Our plan was to head west, cutting just north of the city. 40 had all the cops. We’d stick with the smaller highways and state roads. East of the state line there were lots of empty stretches where we could make up the time.
We picked out a few places we might try—Bullhead City, Lake Havasu City, Roswell, New Mexico. Natalie suggested Victorville, or Truth or Consequences. Lamont said San Bernardino was the crank capital of the world; the Marines trained right near there at Twentynine Palms.
“Yuma,” I said.
“Fresno,” Lamont said. He had the atlas open on his lap, his finger following a road through the Texas panhandle, and Natalie was looking over his shoulder, and I couldn’t tell if the possibilities for me were opening up or narrowing down. I checked my mirrors and kept the needle right between the 5s.
75
We all planned the Mach 6 job, all of us. We weren’t even off of 66 when we needed gas. We had twelve dollars between us, which wouldn’t even fill the tank, so we knew we had to do something.
It was Saturday. At my old Mach 6 the manager would do a drawer skim right before the lunch rush and deposit it before the bank closed at noon. Friday was our busy night so it was always a chunk of money.
“How much is a chunk?” Natalie said.
“Two thousand?” I said. “It’s probably more now.”
“That’ll do it,” Lamont said. “What about alarms?”
“None. No cameras either. It’s a real cut-rate operation. Lunch shift you’re going to have six people at the most. The manager’s trained to hand over everything. The rest of them are just kids.”
He didn’t answer right away. We were coming into Arcadia, a few miles east of Edmond. We passed Bob’s Bar-B-Que and the Round Barn; already there were tourists hanging around outside. I looked at Natalie in the mirror, and she looked back at me like it wasn’t her decision.
“What time is it now?” Lamont said.
76
Eleven-ten.
The weather was bright, like I said. Fifty, fifty-five, some high clouds. Light wind. You can make it windy if that makes it more dramatic, red dust blowing all over. Rain would be even better. And you definitely want to make it at night so you get the red neon, that’s what Mach 6’s famous for. Maybe at closing time while they’re mopping up, that way we’d take them by surprise.
77
I had on Levi’s and a mustard sweatshirt with Snoopy on it, the kind with the pocket in front for your hands. Under that I was wearing a light blue Eskimo Joe’s T-shirt. Just a regular bra and underwear, white tube socks, red Chuck Taylors. A pair of fake Ray-Bans. Little heart earrings Lamont had given me for my birthday and my pearl ring. I looked normal.
Lamont was wearing a blue-and-black-plaid flannel shirt, his jeans with the hole in the knee and Mr. Close’s work boots because his shoes were ruined. The chain for his wallet was hanging out, and his pocketknife case on his belt. He didn’t wear any rings or anything like that. White tube socks with stripes, regular brief-type white underwear.
Natalie had on designer jeans—Guess or Jordache, something dumb. She had on a white pullover with no sleeves that was too small for her; you could see a line of skin right around her belly button. Beige flats and no socks. At least two gold chains, gold hoop earrings, more than one ring on each hand. Probably some kind of barrette, and makeup, definitely coral lipstick. She liked pink or blue bras and underwear, always matching.
Gainey had on a green jumper with a hood and little blue tennis shoes with rainbow laces. Pampers.
Everyone inside except the manager had red-and-black Mach 6 uniform tops on, and black jeans. Who knows what they had underneath.
78
We weren’t heavily armed. Lamont had his pistol and Mr. Close’s shotgun, which we didn’t even take out of the trunk. Natalie had a .45 and I had a little .22.
I didn’t even want the thing. I’d never fired a gun before, I didn’t even know how to load it or take the safety off, Lamont had to do that for me. He said we wouldn’t have to shoot but if we did we’d better know how.
79
I was driving, Lamont was the passenger, Gainey was in back behind me, and Natalie was in back behind Lamont. This goes for after the robbery too; we kept our positions to avoid confusion.
I’m not going to call it a massacre, like it says on the cover of her book. A massacre is more than five people. She’s just using it to sell more copies.
I read somewhere that one of John Grisham’s books sold 8 million copies. It’s okay, you’re still a better writer than he is. Maybe this one will do better.
80
I don’t remember what we talked about. Maybe we didn’t say anything, maybe just “Turn here,” or things to remember once it got started.
It was a simple plan. I wouldn’t leave the car. We’d pretend we were reading the menu. We’d wait till all the carhops were inside. Lamont would go in first, then Natalie right behind him. I wanted to go with him but he said we all knew I was the best driver and that he was counting on me. He just said it so I wouldn’t be jealous, which was dumb, because I already was. I said fine.
Inside, he’d ask something dumb like could they use the restrooms, and make the manager explain that only employees were allowed in the building. Once Lamont had him away from the phone, he’d show him the gun. Then Natalie would slip in behind the counter and grab the person doing drive-thru. The rest was just rounding up the carhops and the fry cooks and locking them in the walk-in fridge. Clear out the safe and the register and stick it in a sack.
I was supposed to buzz for an order and the number for my stall would light up on the panel so they’d know it was me. Lamont would get on that channel and tell me when to pull around to the window. Natalie would hand me the sack and I’d stick it under Lamont’s seat, then roll around and pick them up out front and we’d be off.
I came up with most of the plan because I’d worked there, I have to admit that. I still think it would of worked if it wasn’t for Victor Nunez. Maybe someone would of still gotten our license plate, but it wouldn’t of been anything like what happened. We didn’t go in planning to kill anyone like the prosecution said. So right there is five counts that should of been second degree at the most. At least that’s what Mr. Jefferies says.
I don’t know what we said to each other, it wasn’t anything important. I’m sure you can come up with something more interesting.
81
Whatever it was, we turned it down low before we pulled into the Dairy Kurl to get Gainey his sundae. We’d all been up for two days straight and we needed to think. I don’t remember an 8-track. If it was the radio it would have been KATT, the classic rock station, only because there’s no good rock station around here. Everything’s country or Christian. The Katt played your usual Stones and Zeppelin with a little Aerosmith or the Crue thrown in. It’s still like that, kind of stuck in a time warp.
If you want a great driving tune, you might go with “Radar Love,” it pretty much tells the whole story. There’s a live album with about a sixteen-minute version. There’s this great line in it, The radio’s playing some forgotten song. You can put that in because it’s true—I can’t remember what was on.
Nothing wimpy though. “Land Speed Record” by Husker Dü was one of our favorites, you can always use something off of that. Louder, faster!
82
I guess not everyone’s seen a Mach 6. I thought they were everywhere.
The one we went to had a drive-thru lane as well as the regular drive-in part. The drive-thru lane wraps around the building. You go behind and there’s the order board, then you come around the other side and pick up your food at the window. The drive-in stalls are outside of the lane; there are twenty-four, twelve on each side. Over the stalls you’ve got a canopy held up by the poles the Order-Matics are on. The ends are red triangles, which is part of the logo. The stalls are kind of diagonal, and they’re all oil-stained. You pull up and your window’s right by the Order-Matic.
In back there’s a regular dumpster and a grease-only dumpster that the sparrows love. In front there’s a skinny island of grass and shrubs between the in and out lanes of the drive-thru, with a fake Japanese bridge about a foot high.
The sign’s like a gas station sign, it lights up from inside. MACH 6, it says in red, America’s Drive-In. You see the other side when you leave; it says, Happy Eating. At night red neon completely outlines the canopy and the building. It’s a great place to take your car right after you’ve waxed it. The food’s not bad either. Even when I worked there I’d eat it.
Mr. Jefferies has tons of pictures of it. He could even take you there. You’ll probably see a lot of little stuff I’ve forgotten.
It’s funny, the post office in Edmond has this fountain outside with the names of all fourteen victims on it. You’d think Mach 6 would do something like that for its employees, but there’s nothing. In Mr. Jefferies’ pictures the windows are fixed and the carhops are serving people like nothing ever happened.
83
It wasn’t lunch yet so it wasn’t busy. There was a new T-bird in a stall on the right, halfway up, and on the left in about the same place an old gold Tempest that Natalie thought was a Goat. She was trying to impress Lamont with her knowledge of cars.
“Close,” I said. “It’s got the same nose.”
“It’s not a LeMans?”
“389 tripower,” I said, “four-speed, probably has that old Positrac,” and Lamont laughed like he was proud of me.
A carhop came out with a tray—Kim Zwillich, the short one with the red ribbon holding her ponytail. I could only see the neon in the windows; the signs were on, even at eleven in the morning. We pulled into the last stall on the right. At the far end of the lot the employees’ cars were parked head-in next to the dumpsters. There were four of them, all small and foreign, beat-up little riceburners.
It was cool under the shade of the canopy. Lamont stuck his gun in his belt. Natalie put hers in her purse and left the flap unsnapped. We watched the guy carhop come out to the T-bird with a single drink—Reggie Tyler. He was Natalie’s size, with long blond hair parted in the middle and feathered back. We were too far back for me to see if he had a mustache at that point. When he disappeared around the corner, Lamont opened his door.
“Can you get some napkins?” I asked, because Gainey was making a mess.
“Napkins.”
“Be careful,” I said.
“We will,” he said. “You just be ready.”
I wanted a kiss but he was already out, with Natalie right behind him. I watched them walk toward the front under the canopy. Lamont had an extra sway in his step because of the toe. They were talking like nothing was up, so close together you’d swear they were married. I was supposed to look at the menu like I was trying to decide something, and right then I thought, heck, I can do that.
84
They were in there maybe thirty seconds. It could have been shorter or longer, I wasn’t counting. The clock on the dash worked, Lamont was always proud of that, but I wasn’t timing them. I had my finger over the order button, ready to see if everything was going okay.
Lamont came on. “We’re in,” he said. “Stand by.”
“Standing by,” I said.
It was like the astronauts talking.
Lamont left the mike open. “Over there,” he was saying to someone. “Shut up and do it.”
I heard the register peep and the drawer kick out. Then I heard the shots.
85
I wasn’t there for that, so Natalie might be right. I don’t know about Victor Nunez overpowering her, because he wasn’t that big. He was chubby, one of those kids that jiggles, the kind that gets picked last—not someone who’d surprise you. Mr. Jefferies showed a bunch of diagrams in court, and from where Natalie says she was standing and where the door of the stockroom was, it looks like she just didn’t know he was behind her. She’ll never admit it though, because that would make it all her fault.
As far as I could tell, this is what happened. Lamont went in first. Everybody was inside, just like we planned. No one was by the phone, so Lamont pulled out his gun. He asked which one of them was the manager, and Donald Anderson said that he was. Lamont went around the counter to get everyone away from the register and the Order-Matic panel. At the same time, Natalie made Margo Styles take off the headset she used to do the drive-thru window. Lamont called me and started on the cash drawer. So far everything was going okay.
This whole time, Victor Nunez was in the stockroom, getting a bunch of cups. When he came out he must of seen Natalie standing there with the gun. It was noisy from the hiss of the grill and the bubbling of the Fry-o-lators, so maybe she didn’t hear him. Maybe she was scared and froze up. Whatever. Either Victor Nunez stopped and decided to be a hero or he just reacted, no one knows. But the next thing he did was come up behind Natalie and grab for the gun.
Was there a struggle like in the movies? Did Lamont have to decide whether to risk shooting her, the great love of his life? I have no idea, I wasn’t there. Natalie makes it sound like Victor Nunez practically had to break her wrist to get it, but that would of given everyone time to take cover. All I know is I heard a bunch of shots.
I don’t know what order they hit everyone in. One hit Reggie Tyler in the ear. One hit the slush machine, because when I got there it was squirting all over the floor. One hit Donald Anderson in the side. One hit Victor Nunez and took most of one cheek away. And one hit Lamont in the ribs.
86
My first reaction was to hope we were doing the shooting. I’m sorry but it’s true. I hung on to the steering wheel, waiting for the noise to stop.
Lamont swore and there was another shot. “That’s what you get,” he said.
A girl was crying in the background.
I looked around the lot. The family in the T-bird hadn’t heard anything, which I thought was impossible.
“Margie,” Natalie called, “get in here.”
I looked in my purse to make sure the gun was still there. Gainey had chocolate sauce all over his chin.
“Mama’ll be right back,” I said.
I wondered if I should lock the doors or not. I left them open in case we had to move fast.
While I was walking along the side of the building, another car pulled in, a new Camaro convertible with a blonde in it, so blond her hair was almost white. She passed me and curled around the other side. I turned the corner in time to see the guy in the Tempest check her out. There were two doors, one to go in on the right, the out one on the left. They both had a sticker that said EMPLOYEES ONLY. I opened the in door and went in like I was just late for work.
87
The first thing I saw was Lamont holding his ribs. His shirt was soaked, and the hip of his jeans below it. He was next to the register, holding his gun on everyone. Natalie stood by the drink machine, holding hers out the same way.
They were all on the floor between the grill and the Fry-o-lators. A cloud of greasy smoke hung under the lights; the whole place reeked of meat. There was no music inside. Victor Nunez and Reggie Tyler were on the floor, but they were dead and you could tell. A piece of Victor’s face stuck to the soft ice cream machine; his red visor lay on the grill, cooking. Reggie’s legs were under him at a funny angle. The floor was tile and had a drain, and the blood was running into it. Kim Zwillich and Margo Styles were clutching each other. I forgot to take out my gun. I just stood there looking at everything. A Coke clock went around on the wall.
“He says the safe’s not open,” Lamont said, poking his gun at Donald Anderson. He was sitting in front of the others like he could protect them. He ha
d a tic in his right eye, and his lip was starting to follow. He had on a white alligator shirt with the Mach 6 triangle over the heart while the rest of them had cheap red ones that buttoned up with a patch that said Mach 6 like it was a gas station.
“He can open it,” I said. “He’s got the combination.”
“I don’t have it,” Donald Anderson pleaded. “I just started working this week.”
“Get over there,” Lamont said.
“I don’t have it!”
Lamont took a step and Donald Anderson crawled toward the corner. His knees left trails in the blood.
Natalie swore and Kim Zwillich and Margo Styles huddled closer.
Over the Order-Matic, a woman said, “I need a number three and a rainbow slush with a dash of vanilla.”
Lamont looked at Donald Anderson, then looked at me.
“Did you get that?” the woman said. It had to be the blonde in the Camaro, at least I hoped so.
I stepped over a fallen stack of cups and punched the button for stall 17.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Is that with or without fries?”
“With.”
“Large or small?”
“Large.”
“What would you like on that three?”
“Everything please.”
“What size slush—small, medium or large?”
“Large, and I’d like just a dash of vanilla ice cream on top.”
“Okay,” I said, and rang it up like a regular order. “That’s a number three with everything, large fry, large rainbow with vanilla. Will there be anything else?”
“That’s it,” she said.
I totaled it. “That’ll be three forty-four. We’ll have your order out to you in a jiff. Thanks for cruising Mach 6.”
Behind me in the corner, Donald Anderson was working at the combination. Lamont had the gun on him, jabbing him in the back of the head with the barrel.
The Speed Queen Page 16
