Horns

IG WALKED BACK to the Evel Knievel trail to watch the smoldering coal of the sun sink into the Knowles River and gutter out. Standing there in the tall grass, he heard a curious musical chirrup, insectlike, but no insect he knew. He heard it quite distinctly-the locusts had gone quiet in the dusk. They were dying anyway, the droning machinery of their lust winding down with the end of the summer. The sound came again, to the left, in the weeds.

He crouched to investigate and saw Gle

WHAT R U WEARING?

Ig twisted his goatee, nervously considering. He still didn’t know if he could do it over a phone, if the influence of the horns could be shot from a radio transmitter and bounced off a satellite. On the other hand, it was a well-known fact that cell phones were tools of the devil.

He selected Lee’s message and pressed CALL.

Lee answered on the second ring. “Just tell me you’ve got on something hot. You don’t even have to be wearing it. I’m great at pretend.”

Ig opened his mouth but spoke in Gle

Lee hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and measured. “Where did you get yourself stuck, lady?”

“Out at the goddamn fuckin’ foundry,” Ig said in Gle

“The foundry? Why are you out there?”

“I came looking for Iggy.”

“Why would you want to do that? Gle

“I know it, but I can’t help it, I’m worried about him. His family is worried, too. There isn’t anyone knows where he’s at, and he missed his grandma’s birthday, and he won’t answer his phone. He could be dead for all anyone knows. I can’t stand it, and I hate thinking he’s messed up and it’s my fault. It’s part your fault, too, you shithead.”

He laughed. “Well. Probably. But I still don’t know why you’d be out at the foundry.”

“He likes to go out here this time of year, ’cause of this is where she died. So I thought I’d poke around, and I drove up, and got the car stuck, and of course Iggy isn’t anywhere around. You were nice enough to give me a ride home the other night. Treat a lady twice?”

He paused for a moment. Then he said, “Have you called anyone else?”

“You were the first person I thought of,” Ig said in Gle

“Sure,” he said. “All right. As long as I can watch you. Wash off, I mean.”

“That depends how fast you get here. I’m sittin’ inside the foundry waitin’ on you. You’ll make fun of me when you see where I got my car stuck. When you get out here, you’re going to absolutely die.”

“I can’t wait,” he said.

“Hurry up. It’s kind of creepy out here by myself.”

“I bet. No one out there but the ghosts. You hold on. I’m coming for you.”

Ig hung up without saying good-bye. Then he crouched for a while, over the scorch mark on the top of the Evel Knievel trail. The sun had gone down while he wasn’t paying attention. The sky was a deep, plummy shade of purple, the first stars lighting it in pinpricks. He rose at last to walk back to the foundry and get ready for Lee. He stopped and collected Merrin’s cross from where he’d hung it in the branches of the oak. He grabbed the red metal gas tank, too. It was still about a quarter full.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

HE FIGURED LEE WOULD NEED at least half an hour to get there, more if he was coming all the way from Portsmouth. It didn’t feel like a lot of time. Ig was just as glad. The longer he had to think about what he needed to do, the less likely he was to do it.

Ig had come around to the front of the foundry and was about to hoist himself up through the open door into the great room when he heard a car thudding in the rutted road behind him. Adrenaline came up in an icy rush, filling him with its chill. Things were moving fast, but they couldn’t be going that fast, not unless Lee had already been in his car when Ig called, and driving out this way for some reason. Only it wasn’t Lee’s big red Caddy, it was a black Mercedes, and for some reason Terry Perrish was behind the wheel.

Ig sank into the grass, set the quarter-full gas can down against the wall. He was so unprepared for the sight of his brother-here, now-that it was hard to accept what he was seeing. His brother couldn’t be here because by now Terry’s plane was on the ground in California, and Terry was out in the semitropical heat and Pacific sunlight of L.A. Ig had told him to go, to give in to what he wanted to do most anyway-which was cut and run-and that should’ve been enough.

The car turned and slowed as it approached the building, creeping along through the high, wiry grass. The sight of Terry infuriated and alarmed Ig. His brother didn’t belong here, and there was hardly any time to get rid of him.

Ig scampered along the concrete foundation, staying low. He reached the corner of the foundry as the Mercedes crunched by, quickened his pace, and grabbed the passenger-side door. He popped it open and leaped in.

Terry looked at him and screamed and fell back against the driver’s-side door, hand fumbling for the latch. Then he recognized Ig and stopped himself.

“Ig,” he panted. “What are you-” His gaze dropped to the filthy skirt, then rose to his face. “What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

Ig didn’t understand at first, couldn’t make sense of Terry’s shock. Then he felt the cross, still clasped in his right hand, the chain wound around his fingers. He was holding the cross, and it was muting the horns. Terry was seeing Ig for himself, for the first time since he’d come home. The Mercedes jostled along through the high summer weeds.

“Want to stop the car, Terry?” Ig said. “Before we go down Evel Knievel trail and into the river?”

Terry’s foot found the brake, and he brought the car to a halt.

The two brothers sat together in the front seat. Terry’s breath came fast and quick through his open mouth. For a long moment, he gaped at Ig, his face vacant and baffled. Then he laughed. It was shaky, horrified laughter, but with it came a nervous twitch of the lips that was almost a smile.

“Ig. What are you doing out here…like this?”

“That’s my question. What are you doing out here? You had a flight today.”

“How do you-”

“You need to get away from here, Terry. We don’t have a lot of time.” As he spoke, he looked into the rearview mirror, checking the road. Lee Tourneau would be coming any minute.

“Time before what? What’s going to happen?” Terry hesitated, then said, “What’s with the skirt?”

“You, of all people, ought to know a Motown reference when you see it, Terry.”

“Motown? You aren’t making sense.”

“Sure I am. I’m telling you that you need to get the fuck out of here. What could make more sense than that? You are the wrong person in the wrong place at the exact wrong time, Terry.”

“What are you talking about? You’re scaring me. What’s going to happen? Why do you keep looking in the rearview mirror?”

“I’m expecting someone.”

“Who?”

“Lee Tourneau.”

Terry blanched. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. Why?”

“You know why.”

“Oh,” Terry said again. “You know. How…how much?”

“All of it. That you were in the car. That you passed out. That he fixed it so you couldn’t tell.”

Terry’s hands were on the steering wheel, his thumbs moving up and down, his knuckles white. “All of it. How do you know he’s on his way?”