Ravens (22 page)

Burris started to worry: had he gotten this all wrong? Had he screwed up
again
? He was sweating, and with no handkerchief he had nothing to wipe his brow with but the sleeve of his jacket, and as he raised
his arm to do that, he caught a whiff of his own pungency. Dear Lord, he prayed, let this service be over quickly.

But it went on and on, world without end.

First came Rev. Dave’s sermon, pumped up with weepy little stories and zings of corny humor. The parishioners sniffling and
laughing on cue, shouting out affirmations like this was some kind of real estate seminar. Next, a batch of praise singing.
Next, Marie Kingsley had blessings for the infirm and ailing. She read out a list of all the poor souls in hospital, and as
always it was a wrenching and horrific tale, and Burris thought, Lord? What’s Your purpose again in this? Why exactly do You
put us through this every week?

Next, everybody fell to their knees for a round of prayer.

After which three guys from Valdosta, hair piled up softly on top of their heads like haystacks, sang “Awesome God” and “Hallelujah!
(My Chains Are Gone).”

Knees again.

And all this time, Burris noticed, no one so much as mentioned the recent deluge of gold.

No one alluded to the jackpot. Or to the parking lot full of reporters and TV trucks. Or to attendance, which was at Christmas
level today — every pew packed and even standing room in short supply, the rafters ringing with thank-you-Jesuses. The cause
of all this excitement went unspoken. As though the Max-a-Million jackpot was so holy its name was never to be uttered.

Everybody up for singing.

Down again for praying.

Finally, somewhere near the end of time, the service was done and people were shuffling out to the aisles and milling around
— and Burris was headed toward Mitch. A little crowd was already gathering around the Boatwrights, so he had to push his way
through. Then he spotted Nell, standing right beside her son, and she happened to be looking Burris’s way. He froze. Gave
her a frail lockjaw smile. She seemed not to notice him though. She turned away and went off to one side with her granddaughter
and Shaw McBride, and the three of them made a little huddle.

Oh god, Burris thought: is she talking about me?

No, stop it. Don’t be so paranoid. She didn’t even see me. She’s not being deliberately cruel. Remember how yesterday she
said, I love you, darlin’? She has no conception of the pain she’s causing, of how much I’d like to curl up at her feet right
now and die like a poisoned wasp. Forget it. Just do what you came to do.

He took a breath and pressed forward. Walked up to Mitch and gave him a big embrace.

Inasmuch as they hardly knew each other, this took Mitch somewhat aback. But Burris held on, saying softly, “Hey, I gotta
see you. Right away. Police business.”

Then pulled back so they were looking eye to eye.

Mitch muttered, “What do you mean?”

“Meet me at Huddle House? Alone? In two hours?”

Clearly Mitch was disturbed by this request. But what did that tell you? Out of the blue a cop declares he’s got official
business with you: wouldn’t that rattle anyone?

Still, Mitch’s eyes were buggy and furtive and he did look
very
worried.

Burris insisted, “It’s important.”

Mitch finally shrugged and conceded, “OK. Huddle House. What time again?”

“Two-thirty.”

“Tell me what this is about?”

“Two-thirty, Mitch. OK?”

Shaw
discovered that just being around old Nell made him happy. Just hearing her laugh. He adored her little self-involved dramas
and her frankness. He was pleased particularly now, as she took him and Tara aside and said under her breath, “Oh, kids, you
gotta save me.”

Tara asked, “From what?”

“Deppity Dawg.”

“The cop?”

“He’s got this
thing
for me.”

Shaw couldn’t hide his amusement. He laughed out loud.

“I swear,” said Nell, “he’s about to
invite
me to something. I know it.”

“Which one is he?” said Shaw.

“Don’t look!” said Nell. “The one talking to Mitch. Can’t we get out of here? He’s always giving me these moony looks. Come
on, we’ll slip out through the rectory. Will there be cameras out there? I’m getting weary of those cameras, I tell you that.
This celebrity thing, how long is this gonna drag on?”

Shaw shrugged and smiled.

Said Nell, “I thought you’re supposed to be famous for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes I wouldn’t mind. But this is driving
me crazy. It’s your fault, Shaw. It was that ‘I’m giving it all away.’ That was such a damn fool thing to say. You want to
get rid of your money, let me do it. I’ll make it
disappear.
Ha ha ha! Come on, let’s go, don’t dawdle. The vultures are right behind us.”

Tara
drove on their way home from church. Shaw rode in the passenger seat. They had a police escort now: pinwheels of dancing
light, both ahead and behind. But a bold photographer, chasing on a motorcycle, managed to slip into the next lane — suddenly
he was right beside her, snapping away.

The world was closing in on her.

And just then Dad said, from the backseat, “Hey Shaw? Something I got to tell you.”

“What?”

“Cop back at the church? Says he wants to meet with me.”

Shaw turned in his seat. “What are you talking about?”

“At the Huddle House. In two hours.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say. He just wants to meet me.”

Shaw was glaring. “A
cop
wants to meet you?”

“Yes.”

“What the
FUCK
?”

It was too much for Tara. Shaw’s anger, the paparazzi, the cops: she was overwhelmed. At Redwood Street, the cruiser ahead
of her slowed to turn, but she didn’t notice this till the last second, and had to hit the brake hard. Shaw was pitched forward.
Nearly thrown into the windshield.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

He drew out his pistol and held it low where the cops couldn’t see it but Tara could. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?”

She said, “I’m sorry! I just, I wasn’t, these lights are confusing me!”

“YOU LYING CUNT!”

She tried to focus on her driving. She managed to make the turn, and then crawled along. As Redwood was only a two-lane street,
the motorcycle had to fall back. Shaw got on his cell phone and screamed, “
SHIT
GOING DOWN. FIND A TARGET!” A pause. “WHENEVER I GIVE YOU THE WORD! JUST START KILLING. KILL EVERY BOATWRIGHT IN THIS COUNTY!”

He shut the phone and turned to the backseat: “WHO TOLD?”

Nobody spoke.

“JASE, YOU GAVE US UP, DIDN’T YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCK?”

Jase was bawling. “No sir.”

“YOU READY, JASE? READY FOR THE KILLING TO START? READY FOR THE PUNISHMENT? I’M READY!”

“I swear I didn’t tell! I swear to God.”

Shaw turned to Mom. “WAS IT YOU, BITCH?”

She had her face in her hands. “No, I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t! Ever!”

“THEN WHICH ONE? WHO’S THE FUCKING PSYCHO WHO WANTS ALL THE KILLING?”

I have to calm him, Tara thought. “Shaw, it wasn’t us.”

He shifted his eyes her way.

She said, “There’s lots of things that cop could want. Maybe he just wants to complain about the size of the crowd. Maybe
he wants Dad to hire him for security. I don’t know, but I mean none of us would say anything, really, Shaw, we’re not that
crazy, we wouldn’t —”

“Shut up.”

He was staring out at the street. They were already back at Oriole Road, which was lined with pilgrims. “Just shut the fuck
up. I have to think.”

Romeo
sat in the Tercel across the street from Cousin Alfred’s house, awaiting Shaw’s command. He’d taken the Phoenix.22 from the
trunk, and had it handy, wedged down beside the parking brake. He had the phone in his hand, and he was looking up at the
grand façade of the house. Waiting. As soon as Shaw gives the word, I’ll make the word flesh. I will not let him down. Get
ready. Any second. When he says go, don’t hesitate.

Finally the phone buzzed, and he answered: “Yeah.”

“It’s OK, you can stand down. We’re still alive here.”

Mitch
slipped out through the backyard, climbed over the fence into the Lumbachs’ yard. The Liberty was waiting for him there,
and he got away with the paparazzi none the wiser. Headed for the mall.

A line from Scripture came to him:
If your sinful nature controls your mind, there is death
. It seemed not to apply. Then he thought,
If the Holy Spirit controls your mind, there is life and peace
. Still didn’t pertain. There was no coherence to his thoughts. He passed the Arby’s and the Payless Shoes, and pulled into
the parking lot at the Glynn Place Mall.

He sat there. In two minutes Romeo approached the car. He got in beside Mitch and shut the door and said, “Unbutton your shirt.”

Mitch did. Romeo taped a Radio Shack remote mike to his chest, and a transmitter to his back. The little bastard trembled
as he worked. He was unshaven and pasty and looked like a wreck. If he weren’t such a nasty runt, Mitch thought, I might even
feel sorry for him.

For a few minutes Romeo fiddled with his laptop, testing the connection. Mitch watching intently. Till Romeo snapped, “What’re
you looking at?”

Mitch lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

And heard his own echo out of the laptop:
“I’m sorry.”

Romeo asked into the air, “OK. Can you hear us?”

Shaw’s voice replied, from the computer, “Yes. Hey, Mitch.”

“Answer him,” said Romeo.

Mitch grumbled, “Hey.”

Shaw said, “Mitch, I have a question. Do you think we’re afraid to kill your family?”

“No, sir.”

“You know that if you fuck up, everybody dies?”

“Yes.”

“If you falter for even an instant?”

“I know.”

“Look at Romeo. Look how insane he is. He doesn’t give a shit about anything. You see that?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me you won’t fail us.”

“I won’t fail you.”

“Tell your wife, because she’s right here beside me.”

“I won’t fail you.”

“Jesus. Say her
name
, Mitch.”

“Patsy. I won’t fail you.”

“Tell your daughter.”

“Tara, I won’t fail you.”

“Tell your son.”

“I won’t fail you, Jase.”

“OK. So. Make us proud. We’ll be with you every second.”

Burris
arrived at the Huddle House at 2:27. He knew the difficulty of the task he faced, and that he wasn’t the cleverest cop in
the world — but he also believed, as he swung his feet out of the cruiser, and stood, and straightened his aching back, that
he was a pretty good man for this job. Someone who cared, anyway, and someone who knew the lay of the land — you could’ve
done worse.

But as he was passing the big glass windows, he caught sight of his reflection, and thought, mercy. What a paunchy shambling
loser. Wouldn’t you think, when a man goes bald, that at least the little hair he did retain would do as it was told? Not
for Burris. The sides stuck out like a clown’s; the patch in front was as sassy as pubic hair. And why the hell wasn’t he
in uniform? At least the uniform would have commanded some respect. But instead he’d chosen to wear the paisley shirt that
Barbara had given him for Christmas twenty years ago. It had seemed stylish at the time. But now he looked like a Polynesian
Rent-a-Clown.

OK. There’s no remedy for any of it. Leave it alone.

Mitch was already in a booth. When he saw Burris he started to get up but Burris waved him back down. “Sit down, Mitch. How
are you?”

“I’m good.”

“I believe
that
,” said Burris, squeezing into the booth, aiming for breeziness. “I guess your life has changed completely, hasn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Has it all sunk in yet?”

“Not really.”

“Them TV people, they getting kind of intrusive?”

“You said it.”

The waitress came over. They both ordered coffee.

Burris said, “You fixing on keeping the business?”

“Don’t know what else I’d do.”

“Get yourself some quail land?”

“That’s an idea.”

“Couple thousand acres might suit you well.”

“Mm-hm.”

Mitch was being terse, withholding, and he kept plucking nervously at the top button on his shirt. Now’s a good time then,
thought Burris — before he gets comfortable. Watch him closely, particularly those fingers, and let’s get to it.

“Mitch, I need to talk to you about Shaw McBride.”

For a fleeting instant, the fingers hardened into claws. Just a quick clasp though — then the hand relaxed, and when he spoke,
he sounded OK. “What can I tell you, Burris?”

“Well. Start with, was Shaw McBride with you when you bought that lottery ticket?”

“You mean, was he in the store with me? No, sir. Why do you ask?”

“Where was he?”

“I guess headed back to his motel. I’d invited him to dinner, to meet Patsy and the kids. So he was gonna, just get changed
or whatever. I was proud of him. You should have seen the kind of man he used to be — and then, how he turned out? I like
to think maybe I had something to do with that.”