‘I know your words. That’s the same, to me.’ Chris lit a cigarette, offered the pack to Luke, who shook his head. His anger seemed gone, quick as a snap of fingers. ‘So. What’s the information you have about the wreck in Ripley?’
‘It was a bomb.’
‘Old news. Next?’ He smiled. ‘I bet you know who put it there.’
‘Yes,’ Luke lied. ‘The government.’ He thought this story was exactly the kind of meat that Chris liked to chew.
‘Ah. And you have proof of this, in exchange for my many kindnesses to you?’
‘I think I can find the proof. If I had the right kind of help.’
‘Help.’
‘I need to know if you’re part of a… group that can help me.’
‘Group.’
‘The Night Road.’
‘You want to know if I’m part of the Night Road.’ He looked, to Luke’s astonishment, as if he might laugh.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a really good lie,’ Chris said. ‘Better than I expected.’
‘I’m not lying. I…’
‘I want in.’
‘In what?’
‘In whatever group you’re a part of. Is it called the Night Road? I like it, kind of a twist on the Shining Path. The Peruvian terror group. They’ve lasted a good long time.’
Luke blinked. He’d made another misstep. ‘I’m not part of any group. I thought your group could help me.’
‘I don’t care for liars. You know what I mean. The group your step-father is putting together.’
Luke crossed his arms. ‘You know him?’ Oh, God, what if he’d contacted Henry, told him Luke was coming here.
‘Yeah.’ Chris exhaled a stream of smoke. ‘I joined the online groups because no one believed as I did. None of my family, none of the people I tried to be friends with…’ He caught himself and said, ‘None of my friends. But you don’t really belong to anything in this world. The people in the internet groups, they’re nothing but talk, sound and fury, signifying very little indeed.’ He pointed out the painting of the fists connected by lines of fire. ‘That’s what the online communities should be, fire and action and burning this dirty nasty world to ash so we, the right and noble people can start again, but they aren’t.’ Now he turned his gaze to Luke and Luke’s blood chilled. This guy, he realized, wasn’t just angry, he was clinically crazy. The triumph in Chris’s eyes was bent, wrong, ugly. ‘The new group you’re in, you’re shutting me out now. That just won’t do.’ The smile slid back onto the white mouth.
‘I told you, I’m not part of any group.’ He was suddenly more scared of this guy than he had been in the cottage kitchen with Mouser. Chris’s soft, false grin was a mask for a different, twisted darkness.
‘Your stepfather contacted me, Luke. A month ago. Wanted to meet me for coffee near the airport. I recognized him from CNN yesterday, talking about you.’
A thrum of horror touched Luke’s chest. ‘Did he say why he wanted to meet you?’ This was it, proof that Henry had taken Luke’s research – and personally reached out to the extremists. And he’d pissed this one off.
‘He found me through the IP address I used to post from. He said he admired the beauty and logic of my arguments. My passion. It’s not the kind of invite I get every day. I went and I had coffee with him. He wore a heavy cap, and different glasses, and he spoke with a Southern accent he seems to have lost when on television. But it’s him.’
‘But it didn’t go well.’
‘I can see judgment in eyes of lesser people. I’m a threat to folks, their sense of security. Because I’m smarter and more talented. Mother tells me everyone’s jealous. It explains a lot. But I wasn’t good enough for him.’ The awkward happiness he’d shown earlier was gone, replaced by a simmering fury. ‘Can you imagine?’
He was a threat because he was crazy, Luke realized. Not focused, not disciplined like Mouser or Snow. The army doesn’t want the crazies, neither does the Night Road. Crazies are a risk.
Chris had not been invited to the party.
Luke looked past Chris’s shoulder, searching for a weapon, a way to defend himself. His gaze fell again on the paintings: the fists bound in a web, the two sullen teens. With a wrench of his gut he recognized their faces. The Columbine gunmen. ‘Maybe my stepfather didn’t properly assess your potential contribution.’
‘He wanted to know if I’d ever thought of turning my words to action. Did I have computer skills? Was I able to get money easily, did I have contacts in the drug world? Please. I don’t cloud my head with drugs. I’m a decent guy who’s just sick of hypocrisy. And I guess being a painter just isn’t enough.’ The sneer deepened. ‘I never heard from him again. If he was contacting me about world-changing work, it stands to reason he was contacting others. People he’d found on the discussion boards who can make a difference. So.’
‘So.’
‘You’re valuable to him. You’re my invitation into his private club.’ Luke took a step backward. ‘You’re wrong. Dead wrong.’
‘You beg me for help, and now you won’t help me. Story of my life.’ His anger turned into a pleading whine. ‘I could be of real value to you guys. I can help you change the world. I could finally…’ He stopped and in Luke’s head he heard the sad simple truth: I could have friends.
What was it like when even the fringes rejected you? He saw an abyss in Chris’s anguished stare.
‘I am really, really tired of being told I’m not good enough. I caught you when no one else could. So let’s you and me call your stepfather, and see what we can work out.’
Luke closed the three steps and he slammed his fist into Chris’s jaw. It surprised them both. Chris crumpled and the pain from the blow rocketed up Luke’s arm. ‘Did you tell my stepdad I was coming here?’ Luke yelled.
Chris fingered blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘You hit me. You can’t hit me.’ He sounded like a first-grader, outraged by a breach of playground etiquette.
‘Answer me.’
‘Yeah. I sold your ass. I give you back, I get in the Night Road, I get to show how I can shine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘They should be here for you soon. I just wanted you to know I’m much smarter than you. Much smarter than they are.’
‘You’re insane.’
Slowly Chris got to his feet, as though feeling his arms and legs for the first time. ‘The martial arts studio next door. They teach krav maga. You know the beauty of krav maga?’
‘Now you’re raving.’
He gave a disgusted huff. ‘Krav maga is Israeli self-defense. I joined because when the war comes, I wanted to be ready. People said I fought like I enjoyed it too much. They kicked me out.’ He rolled his eyes at this bit of insanity. ‘But I learned enough to break your bones. You’re not going anywhere.’
And he rushed at Luke.
17
The first series of precise blows sent Luke reeling across the scattered sketches on Chris’s table. His face, already bruised from Mouser’s blows, hurt bone-deep. He was going to get the snot beaten out of him by this freak.
‘No quarter is given in krav maga,’ Chris said, with the calm of a lecturer. He paused to pick Luke up, hammer his chest and face with a flurry of fists, and shove him hard toward the scrawled paintings.
Luke crashed into the bad art and a table of paint supplies. He blinked past the pain in his jaw and his chest, and saw Chris sauntering toward him, snapping fingers, dancing on the balls of his feet. Luke’s hands fumbled for an improvised weapons. His fingertips roamed across brushes, spilled water bottles, a dried, dirty palette. His hand closed on a metal canister.
A spray paint can.
‘I’m Necessary,’ Chris said. ‘To be given a high place in the emerging order. Everyone then will know my name. Know my art. Know my
…’ Luke’s back was to Chris and as Chris lifted a foot to hammer a kick into Luke, Luke spun and fired a jet of red. A scarlet mist caught Chris in the face. He howled and lurched back. Crimson frosted his eyeglasses and Luke slammed a chair into his chest. Twice, hard. Chris fell.