“Pick up,” Lennox said. “It’s me, babe. Pick up, okay?”
The phone beeped to let him know his time was over. He hung up, wondering if Muriel was there, alone in the living room with the lights off, terrified by the certainty of her dying. He dialed home again.
“It’s okay, babe,” he told the machine. “Things will be all right. Just pick up.”
Maybe she’d sent him on the road because she knew what the doctor would say and knew what she was going to do about it. He could see her lying across their king-size bed, her eyes closed, an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.
“Goddamn it,” he said.
Lennox slammed the receiver on the hook and then dialed again.
“Muriel, please answer,” he said. “Let me help you.”
Still no answer. Lennox had another idea that was as horrible as the first. Maybe she’d sent him on the road because there was someone else she wanted to comfort her.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be home tomorrow night. We’ll talk then.” He held the phone, and then just before his time ended, he remembered to say, “I love you.”
He was as tired as he’d ever been in his life. He unlaced his shoes and pulled his shirt from his trousers and lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
“Trouble at home?” Teddy asked, his voice soft and concerned.
Lennox sat up on the edge of the bed. He told Teddy his story. When he finished, it was as if his body was a balloon that lost its air. His shoulders sagged, his muscles quivered, and he flopped back on the bed, his eyes burning as if the effort of staying open was too much for them. He didn’t think he was crying, but maybe he was.
“Just take it easy,” Teddy said. “Rest awhile.”
Teddy helped him beneath the covers. Then Teddy stood and stretched, took off his windbreaker and tennis shoes. Lennox wasn’t surprised when Teddy slipped in beside him. But then Teddy moved closer and laid an arm over his shoulders, and Lennox stiffened.
“Don’t touch me,” he said.
Teddy put his mouth close to Lennox’s ear. “Don’t push me away,” he said. “Just let me stay here with you.”
Lennox shut his eyes. The whiskey still buzzed through his head, and he felt as if the world were disappearing down a long, narrow tunnel. A few minutes later, he rolled onto his back and told himself it was because his shoulder was aching. When Teddy’s hand moved under the cover, Lennox didn’t stop him.
“I’m not gay,” Lennox whispered.
“Relax,” Teddy said. “You don’t always got to put labels on everything.”
Then Teddy pulled the covers away. Lennox lay still and let the boy do what he wanted and told himself that the moaning in the room was coming from the wind rushing at the windows.
Afterward, Lennox dozed and woke later when he heard the door closing. He sat up, blinking stupidly, and then rushed to the window in time to see the Buick’s taillights easing from the parking lot. His mouth was dry with panic. The boy had stolen his car and probably his wallet and how in God’s name would he explain why he’d picked up a hitchhiker and what they were doing in a motel room with one bed.
“Little queer,” Lennox said. “Goddamn hustler.”
He went for a drink and found the note that Teddy had placed beneath the whiskey. Teddy had “borrowed” a hundred bucks from his wallet and was gone after supplies. Lennox took a shot of the whiskey and lit a cigarette and swore to himself that his relief came from not having to offer an explanation about what happened and not from his fear that he’d never see Teddy again.
Lennox finished his drink and went to the bathroom, stood staring in the mirror at his fat face with bloodshot eyes and broken capillaries on his cheeks. The self-loathing started slowly like water heating on an electric stove. It began with the sight of the bags under his eyes and moved to his hairy gut and then to the shriveled old prick that had stiffened at the touch of another man.
“Faggot,” he said to the mirror.
His disgust passed. He hadn’t touched Teddy. Not once. That proved that he wasn’t gay. A gay guy would have touched back, wouldn’t he? By the time Lennox sat back on the bed with another cup of whiskey, he was sure that almost anyone would have done the same thing under the circumstances. Tonight, they would find a victim, kill him or her together, and say goodbye in the morning. It would be as if none of this had ever happened, and the pain he felt in his chest at the thought of parting with Teddy was just heartburn brought on by too many cigarettes and too much whiskey.
Lennox followed Teddy’s directions. After a lifetime of Michigan winters, he drove expertly in the snow, guiding the Buick around snowdrifts and ice patches while the glowing lights of the fast food joints and strip malls faded and gave way to rolling hills and stretches of field broken only by the occasional farmhouse. Teddy was hyperactive, his hands moving constantly to light a cigarette or pick at the insulated hunting vest he’d bought with Lennox’s money or adjust the sock cap on his head.
“A good time,” he said every few minutes. “This is just too cool.”
Lennox grunted his response and scanned the side of the road for deer. Teddy had been saying the same thing since he came back to the motel with a Wal-Mart bag loaded with a hunting knife, his new jacket, duct tape, and a flashlight. He’d spread their supplies on the bed like a kid showing off his toys on Christmas morning and told Lennox that he’d taken a drive and spotted a target, a house far enough outside of town to give them privacy and yet not too far from the main road to make getting out quickly a problem. Then he stood with his hands in his pocket and waited for Lennox to offer his approval.
“Next right,” Teddy said now.
Lennox took the turn. The snowdrifts were higher here, the road curving and narrow.
“That’s it,” Teddy said.
A small farmhouse sat back from the highway, the last home before a crossroads, and Lennox guessed the nearest neighbor was at least a quarter of a mile away. Teddy had chosen well. Lennox cut his headlights and cased into the drive and killed the engine. His throat was dry and his temples pounded. Teddy was grinning, rubbing his hands together, his eyes wide and manic. Lennox had the urge to let Teddy step out of the car and then lock the door and drive away. He was no stranger to the nerves that came before a killing, but this was different. Teddy was a wild card. Lennox had made him promise that they would play by the rules — they would not be brutal; they would try to terrorize the people as little as possible; when they finished they would slip away, taking nothing with them. Teddy had promised, but now his eyes gleamed and his muscles quivered with anticipation.
“Just do what I tell you,” Lennox said as they started up the drive.
“You’re the expert.”
Teddy slid into the shadows, moving quickly and easily in the dark to the side of the front door just outside the glow of the porch lights. Lennox trudged straight to the floor, out of breath, the snow swirling in his eyes. He kept one hand in his pocket on the butt of the .22 pistol. The ruse was simple. He was a stranger lost in the storm, having car trouble. Just his luck that his cell phone had gone out the first time he really needed it and would they be kind enough to allow him to call Triple A? When they invited him in, Teddy would follow.
He knocked once, waited five seconds, and then knocked again. A thin, thirtyish man with horn-rimmed glasses and a UK sweatshirt opened the door.
“Sorry to bother you,” Lennox said. “But I guess I’m lost and my car’s quit running.”
The man frowned at the intrusion. Then a woman in the background asked who it was. Before the man could answer, Teddy jumped from the shadows, pushed Lennox aside, and rammed his shoulder hard into the door, knocking the thin man off balance.
“Wait!” Lennox shouted.
The thin man brought up his arm, but it was too late. Teddy jabbed the knife hard into the guy’s leg and then hit him in the chin with a right cross that sent him to the knees. A vaguely pretty blond in a bathrobe dropped a bag of microwave popcorn and started screaming. Teddy smiled at her and kicked her husband in the face.