And in that moment Nick hit him hard across the jaw. Frankie fell onto his side. Nick pushed himself to his feet. He looked twice as old as he had a few minutes ago. The toupee had vanished, exposing a skull that was hairless except for a fringe at the temple.
“That’s the guy who shot your dad,” Matty said. Shot at, he should have said. He hadn’t had time to explain what he’d seen.
Nick stepped to Frankie. Malice yelled, “Get the fuck away from him!” The twins resumed their miniature screams. Nick raised a boot. The pants pulled up, showing the red flames stitched onto the black leather.
Behind Matty, Julian said, “Pop-Pop?”
Nick glanced at the door, lowered his boot. Maybe it was seeing his grandson. Maybe it was finally hearing the sirens. Either way, he stepped back, breathing hard. Then he looked around as if getting his bearings. He turned and shambled toward a gleaming, finned sedan that looked like it had just driven off a Plymouth showroom in 1956.
Frankie moaned, tried to sit up. Matty said, “He’s getting away.”
Malice said to the twins, “Girls. Look at me.” Cassie and Polly were crying, but they listened. “Girls, you know that thing that you’re never supposed to do?”
Cassie nodded. Polly pushed a hand across her nose.
Malice pointed at the car.
“Really?” Polly asked.
“Do it,” Malice said.
“Okay,” Cassie said.
Nick got within twenty feet of the Plymouth when the hood catapulted from the frame in a shower of sparks. It spun away, end over end. The car battery was on fire. And then the entire engine burst into flame.
Nick stopped walking. He stared at the car for a long moment, and then he sat down in the grass.
TEDDY
Dying by gunshot was one thing. But he’d never expected to be blown up.
There’d been a whump, and then the ground opened beneath their feet, and he and Graciella had plummeted. They landed, tangled in each other—and bounced. Then they came down again, and her elbow slammed into his ribs. It was the pain that convinced him he wasn’t dead.
They’d landed on a stack of mattresses.
Dirt pattered upon their faces. Before they could get the air back into their lungs, they heard gunshots. He’d never used the word “fusillade” before, but he’d just experienced it. Then Frankie had run past the hole without looking down, and there was no noise except for the distant peal of sirens.
Finally they wiped the dirt from their faces, and got breath back into their lungs. Graciella asked the obvious. “What happened?”
“Buddy,” Teddy answered.
“We’ve got to get out,” Graciella said. “The boys are up there.” Even covered in dirt, even wild with anxiety for her sons, she was beautiful.
He looked for a way up. The hole was more than a hole; it had structure. The dirt walls were lined by four-by-fours, spaced every few feet and cross-braced. A wooden frame at the mouth anchored an array of hydraulic pistons. Those had been keeping the door closed, until they suddenly, and violently, weren’t.
It was a God damn tiger trap.
Teddy had known about the hole, he’d watched Buddy dig it, but he’d thought the kid had filled it in, not covered the trapdoor with turf. Somebody could have been killed!
“Can you climb out?” Graciella asked him.
“Hmm,” he said, as if seriously considering it. If he were younger, he might be able to scamper up those cross-braces until the handholds were blocked by the door, then leap manfully and pull himself up. He wondered if he’d ever been that young. Or manful.
Instead, he yelled for help. And again. Eventually two heads appeared at the lip of the grave: Archibald and Clifford.
“Is everyone okay?” Graciella said.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” Archibald said.
Clifford said, “The shooting’s over. The police are here. Destin’s wounded, but he’s fine.”
“The children are fine, too,” Archibald said.
Graciella didn’t look relieved. “Get me out. Now.”
“Is there nobody under seventy up there?” Teddy asked.
“Do you want help or not?” Archibald said.
Teddy made a basket of his hands, and stooped to allow Graciella to step into it. The men above hauled her up and out. Goodness, she had lovely legs. He was almost sad that they hadn’t spent more time down here, trapped like miners after a cave-in. They could have bonded while they waited for lunch to be lowered on ropes.
Archibald and Cliff had to lie on their bellies to reach him. “Just a moment,” Teddy said. He plucked the Borsalino from where it had come to rest against the dirt wall. He brushed it off and set it firmly on his head.
“Now,” he said. The men pulled him up by both arms, and he felt the stitches of the sleeves of the DeBartolo popping at his shoulders.
Archibald and Cliff hauled him onto the grass like a porpoise from a tank. By the time he got to his feet, Graciella had reached the house, calling her sons’ names.
Then Teddy saw Buddy. Irene sat beside him, tears in her eyes.
Not Buddy, Teddy thought. He couldn’t take it if Buddy was hurt. He was their innocent. Maureen’s most beloved.
Teddy glared at Archibald. “I thought you said—”
“I meant the little children,” he said.
IRENE
She saw Dad and Graciella being pulled from the hole, and everything clicked. The evidence was laid out across the house and grounds. The instant sinkhole. The metal, ricochet-proof window blinds. The medal around his chest.
She leaned close to her brother. “You did this, didn’t you? You saw it all.”
“Is everybody okay?” he asked desperately.
“Everybody’s okay,” Joshua said. She looked up. He was studying her with a desperate, worried expression. Jun was at his side, holding a white puppy. Where the hell had that come from? And why hadn’t Joshua run? All this craziness, and he was worried about her. He’d come looking for her.
“How about Dad?” Buddy asked.
“He’s fine, Buddy! He’s fine!”
He burst into fresh tears.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, holding him. “You did good. Look, Dad’s coming.” He was marching toward them, scowling. Dad’s worried face was a lot like his angry face, so it was hard to read his mood.
“I saved one of them, at least,” he said.
“You saved them all, Buddy. All the—”
Oh. He meant one of his parents.
“I think I want to rest now,” he said.
“Just don’t go to sleep.”
“It’s not that kind of tired,” he said. “I can’t keep on like this. Knowing. I’m worried all the time.”
Oh God. All the time? This explained so much about Buddy.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know. Watching out for you guys—that was supposed to be my job.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t take it anymore.”
She heard the truth of it in his voice—and recoiled from it. “I know it feels that way right now,” she said. “But someday soon—”
“I don’t want to know about someday. I don’t want to know about any of it anymore. I just want it to…stop. There’s something you’re going to do for me now, Reenie.”
Dad said, “What the hell is he talking about?” He loomed over them, grimacing. Up close, there was no ambiguity: Buddy was distraught.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Archibald said.
“That thing,” Irene said to the magician. She glanced at his hand. “Does that work?”