Ravens. Part 9

"They say it's the pulp mill. But to me it's like everyone's dead. I think all these ranch houses and condos are filled with dead people. If they're not dead, how come the streets are so empty? How come Brunswick stinks so much?"

"Smells OK to me," said Shaw.

"Maybe you're just too drunk to smell it."

"I'm not drunk at all."

"Oh s.h.i.+t," said Romeo. "I been watching watching you get drunk. What, are you trying to seduce them? That's what it looks like. All that drinking and joking and flirting." you get drunk. What, are you trying to seduce them? That's what it looks like. All that drinking and joking and flirting."

"I'm trying to put them at ease."

"OK. Good plan. You be the charmer; I'll be the ghoul."

Romeo didn't know where that had come from. Lack of sleep probably. But Shaw cast him a long troubled stare. Forty yards between them, but still it felt Shaw was searching right into his eyes. Finally Shaw said softly, "Listen, Romeo, I know how hard this is. What you're doing is a lonely thing and I'm amazed how well you're doing it. But just, you got to know, I'm with with you. You know? I'm with you every second. All we got to do is get to the end of this deal; then we put our money into the bank and retire and all the rest is play, OK? You know what I want to do? I want to go to Trinidad like we were planning on, and when we get there, we'll open a hospital for the poor. OK? Or an orphanage or something. I mean it. Just spread the f.u.c.king love wherever we go. And drink cuba libres and have a big swimming pool and bang all the pretty nurses and have a constant blast but one thing I promise you is I'll never forget your courage here this week. You know?" you. You know? I'm with you every second. All we got to do is get to the end of this deal; then we put our money into the bank and retire and all the rest is play, OK? You know what I want to do? I want to go to Trinidad like we were planning on, and when we get there, we'll open a hospital for the poor. OK? Or an orphanage or something. I mean it. Just spread the f.u.c.king love wherever we go. And drink cuba libres and have a big swimming pool and bang all the pretty nurses and have a constant blast but one thing I promise you is I'll never forget your courage here this week. You know?"

"I guess."

"I told you I needed you, and you were there. And everything that's happened since comes from your courage. I'm not ever going to forget that. OK?"

"Sure. I mean you don't have to say this."

"You OK then?"

"Yeah."

"We just have to make it to the end of this."

After Shaw went inside, Romeo did another counterclockwise turn around the city. Rt. 17 to Clio's. Up to Belle Point, where Shelby and Miriam lived with their kids. Then west on Chapel Crossing to Altama Avenue, to Poinsettia Circle, Vanessa and Henry's.

I told you I needed you and you were there.

In fifth grade, in Ohio, Romeo had heard about these kids who had gone under the Vandemark Bridge and with a Swiss Army knife had carved the letter D on their chests and rubbed gunpowder into the b.l.o.o.d.y wounds so the mark would never fade. No one knew what the D stood for. Romeo wasn't acquainted with any of these kids. He just knew he wanted to join that club.

All through the school year, he obsessed over it. Having that mark. Having blood brothers who would die for him, as he would happily die for them. Then one day he was on Hardy Street, walking home from school, and he saw the club's leader, alone, coming toward him. Romeo summoned up the courage to stop him. "Shaw?"

The guy squinted at him. "Yeah?" He had no idea who Romeo was. "What?"

This took place in front of Wendy's (at that time there had still been a Wendy's at the corner of Hardy and Pine). It was in October, and the wind was kicking up yellow and maroon leaves.

Say it, Romeo thought. But he couldn't. "Nothing." Romeo thought. But he couldn't. "Nothing."

Shaw started to walk away.

"Wait. I want to join. Can I join your club?"

Shaw turned. "What club? Who are you?"

"Your club. I'd be a good member."

"There's no club," said Shaw. "And if there was a club why would we want you?"

Romeo didn't have an answer. Nothing was in his head but the prayer that he wouldn't start crying while Shaw McBride was glaring at him.

Shaw walked away.

But a week or so later Romeo was walking up Adams Street after school and Shaw was waiting for him.

"So suppose there was was a club. What would you be willing to do to get in?" a club. What would you be willing to do to get in?"

"Anything."

"Anything? Why?"

"I don't know," said Romeo.

"That's like, f.u.c.ked," said Shaw, and again he walked away.

The next day, when Romeo came up Adams Street, Shaw and some other guys were there in a kind of huddle. They called Romeo over to them. He was scared but he went. They said, "Come with us."

They took him down below the Vandemark Bridge, for his initiation.

The initiation was this: you had to take a dump on a piece of cardboard and then rub it on your face like warpaint. Then go to the river and jump in, and stay under for thirty seconds. Then you'd be in the club.

Romeo did those things. He rubbed his own s.h.i.+t all over his face, and jumped in the icy water and stayed under for half a minute and came up choking. The boys were gone. His clothes had been cast into the water. He swam out for them, rescued them from the current, and dragged them ash.o.r.e. He wrung them out and put them on. He was freezing and hyperventilating. But he knew the boys were hiding nearby, spying on him, and he kept himself from bawling as he climbed up to the bridge.

Next day in school was the first time that n.o.body called him 'Wherefore art Thou'. Instead everyone called him s.h.i.+tface. Everyone except Shaw - Shaw didn't call him s.h.i.+tface. Shaw didn't recognize his existence in any way.

Romeo spent the next few months thinking up ways to kill himself. But he never did cry in public, and never complained and never ratted anyone out, and endured his new name and the interminable pa.s.sing of time until one day in December Mom came to Romeo's room and said, "A friend is here for you." And there was Shaw.

Mom made a fuss over him, offering cookies and lemonade and all, and Romeo was mortified. But finally she went away, and Shaw told him, "Hey, I'm sorry I was such an a.s.shole back under the bridge. All that s.h.i.+t we did - it wasn't my idea."

Romeo shrugged. "It's OK."

" 'Cause you were like a good soldier about it."

Romeo tried not to show any emotion.

Then Shaw said, "I need your help. Will you help me?"

There had been some kind of palace coup in the club. Shaw had been deposed. Romeo said he'd help in any way he could, and he accompanied Shaw to Hollow Park and they hid in the forsythia bushes waiting for the ringleader of the mutineers to come by. Shaw was perfectly still and patient. He didn't move for hours. Romeo was freezing. Once he tried to whisper something, but Shaw just raised his hand. They waited. Finally when it was nearly dark, the ringleader came by, and Shaw made a sign to Romeo and leaped out and started fighting the guy. Calling, "Romeo, help me!" But Romeo was scared, and he couldn't move.

But then the guy got Shaw into a headlock and Shaw howled with pain - and something changed in Romeo then. He just lit into the kid, his fists whirling: he was ferocious; he was a cyclone. It felt like he had left his body: that he was watching himself from afar. And then Shaw was holding the guy so Romeo could keep hitting him and kicking him, and the guy was bleeding and begging for mercy but Romeo wouldn't stop till Shaw dragged him off.

"Jesus!" said Shaw. "What're you, f.u.c.kin insane?"

But Shaw was laughing as he said this. He told the poor kid, "OK, kneel and beg my forgiveness or my guy will kill you right here."

The kid did what he was told. That was the end of the coup. Shaw got his power back. The gang came under his sway again.

And Romeo was granted full members.h.i.+p in the club. This time the rites were for real. In the presence of all the members-including the poor bruised-up mutineer -Romeo incised a D into his own chest. The club's secret name was The Devourers, Shaw told him, reminding him that he'd be killed if he ever revealed that fact. After the cutting, Romeo's chest streamed with blood, and he had to rub gunpowder into the wound, which burned like a branding iron. The pain was annihilating, but still - this was far and away the best hour of his life.

Patsy was overwhelmed. was overwhelmed.

Her daughter was still out with that fiend. The Real Housewives of Orange County The Real Housewives of Orange County was on TV, a lot of squawking she couldn't follow. Her husband was at the little fake 'empire' desk in the corner, studying Scripture, studying so hard that drops of sweat were falling from his brow onto the Holy Book. Meanwhile Jase kept up that blaze of vengeance on his Micro, shriek after shriek, and when Patsy couldn't bear any of this for another moment she got up and went back to the bedroom and shut the door, and climbed into bed with her laptop. was on TV, a lot of squawking she couldn't follow. Her husband was at the little fake 'empire' desk in the corner, studying Scripture, studying so hard that drops of sweat were falling from his brow onto the Holy Book. Meanwhile Jase kept up that blaze of vengeance on his Micro, shriek after shriek, and when Patsy couldn't bear any of this for another moment she got up and went back to the bedroom and shut the door, and climbed into bed with her laptop.

For a while she tried to play internet Tetris. Tetris. But she couldn't follow that either. But she couldn't follow that either.

Outside it was getting dark, quick. Thunderstorm coming. Where was Tara? Why weren't they back yet? My little girl.

With that demon, my little girl!

If she could just find some way to get her mind off all this.

She went to Google. Into the oblong box she typed: mansions She thought a moment. Then she added malibu It was wrong to be doing this, she knew. Here they all were in peril of their lives - not just she and Mitch and the kids, but her brother Shelby too, and her mother-in-law, and others: who knew which of her family and friends that monster had singled out? And Tara was out with one of them right that minute! What was the matter with her, that at a time like this she could be thinking of California real estate?

But these were were lovely cottages. And this browsing was only to help her endure the terror. Letting her think about the good times to come. When all of this would be over. With property values in the toilet there were bound to be genuine bargains out there. She could swoop in like a bird of prey and s.n.a.t.c.h a jewel. lovely cottages. And this browsing was only to help her endure the terror. Letting her think about the good times to come. When all of this would be over. With property values in the toilet there were bound to be genuine bargains out there. She could swoop in like a bird of prey and s.n.a.t.c.h a jewel.

She skated lightly through the listings.

What she found though, was dismaying. Everything was so unbelievably expensive.

For example, here was a nice 5-bedroom with a 2-cargarage and "beach access just steps away." Modern, high ceilings, lots of gla.s.s. But the list was $18,000,000.00.

Eighteen million?

Wasn't the market supposed to have tanked tanked? How could they be asking eighteen million and it's not even on the water? Eighteen million and she had to hike to the d.a.m.n beach hike to the d.a.m.n beach? Along some tourist path? Trudging with Mitch and his purple flipflops, and Whoopi and Barbara and Sting looking down on her and laughing, ha ha, look at those stinkbugs crawling in the sand!

No chance, Patsy thought. I won't be Whoopi's clown. Washed-up C-lister who's never funny anymore, giving me me c.r.a.p? c.r.a.p?

Well. She searched some more, and finally found a property right on the beach. Just above the pounding surf, and it had 4 bedrooms which at least was one more than she had now, so fine - they could have a guest now and then. And the place had been designed by some fancy architect. But it looked like a lean-to. Like a glorified concession stand. Look at it! Squeezed in between the neighbors on either side, and the asking price was $22,500,000.

Twenty-two point five million million? For a 4-bedroom hot dog shack?

Were they kidding?

Or here - an empty two-acre lot. Right on the beach, but with the Pacific Coast Highway running right behind it, and what was that warehouse-looking building across the highway? A discount furniture store? And they want $19 million? For two acres of sand?

It was beginning to dawn on her that she didn't have all the money in the world.

She wished she hadn't started with this.

She wondered how much wealth she really did have. Starting with that lump-sum-vs.-annuity scam, which meant that her so-called $ 318-million jackpot was baloney to begin with. Then subtract taxes, then subtract Shaw's 50% cut, what was she left with? Less than $65 million. And she was supposed to spend half of that on a pathetic snack bar on the beach?

Of course, she didn't have have to live in Malibu. If she didn't mind living away from the beach, up in the hills somewhere, maybe she could find herself something really sw.a.n.k for twenty million. If she didn't mind having dentists and tax attorneys for pals. Instead of Mel and Goldie and Matthew McConaughey. to live in Malibu. If she didn't mind living away from the beach, up in the hills somewhere, maybe she could find herself something really sw.a.n.k for twenty million. If she didn't mind having dentists and tax attorneys for pals. Instead of Mel and Goldie and Matthew McConaughey.

OK, fine then; I'll go live in the sticks.

But of course, whatever she got, she'd have to refurbish and redecorate. That, she knew, would run her another five million or so, minimum. So now she was down to thirty million odd, the interest on which would bring in... two million a year? Million and a half after taxes? She could already feel the squeeze here. Because what about the housekeeper? And a chef and gardeners and maids and security? All that would run a couple of million per year at least. And she didn't require the fanciest yacht in the world but if she wanted to entertain on the ocean at all, that meant at least a half-million-dollar boat, and G.o.d only knew how much to staff it. And couture wasn't cheap. And private schools and club members.h.i.+ps and spas and a nanny...

She got up and went to the kitchen to fix herself a g&t. Going easy on the gin because it was early. Though she did allow herself one little dollop because all this was so incredibly sad. For one moment she had been truly rich. For an instant. Before that b.a.s.t.a.r.d had come into their lives. If it hadn't been for him she'd have twice as much now. A hundred and twenty million, and then yes, she could have afforded a decent spread. A nice place, forty million or so, in a friendly seaside neighborhood, where she could've had Nancy Reagan over for tea and had some silver to serve it on. And she could have thrown a few bucks at one of Nancy's charities, to make her smile. "Oh, sweetie, I almost forgot. Little something for the stem cells." Nancy saying: "Oh! I wish wish Ronnie were here right now." Then a quick hug - very gentle of course - and the poor old widow weeping softly in Patsy's arms. Ronnie were here right now." Then a quick hug - very gentle of course - and the poor old widow weeping softly in Patsy's arms.

She could have had a horse in the Derby! And a fun little jet to fly her out to Lexington, to watch it run. Would've been all right. And yesterday, she had had all that! That had been her life!

Her fury running away with her. She polished off the gin in a single swallow, and got up to fix herself another. G.o.dd.a.m.n the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! May they burn in h.e.l.l! And they would, she thought. Because if they ever tried to leave Brunswick, to enjoy their loot, she'd bring the FBI down on them like a hive of hornets. The FBI would put so many holes in them, their own mothers wouldn't want what was left.

Romeo was starting to feel a little better. He even thought he might be able to hold something down, so he drove to the Burger King drive-thru on Altama. But then when he looked up at the big sparkling menu board, he realized he wasn't feeling was starting to feel a little better. He even thought he might be able to hold something down, so he drove to the Burger King drive-thru on Altama. But then when he looked up at the big sparkling menu board, he realized he wasn't feeling that that much better. Not a single item he wouldn't have instantly upchucked. So he drove away - sailing past the pickup window, with the counter girl scowling at him as if driving thru without making a purchase was some heinous crime against humanity. He took a left, and took Habersham to Poinsettia Circle, to Vanessa and Henry's house. much better. Not a single item he wouldn't have instantly upchucked. So he drove away - sailing past the pickup window, with the counter girl scowling at him as if driving thru without making a purchase was some heinous crime against humanity. He took a left, and took Habersham to Poinsettia Circle, to Vanessa and Henry's house.

Vanessa was Nell's niece. She was an artist who painted pastel seascapes - this Romeo knew from her web page, where there was also a picture of her wearing some kind of fancy South American blouse. Her husband Henry was black and debonair, and worked for Glynn County - something about delinquent youths. Romeo parked across from their sweet little house, and waited, and after a while Henry came out in a seersucker jacket and got into his car and drove away.

Romeo went the other way. Headed downtown.

OK. Here's how I could do it. Knock at the kitchen door. Vanessa answers, I say I'm from PETA. She'll be all sympathetic, and as she opens the door I raise the pistol and shoot her in the face. Right? Though she probably won't die right away but she'll scream and blood will come hurling out of her head, and I can't.

He looped past Alfred's house, and then Nell's, and came back to Gloucester Street. He took a right. The speed limit was 25 mph. He did not exceed it. He wanted to go even slower; to trawl along at bicycle or milkwagon speed. But that would have drawn too much attention. So he went at exactly the limit, and the sepulchral city opened up slowly on either side of him. When he crossed Lee Street and saw a shop that advertised Antique Maps, Firearms, and Swords, he pulled in.

As a coldblooded killer, as an angel of vengeance or dark servant or whatever, he should have been turned on by a place like this.

The store's proprietor had a face like a battered satellite dish. He seemed to be receiving signals this very moment. He let Romeo alone to wander amidst the merchandise, to run his gaze along the edges of the knives, to ponder the rows and rows of dull-witted bullets. It all seemed cold, harsh, repellent. But there was one item that did catch his eye: a broken cavalry saber up on the wall. He liked it because because it was broken. It had an air of fallen n.o.bility. He studied it from afar, until the proprietor surfaced from his deep-s.p.a.ce communion and said, "Revolutionary War. French-made, Solingen steel, but it's got the American double eagle. I guess Lafayette might have brought it over here, or one of his men. You wanna see it?" it was broken. It had an air of fallen n.o.bility. He studied it from afar, until the proprietor surfaced from his deep-s.p.a.ce communion and said, "Revolutionary War. French-made, Solingen steel, but it's got the American double eagle. I guess Lafayette might have brought it over here, or one of his men. You wanna see it?"

"Please."

The proprietor brought it down and let him handle it.

"How much?" said Romeo.

"Well, if it weren't broken, ten thousand. At least. But as it is, thirty-eight hundred. Which would include the scabbard."

Would it be easier to kill with this than with the .22? Oh, much. A touch of rakish glamor, he thought - that might give him some confidence. Also, knowing that the moment of truth wouldn't be so distant and hollow. That might help. So if he hadn't yet maxed out his MasterCard...

The card went through.

Romeo took the saber out to the Tercel and built a nest for it, from newspapers and T-s.h.i.+rts, in the trunk.

Then he drove on. But this time the stench returned quickly, bullyingly, and he realized: it was here. In this car. Not in the city; not in the air; but in this car. in this car. There had been no foul odor in that antique shop. It was either in the car or in his brain. He crossed Rt. 17 and pulled into a little park on the marsh. He was the only one there. He got out and walked away from the Tercel. He followed a wood plank walkway into the marsh. It ended at the bank of a creek, and he stood there, looking at seagulls. A small hot breeze was in his face. He took a deep breath. There had been no foul odor in that antique shop. It was either in the car or in his brain. He crossed Rt. 17 and pulled into a little park on the marsh. He was the only one there. He got out and walked away from the Tercel. He followed a wood plank walkway into the marsh. It ended at the bank of a creek, and he stood there, looking at seagulls. A small hot breeze was in his face. He took a deep breath.

Nothing really stank here. There was a mud smell, a vague brininess. That was all.

But when he went back to the Tercel, the stench walloped him again.

He opened the door, got down on his haunches and felt under the seats. Old coffee cups, toll receipts, Subway wrappers. A years-old road map for Cincinnati Including Southwestern Ohio Cincinnati Including Southwestern Ohio. But nothing to generate this kind of odor.

He squatted there, trying to puzzle this out.

Then he got up and slowly circled the car. Sniffing as he went. He bent low and sniffed again.

He lay down on the ground. Now he was shaded from the swollen sun by the Tercel's b.u.mper, but the asphalt was as hot as an oven rack.

He squirmed under the cha.s.sis, on his back.