“According to the news, he was in an awful hurry to get you out before he went gonzo.”
For a moment, Russell found himself back in the car with Mary Alice, turning the corner and being almost blinded by visibar lights, then that cop came over and pounded on the window and said, “This area’s restricted for the moment, kid, so you’re gonna have to—” and Mary Alice shouted, “Is that the Leonard house? Did something happen to my family?” And then the cop shone his flashlight in and asked, “You a relative, ma’am?” and Mary Alice was already in tears, and Russell felt something boiling up from his stomach because he saw one of the bodies being covered by a sheet, and then Mary Alice screamed and fell against him and a sick cloud of pain descended on their skulls—
“I had no idea, okay?” The words fell to the ground in a heap. Russell thought he could almost see them groan before the darkness put them out of their misery. “Do I have to keep on saying that, or should I just write it in braille and shove it up—”
“—you knew, you had to know!” The mean-spirited mockery of earlier was gone from Mutt’s voice, replaced by anger with some genuine hurt wrapped around it. “He was your best friend!”
You need the money, Russell.
“Two of ’em was always together,” said Jeff, just loud enough for the microphone to get every word. “Everybody figured that Brennert here was gay and was in love with Andy.”
Three hundred dollars, Russell. Grocery money for a month or so. Mom and Dad will appreciate it.
It seemed that both of his hands were gripping the mop handle, and somehow that mop was no longer in the bucket.
He heard a chirpy voice go into its popular singsong mode: “This is Tanya Claymore. I’m standing outside the house of Irving and Miriam Leonard at One-eighty-two Merchant Street, where—”
“You wanna do something about it?” said Mutt, pushing Russell’s shoulder. “Think you’re man enough to mess with me?”
Russell was only vaguely aware of Davies coming down from the porch and shouting something at the news crew; he was only vaguely aware of the second police officer climbing from the cruiser and making a beeline to Ms. News Babe; and he was only vaguely aware of Mutt saying, “How come you came along to help with the cleanup tonight? Idea of seeing all that blood and brains get you hard, does it? You a sick fuck just like Andy?” But the one thing of which he was fully, almost gleefully aware was that the mop had become a javelin in his hands and he was going to go for the gold and hurl the thing right into Mutt’s great big ugly target of a mouth—
Three hundred dollars should just about cover the emergency room bill—
Then a hand clamped down so hard on Mutt’s shoulder that Russell thought he heard bones crack.
Jackson Davies’s smiling face swooped in and hovered between them. “If you’re finished with this nerve-tingling display of machismo, we have a house to clean, remember?” Still clutching Mutt’s shoulder in a Vulcan death-grip, Davies hauled the boy around and pushed him toward one of the barrels. “Why can’t you use your powers for good?”
“Hey, we were just—”
“I know what you were just, thank you very much. I’d appreciate it” — he gestured toward Jeff — “if you and the Boy Wonder here would get off your asses and start carrying supplies inside.” Russell reached for a couple of buckets, but Davies stopped him. “Not you, Ygor. You stay here with me for a second.” Mutt and Jeff stood staring as Ms. News Babe came jiggling up to Russell in all of her journalistic glory.
Davies glowered at the two boys and said, “Yes, her bazooba-wobblies are very big, and no, you can’t touch them. Now get moving before I become unpleasant.”
They became a blur of legs and mop buckets.
Russell said, “Mr. Davies, I’m sorry, but—”
“Hold that thought.”
Tanya and her cameraman were almost on top of them; a microphone came toward their faces like a projectile.
“Russell?” said Tanya. “Russell, hi. I’m Tanya Claymore, and—”
“A friend of mine once stepped on a Claymore,” said Davies. “Made his sphincter switch places with his eardrums. I was scraping his spleen off my face for a week. Please don’t bother any member of my crew, Ms. Claymore.”
The reporter’s startling green eyes widened. She made a small, quick gesture with her free hand, and her cameraman swung around to get Davies into the frame.
“We’d like to talk to both of you, Mr. Davies—”
“Go away.” Davies looked at Russell, and the two of them grabbed the remaining buckets and barrels and started toward the house.
Tanya Claymore sneered at Davies’s back, then turned around and waved to the driver of the news van. He looked over, and she mimed talking into a telephone receiver. The driver nodded his head and picked up the cellular phone. Tanya gave her mike to the cameraman and took off after Davies.
“Mr. Davies, please, could you — dammit, I’m in heels! Would you wait a second?”
“She wants me,” whispered Davies to Russell. Despite everything, Russell gave a little smile. He liked Jackson Davies a lot and was glad this man was his boss.
Tanya stumbled up the incline of the lawn and held out one of her hands for Davies to take hold of and help her.
“Are those fingernails real or press-ons?” asked Davies, not making a move.
Russell put down his supplies and gave her the help she needed. As soon as she reached level ground, she offered a sincere smile and squeezed his hand in thanks.
Davies said, “What’s it going to take to make you leave us alone?”
Her eyes hardened, but the smile remained. “All I want is to talk to the both of you about what you’re going to do.”
“It’s a little obvious, isn’t it?”
“Central Ohio would like to know.”
“Oh,” said Davies. “I see. You’re in constant touch with central Ohio? Champion of the common folk in your fake nails and designer dress and tinted contacts?”
“Does all that just come to you or do you write down ahead of time and memorize it?”
“You’re not being very nice.”
“Neither are you.”
They both fell silent and stood staring at each other.
Finally, Davies sighed and said, “Could we at least get our stuff inside and get started first? I could come out in a half hour and talk to you then.”
“What about Russell?”
Russell half raised his hand. “Russell is right here. Please don’t talk about me in the third person.”
“Sorry,” said Tanya with a grin. “You haven’t talked to any reporters, Russell. I don’t know if you remember, but you’ve hung up on me twice.”
“I know. I was gonna send you a card to apologize. We always watch you at my house. My mom thinks you look like a nice girl, and my dad’s always had a thing for redheads.”
Tanya leaned a little closer to him and said, “What about you? Why do you like watching me?”
Russell was glad that it was so dark out, because he could feel himself blushing. “I, uh... I — look, Ms. Claymore, I don’t know what I could say to you about what happened that you don’t already know.”
The radio in the police cruiser squawked loudly, and the officer down by the vans leaned through the window to grab the mike.
“All right,” said Tanya, looking from Davies to Russell, then back to Davies again. “I won’t lie to either of you. The news director would really, really prefer that I come back tonight with some tape either of Russell or the inside of the house. I almost had to beg him to let me do this tonight. Don’t take this the wrong way — especially you, Russell — but I’m sick to death of being a talking head. Don’t ever repeat that to anyone. If—”