Earl squinted, waved his hand dismissively “I said Alice.”
“No, you said Brenda. I'm not high. I heard you distinctly.”
“Naw, baby. I never said no Brenda, know ah'm sayin’? That gal was at the house wasn't Brenda. Jus’ some friend of my sistah. In fact, wasn't no gal up in there at all.”
“No, I don't know what you are saying. Why do you always talk like some inner- city Americo-African thug? Do you know what I am saying?”
“So, I been thinkin’ on how all I'm gonna spend the two grands.”
“Is that right?” Alice said.
“Firstest, we go gets my tat completed up, know ah'm sayin’? Then I gots my eye on niss fat chain what's ultra hot. And some kicks that on be mean time fo’ tha feets. You wants yo man to be kickin’ it cool. Look, baby doll, two grand ain't all that much bread. We gots us a major opportunity here to score a lots more.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“We ain't settlin’ for no two. We gettin’ a whole ten. Know ah'm sayin’? We put the three-eighty up that cracker's nose and tell him ten, Brenda.”
Alice cut the wheel to the right and back hard to the left twice before pulling to the shoulder.
“Whasup? You driving crazy.”
“Do me a favor, Earl.”
“Like what?”
“Get out and make sure my back tire isn't going flat. The car is driving funny. Let me unbuckle your seat belt,” she said.
She undid his seat belt.
Earl grinned dumbly. “I ain't gots to get all the way out, on account I can lean out and see up under at the wheels.” He opened the door, turned in his seat, leaned out, and put his head down close to the ground, stretching to look under the car.
Alice swung her legs up and, pivoting around, planted her back against the door. When her feet connected, Earl flew from the car and landed limbs akimbo, facedown in the gravel. Alice roared away, leaving him lying beside the road. In the rearview she saw him turning his head to watch her.
She slammed on the brakes, opened the door, got out, planted her hands on her hips and yelled, “Walk home, you stupid ass! And screw yourself!”
She would have to just get used to the idea of doing this all alone. After all, she only had to hand over the little car and she could do some shopping at Game World with her reward money.
FIFTY-SIX
Todd arrived at the enormous mall early. In a plain envelope in his front pants pocket, Todd had twenty crisp one- hundred- dollar bills. In a second envelope he had an additional twenty crisp fifties. With someone as squirrelly as Alice Palmer, he had to hedge his bets. This had to end tonight.
After parking, he locked his Colt 1911 in his glove box before climbing out and locking the doors. Pocketing his keys, he walked toward the entrance, joining the throngs filtering into the building.
Hartman made his way to the food court, ordered sesame chicken at the Hunan kiosk, and sat down with his back to that restaurant to eat a leisurely meal and wait for Alice Palmer to show up. From his vantage point he could keep his eyes on both ends of the enormous open space, packed with hundreds of tables and chairs. During the peak hours scores of trash receptacles were emptied every ten minutes, and the tables were filled with patrons. It was a perfect place as public spaces went. At least this way even a wing nut like Earl shouldn't be a potentially dangerous variable.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Natasha poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle they'd purchased on the way home from the cemetery. She opened Leslie's laptop on the counter and waited for it to power up. She heard the TV come on and a few familiar bars of music flowing from the den.
“It's about the virus,” Ward yelled from the den. “Breaking news!”
She rushed into the room to stand beside her husband while the newscaster explained that the child- porn virus was planted on the computers at RGI by a saboteur. The announcer said the FBI and the Charlotte police department would be holding a joint press conference the next morning, but that RGI had been cleared of all accusations.
“All right!” Ward hollered, hugging Natasha. “That's it. Damnation be gone.”
For ten minutes Natasha read her e-mails. About half of them were from people that were furious because her computer sent the virus to theirs. She was careful not to open any e-mails with attachments since the virus was still out there, and probably in some of those e-mails.
The other half of the e-mails were from people saying they knew Ward didn't have anything to do with the virus. It was warming to read those. She had e-mails from her parents, and other members of her family in Washington and Oregon, expressing their support. Her mother asked for Natasha to call them as soon as she could because her phone stayed busy. There were several “call me's” in the stack. All of her partners (except for Dan Wheat) had e-mailed saying they hoped she'd let them know if they could help in any way. They were all time- dated before Ward had been cleared.
And even though she and Ward hadn't discussed it since Barney's birth, they could have another child, and she hoped Ward would be up for that, because she most certainly was. No child could ever replace Barney, but they had plenty of love to give a new child, or children. She smiled at the thought of another McCarty
Gizmo. The odd word kept rattling around in Natasha's mind, because she was sure she'd heard it before under circumstances related to her practice, even though she couldn't zero in on an image her memory could replay. Maybe, because the word was a source of anxiety she was imagining it meant more to her than that. The nearly hieroglyphic decoration was obsessively executed and had to have taken untold long hours of concentrated effort to accomplish. The five letters had been as uniform as letters chiseled into a tombstone by a stonemason.
She looked down at the legal pad, where she had written the word out and doodled circles and stars around it, trying to trigger something solid.
She had the feeling that if she could just remember, she'd know something crucial.
She was about to turn off the computer when she had an idea. She went to Google and typed in the word “Gizmo.” There were eleven million, eight hundred thousand and seventeen hits. She shook her head slowly as she pondered the mountain of hay that might contain the needle she was searching for.
She typed “Gizmo” and “Charlotte NC.” There were ten thousand and seventy- one hits. When she added the word “Obituaries,” there were fewer than three thousand, still an unmanageable number. The first one was: survivors are her father, Richard M. Morrison, Sr., of Harrisburg, NC; her aunt, Glenda Eudy, and husband, Clint, of Greensboro; and her cat, Gizmo.
Natasha smiled strangely. Why, she wondered, had she added the word obituaries? That seemed odd. The second one was:
Oct. 14, 2003, at the Community Medical Center in Scranton after being suddenly stricken. rlene loved her babies: her dogs, Cody, Cindy, and Gizmo.
It seemed to be a popular name people gave their pets. Perhaps, she mused, having a pet named Gizmo could be hazardous to your health.
She had a thought. Since it was her memory, she added NorthEast Medical Center, Concord, and there were only five. She had read through two entries, when she saw something in the third that made her blood run cold.
FIFTY-EIGHT
When Gene Duncan called, Ward was watching the news as a commentator said that the RGI virus was designed by a thirty- yearold Charlotte resident named Bert Marmaduke. The newscaster said that suspect Marmaduke had been murdered the evening before his body was found, but gave no cause of death, and made no mention of Trey Dibble's connection to the event. Ward was wondering if the media people refrained from mentioning Trey because Flash's advertising dollars kept the regional TV stations solvent. He figured it was just a matter of time.