Like that man Smith, staying with Tom Lindahl. What could possibly have brought those two together? And how had Tom, a man she’d known for probably thirty years, suddenly come up with an “old friend” nobody’d ever heard of before?
No; that was the real world. What she was trying to concentrate on was the world inside this book, and finally, after distracting herself several times, she did succeed, and settled in with these characters and their story. Now she concentrated on the problems of these other relationships and intertwining histories and didn’t look up until the room had grown so dark she simply couldn’t read any more.
Turning to switch on the floor lamp to her left, she glanced at her watch and saw it was well after seven. Oh, and they hadn’t done anything about supper.
Usually, by now, Fred would have come back to tell her the game was over, and sit with her to decide about Sunday supper, which was a much looser arrangement now that Jodie had gone off to Penn State. But today there was no football, no end of game, and no Fred.
Was he going to just sit in there in the living room forever and brood? It had to be much darker in there than out here on the porch, but when she looked toward the doorway, she could see no light at all from inside the house.
Was there something frightening in there, in the dark? Was there something unfamiliar in there, like an unread book, but not one she would enjoy? There was something frightening somewhere, she was sure of that, something she didn’t like at all, like a horror movie at the moment when you know something bad is about to happen.
But that was nothing at all, that was just nerves. That was her house in there.
Had he fallen asleep? That might even be a blessing, and even more so if he woke feeling better about things. But she should make sure, so she put the bookmark in the book, got to her feet, and moved through the house, switching the lights on along the way.
The living room was empty. She looked toward the bedroom and called, “Fred?” No answer.
Suddenly really frightened, in a more horrible way than any book or horror movie had ever frightened her, she went to the front door to look out. Their garage was full of junk, so the Taurus was always parked in the driveway. It was very dark out there now, and the Taurus was black, so she had to switch on the outside light to be sure the Taurus was not there.
Where was he? What had he done? More and more afraid, almost not wanting the answers to the questions that crowded her mind, she hurried to the bedroom and opened the closet door.
The rifle was gone.
5
It’s night,” Tom said, and looked from the window back at the guy he’d grown used to thinking of as Ed, even though he knew that could not possibly in any way be his name. “When do you want to go?”
Ed rose and came over to glance outside. “A little change of plan,” he said.
Tom didn’t like the sound of that. It was very hard to keep up with what was going on here, with the Pandora’s box he’d opened when he’d first seen Ed pulling himself up that hill ahead of the dogs, and when he’d decided to use the man instead of turning him in. That snap decision, born out of frustration and self-contempt, had consequences that just kept echoing, so that Tom almost had the feeling that, without intending to do so, he’d become a rodeo rider, a fellow on a bucking bronco for the first time in his life, where it would be a disaster beyond belief if he were to fall off.
Wondering if his voice was shaking, he said, “Isn’t it late for a new plan? You don’t want to do it tonight, after all?”
“No, it’s tonight. The change is, you drive down by yourself.”
“By myself?” Alarmed, Tom said, “I thought we were doing this together.”
“We are. When you get there, that first place you unlocked, you wait. If I’m not there, I’ll show up a little later.”
“But—” Tom tried to understand what was happening. Ed didn’t have a car. He didn’t have anybody else here he could ask for help. How was he going to get all the way from here to the track?
“How are you going to get there?”
“I’ll get there,” Ed said. “You don’t have to know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t get this,” Tom said. He didn’t just feel confused, he felt very nervous, as though he were at the edge of a cliff or something. A nauseous kind of fear was rising in him, giving him that rotten taste of bile in the back of his throat. “I don’t see why you have to change things.”
“You’ll see when it’s over. Listen, Tom.”
Reluctantly, Tom said, “I’m listening.”
“You leave here, you drive down there. If you see Cory’s truck anytime, don’t worry about it.”
“Why? Are you going to be driving it?”
“No, just don’t worry about it. Keep driving. When you get there, wait. If I don’t show up in half an hour, you can go do the thing yourself, or you can just turn around and come back, up to you. But I will show up.”
“You’ve got something else going on.”
Ed gave him an exasperated look. “We work from different rule books, Tom. You already know that.”
“Yes.”
Why did I think I could control him? Tom thought, remembering the sight of the man coming up that hill. Because he was on the run? That didn’t make him somebody that could be controlled, that made him somebody that could never be controlled.
Ed said, “This’d be a good time for you to go.”
Startled, Tom thought, I’m still supposed to go! I’m still supposed to do this. For Christ’s sake, Tom, you’re not the assistant on this thing, it’s your theft. You’re the one thought of it, you’re the one wanted to hurt those bastards at Gro-More with it, and you’re the one brought this man into it. And it’s still yours.
Very nervous, but knowing there was no choice, Tom looked around his little living room and said, “You’ll turn the lights off?”
“Go, Tom.”
“All right.” Tom looked over at the parrot and saw the parrot was looking directly back at him. Why didn’t I ever name it? he wondered. I’ll do it now. When I get back. No, while I’m driving down there, I’ll think of a name.
6
When it started to turn to night, Jack Riley switched the porch light on. That always brought Suzanne, but tonight it didn’t. Where was she?
Four hours. More than four hours ago, she was right here, they were talking about who around here would sneak into a man’s house and steal his gun, and she said she’d go off and get some gas and something for them to have supper together, and off she drove.
Jack figured, maybe an hour. He didn’t happen to look to see which way she went when she drove off, so she might have gone to Brian Hopwood’s gas station here in town, or she might have gone out to the Getty station, the other way, all depending on where she figured to pick up something for their supper. So maybe half an hour, maybe an hour; no more.
A little after six, he woke up in front of the television set—again! . . . and cursed himself for it. He kept promising himself and promising himself, no more sleeping in front of the television set. He’d tell himself what to do: At the first feeling of sleepiness, get up, stand up, walk around. Go outside, maybe. If the lights weren’t on, turn them on. Just do anything instead of falling asleep yet again in front of the goddam TV.
Well, he couldn’t do it. He’d be sitting there, watching some damn thing, wide awake, and the next he’d know, it would be two or three or four hours later, and he was waking up in front of the set again, mouth dry, head achy, bones stiff.