MATTY
“It won’t open,” Julian said. “What’s the matter with this place?”
“Shut up, Julian,” Malice said. She was at the window, her ear pressed to the metal shades. They’d all heard the bang from upstairs. Matty had told the older kids that it was Archibald’s equipment blowing up again, but now he wasn’t sure. Malice said, “There’s a bunch of people yelling, and I can’t tell what it’s about.”
“Don’t scare the kids,” Matty said. But he didn’t have to worry about them. All five of the younger kids were fascinated by Mr. Banks—and the puppy was fascinated right back. It stood on Luke’s chest, aggressively licking his face, which made Adrian and the girls fall out with laughter. Cassie and Polly seemed especially giddy, bordering on the manic. A Beanie Baby come to life! It was a Labor Day miracle.
Matty twisted the door handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. “That’s weird,” he said.
“Told you,” Julian said. He pushed Matty aside and tried again.
Malice said, “We’ve got to get out there.” She looked worried. He’d never seen Malice like this. Her default mode, except when she was with her friends, was Profound Disinterest.
“I’m sure somebody will hear us eventually,” he said.
“Fuck that.” She pushed him into the laundry room and closed the door behind them. “You need to go look. Out there.”
Then he realized what she meant. “I can’t just go,” he said. “It takes…preparation.”
“They’re hurting my dad!”
“Okay, okay. Do you have some pot?”
“We don’t have time for that,” she said. “Give me your hand.” She took his palm and jammed it against her left boob.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed.
“How’s that?” she asked. Pretty great, he thought. But that wasn’t what she was asking.
She studied his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold you up.”
“Okay, but I still can’t just—”
She grabbed his crotch.
He jumped in surprise. His body, however, hadn’t moved. Suddenly he was floating three feet away from it, his psyche intermingled with a shelf full of cleaning products. Malice still had her hand on his crotch. His body’s jaw went slack, and then it began to slump. Malice grabbed it around its chubby waist and lowered it to the floor so that its back was propped against the washing machine.
“Get out there,” Malice said to it. His eyes had rolled back in his head, but his face retained an expression of amazement.
He spun in midair and zipped through the room full of children, through the metal blinds, and into the backyard. His family was gathered by the tree. Mom and Frankie were trying to hold back Loretta, while Buddy hovered nervously behind them, his hand resting on a machine. Across from them stood two men: the bartender from the tavern, and the old guy with the fifties hairdo who’d been in Mitzi’s office. Ancient Elvis. He was waving a gun, and Matty thought: He’s going to shoot Loretta.
Then Teddy stepped in front of the men, and Matty thought: No, Elvis is going to shoot my grandfather.
TEDDY
When he was younger and stupider, Teddy thought that getting gunned down would be the perfect capstone to his career. The Sun-Times would write up his life story, and the world would finally learn about the greatest card mechanic in Chicago. But that was before he met Maureen, before she gave him these children—who, unfortunately, had all decided to congregate in front of a madman.
“You can’t win,” Teddy said. “You’re outgunned.”
Nick laughed. “You mean that guy?”
Archibald still aimed the micro-lepton gun at Nick. But the weapon was less than useless to a non-psychic. He’d been lying when he said it caused stroke and paralysis. Teddy believed in the power of suggestion, but Nick was beyond suggestion, and well into the realm of mania.
“No, I mean—” A flash of light, like the reflection off a watch crystal, distracted him. It flickered from the house to a spot in front of him. Which made no sense, because light had to reflect off something to be seen, and this will o’ the wisp—was already gone. A trick of the light. Or of his aging mind.
“He means us,” Irene said. “We’re the Amazing Telemachus Family, asshole. And you’re screwed.”
“Step aside,” Nick said.
“No dice,” Teddy said. Suddenly Graciella was beside him. He said, “Honey, let me—”
“Honey?!” Nick shouted.
“Go home,” Graciella said to Nick.
“Oh, I’m going home. Go get the boys. They’re coming home with me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Graciella said.
“I’ll kill you where you stand,” Nick said. “I’ll kill all of you.”
Without turning his head, Teddy said, “Irene?”
She put her hand on his shoulder—and did not squeeze. Not a bluff, then. Nick really was that crazy. Teddy would have to appeal to a higher power.
“Barney,” he said. “You really going to go to the electric chair for this guy?”
The bartender sighed deeply. Then he said, “Come on, Nick. Let’s go.”
Nick wheeled on him. “What did you say?”
Barney grabbed the pistol in both hands, and yanked it out of Nick’s grip. It was the bravest thing Teddy had ever seen.
“We’re done here,” Barney said.
“God damn it!” Nick screamed, and he threw himself onto the bartender.
Both men had their hands on the pistol, Barney at the grip, Nick with both hands around the barrel. Nick wrenched it sideways, and for an awful moment the gun was pointed at Teddy. Then for a worse moment it jerked toward Graciella. Teddy pulled her to him—
—and the ground exploded beneath their feet.
He didn’t have time to even shout.
IRENE
Later, when she had time to think it through, she still wouldn’t be able to decide what had occurred in what order. In the moment, however, everything seemed to happen at once: she screamed, her father and Graciella vanished, a gun fired.
The gun. Nick and Barney were still fighting over it, grunting like bears. She couldn’t tell who was winning. The men had become a tangle of arms, a furious, tumbling mass.
What the hell had happened to her father? A hole had appeared where they stood.
No, reappeared. Buddy had dug it early in the summer. But hadn’t he filled it in? Irene and Frankie and Loretta stood frozen. Two more feet closer and they’d have fallen in, too. And Buddy—
Buddy lay on the ground behind her.
For a long moment, her body was paralyzed. Then, with no memory of moving, she was on her knees beside him. Buddy lay still, his head turned away from her. Frankie and Loretta hadn’t noticed he was down; their attention was riveted to the fighting men.
The gun went off a second time, followed by another sound. She flinched, and then realized the second sound was the sha-ring of metal on metaclass="underline" a ricochet.
Buddy’s eyes were open. He was looking at the orange canister. His hand rested against its side as if it were a dog that needed soothing. His other hand lay on his chest.
She touched his face. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Was anyone else hit? I couldn’t remember everything. I couldn’t see it all. I’m so sorry.”
Anyone else? Irene thought. She looked down at his hand, the way he was pressing it to his shirt.
“It’s almost time,” he said.
She realized that he wasn’t looking at the canister, he was looking at his watch.
Someone screamed in rage. She looked up. Nick Pusateri had gotten the gun. He held it up as if it were a starter’s pistol. His toupee had been pulled back from his scalp, but it was still stitched to the back of his head; it hung over the back of his neck like a pelt.