The 56th Man (19 page)

Not since the week before
the invasion. Astonishing
.

"Were you at home the night of the murders?"
Ari asked a little hopelessly, as if it was more likely that they
had stopped for the night in Trieste before resuming their journey
to Athens.

"We didn't hear anything," said Matt, cutting
right to the chase.

In all likelihood he was telling the truth.
Whatever cocktails of liquor and drugs that they assembled and
consumed during a typical day would lead to a typical night of
near-comatose oblivion. And since the killings took place during
the holiday season, it was even more probable that the Mackenzies
had been dead to the world while their neighbors were being
slaughtered.

But they had been up and waiting for the
kayakers.

Was there some kind of schedule? Ari doubted
it. Last night's weather would have chased even hardened boaters
off the river. But it seemed even less likely that Matt and Tracy
would sit up night after night waiting for their shipments.

"We can't see Beach Court Road from our
house," Matt continued. "We can barely see the Riggins house. When
all the police hoopla began, we didn't have a clue."

"We heard about it on the news." Tracy seemed
oddly pleased by this, aloofness from neighbors, even friendly
neighbors, being the height of fashion. And she was
fashionable.

Ari was weighing the pros and cons of asking
them about the rockets on the island when a loud motor revved in
the direction of the Nottoway house. Hearing a tremendous buzz, Ari
lifted a brow of inquiry.

"That's Nottoway's wood chipper," Matt
snarled, and for the first time since he had met them, the
Mackenzies proved they could impose wrinkles on their faces when
properly motivated.

"Do you have a problem with Mr.
Nottoway?"

They had drifted over to the gazebo. Ari
gestured for them to seat themselves, but they declined. They
suddenly seemed aware that this conversation had wandered, when
they had intended it to be brief and to the point.

"Actually, it's about Nottoway that we came
to see you," Matt began uncertainly. Tracy nodded with some vigor.
She had allowed her fingers to drift away from Ari, but they had
left sensuous invisible vermin in the sleeve of his jacket. Ari was
scarcely able to refrain from scratching his arm.

"We like to think of this as a
live-and-let-live community," said Matt, looking towards the house
as if the Rigginses were still there to nod agreement.

"And Howie Nottoway doesn't share your
concept?"

"We call him 'Achtung Howie'," said Tracy,
carefully nudging a bang out of her eyes, but not so far as to
disturb her all-natural just-out-of-bed but
ready-for-the-Great-Indoors coif. Tracy sent a howl of a smirk in
her husband's direction. "Tell him about the petition."

"Oh yeah. We were only here a few months when
Howie showed up at our door and asked us to sign this damn paper.
He wanted to ban drinking in public--including your own
yard--outdoor parties, shouting, swearing, public displays of
affection...you name it."

"He even wanted to ban smoking in your own
house," Tracy added, nodding at the pack of Winstons bulging in
Ari's shirt pocket.

"No," said Ari, genuinely amazed.

"Oh, hey," said Matt, noticing the cigarettes
for the first time. "Can I bum one of those?"

"Certainly."

"And a light?"

Both men lit up. Matt seemed to relish
knocking ashes onto the fescue he so much admired. This close to
Howie-land, it must have provided him with the ecstasy of social
revolution.

"You don't mind us having parties or..."
Tracy applied her mind. "You don't mind us having some fun every
now and then, do you?"

"Isn't your country's motto 'the pursuit of
happiness'?"

"You got it!" Tracy exclaimed in relief. Ari
was one of those good foreigners who understood the underlying
philosophical principles of his adopted country.

His cadging instinct satisfied, Matt leaned
against a gazebo post and puffed away. Now that he was at ease, he
could volunteer information without being prodded by Ari.

"You want my opinion, if Jerry and Moria
hadn't been killed, they would have been in Splitsville by
now."

"I'm sorry..."

"Separated. Divorced."

"I thought they were the perfect couple."

"Then explain why the same day those goons
showed up and snuffed them, Jerry was going off like a maniac."

"You saw something?"

"We heard him screaming his head off."

"And whopping the hell out of something,"
Tracy said. "It sounded like..."

"Like he was slamming doors," Matt continued.
"I mean really slamming. It went on for twenty minutes or so."

"What time was it?"

"It was just starting to get dark. That time
of year? Maybe five-ish."

For something like this to
happen in broad daylight, Howie Nottoway had
said
.

"Did you call the police?"

"Hell no." Tracy gave a start, as if
realizing her spontaneous answer might be too revealing. "I mean,
it was a domestic thing. You don't call the cops every time you
have a tiff."

The look she shot her husband hinted that if
such were the case, the police would have a permanent camp on their
lawn.

"We don't know if it was domestic," Matt said
uneasily.

"Well he wouldn't be yelling 'Moria' if he
was chopping wood."

Ari thought a moment. "Did Jerry Riggins own
a gun?"

Matt relaxed and chuckled.

"Jerry was terrified of them," Tracy
answered. "He said more people were killed accidentally than ever
shot a bad guy." She parsed her sentence, found it wanting, but let
it stand. It was understood that people knew what you intended to
say even if you didn't exactly say it. Ari smiled, but he knew
better than to accuse the Americans of corrupting their own
language. The plague of unfocused meaning was worldwide. Tracy
continued: "Why do you ask?"

"In this case, a gun may have saved Jerry and
his family."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Would you like to come inside?"

At first they thought Ari meant the gazebo.
Tracy stepped back when she saw him look toward the house.

"Oh no," she said immediately.

"What's the matter, afraid of ghosts?" But
Matt too seemed uneasy at the prospect and allowed himself to be
drawn by his wife's reluctance. "I guess we don't have time."

"You need to analyze a system?" Ari said
politely.

"Uh...something like that. We just came over
to...uh..."

"Enjoy your party. It can't possibly disturb
me."

As they walked away, Tracy suddenly stopped
and turned. "You're invited!"

Matt stopped, too, and drew a visual line
between his wife and Ari. "Oh. Yeah. Sure."

"I might take you up on that." The American
phrase sat nicely on Ari's tongue.

Matt suddenly brightened. "Hey, did you see
the news this morning?"

"I don't have a television," Ari said.

This admission floored Matt, who took a
moment to recover. "There was a big shoot-out in the West End.
Three people killed!" He grinned broadly. "Welcome to the U.S. of
A!"

Howie Nottoway seemed prepared for any
dangerous alien that came his way. Not Ari's kind of alien, but
extraterrestrial. Yellow eye goggles would ward off retinal burn,
as well as keep his eyes safe from any inanimate object an oncoming
Martian might toss in his face. Large Husqvarna ear protectors
(which might well double as a commando radio headset that allowed
him to eavesdrop on Venusian communications) would screen out
alpha-beta waves designed to garble his brain. While a safety
helmet was just the thing to put a dent in the extended gear of any
flying saucer that swooped down for a landing.

Ari approached warily, not wanting to startle
Howie so much that he put an arm instead of a log down the hopper
of the wood chipper. But Howie must have had eyes in the back of
his head, or his helmet had tiny rearview mirrors, because he
switched off the chipper motor and turned to greet Ari before he
was halfway across the yard. It was then Ari noted that the helmet
did indeed have tiny rearview mirrors.

"Good morning, Mr. Nottoway!" he said with
gooey provincial cheer.

Howie nodded with friendly indecision.
Perhaps he did not want to get Ari's name wrong. Perhaps he had
forgotten it already. The memory of the average American seemed to
be extraordinarily short.

"Hey there," Howie said.

Ari extended his hand and waited for Howie to
remove his thick work gloves and take it. He took it readily
enough--but did not remove his gloves. Where Ari came from, such an
insult could get you killed. Justifiably so, in his opinion.

He smiled.

In fact, Nottoway appeared strangely
reluctant to remove any of his gear. This may have been a
less-than-discreet indication that his yard work could not wait for
neighborly chitchat. That, as Ari's old English phrase book had put
it, he had to make hay while the sun was shining. Or perhaps he
believed Ari might jump forward and knock him on the head, box his
ears, poke out his eyes and rip out his fingernails, contingencies
for which he was well-prepared. All he was missing was a Kevlar
vest.

"Your machine is quite impressive," Ari said
in a voice he hoped was loud enough to be heard through the ear
protectors.

"Getting rid of this old wood pile," Howie
said, raising his voice so he could hear himself. He pointed at a
few cords of firewood stacked at edge of the yard.

"But winter will be arriving soon," said Ari.
The wood looked perfectly seasoned to him. "Won't you need it?"

"I can always get more. This is all buggy and
dried out. A real fire hazard. And the HOA doesn’t approve of
it."

Howie was wasting a good natural product, so
far as Ari could see. Having noted persistent litter on the
roadsides, however, he concluded it was the prevalent mindset. Use
and toss, or don't use and toss. It was better than throwing away
lives wholesale.

"Do you use your fireplace very often?" Ari
asked. "I ask because I noticed the Riggins don't seem to have ever
used theirs."

Howie seemed dismayed by what he was
partially hearing, and finally removed his ear protectors to hear
it better. "You said you looked in the fireplace?"

"Is that abnormal?"

"No. You should check it regularly. But...you
should get a professional to take a look at it. You know, a
chimneysweep. To check out the creosote deposits…and stuff."
Howie's voice had taken a step back. He removed his goggles. "You
find anything?"

"In the chimney?"

"Uh...yeah."

"Is there something I should be looking
for?"

"Uh...like what?"

"I'm just seeking advice. We don't have
chimneys like that in Sicily. Can animals come down it? Or get
stuck?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Howie,
removing his gloves. "Most houses around here have grills to keep
out pests. So what...you looked up the flue?"

"I noticed the chimney damper open so I
checked inside. Would you expect me to find something?" Ari stepped
across to the chipper, peered inside the hopper, and tried not
imagine what some men in his homeland would use it for. He glanced
over at the garden shed. The door was open.

Howie had taken off his head gear and now
stood like a man who had only just learned that no earthly power
could resolve his sins. Ari had seen plenty of frightened men in
his day, and this was most definitely one of them. It was silent
fear, however. Anyone who showed fear too openly only drew
attention to himself.

"The chimney seems fine," Ari continued. "I
don't think I'll be using it much, though. Central air is so much
more efficient. And cleaner."

"Yes," Howie said, finally managing a smile.
This was something he could relate to.

"I had some visitors this morning. The
Mackenzies."

Howie could relate to this, too, only in a
different direction. His hard-won smile vanished. "They're a
pair."

"Indeed," said Ari. "They told me you tried
to get them to sign a petition."

"Yes!" Howie exclaimed, finding courage in
disapproval. "This neighborhood was going to the dogs. I even found
syringes at the end of Beach Court. Kids were coming down here,
shooting up, and just throwing the needles out their car
windows."

"That's terrible," said Ari.

"That's just the beginning," said Howie,
quickly warming to the topic. "Really, what happened to that
family...you could see it coming."

"What do you mean?'

"Things were out of whack. This was a
safe, quiet community. Then you get kids from outside, nobody
keeping an eye on them, parking near the river and doing whatever
they wanted. The crime rate went up. Yes, it was petty. I had a
couple things stolen before I got smart and double-locked my shed.
But...the whole atmosphere...it seemed to...I don't
know...
infect
some of the
people living here."

"Like the Mackenzies?"

"Oh them...they're part of the problem. Those
parties they have..."

"Did the Riggins have parties?"

"Sure, but nothing like next door to them.
They get wild. You'll see."

"Is all of this why you joined the
Neighborhood Watch?"

"I
began
the Neighborhood Watch around here. Submitted all the forms,
met with the precinct commander, put up the signs, got together
volunteers."

"Are there a lot of volunteers?"

"Do you want to join?" Howie asked
eagerly.

"I'd like to get settled in, first."

"Sure, sure. We've got about a dozen people."
His face fell. "Not all of them are that dependable, right?"