"You were telling me those hobos working out there in the yard were cleaning up after raccoons that got in the trash…" he said, trying for a smooth scientific segue.
"That's right," she said, looking out the window at Hollywood Mike and Lucky, who were just finishing up raking trash from around the Dumpster.
"Well, I did some 'index case' research on raccoons a few months ago."
So did /, Stacy thought, remembering the paper that had earned her five hundred dollars from Animal Science Magazine and Augie, the ceramic raccoon from Max.
"My study," Dr. Lack continued, "showed the relationship in raccoon HIV-1 variants that infect brain-derived positive cells in humans."
She knew the study. It had been done by three Japanese microbiologists. Nowhere had she ever read that a Dr. Charles Lack was involved. "You and Dr. DeMille must be awful busy over at the prison," she said, refocusing the conversation.
"You know Dex DeMille?" Charles asked.
"Not to talk to. I seen him in town at the grocery store once or twice. He always has guards protectin' him, like he was a national treasure or some damn thing."
"Well, not exactly." Dr. Lack was choosing his words carefully now, working up to a hatchet job on his rival. "Dr. DeMille is a troubled, highly dissociative personality, who needs to be watched constantly. I don't like to use terms like 'suicidal,' so let's just say that they're watching him for his own good."
"Son of a gun, an' I thought it was 'cause he was so important,"
she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Well, lemme get this order in 'fore y'all faint from hunger." She moved away, and as she passed the table full of soldiers, they whistled at her, pawing out as she swept past.
"Need another round of beer, Stace," one of them shouted.
"It's comin', sugar," she chirped, and darted past them. "And hold it down. This ain't the rodeo." She gathered some dirty plates off a sideboard and backed through the swinging doors into an over-hot kitchen where Barney, the harassed owner-chef, was flipping burgers, stirring chili, and falling behind on the orders. He patted his damp forehead with the towel he always had around his neck.
"One Bud Light and another round of long-necks for the table from hell," she said to Barney. "Dr. Lack wants a CB, full-house, and a side bowl of red. And the two 'bos are almost through with the raccoon cleanup, so you better decide what ya want to pay 'em and throw their steak an' eggs on."
"I'm goin' inta the trees here, Stace," Barney said. "I'll get to the hobos when I can."
He put the beers on her tray with an opener, then shoved two fruit salads through the pass-through. "Here's yer two number fours with yogurt sides for table nine."
"Right," she said, scooping them both up, balancing them on one hand. Then she picked up the tray of beers and backed through the swinging doors, into the restaurant. She set the salads on a side bar and took the long-necks over to the rowdies.
"Here's the rescue lady," one of the soldiers yelled as she snapped the tops off with a church key and passed the beer around. The one closest to her tried to slip a hand around her waist as she leaned in to distribute the last beer to the soldier by the window.
"Easy there, babe," Stacy said, playfully slapping his hand away. "Don't be messin' with the wagonmaster."
The others hooted their appreciation.
After her parents died, she had waitressed all during her teens to save up enough to put herself through college. The first thing she had learned was how to serve a meal without getting tackled.
She finished distributing the beer and scooped the salads up off the back console and moved with them to a nearby table occupied by a mid-sixties couple named Sid and Mary Saunders.
Sid was a retired dentist, with a full supply of old jokes. Mary was gray-haired and always pleasant. They told her they had just had their silver wedding anniversary and had moved to Vanishing Lake to live out their golden years. Mary was glaring at the table full of rowdy soldiers.
"How do you ever put up with it?" she asked angrily.
"Sorry, Mrs. Saunders. I just got through asking them to hold it down. Here's yer two low-cal pineapple boat salads, each with a side a' peach yogurt," she said, sliding the plates in front of them. "I'll get yer two iced teas."
Mary went on, "When it was a prison we were so worried somebody would escape and kill us in our beds. We thought it would be so much better when the University took it over, but now we have all these soldiers."
"Oh, why don't you quit yer damn complaining," Sid growled uncharacteristically, startling both Mary and Stacy.
"All morning you've been sullen and mean," Mary said. "What on earth is the matter with you, Sid?"
"I'll be right back," Stacy said, wanting to avoid this strange domestic quarrel. As she turned away to get their iced tea, she heard Mary say, "Don't glare at me like that!" Then Stacy heard a commotion behind her at the Saunders table. She turned and saw Sid scramble unexpectedly to his feet. He was glaring angrily at his wife.
"What is it?" Mary demanded.
"God damn you!" he shouted.
"I beg your pardon?" Mary Saunders said.
Now everybody in the restaurant fell quiet and looked at the round-faced dentist, who was cursing at his wife in public for no apparent reason. His face was suddenly contorted, his complexion pumped with blood.
"You hush up, Sidney," Mary hissed. "Sit back down and behave. What's gotten into you?"
"Fuck you!" he screamed in rage. Then he reached down and picked up a serrated steak knife from a basket on the console. Without saying another word, he lunged at his wife and plunged the knife deep into her chest. Mary Saunders let out a gasp as the knife was slammed into her up to the handle. Blood, thick as motor oil, oozed down her white silk blouse and pooled in her lap. Then she began to scream as her husband turned and bolted from the coffee shop amid the startled shouts of the other patrons.
Stacy had momentarily frozen, but now reached out for the old woman, who was still seated upright in the booth, looking down at the knife in her chest in horror and disbelief. Then Mary went into her first death spasm. Her whole body jerked uncontrollably, her right hand banged hard against the table. The blade had pierced her heart, and Stacy knew that the convulsions signaled oxygen starvation in the cerebral cortex. The old woman spasmed several more times as Stacy held her, trying to give her comfort. Then Mary Saunders let out a long sigh and fell sideways onto the upholstered couch.
Stacy reached out and felt for a heartbeat, but Mrs. Saunders was dead.
Sid was standing in the middle of the street between the restaurant and the dock. His teeth were bared. He was still yelling obscenities. Two soldiers had chased him out of the restaurant. They stood on the porch of the Bucket a' Bait, looking with alarm at the growling, snarling dentist in the center of the street.
"Let's go. Let's take him. He's just an old guy," the tall Army Corporal said. "You go right, I'll go left."
They separated and moved off the porch, toward Dr. Saunders. It was then that the old man charged. He attacked with such fury that both twenty-year-olds could not restrain him. He clawed at them. His teeth snapped savagely as they tried to tackle him.
Two other soldiers from their table could see through the window what was happening outside. They got up and followed their buddies onto the porch. They watched in disbelief as the old dentist seemed to actually be overpowering two men one-third his age. The rage and adrenaline that drove him were, in that moment, too much for them. The two remaining soldiers bolted into the street. It took all four of them to finally subdue Sid Saunders.
They tied his hands behind his back, using their belts. Then they dragged him, screaming and cursing, into the restaurant. Barney suggested they put him in the empty food locker out back. It was a sturdy, windowless room with a padlock. They shut the door and snapped the latch. They could still hear him shouting incoherently after the door was closed.