Heavy Weather

Carol Cooper, however, wasn't having any of that. Carol Cooper was doing some welding in the garage. "I don't like systems," she told Alex. "I'm very analog."

"Yes," said Alex, clearing his throat, "I recognized that about you the moment we met."

"So what's in that big plastic jug there?"

"You're very direct, I noticed that also."

Carol put a final searing touch to a length of bent chromed pipe and set it aside to cool. "You sure are a sneaky little flicker, for a guy your age. Not everybody would have thought to spot-weld a noose on the end of that smart rope." She took off her welding goggles and put on safety glasses.

"It's a smart lariat now. Lariats are useful. Comanches used to catch coyotes with lariats. From horseback, of course."

"Of course," Carol scoffed. "Did you know that Janey threw that gun you bought her right down the latrine?"

"Just as well, it was probably pretty dumb to trust her with a firearm in the first place."

"You oughta go more easy on Janey," Carol chided. She picked up a dented length of bumper from the dune buggy, and fit it methodically into a big bench vise. She was wearing her barometer watch, under her slashed-paper sleeve. On her right wrist, the opposite wrist from the Troupe cuff.

"She sure was noisy last night," Carol remarked, meditatively, as she tightened the vise. "Y'know, the first time I ever heard Janey cut loose like that, I thought we were under attack. And then I thought, Christ, she's doing some kind of sick-and-twisted status thing, like she wants everybody to know that Jerry's finally dam' her. But then after a couple weeks, I figured out, that's just the way Janey is. Janey just plain needs to yell. She's not okay unless she yells."

Carol picked up a big lead-headed mallet and gave the bumper a pair of hard corrective wallops. "But the weirdest p art is that we all got so used to it. For months we all thought it was mega-hilarious, but now we don't even make jokes about Janey's yelling. And then when she stopped yelling for a couple weeks there, we all started to get really worried. But last night, y'know, off she goes. And today, I feel okay again. I feel like maybe we're go

"People can get used to anything," Alex said.

"No, they don't, dude," Carol said sharply. "You only think that 'cause you're young." She shook her head. "How old do you think I am?"

"Thirty-five?" Alex said. He knew she was forty-two.

"No way, I'm almost forty. I had a kid once who could almost be your age now. Kid died, though."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She swung the hammer. Bang. Wham. Clank clank dank. "Yeah, they say having a kid can keep your marriage alive, and it's really kinda true, because a kid gives you something to pay attention to, besides each other. But they never tell you that losing your kid can kill your marriage." Whack. Crunch. "Y'know, I was young and kind of stupid back then, and I used tofight with that guy a lot, but hell, I married him on purpose. We got along. And then our kid died. And we never got used to that. Not ever. It just murdered us. We couldn't stand the sight of each other, after that."

"What did your child die of?"

"Encephalitis."

"Really? My mom died of encephalitis."

"You're kidding. Which wave?"

"The epidemic of '25 was pretty bad in Houston."

"Oh, that was a late one, my little boy died in 2014. It was a State of Emergency thing."

Alex said nothing.

"Can you fetch me that big-ass vise grip over there?"

Alex pulled the coil of smart rope from his shoulder, put his gloved hand on it. The thin black rope slid out instantly across the bubblepak flooring, reared like a cobra, seized the end of the vise grip in its metal-collared noose, and lifted the tool into the air. It then swayed across the floor, the vise grip dangling gently from the noose, and hung the tool in midair, within her easy reach.

"Christ, you're getting good with that thing." Carol took the vise grip, with gingerly care. The rope whipped back to coil around Alex's shoulder.

"I've got something I need to tell you," Alex said.

She clamped the vise grip onto the bumper and put her back into twisting it. "I know that," she grunted. "And I'm waiting."

"Do you know Leo Mulcahey?"

Her hands froze on the vise grip and she looked up with eyes like a deer in headlights. "Oh hell."

"You do know him."

"Yeah. What about Leo?"

"Leo was here at camp yesterday. He came in a truck. He wanted to see Jerry, he said."

She stared at him. "What happened?"

"I sent him off with a flea in his ear; I wouldn't let him come in the camp. I said I would punch him out, and that there was a Trouper in the tents who would shoot him. He had a Ranger with him, that tracker guy who was here earlier. But I wouldn't let him in camp, either."

"Christ! Why?"

"Because Leo is evil. Leo's a spook, that's why."

"How do you know that bullshit?"

"Look, I just know he's a spook, okay?" Alex coughed, then lowered his voice. "Spook biz has this atmosphere, you get to where you can smell it." It had been a bad mistake to get excited. It felt as if something had peeled loose inside his chest.

"How did he look? Leo?"

"Very smooth. Very spooky."

"That's him all right. Very charming." Carol picked up her mallet, looked at it blankly, set it back down. "Y'know," she said slowly, "I like Greg. I like Greg a lot. But on the off-season, I don't hear word one from that guy. Not a phone call. Not even E-mail. He'll be off mountain climbing or shooting rapids or some fucking thing, and he never calls me, never." She was scowling. "That's why you need to be nicer to Janey. It's not like other Troupe romances; if you can call them romances, whatever the hell they are, when tornado freaks get together. But Jane really loves Jerry. She's loyal to him, she's good to him, she'd go through hell for Jerry. If I had a sister like that, and I was her brother, I'd try to look after my poor sister some, I'd try to help her be all tight."

Alex digested this strange speech, and reached the only possible conclusion. His throat was really starting to hurt.

"Are you telling me you've been fucking Leo?"

Carol stared at him, guilt written all over her face. "I hope I never hit you, Alex. Because you're not the kinda guy that I. could hit just once."

"It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I figured Leo must have some plant inside the camp. That's why I didn't tell anybody yet. I'm still trying to figure how to break the news to His Highness."

"You want me to tell Jerry about it?"

"Yeah. If you want to. That might be good." He drew a breath. "Tell Jerry that I wouldn't let Leo in camp, unless Jerry said it was okay first."

"You know what Leo is?" Carol said, slowly. "Leo is what Jerry would be, if Jerry wanted to hick with people's heads, instead of fucking with the whole universe."

"I don't know what Jerry is," Alex said. "I never saw anything like Jerry before. But Leo-you can ask any dope vaquero in Latin America about a guy like Leo, they all know what he is, and what he's doing. They may not know up here in Estados Unidos, but down in El Salvador they know, in Nicaragua they know, they all fuckin' know, it's not any secret to anybody." He broke into a fit of coughing.

"What the hell is with you, Alex? You look awful."

"That's the other part I have to tell you," Alex said. He began, haltingly, to explain.

By the time he finished, Carol had become quite pale.

"They call it a lung enema?" she said.

"Yeah. But it doesn't matter what they call it. The point is that it works, that it really helps me."

"Lemme see that jug."

With an effort, Alex hefted the plastic medical jug onto the workbench. Carol squinted at the red-on-white adhesive label.