he said. “I knew him well.”
“Johnny. You okay.”
“Fine.” Johnny tucked the motorcycle helmet under his arm and smiled winningly at Steve… but his eyes looked haunted.
Steve gave the keys to Ralph. “One of these, maybe.” It didn’t take long. The third key Ralph tried slid into the padlock on the chest marked BLASTING AGENT. A moment later the five of them were looking inside. The chest had been partitioned into three bins.
Those on the ends were empty. The one in the middle was half full of what looked like long cheesecloth bags. Littered among them were a few escapees: round pellets that looked to Steve like whitewashed birdshot. The bags had drawstring tops. He lifted one out. It looked like a bratwurst and he guessed it weighed about ten pounds. Written on the side in black were the letters ANFO. Below them, in red: CAU—TION: FLAMMABLE, EXPLOSIVE.
“Okay,” Steve said, “but how are we going to set it off with no booster. You were right, boss-no dynamite, no blasting caps. Just a guy with a.30-.30 haircut. The demolitions foreman, I assume.”
Johnny looked at Steve, then at the others. “I wonder if the rest of you would step out,with David for a moment. I’d like to speak to Steve alone.”
“Why.” Cynthia asked instantly.
“Because I need to,” Johnny said in an oddly gentle voice. “It’s a little unfinished business, that’s all. An apology. I don’t apologize well under any circumstances, but I’m noi sure I could do it at all with an audience.”
Mary said, “I hardly think this is the time-”
The boss had been signalling him-signalling urgently-with his eyes. “It’s okay,” Steve said. “It’ll be quick.”
“And don’t go empty-handed,” Johnny said. “Each of you take a bag of this instant Fourth of July.”
“My understanding is that without something explosive to boost it, it’s more like Instant Campfire,” Ralph said.
“I want to know what’s going on here,” Cynthia said. She sounded worried.
“Nothing,” Johnny told her, his voice soothing.
“Really.”
“The fuck there ain’t,” Cynthia said morosely, but she went with the others, each of them carrying a bag of ANFO.
Before Johnny could say anything, David slipped back inside. There were still traces of dried soap on his cheeks, and his lids were tinged purple. Steve had once dated a girl who’d worn eyeshadow that exact same color. On David it looked like shock instead of glamour.
“is everything okay.” David asked. He glanced briefly at Steve, but it was Johnny he was talking to.
“Yes. Steve, give David a bag of ANFO.”
David stood a moment longer, holding the bag Steve handed him, looking down at it, lost in thought. Abruptly he looked up at Johnny and said, “Turn out your pockets. All of them.”
“What-” Steve began.
Johnny shushed him, smiling oddly. It was the smile of someone who has bitten into something which tastes both bitter and compelling. “David knows what he’s doing.”
He unbuckled the chaps, turned out the pockets of his jeans underneath, handing Steve his goods-the famous wallet, his keys, the hammer which had been stuck in his belt-to hold as he did. He bowed forward so David could look into his shirt pocket. Then he unbuckled his pants and pushed them down. Underneath be was wearing blue bikini briefs. His not inconsiderable gut hung over them. I–Ic looked to Steve like one of those rich older guys you saw strolling along the beach sometimes. You knew they were rich not just because they always wore Rolexes and Oakley sunglasses, but because they dared walk along in those tiny spandex ballhuggers in the first place. As if, once your income passed a certain figure, your gut became another asset.
The boss wasn’t wearing spandex, at least. Plain old COttOn.
He did a three-sixty, arms slightly raised, giving David ill the angles and bruises, then pulled up his jeans again.
The chaps followed. “Satisfied. I’ll take off my boots, if you’re not.”
“No,” David said, but be poked a hand into the pockets of the chaps before stepping back.
His face was troubled, but not exactly worried. “Go on and have your talk. But hurry it up.”
And he was gone, leaving Steve and Johnny alone.
The boss moved to the rear of the powder magazine, as far from the door as possible.
Steve followed. Now he could smell the corpse in the dynamite chest under the stronger fuel-oil aroma of the place, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
“He wanted to make sure you didn’t have a few of those can tahs on you, didn’t he. Like Audrey.”
Johnny nodded. “He’s a wise child.”
“I guess he is.” Steve shuffled his feet, looked at them, then back up at the boss. “Look, you don’t need to apolo-gize for buzzing off. The important thing is that you came back.
Why don’t we just-”
“I owe a lot of apologies,” Johnny said. He began taking his stuff back, rapidly returning the items to the pockets from which they had come. He took the hammer last, once more tucking it into the belt of his chaps. “It’s really amazing how much fuckery a person can get up to in the course of one lifetime. But you’re really the least of my worries in that respect, Steve, especially now. Just shut up and listen, all right.”
“All right.”
“And this really does have to be speedy. David already suspects I’m up to something; that’s another reason why he wanted me to turn out my pockets. There’ll come a moment-very soon now-when you’re going to have to grab David. When you do, make sure you get a good grip, because he’s going to fight like hell. And make sure you don’t let—“Why.“
“Will your pal with the creative hairdo help if you ask her to.”
“Probably, but-”
“Steve, you have to trust me.
“Why should I.”
“Because I had a moment of revelation on the way up here. Except that’s way too stiff; I like David’s phrase better. He asked me if I got hit by a God-bomb. I told him no, but that was another lie. Do you suppose that’s why God picked me in the end. Because I’m an accomplished liar. That’s sort of funny, but also sort of awful, you know it.”
“What’s going to happen. Do you even know.”
“No, not completely.” Johnny picked up the.30-.06 in one hand and the black-visored helmet in the other. He looked back and forth between them, as if comparing their relative worth.
“I can’t do what you want,” Steve said flatly. “I don t trust you enough to do what you want.”
“You have to,” Johnny said, and handed him the rifle “I’m all you have now.”
“But-”
Johnny came a step closer. To Steve he no longer looked like the same man who had gotten on the Harley Davidson back in Connecticut, his absurd new leathers creaking, showing every tooth in his head as the photog raphers from Life and People and the Daily News circled him and clicked away. The change was a lot more than a few bruises and a broken nose. He looked younger, stronger. The pomposity had gone Out of his face, and the somehow frantic vagueness as well. It was only now, observing its absence, that Steve realized how much of the time that look had been there-as if, no matter what he was saying or doing, most of Marinville’s attention was taken up by something that wasn’t. Something like a misplaced item or a forgotten chore.
“David thinks God means him to die in order to close Tak up in his bolthole again. The final sacrifice, so to speak. But David’s wrong.” Johnny’s voice cracked on the last word, and Steve was astonished to see that the boss was almost crying. “It’s not going to be that easy for him.”
“What-”
Johnny grabbed his arm. His grip so tight it was painful. “Shut up, Steve. Just grab him when the time comes. It’s up to you. Come on now.” He bent into the chest, grabbed a bag of ANEO by its drawstring, and tossed it to Steve. He got another for himself.
“Do you know how to set this shit off without any dyno or blasting caps.” Steve asked.