Ravens (11 page)

Sounded like a joke, though Burris didn’t get it. “And your current address is Piqua, Ohio?”

“Yes.”

“And what brings you here to Brunswick?”

“Um. Vacation.”

Burris took the documents back to the cruiser and called Rose again, who told him the Tercel was registered in Zderko’s name.
He had her run a 27 on the OLN. Came back clean. No warrants. Everything good. He returned the papers to Zderko, and said,
“Sir, may I see the animal?”

“Sure. But it’ll be, well, when I open this bag, the smell will be powerful, OK? Just warning you.”

“I’ll try to be ready.”

“All right then.”

Zderko undid the tie.

Burris looked in and saw a lump of fur and cartilage and bones. The smell slapped him across the face, and brought tears to
his eyes. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s
ripe.
”

“That’s what I been living with.”

“You can close it now.”

Zderko retied the bag.

Burris asked, “How long’s it been dead?”

“About forty-eight hours. What’s today, Friday? Well, Wednesday night, I was coming down through North Carolina? And I hit
this thing and it must have been thrown up into the wheel well somehow, but I didn’t even know it till a little while ago.”

“I see.”

“But I smelled it, you know? I mean, God. It happens quick, doesn’t it?”

“Sir?”

“I mean the way things rot.”

“Yes sir.”

“But I didn’t know what I was smelling till I looked up in there.”

“You’re planning to bury it, sir?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where?”

“Just, I don’t know. Here, I guess.”

“Not a good idea.”

“Is it illegal?”

“Unless you got permission from the owner.”

“Who’s the owner?”

“Hercules, Incorporated. That big chemical plant down the way?”

“Oh. OK. So what can I do with this thing?”

“Well.”

It was a good question.

Zderko pressed. “I mean, you’re saying I could just throw it away, that’d be OK, but it’s against the law to treat it with
any kind of dignity?”

Burris mulled this. “No sir, I’m not saying you can’t treat it with dignity. You could treat it with all the dignity you want
and that’d be fine, but you can’t trespass here, because this land belongs to Hercules, Incorporated.”

A flock of grackles went by, racing for cover from the storm.

Said Zderko, “I can’t afford to buy a cemetery plot.”

“I understand.”

“I was just trying to do right by this animal.”

“I see that.”

“It sucks that it got carried all the way down here where it’s a complete stranger, far away from its home, and now I just
toss it in a dumpster or something. You know?”

Then Burris surprised himself. He said, “Sir, you see that little stick with the strip of yellow tape? Everything beyond that
stick belongs to the city of Brunswick. I’m not saying you’re allowed to bury anything out there. I
am
saying, whatever you do, don’t leave no plastic bag behind.” He glanced up at the sky. “And you better hurry. You hear me?”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

“All right.”

It was like nothing Burris had ever done before. It was: I really give not a damn what you do with that sack of rotted meat,
provided you do it when I’m not around.

He got back into the cruiser and drove away. Glad that he hadn’t been too by-the-book there. If what’s called for is a little
tolerance, a little understanding, why not give that? It made him wonder, have I finally found the secret to being a successful
cop? Mercy, maybe I have. Forty years too late though.

Mitch
was reading the Psalms:

Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies. Why standest thou afar off, O LORD? why
hidest thou thyself in times of trouble?

He heard Patsy weeping in the kitchen. He thought of going to comfort her, but the rhythm of her sobs told him she was drunk,
and what could he say to her anyway? Hell had come into their lives.

Consider mine enemies; for they are many; and they hate me with cruel hatred.

He thought, we have to stand up to him. Now. Now’s the time to call the police. Is the bastard so arrogant and cocksure and
self-deluded that he thinks I’ll just sit here while he goes off to a poker party with my daughter and my own mother, while
he threatens the lives of my family, while he steals half my fortune? Oh Lord. It’d be so easy to nab him. One phone call.
Call that old cop Burris Jones who goes to our church. Or maybe Burris isn’t the best choice since he seems kind of slow and
dreamy and sad — but
any
cop. Just lay out the whole story. Tell them to grab Shaw right after he takes one of those check-in calls. Then they’ll
have plenty of time to look for that ‘Romeo’ guy. Probably his car’s got Ohio plates, so they’ll find him easy — but even
if they don’t, we can round up all my family and friends and put them under 24-hour protection and then what could the guy
do to us?

O my God, make them like a wheel; as the stubble before the wind. As the fire burneth a wood, and as the flame setteth the
mountains on fire; So persecute them with thy tempest, and make them afraid with thy storm.

Not that they’d really carry through on those threats anyway. It was all a bluff. This whole deal was just two smartass kids
thinking they’d found themselves a pot of gold, except they weren’t professionals and they didn’t know what they were in for.
When Mitch stood up to them, the wind would be at his back.

Let them be as chaff before the wind: and let the angel of the LORD chase them. Let their way be dark and slippery: and let
the angel of the LORD persecute them.

He heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. A moment later, Shaw and Tara came in, loudly. They were drunk. Shaw declaring,
“We took a taxi. Nobody in no condition to drive. God. Mitch, your mother fleeced us. Didn’t she, Tara?”

“She fleeced
you
,” said Tara — and Mitch thought he detected coquettishness in her tone. Ah, God. My daughter is
flirting
with him? Son of a bitch.

Break their teeth, O God, in their mouth: break out the great teeth of the young lions, O LORD.

Tara went into the kitchen to find her mother. While Shaw came over to the desk. “What you up to there, Mitch?”

“Nothing.”

“Reading Scripture? I’m impressed. Hey, did the lottery folks call? Have they scheduled the press conference yet?”

“Tomorrow. Eleven o’clock.”

“God. Great. That should be a blast.”

The bastard kept standing there, while Mitch read:

Consume them in wrath! Consume them, that they may not be! And let them know that God ruleth in Jacob unto the ends of the
earth!

Tara came back from the kitchen. “Mom wants to know, you want red or white wine with your supper?”

Shaw laughed. “Tell your mother she’s not getting me drunk. That’s the classic mistake of two-bit crooks.”

“Seems like one you’ve already made.”

“Oh, well then, if the horse is out of the barn, I’ll take red.” He grinned. And asked Mitch, “Hey, did I tell you your mother
took us to the
cleaners
?”

Mitch nodded.

“That’s the King James, right? You prefer the King James?”

Mitch shrugged. “I guess.”

“How come?”

“Just the one I’ve always used.”

“I know what you mean,” said Shaw. “Same with me, I like the old ways best. All the beauty is in the old ways.”

Be not thou far from me, O LORD. O my strength! Haste thee to help me!

Romeo
only had time to kick some oyster shells and mud over the carcass before it started to rain. Fat teary drops that chased
him back to the Tercel. He got behind the driver’s seat just as a storm began to unpack itself all around him. Lightning on
all sides. He turned up Worms of Wisdom, which boomed around in the car while the thunder clattered outside. The wipers worked
like oars, and he seemed to be floating. He took the Rt. 25 spur to Cap’n D’s. He pulled into the parking lot, and there he
stopped and changed his shirt. Then rolled down the window, made a cup of his hand, and caught rainwater, which he slapped
all over his face. He got his razor from his duffel and shaved. There was no soap, and the only light was the grisly light
of the thunderstorm, but when he checked his work in the rear-view mirror, he thought he’d done OK.

As soon as the storm abated a little, he made a dash for the restaurant door. He had a dinner of stuffed flounder and fried
oysters, which was delicious. As he ate he thought, if Shaw says the scheme is in good shape, maybe it is. He
is
a visionary. He seems to have these folks all figured out. It’s true that sheer audacity often wins the day. Maybe I won’t
have to murder anyone.

After his meal, he drove over to the mall and bought a T-shirt for his mother. She had wanted a Florida T-shirt, but now it
seemed unlikely he’d ever get to Florida, so he bought one that said
The Golden Isles of Georgia
. It had a palm tree, a sand dollar, and a pirate. Next he went to Hermann’s Candle Shoppe and bought a gift for Claude. Then
he went to Camelot Music and got an album by the band Drive Fast & Shut Your Eyes — just to find out what kind of music Clio
liked. It turned out to be all sparkly harmonic syrup. He played it as he made another circuit of the city. He couldn’t stand
it, but he played it through dutifully, while he visited, one by one, the stations of his patrol.

I should
try
to appreciate this gooey shit.

Shaw would love it.

After the rain, the air was full of earth-smells. The light came down a thin, unstable gold, and somebody’s straw hat was
lying in the road. He decided to go by Blackbeard’s Motel and see if the missionary girls wanted to come out. He could take
them drinking on St. Simon’s Island. Maybe I can even spring for dinner, he thought. Since now I’m such a wealthy tycoon.

Just then, by an odd stroke of fortune, he passed Clio’s little Miata coming the other way. He saw her sitting behind the
wheel, with that last bit of sunlight in her hair: the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

Clio
went up Norwich Street to Shambol’s Tattoo, but Shambol had another customer so Clio had to wait in the front room. She sat
there staring at the bongs and hookahs and CleanTest Powdered-Urine Kits, and she thought about Tara’s betrayal. Clio had
left Tara three voice messages and two text messages and a couple of emails, but only silence had come in return. Tara had
made her choice. Tara’s choice was goodbye. Her choice was to forsake her former best friend who could
disappear
for all Tara cared. Go off and die, just crawl to any corner of the frikkin Wick and die.

But would she really just drop me?
Tara?
She can’t. She’s not ignoring me. She’s just busy, for God’s sake. She loves me and I just have to be patient, not be so
frikkin paranoid and crazy…

Then a strange guy came into the shop.

Shambol came out and told him he’d have to wait, and the guy said that’d be fine. He sat. He had large eyes like some kind
of nocturnal animal. He sat there checking everything out, everything but Clio — he avoided looking at her. Finally though,
she heard him suck in some air and then:

“Hi.”

Oh God. Please don’t frikkin try to talk to me.

Again, “Hi.”

All nervous and enthused. Don’t give him the least flicker of attention.

“You getting a tattoo?” he asked her.

What a stupid-ass question.

He said, “I’m getting one too. What tattoo you gonna get?”

“You know what, I’m really not in the mood for conversation.”

“Oh. OK.”

But ten seconds later he started in again: “Mine’s going right here. Right above my ankle. It’s gonna say, What’s the damage?”

It took a moment for that to hit home.

She turned. “Did you say, What’s the damage?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You mean from the song?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You know it?”

“The Drive Fast & Shut Your Eyes song?”