“Are we there yet?” whined Giancarlo.
“Where are we going anyway,” Zak asked.
“To see Mom and Dad,” said Lucy, to a chorus of boos.
“We want to go to Six Flags,” said Dan.
“She never takes us anywhere fun,” said Giancarlo. “She’s terrifically mean, too. She scratches us with her nails.”
“Do you like her?” asked Zak.
“Yeah,” said his brother, “you kissed her on the mouth.”
“I did,” said Dan, “but it was yucky. I’m never going to do that again.”
“If you get married, you have to,” Giancarlo said knowledgeably. “Girls love it.”
“Well, if that’s so, I’m never getting married,” said Dan.
This nonsense continued during the entire drive to Four Oaks, which lay west of McCullensburg. The traffic leading into town was still heavy, although it seemed to be flowing smoothly again. News vans were still in evidence around the courthouse.
Outside of town, the countryside was rolling hills, and more of what Lucy thought of as country. They passed fields with black-and-white cows in them, cud-chewing and stupid in the shade of big trees, and once a roan horse running across a green meadow.
“Pretty area,” Lucy remarked. “I didn’t expect this.”
“South county,” Dan said. “The seam gets thin here and it’s still mostly agricultural. It’s where the richer folks live.”
He leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, near her neck. “You’re looking for a big sign on the right.”
This was nice, she thought, a tiny sliver of normality: driving along a country road, a man with a warm hand on your shoulder, a couple of kids, going to visit Mom and Dad in the country. An exotic treat, like smoking opium would be to regular people. She wished he would keep his hand there, she wished she had the nerve to raise her own hand and cover his.
Which then removed itself and pointed. “There it is.”
A certain chaos then ensued: greetings, fond looks, stern looks, arrangements made for sleeping quarters for the new arrivals. Gog came bounding out to sniff Lucy and the boys, and especially Magog, who curled her lip at him. He was twice her size, but the strange politics of dogland made her dominant, except when in heat. Lucy found that Four Oaks had more or less been taken over by the murder investigation, and it was agreed that Dan should stay there until things settled down, and Emmett, too, after he was released on bail. Marlene was cool to Lucy, while doting on the boys, which Lucy did not much mind. She saw the eye play that transpired when Marlene saw Dan and her together, and Lucy could see the wheels spin. Her mother did not like plots, except when she was in charge of them. Beneath the surface jollity the atmosphere was tense at the lodge because, Lucy suspected, of the difficulty of guarding the secret that now lay at the heart of the investigation. Her father greeted her distractedly and soon went off to confer with the cop, Hendricks.
There was a pool with a slide and a couple of diving boards there, and they all went swimming. Lucy discovered the delights of horsing around in the water with a young man, with its many opportunities for little touches on naked or nearly naked skin. Marlene was stretched on a lounger, supposedly reading, with her sunglasses on. Lucy could not therefore tell where her mother’s eyes were and so felt them upon her constantly.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said into Dan’s ear as they drifted together.
* * *
Hendricks came into the room with an expression on his face that Karp assumed was what passed for excited, which meant that Hendricks had for the moment stopped looking like Lincoln contemplating the slavery question.
“They been spotted,” he declared.
“Where?”
“Someone called it in from a gas station on 712. That’s north of Burnt Peak.”
“All three of them?”
“They didn’t say. But they were driving that monster truck Earl Cade’s got, and there was someone sitting in the bed of it. So figure one in the shotgun and the driver. That’s three, and it’s likely it’s them.”
“What’re we doing?”
“I’ve got cars moving to plug the main roads back up there and a couple cruising on 130 north of town. That’s the best I can do. I’ll move the car I’ve got at the Heeney place now that the boys’re going to stay here, but we’re still short. I’d hate to ask a single trooper to take on all three of them. Anyway, it looks like your plan worked all right.” A twist of the mouth that might have been a smile appeared on the captain’s face.
* * *
“Where are we going?” Lucy asked. They had slipped away in the Land Cruiser, Lucy with a pair of shorts over her Speedo suit, Dan in a T-shirt and his cutoffs. Dan was driving north out of town. He drove the clumsy vehicle accurately and at speed, without a belt. No one in this part of the state wore seat belts, and the highway code apparently demanded that the dotted centerline on the blacktop be aligned with the hood ornament, especially on hills. She admired this sort of driving, as she admired the golden curls flapping around his face. The mastiff was curled up asleep in the back.
“First Forge,” he said. “It’s a kind of park near Ponowon. There’s a carousel and rides, and a lake, and a reproduction of a colonial ironworks. I thought you were the kind of girl who would enjoy seeing a guy in a wig bending red-hot bars.”
“It’s something I’ve always dreamed of. What I really hope, though, is that they’ll have a dim room full of glass cases and wall boards with yellowing labels, and a lot of old, dusty machinery.”
“Well, you’re gonna get your wish, little lady. I don’t think there’s a better collection of hand-cut screws and carriage bolts anywhere in West Virginia.”
“Be still my heart!”
“Yeah, but really it’s nice, in a tacky way. Sincere. Dad used to take us there all the time, and that’s where they always held the Labor Day picnic, the great event of Dad’s . . . um . . . calendar . . . no, what’s that church word?”
“Liturgical year.”
“Right, that. My mom would always roll her eyes at me when he wasn’t looking. Anytime she could, she’d grab us up and zoom into D.C. for a day of tromping through art museums, and we’d go to a concert in that room at the National Gallery with the fountain, and zoom home again to cook supper.”
“Did you like it?”
“We liked the Natural History and the Air and Space all right, not the art so much. Lizzie liked the art.” He was silent for a long interval. She watched his face. He is transparent as the air, she thought. You can see what his heart is feeling. Without thinking she moved closer to him and put her hand around his neck. He jumped and shuddered.
“Wow. Shit, I was about to bust out crying there for a minute. What a drag.”
“It’s not a drag,” she said. “It’s grief. You’re supposed to feel that way.”
“You’re not going to tell me they’re all having fun in heaven and I shouldn’t worry?”
“Of course not! ‘Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ Even Jesus wept.”
That was interesting, she thought, he can pull down a screen over his face, but it takes an effort. He doesn’t want to hear any of that stuff. She regretted her outburst.
More silence and then he switched the radio on, found a country station. “You don’t mind? It’s the onlyiest kand of music we get here in bee-ootiful southwestern West Virginia.”
She smiled and shook her head. They drove, they listened. Dolly sang about the coat of many colors my mother made for me. He took her hand. This is not happening, she thought. I am not out on a date with a gorgeous boy who likes me. She rolled the words date and boy around in her mind like a baby playing with something shiny and new. To test whether it was really happening, she reviewed the modal suffixes of Korean in her head. I want to go: ka-go shipsumnida; I must go: kaya huminida; I ought to go: kaya haeya hadda . . .
“What are you thinking?”
She started and turned
toward him. He was smiling. “You were someplace else. What were you thinking?”
She felt herself blushing. “I was reviewing the modal verb modifiers of Korean.”
“Really. Are you having a test in Korean tomorrow?”
“No, it’s a habit, like picking cuticles.”
“Uh-huh. You realize you are an extremely peculiar person. I kind of resent that.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I used to be the most peculiar person in Robbens County, and now you butt in. I’ll have to think of something really weird.”
And more of this kind of silly, delightful talk, until they pulled into the parking lot at First Forge. It was full of families and smelled of fried things and burnt sugars and the stink of burning coal from the actual forge. They watched a fat, red-faced man in a wig make a shovel blade. They walked giggling through the dim room and got glared at by the guardian. They ate fried chicken. Then they took a ride on the Tunnel of Love.
“Gosh, this is a first for me,” said Lucy as their little craft, pink and spattered with hearts and crudely figured cupids, was yanked through the heart-shaped entry-way.
“Oh, you’re just saying that to make me feel good.”
“No, really. I didn’t think they had them anymore. I figured the sexual revolution had put them all out of business.”
“They had a sexual revolution? No one told me.”
“I bet you’ve been on Tunnels of Love with lots of girls.”
“Oh, yeah, hundreds. Miles and miles in the dark with ‘Moon River’ playing on cracked speakers. There’s no detail of tunnel of loving I haven’t plumbed . . .”
After saying this, he kissed her neck, her ear, drawing her to him, mouth on her mouth. His hand slipped around her shoulder, wiggled under her arm, fingers slid under the stretchy fabric of her suit and settled on her nipple. Time became stretchy, too, as the love pod moved for hours up a minor tributary of the Orinoco.
Suddenly she pulled away. “Whoa! My gosh!”
“What?”
“Whew! Nothing, I was being overcome by lust.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I just didn’t expect it, is all. My experience in these things is fairly limited. Approaching zero, as a matter of fact.”
“Now must be the time, then.”
“No, I don’t think so. If we keep this up, I’ll want to drag you into the bushes for purposes of fornication.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” he breathed into her ear. The hand snaked again.
“No, it’s not,” she whispered against his cheek. What an absolutely remarkable smell he had.
“And why?”
In a whisper, too: “Because it’s a sin.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not.”
He pulled an arm’s distance away from her and looked at her. His eyes had adjusted to the dimness and he could make out her face, its expression woeful, vulnerable, mouth slightly open, the thin lips fatter than they had been with all the kissing, her eyes almost reflectant, like an animal’s.
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll laugh if I tell you.”
“I won’t, honest.”
“It’s connected. My gift. I mean the languages. I have to abjure sex until I’m married, I mean if I ever get married. Otherwise, it’ll be taken away from me.”
“You mean . . . like that thing with the girl and the unicorn?”
“Yes, pretty nearly.”
“Lucy, that’s insane. You have a . . . a rare genetic variation, that’s all. Like people who can extract ten-digit primes in their heads or tell you the day of any date, or become chess grand masters. You can’t lose it because you think you’re violating some medieval rule.”
“Yes, that’s what Morrie Shadkin says.”
“Does he want to get you into bed, too?”
“No, although he does want to marry me. I pointed out to him that he’s already married and has two kids. He says, ‘Lucy, that’s such a technicality!’ He hates to let me out of his sight. He’d go nuts if he knew I was in dangerous, uncivilized West VA.”
“She drags me into the Tunnel of Love to boast about her other boyfriends.”
“Oh, Morrie’s not a boyfriend. He’s the neuroscientist who’s trying to figure out how my brain works. Anyway, about your rare genetic variation—the experts of the whole world have looked into my head, CAT scans, fMRI, PET scans, and, yeah, there are small variations, but not explanatory variations. Physically, I’m the same as anyone else, but I can do stuff that no one else can do, except another freak, a fifteen-year-old boy in Russia. So forgive me if I regard it as a gift of the Holy Spirit. Look, what if you knew that if you did something, it would mean that after you couldn’t tell a quark from a lipton?”
“Lepton.”
“Lepton. How would you feel?”
“I’m prepared to risk that.”
“Well, I’m not. And besides, it’s wrong. Do you love me?”
“Love you? Christ, I just met you.”
“Yes, but you’re willing to use me to slake your lust. So say I want to slake my lust, too, and so we slake them, and slake them, and then we get bored with it after a while, or find someone who’s more attractive or more interesting, and the whole thing starts over again with someone else.”
“All right, fine!” he snapped.
After some silence, she said, “You’re pouting now.”
He was inclined to pout. He was horny as the devil and he was attracted to her without really understanding why. He had never been attracted to such a girl before this, and it irked him a little. He was a modern kid and had enjoyed plenty of sex from an early age. While it was true that he tended to go for girls who wanted a different sort of boy, he had never had much trouble scoring. His high school had, of course, been full of girls who were born-again and self-consciously Christian, and he had mocked them along with the rest of the bright crowd he had hung out with. This one, however, was not like any of them. He found now, somewhat to his surprise, that he did not want to pout, did not want to push her away, wanted . . . something, he didn’t quite know what. Without thinking about it, he flung his arm around her again and gave her a squeeze. “Oh, well, so we’ll be pure. I can’t believe this. This is like 1903.”
She relaxed against him. “Or 1403. Look, we’re emerging.” There was brightness ahead around a curve, and then a heart-shaped slice of the real world, glowing and making them squint their eyes.
* * *
“Where’s Lucy?” asked Karp.
Marlene blinked awake and looked around. “Isn’t she in the pool?” She sat up and saw that Lucy was not. The twins were there, playing with a ball and a net set up at the side of the pool. “I must have dozed off. The sun got to me.” She sat up, rubbed her face, looked around. “Mm, I don’t know. She was with the Heeney boy. They’re probably off in the bushes somewhere, playing doctor.”
“Yeah, psychiatrist, maybe. I just wanted to tell you I’m going out with Hendricks.”
“Anything going on?”
“We had another sighting. They bought a case of beer at a grocery in Selden. That’s north of here at the junction of 712 and 11. They look like they’re getting ready to liquor up and come to town. Wade is gathering the forces. Also, Hawes called. Bledsoe sprung Emmett on a hundred grand bail. He’s coming here, but it looks like it might be over by the end of the day, if Wade does his job.”
“You want to be in on the kill, do you?”
“Yeah, I do. I deserve it.” He sat on the edge of the lounger. “Speaking of which, are you going to tell me how you psyched Ernie Poole up from Death of a Salesman to Clarence Darrow?”
“Oh, that. You know, womanly wiles, tee-hee.”
“Really.”
“I went to his office, where he was trying to climb into a bottle, but had only got a leg in so far, and I told him I knew he had got Amos Jonson to drag me into that shack with his story, and then I expatiated on how y
ou were going to cream Emmett Heeney in court. And he cursed out Hawes for a corrupt fuck, and you and me for fools. He was pretty eloquent, and I said Hawes wouldn’t be a factor, you’d be running the case, and you were ten times the lawyer he was, even when he was cold sober, and I walked out.”
“That was it?”
“Yes. It came down to a penis-measuring contest between you and him, as I find most litigation does in the end. He’s nuts about me, the poor sap, and I manipulated him shamelessly. It’s going to break his heart not to be able to beat you up in court.”
“He couldn’t beat me up in court on his best day and my worst,” said Karp, winking John Waynesque.
“Right. I rest my case.”
* * *
“Now that we’ve done the cultural riches of the greater McCullensburg area,” Dan said, “how about looking into the lowlife?”
They were walking with their arms around one another by the side of a little lake, on a kind of sandy promenade. There was a bathing beach full of shouting children, and the smell of barbecue fires, broiling meat, and charcoal starter fluid. Lucy had never done this with a boy before, but thought she could get to like it. Small town, girl and boy, summer, a lakeside carnival, the hallucination of innocence. She understood that it was hallucinatory, America having given up innocence along with unleaded gas, but she was enjoying it nonetheless. And the badinage.
“There’s lowlife in McCullensburg?” she said, miming wonderment. “I’m shocked! Shocked!”
“Yep. There’s a roadhouse on Route 11 just outside of Selden. They got a pool table and a jukebox with all country favorites. A couple of pinball machines, too.”
“You can see my eyes are sparkling, I guess. Did you also hope to get me drunk, so as to make me more pliable?”
“Be honest? Yeah, it had crossed my mind. There’s a motel right behind the roadhouse.” He hugged her more closely. “Come on. We’re young. It’s summer. Look at these people.” She looked. They seemed to fall into two general classes: parental couples jiggling with fat, mostly lard-pale except for the blue-collar sunburns on the men—face, neck, and lower arms—and rail-thin teens in gaggles and couples, poking and pawing one another. He meant the adults.
Absolute Rage Page 30
