his mind. All of them were awake. And that was OK with Shaw. You all lie there and be afraid now; you think about Romeo and Romeo's sickness and Romeo's bloodl.u.s.t while I tap into the power and get the ground settled under me. You think about fighting back, all of you. Go ahead. I'm ready for blood whenever you want. You all lie there and be afraid now; you think about Romeo and Romeo's sickness and Romeo's bloodl.u.s.t while I tap into the power and get the ground settled under me. You think about fighting back, all of you. Go ahead. I'm ready for blood whenever you want.

Mitch kept rehearsing in his mind what he'd do if he heard any sound from his daughter's room. Supposing Shaw tried to sneak in there? Mitch didn't have his pistol anymore - Shaw McBride had confiscated it - but he could still jump out of bed, grab the letter opener off the rolltop desk, and rush into her room and with luck get in there before he could take aim. Go in low. Swing underhand, with kept rehearsing in his mind what he'd do if he heard any sound from his daughter's room. Supposing Shaw tried to sneak in there? Mitch didn't have his pistol anymore - Shaw McBride had confiscated it - but he could still jump out of bed, grab the letter opener off the rolltop desk, and rush into her room and with luck get in there before he could take aim. Go in low. Swing underhand, with all all my strength, and twist as I pull out. Grab his gun arm with my left hand, and with my right stab and twist, stab and my strength, and twist as I pull out. Grab his gun arm with my left hand, and with my right stab and twist, stab and twist twist.

Or should I wait?

Till when? Till he's in the act of raping my daughter? in the act of raping my daughter?

Maybe. Because he'll be more vulnerable then.

But the price. price.

And what if he makes her go on top, uses her as a s.h.i.+eld, keeps his gun in his hand and his eye on the door while he forces her to whatever. Oh my Lord Jesus.

Maybe should I wait till he's done? Till he's sleepy after his business?

Oh my Lord. How can I wait wait?

Help me, my Lord. Guide me.

Maybe he's asleep by now? The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had looked exhausted when he lay down. Must be asleep. Kill him in his sleep?

The rush, the terror in McBride's eyes, me stabbing the knife and be sure to twist it so the blood will fly fly out of him and remember to clench tightly so my hand won't slip even with his blood all over me, and keep out of him and remember to clench tightly so my hand won't slip even with his blood all over me, and keep plunging plunging it and it and plunging plunging it, and the blood it, and the blood flying, flying, my Lord. my Lord.

But then there's that other guy. The guy out on the road, the madman.

My G.o.d, my G.o.d, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?

Next to him, Patsy slept. Amazing to him that she could sleep. But she was pretty drunk. The fumes curled from her nostrils when she breathed out. While Mitch just kept rehearsing the rush, over and over, a thousand times: the stabbing, the blood, the making ribbons out of that son of a b.i.t.c.h. Killing him all night long.

Shaw got up and went into the bathroom and p.i.s.sed. He left the door slightly ajar, and when he was done he stopped to listen for a moment. Stillness came pouring through that door. It struck him as an aggressive stillness - rebellious. He flushed, and went out and stood before the door to Mitch and Patsy's room. got up and went into the bathroom and p.i.s.sed. He left the door slightly ajar, and when he was done he stopped to listen for a moment. Stillness came pouring through that door. It struck him as an aggressive stillness - rebellious. He flushed, and went out and stood before the door to Mitch and Patsy's room.

"Mitch?" he said quietly.

Naturally there was no answer.

"Mitch, I know you're awake. Say something before I get annoyed."

That earned a soft croak: "Yes."

"I just want you to know, Mitch, I'm not going to rape your daughter or anything, unless you're planning to fuss with me. You're not planning to fuss with me, are you?"

"No."

"Good. If you do I'll rape her and cut her tongue out so she'll never be able to tell you how much she blames you, but you'll see it in her face every day for the rest of your long s.h.i.+tty life. But if you cooperate with me, I'll treat her like a princess, and no harm will befall her. Or you, or anyone else you love. All right?"

A long wait. "Yes."

"OK. Get some sleep."

Shaw went through the house and out the back door, into the panting night. He stood on the wooden deck and waited, and at exactly 2:00 a.m., Romeo called.

"Hey, Romeo."

"How'd I do?

"With Tara? I think you did well. She's scared."

A silence, then Romeo said, "I feel like I f.u.c.ked up."

"You got to seem like you're bats.h.i.+t. Like you've got the killings all planned out in your head. Like you're ready to blow, like you're just waiting for the spark."

"Yeah."

"Where are you now?"

"Riding around Brunswick."

"You finding everybody's house OK? You find the grandmother?"

"Yes."

"Clio's? Uncle Shelby's?"

"I found 'em. But I still don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Keep moving. What I said: if I send you a mayday, you go kill whoever you're closest to."

"Right."

"But keep moving, so they'll never know where you are."

"OK."

"And if I don't answer a check-in call, that means I'm probably dead. You keep trying me for twenty minutes - then you start killing."

"Starting with which one?"

"Doesn't matter. So long as you you know which one." know which one."

"Start with Nell?"

"Whatever you want. Just make a plan, get it in your head. Make it concrete. You've got to believe it so they'll believe it."

"OK."

"You understand?"

"I think."

"If it's true for you, it'll be true for them."

"Right," said Romeo.

Romeo, after that call, felt a dead ache in his stomach. It wasn't hunger but still he thought he better eat something. He went over to I-95 and found a Huddle House. The bounteous light was repellent to him, but nothing else was open, so he went in and took a booth. The menu was so s.h.i.+ny he could hardly bear to look at it. He felt conspicuous and awkward. The waitress hovered. Though he knew perfectly well what grits were, he thought she was expecting to be asked, so he said, "Could you tell me something about grits?" after that call, felt a dead ache in his stomach. It wasn't hunger but still he thought he better eat something. He went over to I-95 and found a Huddle House. The bounteous light was repellent to him, but nothing else was open, so he went in and took a booth. The menu was so s.h.i.+ny he could hardly bear to look at it. He felt conspicuous and awkward. The waitress hovered. Though he knew perfectly well what grits were, he thought she was expecting to be asked, so he said, "Could you tell me something about grits?"

The waitress shrugged. "They're white."

He approved of this opacity: he thought it fitting. The hour, this job, this hash joint half-full of drunks, toads, and marginal grifters: why in the world should she open up to anyone? He ordered the grits plus scrambled eggs and bacon, and she went away. Then the woman in the next booth turned, and sized him up, and said, "Grits is nothing. It's what you put your b.u.t.ter on. You makin a big thing about grits, you must must be a Yankee." be a Yankee."

He said, "I am."

"Knew it."

She turned to the gnarled cracker who shared her booth. She gave him a look like, what did I tell you what did I tell you, and he conceded, "You called it, Wynetta."

She turned back to Romeo. "I'm Wynetta. This is Lonnie."

"OK. I'm Romeo."

Naturally Lonnie thought that was funny. His laugh was petty, jagged. Wynetta killed it with a sharp look, and asked Romeo what he thought about the trial of Miss Glynn County. Was that a travesty or what? Romeo said he didn't know anything about the trial of Miss Glynn County. Wynetta showed him the picture in the Brunswick News Brunswick News and laid the whole thing out for him: the cheating, the recriminations, the secret baby, the missing bullet. and laid the whole thing out for him: the cheating, the recriminations, the secret baby, the missing bullet.

Presently Lonnie got tired of being ignored. He paid for his coffee and took off, and Wynetta came to sit in Romeo's booth.

She was large. She had thinning hair and a mail slot for a mouth, and there was nothing s.e.xy about her unless you weren't looking, and even then you smelled her breath which was a bouquet of onions, slim jims and gin. When Romeo's breakfast arrived, he couldn't begin to eat it. But he probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway, and he was glad for the company, glad that Wynetta was talking a blue streak. It distracted him from his obligations.

After a few minutes the waitress came by again and noticed his untouched plate. "You don't like the grits?"

"Oh, no, they're fine, I just can't eat right now. Could you maybe just bring me the check?"

She muttered, "You don't pay if you don't eat," and swept the plate away. She was vexed, but there was nothing he could see to do about this.

Wynetta had lost the thread of her chatter. For a moment she and Romeo were quiet, looking into each other's eyes. Then it occurred to her to ask, "So what're you doing down here?"

That was a tough one. Shaw had told him something to say to this but he couldn't remember. He tried, "Well. I'm with my buddy."

"Yeah?"

She waited.

"And, um, we're in business. My buddy and me."

"What business?"

"Well, like insurance."

She said, "I used to sell insurance. Who you work for?"

"It's not like regular insurance."

She waited.

"It's hard to explain," he offered. "It's like, I don't know. Like secondary secondary insurance." insurance."

"What's that?"

"Oh. Well, it's like if all the people you loved went out to a field in a thunderstorm? I mean, we could tell you the odds they'd get hit by lightning, and how much money you'd get if they did. But that's secondary because we can't give you anyone's life back. back. You know?" You know?"

"I need a drink," she said. "Buy me a drink?"

"OK."

She checked the time. "Everything's closed, but we could go to Pigeon's out in Sterling. They'll let us in. That's where we should go."

However, they wound up not going there.

When they stepped out to the Huddle House parking lot, there was all that heat again, and next door were the remains of a pickup truck immersed in kudzu, and out of the night came a deep-throated train whistle. It was sort of like the South as Romeo had imagined it, except for the Huddle House itself, which looked to him like any box-shaped interstate diner anywhere.

Wynetta asked him, "Where you staying?"

"Blackbeard's Motel."

"That's a real s.h.i.+thole, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"But all of Brunswick is a s.h.i.+thole, to tell you the truth. I got a trailer out on Balm-of-Gilead, if you want to stay there. Really it's my Dad's trailer, but he's in the hospital."

"What's he there for?"

"Congestive heart failure."

"Whoa."

"Yeah."

Romeo supposed that this trailer would turn out to be some kind of redneck nightmare, with c.o.c.kroaches as big as owls. Still, it'd be a lot more private than Blackbeard's Motel, and it wouldn't hurt to take a look at it. So he got in the Tercel and followed her. She drove fast and made a lot of turns, and it was a challenge to keep up - but also sort of relaxing, like a low-level video game. He let her lead him along, this way and that, no questions. He wouldn't have minded if she'd led him clear out of Georgia.

He wondered why he'd ever said yes to Shaw.

What's the matter with me? Shaw says I need you - I say, OK, at your service. Why don't I tell him I can't do this?

Wynetta led him through a neighborhood where everything was built out of cinder-block. All the houses looked like outbuildings at a sewage-treatment plant. The churches also. He kept following Wynetta as best he could, and he remembered the first time Shaw had ever said to him, "I need your help."