He takes a key from his pocket and reaches up to the rectangular wooden panel above the door between the office/conference room and the kitchenette. He turns the key, pushes the panel, and it swings up. The space inside looks to be eighteen inches high, four feet long, two feet deep. It’s empty.
‘Storage,’ Hoff says, and actually mimes shooting an invisible rifle. ‘The key’s so you can lock it on Fridays, when the cleaning staff—’
Billy almost says it, but Giorgio beats him to it, and that’s good because he’s supposed to be the thinker, not Billy Summers. ‘No cleaning in here. Not on Fridays, not on any other day. Top secret writing project, remember? Dave can keep the place neatened up himself. He’s a neat guy, right, Dave?’
Billy nods. He’s a neat guy.
‘Tell Dean, tell the other security guy – Logan, yeah? – and tell Broder.’ To Billy he says, ‘Steven Broder. The building super.’
Billy nods and files the name away.
Giorgio hoists the laptop bag onto the table, pushing aside the tools for writing by hand (a gesture Billy finds both sad and somehow symbolic), and unzips it. ‘MacBook Pro. Best money can buy, state of the art. My present to you. You can use your own if you want to, but this baby … all the bells and whistles. Can you get it going okay? There’s probably an instruction book, or something …’
‘I’ll figure it out.’
No problem there, but something else might be. If Nick Majarian hasn’t rigged this beautiful black torpedo so he can use it as a kind of magic mirror into what Billy writes in this room, he has missed a trick. And Nick doesn’t miss many.
‘Oh sugarpie, that reminds me,’ Hoff says, and hands Billy another of his engraved cards along with the key to the cubby over the door to the kitchenette. ‘WiFi password. Totally safe. Secure as a bank vault.’
Bullshit, Billy thinks as he puts the card in his pocket.
‘Well,’ Giorgio says, ‘I guess that’s about it. We’ll leave you to your creative endeavors. Come on, Ken.’
Hoff seems reluctant to leave, as if he feels there should be more to show. ‘You call me if you need anything, Bi … Dave. Anything at all. Entertainment, maybe? A TV? Maybe a radio?’
Billy shakes his head. He has a considerable musical library on his phone, mostly country and western. He has many things to do in the days ahead, but at some point he’ll find time to rip his tunes to this fine new laptop. If Nick decides to listen in, he can catch up on Reba and Willie and all Hank Junior’s rowdy friends. And maybe he’ll write that book after all. On his own laptop, which he trusts. He will also take security measures on both lappies – the new one and his personal, which is an old pal.
Giorgio finally gets Hoff out and Billy is on his own. He goes back to the window and stands there tracing both diagonals: the one leading to the wide stone steps and the one leading to the employees’ door. Again he imagines what will happen, seeing it vividly. Real-world events are never quite the same as the ones you see in your head, but this work always begins with the seeing. It’s like poetry that way. The things that change, the unexpected variables, the revisions: that stuff has to be dealt with when it comes up, but it starts with the seeing.
His phone dings with a text.
GRusso: Sorry about H. I know he’s a bit of an asshole.
Billy S: Do I need to see him again?
GRusso: Don’t know.
Billy would prefer something more definitive, but this will do for now. It will have to.
6
When he gets back to what he supposes is now home, his new David Lockridge building ID is in his pocket. Tomorrow he’ll be driving his new used car to work. On the porch, leaning against the door, is a bag of Miracle-Gro lawn food with a note taped to it: Thought you could use this! Jamal A.
Billy gives the house next door a wave, although he’s not sure there’s anyone there to see; it’s still half an hour shy of noon. Probably both Ackermans work. He takes the lawn food inside, props it in the hall, then drives to Walmart, where he buys two burner phones (an heir and a spare) and a couple of flash drives, although he’ll probably need just the one; he could put the complete works of Émile Zola on a single thumbie and barely fill a corner of the space available.
He also impulse buys a cheap AllTech laptop, which he puts in his bedroom closet, still in the carton. He pays cash for the phones and the flash drives. He uses his David Lockridge Visa for the laptop. He has no immediate plans for the burners, may never even use them. It all depends on his exit strategy, which at this point is only a shadow.
He stops at Burger King on the way back, and when he gets to the yellow house, a couple of kids on bikes are in front of it. A boy and a girl, one white and one black. He guesses the girl must belong to Jamal and Corinne Ackerman.
‘Are you our new neighbor?’ the boy asks.
‘I am,’ Billy says, and thinks he’ll have to get used to being one. It might even be fun. ‘I’m Dave Lockridge. Who are you?’
‘Danny Fazio. This is my bud Shanice. I’m nine. She’s eight.’
Billy shakes hands with Danny, then with the girl, who looks at him shyly as her brown hand disappears into his white one. ‘Nice to meet you both. Enjoying your summer vacation?’
‘Summer reading program’s okay,’ Danny says. ‘They give out stickers for each book you read. I’ve got four. Shanice got five, but I’ll catch up. We’re going over my house. After lunch, a bunch of us gonna play Monopoly down the park.’ He points. ‘Shan brings the board. I’m always the racecar.’
Kids on their own in the twenty-first century, Billy marvels, how about that. Only then he notices the fat guy two houses down – wifebeater, Bermudas, grass-stained sneakers – keeping an eye on him. And on how he behaves with these kids.
‘Well, seeya later, alligator,’ Danny says, mounting his bike.
‘After awhile, crocodile,’ Billy responds, and both kids laugh.
That afternoon, after taking a nap – he supposes that he’s allowed an afternoon nap, now that he’s a writer – he takes the sixpack of Bud from the fridge. He leaves it on the Ackermans’ porch with a note that says Thanks for the lawn fertilizer – Dave.
Off to a good start here. And downtown? He thinks so. He hopes so.
Except maybe for Hoff. Hoff bugs him.
7
That evening, while Billy’s putting down lawn food, Jamal Ackerman comes over with two of the beers that were in Billy’s fridge. Jamal is wearing a green coverall with his name in gold thread on one breast and EXCELLENT TIRE on the other. With him, holding a can of Pepsi, is a young boy.
‘Hey there, Mr Lockridge,’ Jamal says. ‘This little man is my son, Derek. Shanice says you met her already.’
‘Yes, with a little man named Danny.’
‘Thanks for the beers. Hey, what is that you’re using? Looks like my wife’s flour sifter.’
‘Exactly what it is. I thought about buying a lawn spreader at Walmart, but for this so-called lawn …’ He looks at the small bald patch and shrugs. ‘Too much expense for too little return.’
‘Looks like it works fine. Might even give it a try myself. But what about in back? That’s a lot bigger.’
‘It needs to be mown short first, and I don’t have a mower. Yet.’
‘You can borrow ours, can’t he, Dad?’ Derek says.
Jamal ruffles the kid’s hair. ‘Any time.’
‘No, that’s too much,’ Billy says. ‘I’ll buy one. Always supposing I get traction on the book I’m trying to write and stick around.’
They go over to the porch and sit on the steps. Billy opens the beer and drinks. It hits the spot and he says so.
‘What’s your book about?’ Derek asks. He’s sitting between them.