by Kelly, Diane
When we reached a relatively private spot in the back corner, Seth stopped and spread the blanket out on the ground. While I settled on the spread with the now worn-out dogs, Seth knelt down, pulled the wine from his pocket, and used the corkscrew on his Swiss Army knife to remove the cork from the bottle. Pop!
“Uh-oh,” he said once he’d gotten the bottle open. “I forgot glasses.”
“We’ll make do.” I took the bottle from his hand, took a drink straight from the mouth, and handed it back to him. “That’s some good stuff.”
“For three-ninety-nine it better be.” He cast me a grin before taking a swig himself.
We chatted as we passed the bottle back and forth, eventually finding ourselves on our backs on the blanket with an empty bottle between us and two softly panting dogs at our feet.
The sky had grown dark with dusk and virtually everyone at the park had gone. Other than the chirping crickets and buzzing cicadas, we had the place to ourselves.
Seth and I chatted about various things as we lay there. I asked about his time in the Army and he told me about basic training and ordnance school in Fort Sill, Oklahoma. He described the devices they’d used to detect and dispose of bombs. Heat sensors. Metal detectors. Even remote-control cars.
“We had these big minesweeper machines that we’d drive through areas where we suspected IEDs had been planted,” he said. “That was a trip. You never knew when you’d hit something. It was like driving a bumper car with your eyes closed.”
He went on to tell me that bombs could contain not only dangerous, flesh-shredding shrapnel but deadly chemicals as well. “We had to be prepared for anything. And you always had to think three steps ahead. One wrong move and it could be your last.”
It sounded like a sick and twisted game of chess. He must have had to maintain a cool head to do the job. I’d never be able to do it. I was too hotheaded.
He went on to tell me that knowing the explosive ordnance disposal specialists would attempt to disable the bombs they found, the enemy would sometimes booby-trap the bombs, burying one under a more visible decoy explosive or secreting a trip wire nearby.
Seth looked up at the sky as if searching for something among the faint stars. “We had to learn to think like killers.”
We lay there quietly for a long moment, his words hanging heavy in the warm evening air. I wanted to reach out and take his hand, to let him know that, to at least a small degree, I understood, yet I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Fortunately, Seth remedied the problem.
“You know what would be more fun than talking about bombs?” Seth said, rolling toward me and propping himself up on his elbow.
“What?” I turned my head his way and looked up at him.
“This.” He leaned in and softly pressed his lips to mine.
Seth’s kiss was sweet and gentle and warm and wonderful and exactly what I needed.
He pulled back slightly, opening his eyes as if to assess my response. My heavy-lidded gaze told him not only that his kiss had been welcomed but also that he better keep ’em coming.
When he leaned in to give me another, my hands found their way over his broad, strong shoulders and around the back of his neck, capturing him. If he thought he’d get away this time, he was sorely mistaken.
The kiss deepened, detonating a warmth in my core. I found my heart pumping so hard and loud inside me I could count its beats, like a time bomb ticking down. I only hoped that this timer would go on for eternity. I didn’t ever want this to stop.
A minute or so later, movement at our feet demanded our attention. I released Seth and we sat up to find Blast humping Brigit now. She stood there, putting up no fight. In fact, she closed her eyes and leaned back into it.
“Brigit, you slut!” I cried. “You should be ashamed of yourself. This is only your second date!”
FIFTY-NINE
DO THE MATH
Brigit
Brigit didn’t know why Megan was so upset. After all, two dates is like fourteen in dog years.
SIXTY
THE MEAN GREENS
The Rattler
He bent down behind the clubhouse, leaning his bag of battered clubs against the wall as he pretended to tie his golf shoe. Not easy to do with the golf glove on. He hadn’t thought this through well enough, apparently, and hoped his actions didn’t seem strange.
With a brown ball cap on his head and dark sunglasses over his eyes, he’d be hard for anyone to identify, especially since he’d purposely worn drab-colored clothing to be inconspicuous. The sage-green shorts and beige golf shirt were easily overlookable, easily forgettable, and would blend in nicely with the greens and browns of the rough.
It was barely 7:00 AM, but already people were out on the course, probably trying to get a game in before the heat of the day set in. Still, he knew the club would later be teeming with the after-church crowd, stopping by for a nice lunch after worshiping one version of a deity or another, none of whom seemed to give a shit about the world they’d purportedly created or the creatures who populated it.
When he was sure nobody was watching, the Rattler snuck the first bomb out of the side pocket of the golf bag. Wrapped in a green plastic leaf bag, the bomb wouldn’t be noticeable under the bushes. He slid the bomb into place and set the timer for six hours.
He slung the golf bag back over his shoulder as he stood and headed to his second location. He had to be careful. The golf marshals kept a fairly close eye on the course to make sure nobody was sneaking on to play and that things were running efficiently.
He managed to cut through the rough and plant the second bomb without seeing anyone. As he planted the third, two men on a cart careened up the path a hundred yards away. He crouched down and hid among the trees until they’d played through. Luckily for him, they were good golfers who kept their balls on the fairway. His balls, on the other hand, had threatened to crawl up inside him. It was one thing to shove a bag into a trash can in a crowded food court where detection was unlikely. It was another thing entirely to be slinking around on a private, supervised golf course with a bag full of explosives. Still, he wouldn’t let his trepidations keep him from his mission.
He was crouched next to the water hazard, planting his fourth bomb, when plop! A ball dropped into the pond a mere ten feet from him. His nerves were so on edge he very nearly shrieked with the surprise. Forcing himself to move slowly and casually, he stood and walked down the path, hoping nobody would question why he wasn’t driving a cart.
His nerves were frayed now, but he had to finish the job. He hadn’t come this far to chicken out now.
Keeping to the outer perimeter of the course, he set the last bomb in place and scurried through the brush to the bank of the Trinity River. Stripping down to his shorts, he shoved the shirt, shoes, socks, and cap into the golf bag. He picked the bag up and flung it with all his might out over the water. It splashed into the water thirty feet from shore, bobbing for a moment before slipping beneath the dark surface.
Easing himself into the water, the Rattler swam south along the shoreline, hidden from the golf course by the trees. Once he’d cleared the southwest end of the course, he removed the glove, dropped it in the water, and struck out over the river, pulling so hard with his arms his muscles felt like they’d tear.
He reached the other side in record time and found the dry clothes and towel he’d hidden in a hollowed-out part of a tree. In less than two minutes he was dry and dressed, no longer a bomber but simply a jogger taking a leisurely run through the sleepy, peaceful neighborhood.
Enjoy it now, folks, he thought.
At 1:00, their peace would be shattered.
SIXTY-ONE
EXPLOSIVE RELATIONSHIPS
Megan
For the first time in weeks, I was able to set aside my obsession with the bombing and focus on something else.
Seth.
Our date at the dog park last night had been casual and fun, giving us a chance to get to know
each other without too much pressure. He’d asked to see me again today. After those mind-blowing kisses he’d given me last night, how could I refuse?
He arrived at my apartment at noon, dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a striped dress shirt under another vest.
I eyed his clothing. “You have an unusual style.” Kind of like a male Ellen DeGeneres, I thought, though of course I’d never tell him that.
“My grandmother made these vests for my grandfather when they were first married. They remind me of her.”
“Are you two close?”
“We were,” he said. “She’s dead now.”
He didn’t elaborate and I certainly wasn’t going to force him to talk about anything he wasn’t ready to share with me. We weren’t in any hurry, after all. There wasn’t a clock ticking down on this relationship. Still, I found it intriguing how he was so open about some things and so closed about others. I’d noticed his family seemed to be one of the closed topics. He had no qualms letting me in on all the goings on at the fire station, though. They’d suffered two layoffs thanks to the budget cuts. One of the firefighters who’d been cut was often late for his shifts and didn’t chip in for the groceries they shared at the station. The guys weren’t sorry to see him go. The other, however, was a newer firefighter with a young wife and new baby. That one had been much harder to take.
“What would you like to do?” Seth asked. “Movie? Bowling? Go back to the zoo and watch those sexually ambivalent crocodiles get it on?”
“Sexually dimorphic.”
“Whatever.”
“How about the Perot Museum?”
“Is that the place in Dallas? The one with the science and stuff?”
I nodded. “I had planned to go the day after the bomb went off in the mall but didn’t get the chance.” I’d been too busy assisting Detective Jackson that day.
He frowned slightly.
“Problem?” I asked.
“I don’t really want to go to the museum,” he said after a brief pause. “But at some point I’d like to get you naked. I’m thinking my odds of getting you naked are better if I agree to go to the museum.”
There was that no-holds-barred banter of his. Might as well return it in kind, right?
“Taking me to the museum is a necessary but not sufficient condition of getting me naked.”
He just stared at me for a moment.
“In other words,” I said, “if you take me to the museum, you stand a chance of one day getting my clothes off. If you don’t take me to the museum, it’ll never happen.”
“I knew what you meant.” His mouth spread in a cocky grin. “I was just trying to decide if it was a good trade-off.”
I snatched my twirling baton from its spot on the wall and held it up over my head, poised to give his skull a good whap. “Does this help with your decision?”
His eyes traveled the length of my baton. “The museum it is!”
I left Brigit in the apartment with a new rubber chew toy. It was a cute one shaped like a chipmunk, with a squeaker. The designers had positioned the squeaker between the chipmunk’s hindquarters, like a whistling plastic asshole. At any rate, the toy should keep her busy while I was gone.
Seth and I headed east on the interstate to Dallas. Despite sitting only thirty miles apart, the cities of Dallas and Fort Worth couldn’t be more different. Fort Worth, on the one hand, clung to its Western roots and proudly boasted its cowboy heritage. The city’s historic stockyards area on the North Side was a popular tourist attraction with Old West barrooms, a vintage train, a rodeo venue, and Billy Bob’s, which touted itself as the world’s largest honky-tonk. Dallas, on the other hand, tended to embrace all things modern, expensive, and pretentious. From its signature skyscrapers, to its exclusive shops, to its national sports teams, Dallas was the city slicker to its country cousin to the west. Living in the area gave residents the best of both worlds.
In half an hour we exited the freeway and made our way up the surface streets to the museum. The Perot Museum of Nature and Science was housed in a modern gray square building with a rectangular glass structure that jutted outward and upward from its center, as if the building had an architecturally designed boner. Fortunately, Seth and I were among the first to arrive and were able to snag a close parking spot.
We made our way inside. Seth paid for our tickets at the booth and turned to me. “Where to first, nerd?”
I might be offended by the term, but it was clear he was only teasing me, flirting. Besides, I liked that he recognized my intelligence. Not many people had ever gotten to know me well enough to realize how smart I was. I looked over the brochure. “The Expanding Universe Hall.”
I’d always enjoyed astronomy, though I had to admit I never could grasp the concept of black holes. How could a small mass deform spacetime? And if a black hole sucked light into it, why was it dark instead of light? Why weren’t they white holes? It was beyond my comprehension.
We made our way to the exhibit. We spent several minutes viewing images taken by the Hubble Space Telescope before moving on to the display about the light spectrum and how it was used to classify stars.
Seth glanced my way. “Do I look smarter yet?”
“Infinitely.”
I gave him a smile and he took my hand as we walked to the next display. At my age I probably shouldn’t have gotten so excited about a guy holding my hand, but I couldn’t help myself. It felt wonderful to feel connected to someone. I guess I hadn’t realized just how lonely I’d been. When you feel a certain way all the time, it becomes normal.
We’d just finished watching a 3-D animation of the big bang when Seth’s cell phone vibrated, bringing him information about another big bang.
He checked the readout and accepted the call. “Hey … What?… Oh, shit!”
His choice of words earned him a dirty look from a mother with a young son who stood next to us.
“Any injuries?” Seth listened intently, his free hand going to his head in alarm. “All right. I’m in Dallas. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
SIXTY-TWO
CHEW TOYS, SHOE TOYS
Brigit
Megan hadn’t learned her lesson last time, had she? Although she’d left Brigit with a chew toy, the dog had made short work of it, shredding the cheap rubbery toy in mere seconds. And what idiot thought it would be a good idea to put a squeaking device in a dog toy? Didn’t they know the high-pitched sound hurt a dog’s ears?
After littering the floor with rubber chunks, Brigit walked over to the closet and lifted a paw to push down on the lever. Although she heard the click of the door unlatching, the door opened only a fraction, held in place by the hook and eye Megan had installed. Of course a small hook screwed into cheap wood trim was no match for Brigit. A claw hooked in the gap and a few forceful nudges of her nose were all it took to yank the hook out of its mooring.
Brigit scanned the shoe offerings, sniffing each pair in turn.
A pair of canvas rubber-soled sneakers. No, thanks.
Cheap sandals with wooden bead accents. Nope. Not real leather.
A pair of sleek, high-heeled boots. That’s the ticket.
The dog took one of the boots in her teeth and dragged it to the middle of the floor. This is living!
SIXTY-THREE
BOOMTOWN
The Rattler
He lay on a chaise lounge next to the backyard pool, ostensibly napping, though in actuality he was listening intently for the final explosion.
The first had gone off precisely at 1:00. A half mile away as the crow flies, he heard only a faint poom, though those at the country club had surely been temporarily deafened by the sound.
The second blast, which took place a minute later, was slightly louder. Kaboom. The birds lifted off from the trees in the yard, their wings whap-whap-whapping as they took flight. He fought to keep a smile from his face.
Another minute of relative quiet, then a much louder kaboom!
His mother opened th
e French door that led out on to the patio. “Did you hear something?”
He’d pretended as if she’d woken him, feigning grogginess as he sat up in the padded chair. “Nah,” he said, using the casual language he knew drove her crazy. “I didn’t hear nothin’.”
She frowned disapprovingly. How many times had he seen her wearing that same expression?
“Never mind.” She huffed in annoyance and yanked the door closed.
He chuckled to himself. Bitch.
Sirens sounded in the distance, the fire department on its way. For their own sake, they might want to slow down a little. This party wasn’t over yet.
The fourth blast a minute later was another faint but effective kapow.
Finally, he heard the last bomb explode: BOOM!
Just for kicks he’d loaded that one with an extra funnel’s worth of gunpowder.
His mother yanked the door open again. “I know I heard something that time. It rattled the windows.” She tilted her head. “I’m hearing sirens now, too.”
North Texas was no stranger to explosions. It wasn’t long ago that an estimated two hundred tons of ammonium nitrate had exploded at a chemical plant in the town of West, an hour south of Fort Worth. A multitude of people had been injured and fifteen people had been killed, including a number of firemen who’d responded to the initial fire. Property damage was extensive, with over 150 buildings damaged or destroyed, including a nursing home and an elementary school. A gas well had exploded near Cleburne four years ago or so, creating a massive fire and cloud of smoke, and killing one worker. And of course there was that fateful Saturday morning in 2003 when the Space Shuttle Columbia had exploded in the atmosphere over the state, leaving a debris field that expanded from south of Fort Worth east into Louisiana. The Rattler had been only a kid then, riding his bike up and down the street alone when he’d heard the explosion. He’d pedaled home as fast as he could, dropped his bike in the driveway, and rushed inside.
