Ravens (18 page)

“No money,” said Mr. Hu. He smiled some more.

Said Burris, “I thought the store that sells the ticket was supposed to make a lot of money.”

“No for me. I just manager.”

His grin was not rueful at all, but truly content. He seemed quite pleased to be taking no part of this pie — altogether pleased
that winged megafortune had chosen to alight on some other poor bastard’s shoulder, and not his.

Shaw
went with Mitch to visit this big financial guy, Henry Lonsdale. Lonsdale lived in a parvenu mansion in the Black Banks neighborhood
of St. Simon’s Island. Tabby walls and cold beetling balconies, windows of smoked glass. From the driveway you were led by
the maid beneath a columned pergola to the ‘office’, which had a twenty-foot-high vestibule. One wall was adorned with trophies
and plaques for bass-fishing prowess.

Lonsdale came in and introduced himself. Shaw asked him, “You really won the Bassmaster Southern Open?”

“Which one? Oh, yes. ’06.”

“Wow. What’d you haul?”

Lonsdale shrugged. “Oh, I think 59, 3. Something like that.”

“God. What were you throwing?”

“Well, I started spinner but swimbait filled my bag. If memory serves I used a King Shad.”

“That’s soft?”

“That’s a hardbody. It all depends on your throw. I saw you on TV, Mr. McBride. I take it you like to fish?”

“Just, well, up in Ohio. Where I’m from. Never largemouth. I’d love to cast for largemouth.”

“Well, there’s not a lot of that action here on the coast. But I’ll gladly take you jigging for redfish, if you’d like.”

“I would like that very much.”

It was plain that fishing was Lonsdale’s passion in life. He told Shaw he didn’t do finance full-time anymore. “A few clients,
just to keep my hand in,” he said, imperially.

At the man’s great stone desk, three factotums awaited. Banker, Accountant, Lawyer. They all wore shimmery suits, and looked
you in the eye when they shook your hand, and imagined they were big movers and shakers. But Henry Lonsdale in his tennis
shoes and chinos outclassed them easily. While they chattered amongst themselves, he flopped into his chair behind the desk
and took up the twelve-page memo of understanding, and leafed through it — and then when he was ready, he simply launched.
It was a joy to witness. The way he just
shredded
the thing. Slicing out one phrase and transplanting another, X-ing out extraneous dross, peppering the poor fools with questions
and complaints, brooking no dissent and contemptuous of any hesitation. What a show! Shaw, transfixed, said not a word but
once or twice he laughed out loud. And only after the thing seemed to have been settled to everyone’s satisfaction did he
dare to inquire:

“Oh, Henry. By the way. Do you think I could have some cash?”

Smiles all around. Lonsdale finally saying, “Cash?”

Shaw nodded. “I could use a little bit of cash.”

“Shaw. It’ll
all
be cash.”

“It will?”

“The whole shebang. What we’re talking about is getting you
out
of cash the moment it lands — and into securities, into long-term investments, so you can start earning some return on your
capital—”

“But I want to start giving it away.”

“So I understand,” said Mr. Lonsdale. “But you know, we’ll need to set up a foundation —”

“I don’t want a foundation. There isn’t time.”

“There isn’t? Why not?”

“Because the world is coming to an end.”

How gravely and stupidly they took in his words. The Banker, the Accountant, the Lawyer: they all had the mien of grieving
cattle. Shaw broke into a wide grin. “Look at you guys!”

Still the grave faces.

“I’m
kid
-ding.”

And then, one by one, they began to chuckle.

“No rush at all,” he assured them. “And hey, can I tell you something? You know how I said on that TV show that I’m giving
it all away? Well. Slight correction. Not
all
of it.”

More laughter, which grew quickly into barks and wheezes of relief. Understandably, thought Shaw: the thought of me giving
away my fortune must have seemed an insult to their very natures. Shaw waited patiently for the laughter to fade. Then he
said: “But I really could use a bit of spending money.”

“Of course,” said Lonsdale. “We’ll keep a few million liquid. Will that do you?”

“Great.”

“Say, five million? Enough for now?”

“Perfect. And when will all this come in?”

Lonsdale turned to the Banker. “Dave?”

“I’m expecting it to land by Tuesday. If we get everything signed today.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” said Shaw. “That’s sooner than I thought. That’s just great. Thank you all very much.”

Said Henry Lonsdale, “Tell you what. When it does hit? Let’s celebrate with a little redfishing.”

Tara
was in her room, listening to Trevor the spooky ex-soldier organize the world. He’d set up his card-table office right outside
her window, and all day he’d been out there snapping commands: planning the kitchen, laying out the camp, negotiating with
the cops and with the neighbors. Tomorrow the pilgrims would have to move, but for tonight he’d made a deal with the neighbors,
and they could stay.

He was good at all this stuff, a natural
vizier
. She hated him. The sound of his voice grated on her. But where else could she go? Mom was in the kitchen and Shaw in the
living room, and the pilgrims had the house surrounded, and if she went outside for an instant they’d mob her.

So she stayed there. She tried to read: she couldn’t. She tried to watch
Before Night Falls,
the movie where JCD Jr. was so stunning as Bon Bon the transvestite — but his profile brought up thoughts of Shaw. She killed
it. She tried listening to music on headphones but they made her feel too isolated, too vulnerable.

She went online. She looked through the hundreds of new comments on her MySpace page.

Tara I think you’re beautiful and I would like to be just like you. I think Shaw McBride is a dream. You’re not lucky, you’re
blessed.

Another wrote:

You’re a sign to all of us that the Lord is ‘with us’ and watching over us.

Another wrote:

i watch u on the video when u win the lotery, and I love u and want u to be my wife.

She scrolled through them. She didn’t answer.

On her photo album was the CRUNK POSSE!, that shot of her and Clio and Cindy and Jennera when they were so drunk and stoned
at Rafters. Someone had written: GAWD YU GIRLZ IZ SMOKKIN!!

Wasn’t that the night she had kissed James? And thought she wanted to marry him? There was a pic of the two of them at the
Arcade Fire concert: he looked like a kid. God. They both looked like kids. And this photograph was taken six months ago?

She stayed away from pictures of Nell.

Shaw came to visit. He knocked politely. She murmured, “Yeah,” and he came and sat in the camp chair and asked her, “So what
do you think?”

“About what?”

“This great adventure.”

She looked away from him.

He said, “Romeo thinks you’re not scared of him.”

“I am.”

“If he goes off, he’ll go off like a banshee. You don’t want to test him.”

“OK.”

“There was a guy once back in Ohio who made the mistake of insulting us. We just
ruined
his head. We tore him to bits, and he didn’t even know who was doing it. He thought we were his friends. Romeo took him for
a walk one time, so the poor guy could talk about his problems. They went up on the railroad bridge. You know what happened
up there?”

She shook her head.

He smiled. “I don’t either. But next day they found the guy’s body down on the rocks. With his brains smashed out. Suicide.
Do not
ever
test Romeo’s love for me.”

She kept her eyes low, but she knew he was staring at her.

He said, “I know how scary this is for you. But it’s also so fucking exciting. We’re going to bring beauty to this world.
Beauty like you’ve never dreamed of.”

“Yes.”

He said, “Look at me.”

She met his gaze. “It will be worth the struggle,” he said. “I swear to you.”

Romeo
took a right off 17 onto Belle Point Road, then a left at Indian Mound Road. He cruised past Uncle Shelby’s. The
snap snap whip whip
of sprinklers, and there was Shelby himself in the driveway, vacuuming the Escalade.

Romeo thought, I bet I could work up some hate for
this
guy.

Not just on account of the Nazi landscaping but also because he’s vacuuming his car on a
Saturday afternoon.
Wasting a Saturday afternoon on such cinch-up-your-anus bullshit.

If I got to know him, I’m sure I could come to detest him. Then if I had to I could kill him.

He drove down to the end of Seahorse Drive, turned around and came back. Pulled into the driveway. In his pocket he still
had the leaflet that Tess had given him, from her Church of Jesus Triumphant, and as he emerged from the car he took it out
and handed it to Shelby. “Hi, there. You got the word on Jesus?”

This only peeved the man.

“Son, I’m a deacon at Faith Renewal. I don’t need this.”

Offering it back. Romeo thought the visit was going well. The guy was a puffed-up jackass, and that stirred a small resentment
in Romeo’s heart. He just needed to give this a little juice. Maybe if he got a look inside the house?

“Sir, you wouldn’t have anything I could drink, would you? Glass of lemonade?”

“I think we’re out of lemonade,” said Shelby. His look said,
Enough. Go away now.

“Not even powdered or something? How about water?”

Thinking, you’re a Christian, Shelby: you can’t deny a poor passerby a drink of water.

“All right. Hold on.”

He meant for Romeo to wait outside. But Romeo followed him right into the garage. Skateboards hung on hooks near the back
door, with badminton rackets, lacrosse rackets, skis. Said Romeo, “You guys are so sporty.”

As Shelby opened the kitchen door, a golden retriever commenced a low woofing. Shelby called, “MacKenzie! Come hold Lucky.
We’ve got a visitor.”

A little girl, radiant and ringletted, came and grabbed the dog by the collar.

Romeo followed Shelby into the kitchen. What a paradise! Earth-tone tiles and seashell lighting and Old Testament magnets
on the refrigerator door. “Hey Dad,” came a boy’s voice from the great room, “you should see the approach Sergio just hit.
Oh man, he nailed it. With a three-iron. Six yards from the hole.”

“Darn,” said Shelby. “How’s Phil doing?”

“Phil’s out of it.”

“Darn.”

The little girl was staring at Romeo.

Her father told her, “MacKenzie, would you please give this man a glass of water?”

Romeo said, “MacKenzie. That’s a beautiful name.” He took the glass from her and drank. The lovely cascading void.

“Thank you,” he said.

He gave her back the glass. She rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher, and sponged the countertop. When she was done,
everything was immaculate, just as it had been. You’ve got quite the system here, thought Romeo.

He said, “MacKenzie, do you like Mew Mew Power?”

She smiled and her eyes grew round. She said, “I
love
Mew Mew Power.”

He said, “I have a niece who loves Mew Mew Power.”

She asked him, “You see the magnets?” She meant the magnets on the refrigerator. “They’re from the Bible.”

“That’s beautiful,” said Romeo.

She pointed to a Nativity. “That’s from the Gospel of Matthew.”

“Really? What about that one?”

“That’s Acts of the Apostles.”

He smiled. “This here is a house of true holiness. You know how I know that?”

MacKenzie guessed, “The magnets?”

“Well yes, but more than that, your generosity.” He truly meant this. It had been a mistake to come here. He felt no hatred
for these people at all. He hoped Shelby would invite him to stay for supper.

But Shelby said nothing. They all stared at him.

“All right,” said Romeo. “Well, thank you for the water. Goodbye, MacKenzie. Goodbye, sir.”

Shelby told his daughter, “Honey, hold Lucky, I don’t want her getting out.”

Romeo got back in the Tercel, and returned to his circling of hell.

Shaw
and the Boatwrights went to St. Simon’s Island for the Jackpot Party, arriving at 7:00 p.m. It was still light out, but the
place was already packed to the rafters.
Hoo
-aws. Bear hugs. To get through the crowd Shaw had to give everyone a shake or a tap. Some guy hung an elbow over his neck
and introduced himself as Skeet and asked what he was drinking. Shaw said shyly, Johnnie Walker Red? Rocks? Then a girl with
a tightly strung midriff murmured into his ear how much she liked what he’d said on TV. She murmured more than that, but there
was an old-timey band playing, harmonica and fiddles and banjos, and he couldn’t hear. Her lips brushed his cheek as she spoke,
though, and her message came through.

Henceforth all the world would be coming to him like this? On a platter?