The Last Day (21 page)

“Heeeey now,” he said.

“Are you drunk?” Alice demanded, furious that he could get loaded when something this important was going to be happening and she needed him watching her back.

“I just had a couple beers an’ some little weed is all. Know ah'm sayin’? Ah'm chillin’, babykins.”

“You're drunk as hell,” she said angrily. “You know how important this is to me!”

“It's a deal to me, too, you know,” he replied sluggishly. “Show me tha moneeeey!”

“Shit,” she said. “I don't believe you. You are such an asshole.”

“Come on, baby doll. It's my money too- we-oooowe.”

She stared at him as he turned slowly and stared at her, his eyes bleary and unfocused. There was something red, which looked suspiciously like lipstick, smeared on and around Earl's lips, on his pocked cheeks and his chin.

“Know I love you, baby.” He placed a hand on
her thigh and moved his fingers between her legs. “See ah'm sayin’?”

“Never mind,” she said, grabbing his wrist, lifting his hand, and putting it onto his own lap. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“You sure know how to hurt a man's pride. Mens got they needs, Brenda.”

“Brenda? Who the hell is Brenda?”

Earl squinted, waved his hand dismissively “I said Alice.”

“No, you said Brenda. I'm not high. I heard you distinctly.”

“Naw, baby. I never said no Brenda, know ah'm sayin’? That gal was at the house wasn't Brenda. Jus’ some friend of my sistah. In fact, wasn't no gal up in there at all.”

“No, I don't know what you are saying. Why do you always talk like some inner- city Americo-African thug? Do you know what I am saying?”

“So, I been thinkin’ on how all I'm gonna spend the two grands.”

“Is that right?” Alice said.

“Firstest, we go gets my tat completed up, know ah'm sayin’? Then I gots my eye on niss fat chain what's ultra hot. And some kicks that on be mean time fo’ tha feets. You wants yo man to
be kickin’ it cool. Look, baby doll, two grand ain't all that much bread. We gots us a major opportunity here to score a lots more.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“We ain't settlin’ for no two. We gettin’ a whole ten. Know ah'm sayin’? We put the three-eighty up that cracker's nose and tell him ten, Brenda.”

Alice cut the wheel to the right and back hard to the left twice before pulling to the shoulder.

“Whasup? You driving crazy.”

“Do me a favor, Earl.”

“Like what?”

“Get out and make sure my back tire isn't going flat. The car is driving funny. Let me unbuckle your seat belt,” she said.

She undid his seat belt.

Earl grinned dumbly. “I ain't gots to get all the way out, on account I can lean out and see up under at the wheels.” He opened the door, turned in his seat, leaned out, and put his head down close to the ground, stretching to look under the car.

Alice swung her legs up and, pivoting around, planted her back against the door. When her feet
connected, Earl flew from the car and landed limbs akimbo, facedown in the gravel. Alice roared away, leaving him lying beside the road. In the rearview she saw him turning his head to watch her.

She slammed on the brakes, opened the door, got out, planted her hands on her hips and yelled, “Walk home, you stupid ass! And screw yourself!”

She would have to just get used to the idea of doing this all alone. After all, she only had to hand over the little car and she could do some shopping at Game World with her reward money.

FIFTY-SIX

Todd arrived at the enormous mall early. In a plain envelope in his front pants pocket, Todd had twenty crisp one- hundred- dollar bills. In a second envelope he had an additional twenty crisp fifties. With someone as squirrelly as Alice
Palmer, he had to hedge his bets. This had to end tonight.

After parking, he locked his Colt 1911 in his glove box before climbing out and locking the doors. Pocketing his keys, he walked toward the entrance, joining the throngs filtering into the building.

Hartman made his way to the food court, ordered sesame chicken at the Hunan kiosk, and sat down with his back to that restaurant to eat a leisurely meal and wait for Alice Palmer to show up. From his vantage point he could keep his eyes on both ends of the enormous open space, packed with hundreds of tables and chairs. During the peak hours scores of trash receptacles were emptied every ten minutes, and the tables were filled with patrons. It was a perfect place as public spaces went. At least this way even a wing nut like Earl shouldn't be a potentially dangerous variable.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Natasha poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle they'd purchased on the way home from the cemetery. She opened Leslie's laptop on the counter and waited for it to power up. She heard the TV come on and a few familiar bars of music flowing from the den.

“It's about the virus,” Ward yelled from the den. “Breaking news!”

She rushed into the room to stand beside her husband while the newscaster explained that the child- porn virus was planted on the computers at RGI by a saboteur. The announcer said the FBI and the Charlotte police department would be holding a joint press conference the next morning, but that RGI had been cleared of all accusations.

“All right!” Ward hollered, hugging Natasha. “That's it. Damnation be gone.”

For ten minutes Natasha read her e-mails. About half of them were from people that were furious because her computer sent the virus to theirs. She was careful not to open any e-mails
with attachments since the virus was still out there, and probably in some of those e-mails.

The other half of the e-mails were from people saying they knew Ward didn't have anything to do with the virus. It was warming to read those. She had e-mails from her parents, and other members of her family in Washington and Oregon, expressing their support. Her mother asked for Natasha to call them as soon as she could because her phone stayed busy. There were several “call me's” in the stack. All of her partners (except for Dan Wheat) had e-mailed saying they hoped she'd let them know if they could help in any way. They were all time- dated before Ward had been cleared.

And even though she and Ward hadn't discussed it since Barney's birth, they could have another child, and she hoped Ward would be up for that, because she most certainly was. No child could ever replace Barney, but they had plenty of love to give a new child, or children. She smiled at the thought of another McCarty

Gizmo.
The odd word kept rattling around in Natasha's mind, because she was sure she'd heard it before under circumstances related to her practice, even though she couldn't zero in on
an image her memory could replay. Maybe, because the word was a source of anxiety she was imagining it meant more to her than that. The nearly hieroglyphic decoration was obsessively executed and had to have taken untold long hours of concentrated effort to accomplish. The five letters had been as uniform as letters chiseled into a tombstone by a stonemason.

She looked down at the legal pad, where she had written the word out and doodled circles and stars around it, trying to trigger something solid.

She had the feeling that if she could just remember, she'd know something crucial.

She was about to turn off the computer when she had an idea. She went to Google and typed in the word “Gizmo.” There were eleven million, eight hundred thousand and seventeen hits. She shook her head slowly as she pondered the mountain of hay that might contain the needle she was searching for.

She typed “Gizmo” and “Charlotte NC.” There were ten thousand and seventy- one hits. When she added the word “Obituaries,” there were fewer than three thousand, still an unmanageable number. The first one was:

survivors are her father, Richard M. Morrison, Sr., of Harrisburg, NC; her aunt, Glenda Eudy, and husband, Clint, of Greensboro; and her cat, Gizmo.

Natasha smiled strangely. Why, she wondered, had she added the word obituaries? That seemed odd. The second one was:

Oct. 14, 2003, at the Community Medical Center in Scranton after being suddenly stricken. rlene loved her babies: her dogs, Cody, Cindy, and Gizmo.

It seemed to be a popular name people gave their pets.
Perhaps,
she mused,
having a pet named Gizmo could be hazardous to your health.

She had a thought. Since it was
her
memory, she added NorthEast Medical Center, Concord, and there were only five. She had read through two entries, when she saw something in the third that made her blood run cold.

FIFTY-EIGHT

When Gene Duncan called, Ward was watching the news as a commentator said that the RGI virus was designed by a thirty- year- old Charlotte resident named Bert Marmaduke. The newscaster said that suspect Marmaduke had been murdered the evening before his body was found, but gave no cause of death, and made no mention of Trey Dibble's connection to the event. Ward was wondering if the media people refrained from mentioning Trey because Flash's advertising dollars kept the regional TV stations solvent. He figured it was just a matter of time.

Presently Trey's death was reported, as accidental. There were interviews with several NASCAR- involved individuals, whose comments were probably less than honest, each saying something on the order of what a unique individual Trey Dibble had been. Flash Dibble was reported to be in seclusion, and his assistant said that he and his wife wanted to thank everyone who had offered their prayers and consolation.

“You seen the news?” Gene asked.

“I have.”

“Flash called me,” Gene said. “He asked me to pass on his deep sorrow for his son's actions. He told me to tell you that he didn't have any idea about any of it. He still wants RGI and said he'd like to keep it just the way it is. He also mentioned that he might be open to a partnership involvement.”

“Jesus, Gene, he's still able to think about business?”

“What can I say?”

“Call him back. Tell him to work with you and get the deal drawn up for my signature. Tell him I'll stay through a reasonable transaction period, but maybe Unk would be open to something more permanent with him.”

“Did you just say what I thought you said?”

“Yes. The sooner the better. You can figure out how to spend your commission now. But the video game is not part of the sale.”

“I don't know why that would ever come up. He doesn't know about it.”

That was something Ward was no longer sure of. It was possible that his uncle had told Flash about the game, and that was why he wanted
RGI so badly. It didn't matter, because if Flash backed out, Ward would continue to run RGI as he had before, and he'd keep Unk in place and pay Flash the six hundred thousand his uncle owed him. Ward wanted everybody happy because, for the first time in a year, he was.

Gene continued, “Oh, yeah, and the most amazing thing of all. Are you sitting down?”

“Yes, I am. Would you get to it?”

“Tom Wiggins told me to tell you there's no charge for his services.”

“That's very generous, but I want to pay him for his time.”

“He thought you'd say that. He said you could send a check for twelve hundred to his favorite charity.”

“The children's oncology center. Tell him it's as good as in their account.”

“I will. Okay, buddy. I'll call Flash and I'll get on the deal as soon as I hang up.”

“So, why are you still talking to me?” Ward clicked off the phone and tapped it on the back of the couch.

He looked up to see Natasha standing in the doorway. “That was Gene. He …”

Ward stopped because he knew Natasha wasn't hearing a word he said. She was staring at him, a look of horror on her face.

“What?” Ward asked. “Natasha?” He jumped up and ran across the room, taking her by the shoulders.

“Gizmo. I know who he is.”

“Who? How do you know him?”

“I killed him.”

FIFTY-NINE

It was dark when Alice lucked out and found a parking spot very close to a towering green painted metal sculpture resembling blades of grass. She wondered if it was designed to make people see what it felt like to be insects. It seemed to her that lots of things in society were designed to make people feel less significant than they were.

Alice walked toward three young men smoking cigarettes near the entrance. She straightened as she approached, and measured them for
attractiveness. Two of the boys were sort of fat, and all three were wearing baggy shorts and T-shirts with smart- ass messages printed on them. There was one guy who was taller, and skinny—-just her type—and she made eye contact with him. He looked over at her and his eyes lit up, so she slowed.

“Hey, good looking!” he said, smiling. “Where you been all my life?”

Alice stopped and smiled widely, keeping her lips together so her braces didn't show. And she waved.

“Looking for you,” a high- pitched voice re plied from behind her.

Alice turned to see three girls closing from behind, and, as they passed Alice, the boys straightened and posed like models in anticipation.

“You're late,” one of the fat boys said to the girls.

Alice felt embarrassed, disappointed, and invisible. And she felt anger growing within her.

She slumped, tightened the grip on her black cloth carry bag, and strode purposefully into the entrance, the sounds of youthful laughter closing on her back in rhythmic waves. She heard n
one of the girls say, “That little kid thought you were talking to
her
!”

Alice walked slowly past the shop windows, pausing here and there to check out merchandise, imagining owning some of the items and picturing as well how ownership of each would make her feel. In a matter of minutes she found herself nearing the food court entrance and the smells of a hundred food items hit her like a wave. She skulked on, clenching the strap of her bag like someone was going to grab it and take off running.

Alice checked herself out in a dark shop window, and what she saw made her wonder why the boys hadn't been attracted to her. She looked younger than she was, and she supposed they had imagined that she was too young for them, but she was prettier than any of the other girls had been by a mile.