“You picked her up a couple of blocks away, brought her a change of clothes, a paper cup for elimination. The two of you drove toward the school, parked a few blocks away, and walked over. Hand signals. High adventure- she must have loved it.”
Ahlward gave a disgusted look. “She was a pain to work with, took a long time to learn everything. Pure Mengele fodder, destined to live and die as shit. I gave her the gift of immortality, more than she could ever hope for.”
“Real act of kindness,” I said.
“Sometimes,” he said, stroking his gun, “it’s cruel to be kind.”
I said, “You popped the lock on the storage shed and camped out for the night. She with her rifle, you with your pistol. Waiting. Stalking. Just like Bear Lodge. Telling her to go to sleep- you’d take first watch and wake her when her turn came. Letting her sleep until sunrise and then letting her know there’d been a change in plans: You were going to do all the shooting, just to make certain everything went smoothly. Not to worry, she’d still be a hero. Your assistant. Maybe she accepted that. Or maybe she put up a fuss- wanting personal revenge. You thought you had her convinced. But when the time actually came to shoot- when Massengil and Gordie and the kids poured out on the yard, she pulled a fast one on you. Grabbed the rifle. Second cadre wasn’t good enough for her.”
I gave Latch a smile, turned back to Ahlward before I see his reaction.
“Her shot went wild. Of course. The recoil knocked her down and she dropped the rifle. You got hold of it, had to think fast, consider your options. The optimal choice would have been taking aim, squeezing off a good one at Massengil, and then doing her. But looking out the window you could see the moment of opportunity had been lost- panic, everyone screaming, running for cover, no clear shot. Not that you’d have minded a few dead kids, but that would have complicated matters. Vis-à-vis P.R. So you took your pistol and shot Holly in the face- kept shooting her. Eight times. Shot three rounds from the Remington- all of it together sounded like war to those out on the yard. Then you walked back to the yard carrying your smoking gun, ready to play savior. No one had seen you actually enter the storage shed, but the panic took care of that: No one remembered anything but their own fear. And the press hadn’t arrived yet, with their cameras and their recorders. Besides, if anyone asked, Gordie and the troops could always be counted on to step forward as eyewitnesses to your heroic dash to the shed. Quick reflexes and calm under fire, D.F. Job well done.”
Wink from the couch.
I said to Ahlward: “It must have been nice being the star for a change. Getting the credit you deserved instead of standing in his shadow- such a puny shadow at that. But after all your planning, you still hadn’t managed to get rid of Massengil. The guy was turning out to be a goddammed Rasputin. Another assassination attempt soon after would look funny, raise all sorts of questions. Your instinct was to wait, let him live out another term, bide your time. But Gordie didn’t like that. He pushed you. And now you know why: He knew he’d be losing his hope chest soon. Fortunately for him, the productive Ms. Bramble had gleaned another bit of inside info on Massengiclass="underline" kinky sex with Cheri Nuveen on a regular basis, Dobbs looking on. Bramble even knew when the next appointment was. Given that, the rest was easy. A simple hit, Dobbs as dessert, no apparent connection to the schoolyard. First day, Gordie comforts the widow and plays Mr. Compassion. Next day, you leak the hooker stuff to the press and knock off the widow as a viable candidate. Along with any of Massengil’s cronies: guilt by association. The voters would have to wonder if they’d attended any of Massengil’s parties. Leaving guess who.”
I leaned forward. “It’s fine as far as it goes, D.F., but what do you really think it’s going to accomplish? Let’s say he gets elected. Even manages not to screw up for a term or two and goes on to Washington. There’s no substance to him. Nothing to build an empire on. It would be like constructing a palace over a sump hole.”
Latch swore.
Ahlward smiled. “You think he’s the only one? I’ve got placements all over.” He used the knife as a pointer. “Serious talent. Each of them young, photogenic. Courageously liberal. Until the time comes.”
“Wannsee Three.”
“And Four and Five and Six.” Anger and impatience in the amber eyes; the knife stabbed air. “Whatever it takes to get the job done. Like you said, I’m a patient man. Long-term planner. Willing to wait until the time’s right and the cleansing blood flows. Washing away all the anthro-pretenders and putting together a new age that’s genetically honest and beautifully cruel.”
“How poetic.”
“Who else knows what you know?” he said.
“How about the police for starts? I sent them tapes.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Bullshit. You believed our FBI scam. If you’d been in contact with the police they’d have called in the Feds, and the Feds would have interviewed you already. We’ve been watching you, know who you’ve met with. Try again, turd.”
I said, “You’re assuming greater efficiency on the part of the authorities than they deserve. Bureaucratic wheels turn slowly. The cops know. I was waiting for the FBI. That’s why I opened the door for Blanchard and Crisp. And I didn’t buy the scam. They had to sucker-punch me to get me here.”
“I said Try again.”
“That’s it, D.F. Just the cops. There’s no way you’re going to pull this off.”
“Negative thinking,” he said. “Time for a little preliminary scrub.”
He stood, holding the gun in one hand, the knife in the other. Running his eyes over Milo, he said, “Despicable. How can you live with yourselves, the things you do?”
He rotated the knife, “Here’s the way it’s going to go down, You and him doing filthy stuff- your filthy friendship. Things get out of hand. You beat him up badly. Trash him to death, then start feeling so guilty that you write a little note and blow your own faggot brains out.”
I said, “Shame to dirty up your warehouse. Randy might not like that when it comes time to give it back to her. Not to mention the health hazard from faggot blood.”
He smiled. “Not to worry, turd. We’ve got a nice little place all set up for you. Cock-sucky motel over in Pacoima.”
“Another of her real-estate tidbits?”
He said, “C’mon, time for a butt-hole party. Up you go.”
I remained seated.
The gun waved. The pink eyebrows climbed.
“I said Move it,” he said.
Wink wink wink.
I ignored him.
All at once the blunt face was transformed into something livid and howling:
“I said Get the fuck up!”
I stood. Very slowly.
Latch rose, brushed off his trousers, and smiled at me. “Thought you might want to know we’ve also got something planned for Little Miss Principal. The snotty cunt- does she know you swing both ways? That you’ve been infecting her?”
I said, “She doesn’t know anything.”
I could tell from the way his face creased in a Kewpie-doll smile that I’d allowed my terror to show.
“Hey,” he said, “you were balling her, which means pillow talk. She’s a liability and it’s all your fault. She’ll be having a wild time tonight.” He clicked his tongue. “Really wild. Shocking example of the burgeoning rise in crime on the West Side. Perfect timing for my campaign. I’ll be showing up at the crime scene, pledging my troth to law and order. That’s the way we work, you fucking piece of shit. Nothing ever goes to waste. Not even the squeal. And boy, will she squeal.”