Under the Dome: A Novel (85 page)

“Every box of cereal s’posed to have a toy surprise in it,” she said, smiling vacantly. She dropped her hand to the butt of the.45 she was wearing. Thin as she was, Jackie thought the recoil would probably blow her right off her feet if she ever had occasion to fire it.

“All set,” Thibodeau said. “I’ll keep you company.”

“Good,” Jackie said, and when she thought of how close she’d come to just putting the note in her pocket and trying to hand it to Barbie, she felt cold. All at once the risk they were taking seemed insane … but it was too late now. “Stay back by the stairs, though. And Linda, you keep behind me. We take no chances.”

She thought he might argue that, but he didn’t.

24

Barbie sat up on the bunk. On the other side of the bars stood Jackie Wettington with a white plastic bowl in one hand. Behind her, Linda Everett had her gun drawn and held in a double fist, pointing at the floor. Carter Thibodeau was last in line at the foot of the stairs with his hair in sleep-spikes and his blue uniform shirt unbuttoned to show the bandage covering the dogbite on his shoulder.

“Hello, Officer Wettington,” Barbie said. Thin white light was creeping in through his slit of a window. It was the kind of first light that makes life seem like the joke of jokes. “I’m innocent of all accusations. I can’t call them charges, because I haven’t been—”

“Shut up,” Linda said from behind her. “We’re not interested.”

“Tell it, Blondie,” Carter said. “You go, girl.” He yawned and scratched at the bandage.

“Sit right there,” Jackie said. “Don’t you move a muscle.” Barbie sat. She pushed the plastic bowl through the bars. It was small, and just fit.

He picked up the bowl. It was filled with what looked like Special K. Spit gleamed on top of the dry cereal. Something else as well: a large green booger, damp and threaded with blood. And still his stomach rumbled. He was very hungry.

He was also hurt, in spite of himself. Because he’d thought Jackie Wettington, whom he had spotted as ex-military the first time he saw her (it was partly the haircut, mostly her way of carrying herself), was better than this. It had been easy to deal with Henry Morrison’s disgust. This was harder. And the other woman cop—the one married to Rusty Everett—was looking at him as if he were some rare species of stinging bug. He had hoped at least some of the department’s regular officers—

“Eat up,” Thibodeau called from his place on the steps. “We fixed it nice for you. Didn’t we, girls?”

“We did,” Linda agreed. The corners of her mouth twitched down. It was little more than a tic, but Barbie’s heart lightened. He thought she was faking. Maybe that was hoping for too much, but—

She moved slightly, blocking Thibodeau’s line of sight to Jackie with her body … although there was no real need. Thibodeau was otherwise occupied with trying to peek under the edge of his bandage.

Jackie glanced back to make sure she was clear, then pointed to the bowl, turned her hands up, and raised her eyebrows:
Sorry.
After that she pointed two fingers at Barbie.
Pay attention.

He nodded.

“Enjoy it, fuckstick,” Jackie said. “We’ll get you something better at noon. I’m thinking pissburger.”

From the stairs, where he was now picking at the edges of the bandage, Thibodeau gave a bark of laughter.

“If you’ve got any teeth left to eat it with,” Linda said.

Barbie wished she had kept silent. She didn’t sound sadistic, or even angry. She only sounded scared, a woman who wished to be anywhere but here. Thibodeau, however, didn’t seem to notice. He was still investigating the state of his shoulder.

“Come on,” Jackie said. “I don’t want to watch him eat.”

“That wet enough for you?” Thibodeau asked. He stood up as the women came down the corridor between the cells to the stairs, Linda reholstering her weapon. “Cause if it’s not …” He hawked back phlegm.

“I’ll make do,” Barbie said.

“Course you will,” Thibodeau said. “For a while. Then you won’t.”

They went up the stairs. Thibodeau went last, and gave Jackie a whack on the butt. She laughed and slapped at him. She was good, a lot better than the Everett woman. But they had both just shown plenty of guts.
Fearsome
guts.

Barbie picked the booger off the Special K and flicked it toward the corner he’d pissed in. He wiped his hands on his shirt. Then he began to dig down through the cereal. At the bottom, his fingers found a slip of paper.

Try to make it until tomorrow night. If we can get you out can you think of a safe place. You know what to do with this.

Barbie did.

25

An hour after he ate the note and then the cereal, heavy footsteps slowly descended the stairs. It was Big Jim Rennie, already dressed in a suit and a tie for another day of under-the-Dome administration. He was followed by Carter Thibodeau and another fellow—a Killian, judging by the shape of his head. The Killian boy was carrying a chair, and making difficulties with it; he was what old-time Yankees would have called “a gormy lad.” He handed the chair to Thibodeau, who placed it in front of the cell at the end of the corridor.

Rennie sat down, delicately tweezing his pantslegs first to preserve the crease.

“Good morning, Mr. Barbara.” There was a slight, satisfied emphasis on the civilian title.

“Selectman Rennie,” Barbie said. “What can I do for you besides give you my name, rank, and serial number … which I’m not sure I remember?”

“Confess. Save us some trouble and soothe your own soul.”

“Mr. Searles mentioned something last night about waterboarding,” Barbie said. “He asked me if I’d ever seen it in Iraq.”

Rennie’s mouth was pursed in a slight smile that seemed to say
Tell me more, talking animals are so interesting.

“In fact, I did. I have no idea how often the technique was actually used in the field—reports varied—but I saw it twice. One of the men confessed, although his confession was worthless. The man he named as an Al Qaeda bombmaker turned out to be a school-teacher who’d left Iraq for Kuwait fourteen months previous. The other man had a convulsion and suffered brain damage, so there was no confession from him. Had he been capable, though, I’m sure he would have given one.
Everybody
confesses when they’re water-boarded, usually in a matter of minutes. I’m sure I would, too.”

“Then save yourself some grief,” Big Jim said.

“You look tired, sir. Are you well?”

The tiny smile was replaced by a tiny frown. It emanated from the deep crease between Rennie’s eyebrows. “My current condition is none of your concern. A word of advice, Mr. Barbara. Don’t bullspit me and I won’t bullspit you. What you should be concerned about is your own condition. It may be fine now, but that could change. In a matter of minutes. You see, I am indeed thinking of having you waterboarded. Am, in fact, seriously considering it. So confess to these murders. Save yourself a lot of pain and trouble.”

“I think not. And if you waterboard me, I’m apt to talk about all sorts of things. Probably ought to keep that in mind when you decide who you want in the room when I start talking.”

Rennie considered this. Although he was neatly put together,
especially for such an early hour, his complexion was sallow and his small eyes were rimmed with purple flesh-like bruises. He really did not look well. If Big Jim just dropped dead, Barbie could see two possible results. One was that the ugly political weather in The Mill would clear without spawning any further tornadoes. The other was a chaotic bloodbath in which Barbie’s own death (quite likely by lynching rather than firing squad), would be followed by a purge of his suspected co-conspirators. Julia might be first on that list. And Rose could be number two; frightened people were great believers in guilt by association.

Rennie turned to Thibodeau. “Step back, Carter. All the way to the stairs, if you please.”

“But if he makes a grab for you—”

“Then you’d kill him. And he knows it. Don’t you, Mr. Barbara?”

Barbie nodded.

“Besides, I’m not getting any closer than this. Which is why I want you to step back. We’re having a private conversation here.”

Thibodeau stepped back.

“Now, Mr. Barbara—what things would you talk about?”

“I know all about the meth lab.” Barbie kept his voice pitched low. “Chief Perkins knew, and he was getting ready to arrest you. Brenda found the file on his computer. It’s why you killed her.”

Rennie smiled. “
That’s
an ambitious fantasy.”

“The State Attorney General won’t think so, given your motive. We’re not talking about some half-assed cook-up in a mobile home; this is the General Motors of meth.”

“By the end of the day,” Rennie said, “Perkins’s computer will be destroyed. Hers, as well. I suppose there may be a copy of certain papers in Duke’s home safe—meaningless, of course; vicious, politically motivated garbage from the mind of a man who always loathed me—and if so, the safe will be opened and the papers will be burned. For the town’s good, not mine. This is a crisis situation. We all need to pull together.”

“Brenda passed on a copy of that file before she died.”

Big Jim grinned, revealing a double row of tiny teeth. “One confabulation deserves another, Mr. Barbara. Shall I confabulate?”

Barbie spread his hands:
Be my guest.

“In my confabulation, Brenda comes to see me and tells me that same thing. She says she gave the copy of which you speak to Julia Shumway. But I know it’s a lie. She may have meant to, but she did not. Even if she had—” He shrugged. “Your cohorts burned down Shumway’s newspaper last night. That was a bad decision on their part. Or was it your idea?”

Barbara repeated: “There
is
another copy. I know where it is. If you waterboard me, I will confess that location. Loudly.”

Rennie laughed. “Put with great sincerity, Mr. Barbara, but I’ve spent my whole life dickering, and I know a bluff when I hear one. Perhaps I should just have you summarily executed. The town would cheer.”

“How loudly, if you did it without discovering my co-conspirators first? Even Peter Randolph might question that decision, and he’s nothing but a dumb and frightened lickspittle.”

Big Jim stood up. His hanging cheeks had gone the color of old brick. “You don’t know who you’re playing with here.”

“Sure I do. I saw your kind again and again in Iraq. They wear turbans instead of ties, but otherwise they’re just the same. Right down to the blather about God.”

“Well, you’ve talked me out of waterboarding,” Big Jim said. “It’s a shame, too, because I always wanted to see it firsthand.”

“I’ll bet.”

“For now we’ll just keep you in this cozy cell, all right? I don’t think you’ll eat much, because eating interferes with thinking. Who knows? With constructive thinking, you may come up with better reasons for me to allow you to go on living. The names of those in town who are against me, for instance. A complete list. I’ll give you forty-eight hours. Then, if you can’t convince me otherwise, you’ll be executed in War Memorial Plaza with the entire town looking on. You’ll serve as an object lesson.”

“You really don’t look well, Selectman.”

Rennie studied him gravely. “It’s your kind that causes most of the trouble in the world. If I didn’t think your execution would serve this town as a unifying principle and a much-needed catharsis, I’d have Mr. Thibodeau shoot you right now.”

“Do that and it all comes out,” Barbie said. “People from one end of this town to the other will know about your operation. Try getting a consensus at your motherfucking town meeting then, you tinpot tyrant.”

The veins swelled on the sides of Big Jim’s neck; another beat in the center of his forehead. For a moment he looked on the verge of exploding. Then he smiled. “A for effort, Mr. Barbara. But you lie.”

He left. They all left. Barbie sat on his bunk, sweating. He knew how close to the edge he was. Rennie had reasons to keep him alive, but not strong ones. And then there was the note delivered by Jackie Wettington and Linda Everett. The expression on Mrs. Everett’s face suggested that she knew enough to be terrified, and not just for herself. It would have been safer for him to try and escape using the knife. Given the current level of professionalism in the Chester’s Mill PD, he thought it could be done. It would take a little luck, but it could be done.

He had, however, no way of telling them to let him try it on his own.

Barbie lay down and put his hands behind his head. One question nagged him above all others: what had happened to the copy of the VADER file meant for Julia? Because it hadn’t reached her; about that he was sure Rennie had been telling the truth.

No way of knowing, and nothing to do but wait.

Lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, Barbie began to do it.

1

When Linda and Jackie came back from the PD, Rusty and the girls were sitting on the front step waiting for them. The Js were still in their nighties—light cotton ones, not the flannels they were used to at this time of year. Although it was still not quite seven AM, the thermometer outside the kitchen window had the temperature at sixty-six degrees.

Ordinarily, the two girls would have flown down the walk to embrace their mother far in advance of Rusty, but this morning he beat them by several yards. He seized Linda around the waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck with almost painful tight-ness—not a hello-handsome hug, but a drowner’s grip.

“Are you all right?” he whispered in her ear.

Her hair brushed up and down against his cheek as she nodded. Then she drew back. Her eyes were shining. “I was sure Thibodeau would look in the cereal, it was Jackie’s idea to spit in it, that was genius, but I was
certain
—”

“Why is mommy crying?” Judy asked. She sounded ready to cry herself.

“I’m not,” she said, then wiped her eyes. “Well, maybe a little. Because I’m so happy to see your dad.”

“We’re
all
happy to see him!” Janelle told Jackie. “Because my Daddy,
HE’S THE BOSS!
”