Страница 92 из 274
“I think it’s safe to say he was projecting.”
I glanced down at the gun in my lap.
“I think he was right, Walter.”
“You are not an evil person.”
“No, but I could be. I see that now. We’re a lot closer to it than you think.” I dropped my Glock into the fa
“Yeah.”
“Wake me up in an hour, and I’ll let you sleep.”
“There’s no way I’m going to sleep.”
“Then wake me when he wakes.” I curled up in the seat. To fall asleep, I imagined I was lounging in a beach chair in Aruba. The vents were my tropical breeze, and I could even hear the ocean in the vibration of the idling engine.
Hands shook me, and I sat up. My head ached as if a fault had rifted around the perimeter of my skull. Walter stared at me, the .45 in his lap.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“One. He’s stirred, but I don’t think he’s waking up anytime soon. Not coherently at least.”
“All right. I’ll give him the antidote.”
I searched through the fa
“You ready?” I asked. “He’s go
A minute elapsed. Then Orson moved, rubbing his face into the seat and trying to sit up. There was a nasty gash on his forehead where I’d coldcocked him with the butt of the Glock. A trail of dried blood traversed a path from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, like runaway mascara. He mumbled.
“Sit him up,” I said, coming to my knees again and facing the backseat.
Walter grabbed him by his hair and jerked him ruthlessly up into the center seat. Orson steadied himself and opened his eyes. When he saw me, he produced an enervate smile.
“Andy,” he said clearly, “what in the world —”
“Where are those videotapes you made of the killings? And the pictures you took, like that card you sent me?”
“I had a dream we fought,” he said. “I kicked the shit out of you, as I recall.” The reversal of the sedation was miraculous. Orson was lucid, pupils dilated, heart racing.
“Hit the cigarette lighter, Walter,” I said, and he punched it in.
“Walt?” Orson said. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t talk to him,” I said to Walter.
“He can talk to me if he wants to. How’s the fam, Walt?”
“Orson,” Walter growled. “I’m go
“No, let him talk,” Orson said. “He’s probably a little pissed at me and wants to get it off his chest.”
“No, Orson. Tonight’s about you.”
Orson smiled, finding Walter’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “How’s little Je
“Walter isn’t moved by your taunts,” I said. “You aren’t in any position to —”
“If he isn’t moved, why’d he just look down at his gun?” Orson smiled at Walter. “Thinking of doing something rash?”
“Orson,” I said, “this is between —”
“I think he’s upset because one of my other protégés has his eye on the Lancing clan.”
Walter’s fingers constricted around the Glock. Coming to his knees, he faced my brother.
“His name’s Luther,” Orson continued. “Would you like to know more about him, Walter? He may become a big part of your life. In fact, he may already be a big part of your life. You see, when I took him out to the desert three years ago, he took an avid interest in —”
“Walter, just ignore —”
“Let him finish.”
“Not that it’s my inclination,” Orson said, “but among his many interests, Luther likes little things. Well, more specifically, he likes to hurt little things, and me not being one to pass judgment, I told him, ‘I know two little things named Je
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me, Walter. Luther believes me, and that’s all that matters. His visit to Je
Walter pressed his gun against Orson’s chest.
“No,” I said calmly. “Just sit back.”
“When I pull this trigger,” Walter said to Orson, “the force of the bullet impacting your chest will be so intense, your heart might stop. How does it feel, Orson?”
“I imagine I feel like your wife and children are going to feel. And trust me on this, Walter. You could flay me, and I wouldn’t call off Luther.”
“Put that fucking gun down,” I said. “This is not the way to do this.”
“He’s talking about my family.”
“He’s lying. He will tell us.”
“I’m not lying, Walter. Shall I tell you how Luther’s pla
Walter ground his teeth together, trembling with explosive rage.
“I’m not telling you again,” I said. “Put it down.”
“Fuck off, Andy.”
I took my Glock from the fa
“If he’s dead, maybe Luther will leave us alone. Orson’s just doing this because I know about him.” He chambered the first round.
“Walter, you’re a little crazy now, so just —” I leaned forward to take the gun from him, but he jerked back and turned his .45 on me.
“You put the gun down.”
My finger moved onto the trigger.
“You go
“You aren’t a parent,” he said, incensed. “You don’t know.” He trained the gun back on my brother. “Count to three, you piece of shit.”
“Okay. One.”
“Walter!”
“Two.”
“You kill him, you kill your family!”
Before Walter reached three, Orson drew his knees into his chest and kicked the back of my seat. Jerking forward into the dashboard, I felt my finger slip, and though I didn’t hear the gunshot, my Glock recoiled.
Walter fell back onto the steering wheel, and it bleated through the countryside. I lifted him off the horn and he sagged into my lap, spilling all over me.
I wept; Orson laughed.
27
I finished burying Walter a few minutes before five o’clock. Through the ceiling of pines, light was coming, and the white Cadillac would be plainly visible from the highway, if it was not already. The sky kindled with each passing second, and I felt the self-possession I’d known just hours ago disintegrating. Walking back through the trees, the mechanic’s suit rigid now with Walter’s frozen blood, I thought, I could crumble so easily.
When I broke out of the trees, I saw three cars speed by, heading into Bristol. It was light enough that I could see the textureless black mountains clearly against the sky, and anyone passing, if they happened to look, would see me stumbling along the shoulder toward the car. On the eastern horizon a trace of day warmed above the Atlantic. The sun was coming. The moon had disappeared hours ago.
I reached the Cadillac. Orson was unconscious in the trunk, an entire 4-mg vial of Ativan coursing through his bloodstream.