They were all done by eight: bottles, hats, T’s, and so forth, all displayed under a large banner that read, PINEY RIDGE BAPTIST PRAYER CAMP WATER $1 HATS $10 T’S $15 and in smaller letters, SEND A STUDENT TO PRAYER CAMP TO LEARN THE WAY OF THE GOSPEL AND THE TRUE MEANING OF WORSHIP.
It was, at long last, Race Day.
PART II. RACE DAY
TWENTY-SIX
Vern knocked on the door. He heard awkward, reluctant shuffling, sensed doubt, perhaps even fear, but finally the door popped open about two inches, held secure by a chain lock, and he and his partner faced a pair of ancient Asian eyes in an ancient Asian face. Mama-san looked to be in her seventies, without much English, and quite insecure.
Vern, with his gift of gab, his easy ways of persuasion, his cheap good looks, was on the case from the start.
“Ma’am,” he said with a smile and warmth radiating from his eyes, “sorry to bother you, but we are official inspectors. We have to inspect, you know? Only take a moment.”
The woman’s face collapsed into confusion. Suddenly a much younger Asian face, possibly no more than fourteen years old and belonging to a very pretty child, leaned beyond the door. Well, hello, hello, Vern thought.
Her skin was fair, her eyes almond, her hair drawn back. She was smooth as a peach and tiny as a fairy princess.
“My grandmother doesn’t understand. What is it?”
“Sweetie,” said Vern, kneeling to the girl, “we are official inspectors. From the Department of Official Inspection. Here, lookie this.”
He showed her an Alabama driver’s license in the name of Horton Van Leer.
“See that star. Means it’s official. Just need to come in a second and we’ll be gone. Have to make a report. You wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the department now, would you?”
The child said, “There’s no such thing as a department of inspections. That’s an Alabama driver’s license, not a badge or an ID. Go away.” Then she shut the door.
Alas, working quickly, Ernie had already knocked the hinge bolts out, and when she slammed it, the door almost toppled in. Catching it, Vern scooted forward, while Ernie held the door, secured at that moment only by the still-attached chain lock. To give his pal some leverage, Vern smilingly unhooked the chain, as if to say to the two terrified women, “See, that’s all there is to it.” He actually managed an expression that suggested he expected some kind of congratulations. Having entered the apartment, Ernie swiftly and expertly remounted the door on its hinges, replaced the bolts, then closed and locked it. The two women stared at the intruders, horrified. Whatever visions of American evil they secretly held, these two men now liberated.
Meanwhile, Vern slipped across the room, peered through the sliding doors that opened, as if onto a balcony, but where there was no balcony since this was the first floor. Instead, they opened onto the parking lot. Across the lot stood another building like this one, an undistinguished, three-story brick structure with four outdoor stairwells, and six units per stairwell. The unit directly across from them was Nikki Swagger’s, which they’d discovered by checking the mailboxes.
“Is it okay, Vern?” called Ernie, who was more or less just intimidating the prisoners with his presence and his baleful, charmless stare.
Vern said, “Yeah, it’s fine. We can see him good, no problem.”
He turned to the two Asian women.
“Sorry, gals,” said Vern, “but what’s got to be’s got to be. Now, no need for nobody to git excited. We are very easygoing, long as you cooperate.”
Without violence but with a force that suggested the possibility of violence, Vern herded the women into the living room.
“Now, little lady, since you’re so damned spunky, and Granny here don’t talk the lingo, looks like you’ll have to answer the questions. No holding back now, little dolly.” He put his hand, friendly-like, on her frail shoulder, feeling it stiffen.
“Are you thieves? We have so little but take it and go away. My grandmother has been ill. A shock could kill her. Look at her, she’s scared to death.”
Vern hugged Grannie.
“There, there, Mama-san, it ain’t nothing. You just relax now, okay. Just sit down on the sofa and relax. Watch a show, do some knitting.”
“She likes Sudoku.”
“Yeah, then do that. Meanwhile-”
He took the smaller girl back into the bedroom. She was one of those scrawny-beautiful scrappers, with eyes that glittered fiercely. Twelve, maybe. No breasts. Short, a T-shirt, some running shoes. The T-shirt said HANNAH MONTANA ’08 TOUR and had a picture of another kid. The child had no sexuality but she was hotter than hell nevertheless, as the smart, feisty ones always are. She’d never back down from nobody.
“Sweetie, please work with me on this. It’s better for everone. How many people live here? Where are they? When they gonna be home? I don’t want no surprises, and if I’m surprised, you ain’t gonna be a happy camper.”
He showed her the grip of his shoulder-holstered Glock.
“In case you don’t get it, that’s a real gun. I am a real bad man and I have to be here for a time. I ain’t gonna hurt you. You ain’t a witness, because my name’s already on a hundred circulars. But I am the real thing, and there ain’t no heroes no more, nobody’s coming to save you, so you do what I say, exactly, or there will be some problems. And I’m the easy one. That guy, Ernie, with me? He is a true bastard. I’m the only thing between your family and him.”
He loved the perfect tenderness of her beautiful little ear: so tiny, so precise, like some kind of exquisite jewelry.
“You’re an ape. Why are you doing this? We have nothing.”
“I am not an ape. Well, maybe a little. Sweetie, we’re here because we’re here and we’ll be gone when we’re gone. What are you, Chinese?”
“Vietnamese. My grandfather’s with the hospital, a researcher. My father’s dead, my mother works. My brother and sister will be home by four, Mom at five. Please don’t hurt us. We don’t have a thing, we haven’t done a thing.”
“There you go, sweetie, talking about hurting. I told you, nobody gets hurt long as I get smooth cooperation. Here’s how it’s gonna be. Grandma’s in here with you. You can watch TV, go to the bathroom, whatever. You can fix food. But that’s it. We’re going to be outside in the living room, looking out the sliding doors at the building across the parking lot. Don’t know for how long. If we’re still here when the other folks start arriving, it’s your job to keep them from going nuts. You tell them what’s what. You cool them down. You have to be a grown-up today. How old are you?”
“None of your business, you ape.”
“Wow, you do have snazzle. I like that. Think somewhere I got a gal your age. Hope she’s got the same snazzle. Anyhows, go ahead, hate me, I’m used to it. I kind of like it, truth is. Maybe that’s why I turned out so rotten. Anyhow, you got responsibilities. You have to please God. I am God. Please me and you’ll come out happy.”
“You’re not God. You’re an ape bastard bully with a gun.”
He saw he was never going to make any headway with this one, which of course made him really like her a lot. Maybe too much. An idea was starting to form. He could get her in the bathroom and she had to do what he said or he’d hurt her family so she’d have to do it. He saw her fear, her little body, the trembling. It excited him.