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‘So, you came up with the idea of stampedes.’
‘The blood of all.’
He told her about a poem from ancient Rome, praising a gladiator for not retiring even though the emperor had granted him his freedom and the right to leave the games.
March’s eyes actually sparkled as he recited:
‘O Verus, you have fought forty contests and have
Been offered the wooden Rudis of freedom
Three times and yet declined the chance to retire.
Soon we will gather to see the sword
In your hand pierce the heart of your foes.
Praise to you, who has chosen not to walk through
The Gates of Life but to give us
What we desire most, what we live for:
The blood of all.
‘That was two thousand years ago, Kathryn. And we’re no different. Not a bit. Car races, downhill skiing, rugby, boxing, bungee-jumping, football, hockey, air shows – we’re all secretly, or not so secretly, hoping for death or destruction. NASCAR? Hours of cars making left turns? Would anybody watch if there wasn’t the chance of a spectacular fiery death? The Colosseum back then, Madison Square Garden last week. Not a lick of difference.’
She noted something else. ‘The poem, the line about hand and heart … The name of your website. Sword in the hand piercing the heart. Little different from humanitarian aid.’
A shrug, and his eyes sparkled again.
‘I’d like to know more about your clients. Are they mostly in the US?’
‘No, overseas. Asia a lot. Russia too. And South America, though the clientele there isn’t as rich. They couldn’t pay for the big set-pieces.’
It would be a tricky case against many of these people – men, nearly all of them, Dance supposed. (She guessed the sexual component of the Get was high.) Intent would be an issue.
‘The man who hired you for this job, in Monterey?’
‘Japanese. He’s been a good customer for some years.’
‘Any particular grudge with this area?’
She was thinking of Nashima and the relocation center at Solitude Creek.
‘No. He said pick anywhere. Chris Jenkins liked the i
She began to ask another question. But he was shaking his head.
‘I’m tired now,’ he said. ‘Can we resume tomorrow? Or the next day?’
‘Yes.’
She rose.
March said to her, ‘Oh, Kathryn?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s so good to have a kindred soul to spend some time with.’
She didn’t understand for a moment. Then realized he was speaking about her. The chill pinched once more.
He looked her up and down. ‘Your Get and mine … So very similar. I’m glad we’re in each other’s lives now.’ March whispered, ‘Good night, Kathryn. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.’
THE LAST DARE
TUESDAY, APRIL 11
CHAPTER 86
‘Real, dude.’
Do
They were in the school yard, just hanging, on one of the picnic benches. There was Tiff; she looked his way and lifted an eyebrow. But that was it. No other reaction.
Some of the brothers, and there weren’t many of them here, were hanging not far away. One gave him a thumbs-up. Probably for track. Do
That was Leon Williams doing the thumbing. Solid kid. Do
Do
He said to Nathan and Wes, ‘You heard from him? Vulcan?’
Vince had left right after class, saying he’d be back. It had seemed suspicious.
Nathan said, ‘He texted.’
Do
‘Yeah. Well. He said he’d be here. Just had something to do first and Mary might be coming by – you know her, the one with tits – and kept going on, all this shit. Which I think means he’s not coming.’
‘Fucker’s out if he doesn’t show.’ There was a waiting list to get in the DARES crew. But then Do
Wes asked, ‘Just the three of us?’
‘Looks like it, dude.’
Do
‘Plan? First, we get the bikes. Get into the garage. That’s where they are,’ he explained to Nathan. ‘Here.’
‘What’s that?’
Do
‘Gloves,’ Wes said, understanding. ‘For fingerprints.’
Nathan: ‘So we get fingerprints on the bikes? We’re taking ’em, aren’t we?’
Do
‘Oh, yeah.’ Nathan pulled the gloves on. ‘They’re tight.’
‘Not now, bitch. Jesus.’ Do
Fast, Nathan peeled them off. Shoved them into the pouch of his hoodie.
Wes was saying, ‘We gotta be careful. I saw this show on TV once. A crime show, and my mom’s friend Michael was over. And he’s a deputy with the county. We were watching it together. And he was saying the killer was stupid because he threw his gloves away and the cops found them and his fingerprints were inside the gloves. We’ll keep ’em and throw ’em out later, someplace nowhere near here.’
‘Or burn them,’ Nathan said. He seemed proud he’d thought of this. Then he was frowning. ‘Anything else this guy would know, we should know? Your mom’s friend? I mean, this is like breaking and entering. We gotta be serious.’
‘Totally,’ Wes said.
Nathan squinted. ‘Maybe it’s legal, doing this, you know. Like we’re just retrieving stolen property.’
Wes laughed. ‘Seriously? Dude, are you real? The bikes got perped during the commission of a crime, so don’t count on that one.’
‘What’s “perped”?’ Nathan asked.
‘Bitch,’ Do
‘Oh.’
Do
Wes thought for a minute. ‘Footprints. They can get our footprints with this machine. They can match them.’
‘Fuck,’ Nathan said. ‘You mean the government has this big-ass file on everybody’s footprint?’
But Wes explained that, no, they take the footprint, and if they catch you and it matches yours, it’s evidence.
‘CSI,’ Do
‘They can still pick them up from concrete and asphalt.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Church.’
‘Fuck. Okay. We leave our shoes in the bushes when we get there.’