Ravens (6 page)

“Now hold on!” said Dad. His voice finally with some heft. “I won’t have this foul language in my house!”

Rooney didn’t even look at him. He said, “Calm down, Mitch. I’ll tell you a story. About this guy I know. This guy, he’s doing
tech support? Little old ladies, their bridge programs won’t load, he talks them through it. ‘Go to All Programs, click on
that.’ ‘Go to Add or Remove Programs, click on that.’ Kind of a dumb job, a grueling job, but in all those years, it never
breaks the guy. He never stops dreaming. Because he knows there are powers he can tap into. Whenever he looks at the world,
he thinks, this can be a world full of beauty, this can be a
rapturous
world. He thinks, somehow I will find the power to bring rapture and beauty into this world.

“So one day he’s on vacation. Going south — for the first time in his life. He’s on I-95, he’s maybe a little jacked up on
dexies. He stops at a convenience store. He goes in and discovers that in this very store a jackpot ticket has just been sold.
The
ticket. And he’s thinking: now here I am, I have this great dream. I have all this love; I want to bring kindness and truth
and virtue to the world. But I’ve never had the tools before, and here a tool is set down before me —”

Dad suddenly rose up. His hands clenched. “Get out of my house.”

“What, now?”

“I’m calling the police. Get out.”

“Mitch, I’m talking about our future —”

Dad drew his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open.

But Rooney dipped his hand into his briefcase and brought out a gun.

And said, “Put the phone down.”

Mom cried out.

Rooney placed the muzzle of the gun against her temple. “PUT THE FUCKING PHONE DOWN!”

Dad let the phone slip through his fingers. It clattered on the floor.

Jase was crying, “MOM! MOM!” But Rooney grabbed him with one hand and pulled him close and said, “One more word and I’ll
kill
your mommy, little boy. Right in front of you. So shut up.”

Jase heaved with sobs but managed to stop screaming. Rooney pushed him away again, and Tara took him into her arms.

“OK,” said Rooney. “Do I have everyone’s attention?”

Looking from face to face.

Then he lowered the pistol. Took a breath and slowly exhaled.

“OK then. Everything in the open. My real name is Shaw McBride. What I want is half your winnings. When I get that, I go.
If you cooperate and don’t fuss, then I’ll leave and you’ll be safe, and happy, and still rich beyond your wildest dreams.”
He was looking right at Tara. As though it were she and not her parents who made the decisions in this household. He said,
“You understand me?”

She kept her eyes lowered. “Yes.”

“You’ll do what I ask?”

“Yes.”

But he cocked his head skeptically. “No, you’re already scheming. I can see it. You’re thinking, how can we get word to the
cops? How do we make a sign to the cops so they’ll come rescue us and cut this weasel down? Right? Are you scheming against
me?”

She kept her eyes down. “No.”

“You want to know why your scheme won’t work?”

She didn’t know what to say. Finally she whispered, “All right.”

He commanded, “Jase. Turn out all the lights.”

Jase didn’t move.

“TURN OUT THE FUCKING LIGHTS!”

Jase, in tears, got up and flipped the wall switch, then the lamp switch. All that remained was a trickle of feeble streetlight
from the window.

Shaw McBride said, “Look out there. You see him?”

A shadow, a trace. Beneath the hickory tree.

Mom moaned in fear.

Said Shaw, “I want you to go out there, Tara.”

“Out there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“
Why?
Never fucking say ‘why’ to me again. Just go.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Dad.

Again Shaw set the pistol’s muzzle against Mom’s ear. “Sit down, Mitch. This is just for Tara.”

Dad considered resisting, thought better of it. Sank back down. Shaw told Tara, “Go now.”

She got up and went to the door and opened it. And stepped out into the front yard. The figure beneath the tree said, “Come
here.”

Her breathing was no longer under control. She thought she might lose consciousness. She tried to pray, but every prayer flew
from her head.

Again the man summoned her. “Come here.”

Then she was with him beneath the tree. Close enough to see his face in the dark. Childish. Big soft eyes, an overbite.

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might be trembling.

He said, “Listen. If you oppose us in any way, I’ll kill the people you love.”

He was silent a moment. Then he said, “You believe me?”

“Yes.”

“I will, I really will. Your friend Clio? I’ll kill her. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll kill your grandmother. That’s just… Fuck it. And your cousin Alfred. And your cousin Vanessa, and your uncle Shelby
and his whole family. Everybody. When Shaw sends me the signal. Or if I call to check in, and he doesn’t answer? I go. In
whatever order I choose. You won’t be able to stop me. You think I’m scared? I
am
scared. All I want is to get the hell out of here, go home. But so what. I’ll do what I have to.”

She nodded.

He said, “For my friend. Not for the money. For him. I hate this whole deal, but I won’t fail him.”

Silence.

He said, “You don’t care about the money either, do you, Tara?”

“No.”

“So then. It’s up to us. You and me. Not Shaw, not your parents, just us. You hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

Then a plaintive tone — almost begging: “So let him have what he wants.”

Romeo,
two hours later, was driving through the dark to Nell Boatwright’s bungalow — guided by the map that Shaw had made for him.
‘Points of Interest’ had been marked with stars, and Nell’s house was the southernmost of these. It was in an old, leafy part
of town. When he got there, he pulled over across the street and cut the engine. She was in her bedroom. He saw the TV glowing,
the footboard of her bed, her slippered feet. He waited.

Presently she rose (first carefully relocating the cat she’d been holding), waddled past another window, and showed up in
what he guessed was her bathroom. He couldn’t see her face, but he liked how she walked. A directness, despite her stooped
carriage. There was another cat on the bathroom sill, and Nell gave it a brisk knuckle rub. Then she vanished and Romeo didn’t
see her till she went back to the bedroom, regathered the first cat into her arms, and lay down again.

If Shaw were to text him: Go, it would mean the Boatwrights were in open rebellion, and Romeo would have to step into her
house and kill her without hesitation.

He wondered, could I do that?

I told Shaw I could. Why did I tell him that?

He stayed there watching till the old woman shut off the TV and turned out the light.

Then he drove out to Rt. 17, the main north-south drag. He went to the neighborhood called Belle Point, where Tara’s Uncle
Shelby and Aunt Miriam had a rangy house and a basketball hoop and a badminton net, and a big backyard that unrolled right
to the edge of the marsh. According to Shaw, Shelby and Miriam had two children. In an emergency, Romeo would be expected
to execute the whole family.

He headed south on 17. He put Cradle of Filth in the CD player and let the music batter his cerebrum. That crematory stink
was in the air. It was so heavy he could almost taste it.

At Island View he turned off and drove to Clio’s house, which bordered an empty, jungly lot. He pulled over, got out and clicked
the door closed, and ventured into the palmettos. It was heavy going, and with everything so dry and brittle he couldn’t help
but make a racket. But all over the neighborhood air conditioners were blasting away. He doubted he’d be heard, and even if
he were, he was making pretty much the same noises that a deer or a dog would make, so who would give a shit?

He broke through to Clio’s lawn, finding himself at the back of the house. White vineflowers, and deep grass, and one lighted
window. He moved till he was below this, till he could look up and see Clio in her bedroom. At her desk, her laptop. She was
tall and loose-limbed. Tattoos all over her arms and that silver serpent coiling through her cheek. Shaw had shown Romeo her
pics on MySpace. It was as if Shaw had been goading him, trying to get him hot and bothered, knowing this girl was the kind
he favored. And now here she was in the flesh, wearing only a T-shirt and panties, her right leg tucked beneath her. She seemed
to feel safe. The night pressed snugly against her window. She had posters of rock bands on the wall behind her: Arcade Fire,
TV on the Radio, and some band called Drive Fast & Shut Your Eyes. She wore headphones. For a moment, while she considered
what next to write, she hugged herself, and this brought out the shape of her breasts, and Romeo felt anxious just looking
at her.

You made
her
a ‘Point of Interest’? Shaw, were you kidding? How am I going to hurt
her
?

At last the mosquitoes and no-see-ums drove him away. He pushed through the jungle again, with the bugs all over him. This
was too much. This heat, this assignment, these no-see-ums flying around his head; and Clio flying around, and that other
girl flying around: Tara. Tara who had stood there in the dark while he’d delivered his threats, saying yes yes yes to him
but not yielding an inch. If she’s not scared of me, then we’re fucked. When he got back to the car the prevailing stink assailed
his nostrils again, and the car was filled with dancing gnats, and every fucking thing was flying around his head.

He got back onto Rt. 17 but didn’t get far before he had to stop. He pulled into the parking lot of the Rent-All store, which
was illumined by one of those old snappish mercury-vapor lamps. He opened his door and leaned out over the pavement. His dinner
came tumbling out, blue as laundry. He stayed doubled up a while, breathing in the reek, thinking he might hurl again, but
he didn’t. After a while he wiped his mouth and drove on. He found a gas station called Happy Times, and in the men’s room
he gargled and brushed his teeth. Then he went back on patrol. No time off. Have to keep working. According to Shaw’s great
plan I have to keep moving at all times.

Shaw
awoke from a thousand-eyed nightmare. House full of enemies, enemies everywhere. His heart swinging wildly in its cage.

He groped on the bed beside him till he found his Walther .32 autoloader, and let his fingers close around the handle. He
sat up. Peering into the gloom. Where am I? Somebody’s in here with me. Somebody’s breathing. I see him. A malicious presence,
glowing. Should I shoot? Kill him before he kills me?

Finally it came to him: the kid.

Jase. This was Jase’s room, and Shaw was in Jase’s bed while the kid himself slept on a cot. The Boatwrights, the jackpot:
it all rushed back.

Except for the kid’s breathing, everything was silent.

But he knew they were awake. They were just waiting for their chance.

Ah God.

What was the matter with him? How did he think he could survive this? This lunacy? Now there was no way out. Only way out
was prison or death. No retreat, no running away.
I even gave them our real fucking names
.

He looked at the clock on his phone. Twelve till two. Romeo should make his check-in in twelve minutes. But oh Christ, he
was depending on Romeo? Romeo was his dark servant? If the cops ever touched him, he’d buckle. How had he gotten into this?
Because of that MySpace page, because of Tara. Tara and her whole family coming off so naïve and big-eyed and pliant and spineless:
she had sucked him into this; it was her fault. He had been minding his own business and their ‘innocence’ had roped him into
this. Oh, you fuckers.

The heat built up inside his skull till all his fear was gone and there was nothing but fury.

He drew a deep breath. He reached up and turned the light on, and instantly the room was filled with toy warplanes and a glow-in-the-dark
Iron Man doll, and behind the warplanes, a ceramic statue of Jesus. Shaw sat there gathering himself. Holding the gun. Jase
was in the other bed pretending to sleep. Though he knew the kid was awake; of course he was awake: like everyone in this
house he was scared out of his mind. All of them were awake. And that was OK with Shaw.
You all lie there and be afraid now; you think about Romeo and Romeo’s sickness and Romeo’s bloodlust while I tap into the
power and get the ground settled under me. You think about fighting back, all of you. Go ahead. I’m ready for blood whenever
you want.

Mitch
kept rehearsing in his mind what he’d do if he heard any sound from his daughter’s room. Supposing Shaw tried to sneak in
there? Mitch didn’t have his pistol anymore — Shaw McBride had confiscated it — but he could still jump out of bed, grab the
letter opener off the rolltop desk, and rush into her room and with luck get in there before he could take aim. Go in low.
Swing underhand, with
all
my strength, and twist as I pull out. Grab his gun arm with my left hand, and with my right stab and twist, stab and
twist
.

Or should I wait?

Till when? Till he’s
in the act of raping my daughter?

Maybe. Because he’ll be more vulnerable then.

But the
price.

And what if he makes her go on top, uses her as a shield, keeps his gun in his hand and his eye on the door while he forces
her to whatever. Oh my Lord Jesus.

Maybe should I wait till he’s done? Till he’s sleepy after his business?

Oh my Lord. How can I
wait
?

Help me, my Lord. Guide me.

Maybe he’s asleep by now? The bastard had looked exhausted when he lay down. Must be asleep. Kill him in his sleep?

The rush, the terror in McBride’s eyes, me stabbing the knife and be sure to twist it so the blood will
fly
out of him and remember to clench tightly so my hand won’t slip even with his blood all over me, and keep
plunging
it and
plunging
it, and the blood
flying,
my Lord.