"You're in luck," Jannie teased her brother. "Your kind rules."
Finally, at around six, we crossed Madison Drive to the Mall. The kids were quiet, tired, and hungry by then — and so was I. We ate a picnic supper under spreading shade trees at the foot of the Capitol.
It was the best day I'd had in weeks.
No calls from anybody.
Chapter 38
As he had done so many times before, probably a dozen times by now, the Mastermind watched Alex Cross and his family.
Love equals hate, he thought. What an incredible equation, but so true, absolutely true. It made the world go round, and that was a lesson Alex Cross needed to learn. Christ, he was such a fucking optimist. It was infuriating.
If anyone had cared enough to study hispast carefully they would have discovered the keys to everything that had happened so far. His personal crime and murder spree was one of the most daring in history. It had lasted for over twenty-eight years. He could count the mistakes he'd made on one hand. The keys were right there for anybody to see:
Narcissistic personality disorder.
That's where it all began. That's where it would end.
A grandiose sense of self-importance.
That was him, all right.
Expects to be recognized as superiorwithout commensurate achievements.
Preoccupied with fantasies of unlimitedsuccess, power, brilliance, or ideal love.
Interpersonally exploitive.
Yes, indeed. He lived for it.
Lacksempathy.
To put it mildly.
But please note, Dr. Cross and others who might wish to study the long and winding trail — this is a personality disorder. There is no psychosis involved. I am an organized, even obsessive, thinker. I can work out elaborate plots that serve my need to compete, criticize, and control. The three C's. I am rarely impulsive.
Questions you should be asking about me:
Are my parents alive? Answer: Yes and no.
Was I ever married? Answer: Yes.
Any siblings? Answer: Oh, absolutely. Nota bene.
If I'm married, do I have any children? Answer: Two genuine American beauties. Isaw that movie, by the way. Loved Kevin Spacey. Adored him.
And am I attractive, or physically flawed in some minor way? Answer: Yes and yes!
Now, do the homework! Draw the love and the hate triangles in my life, Dr. You're inthe triangles, of course. So is your family — Nana, Damon, Jannie, and Alex Jr. Everything you care about and think that you stand for is right there in those beautiful triangles, wrapped up in my obsessions.
So unravel it, before it's too late for both of us. Not to mention everybody you care about in the world.
I'm right outside your house on Fifth Street, and it would be so easy to barge inside right now. It would have been easy to kill you and the family at the Smithsonian, the "Smitty," as your daughter calls it.
But that would be too easy, too small, and, as I've been trying to tell you...
The phone in the Mastermind's hand was ringing, calling, reaching out to touch somebody. He patiently let it continue.
Finally, Cross picked up.
"I have a grandiose sense of self-importance," the Mastermind said.
Chapter 39
I settled back into my duties in Washington, where I took some abuse from my detective pals about how much I seemed to enjoy working with the Federal Bureau lately. They didn't know that I had been approached about becoming an FBI agent and was actually thinking it over. But I was still drawn to the mean streets of D.C.
I had a decent week on the job, and when another Friday rolled around, I also had a date. It struck me a long time ago that the best thing that ever happened to me was being married to Maria and having two great kids with her. It's not an easy thing to play the dating game at any age, especially when you have kids, but I was committed to it. I definitely wanted to be in love again if I could, to settle down, to change my life. I suppose that most people do.
Occasionally, I would hear my aunts say, "Poor Alex, he doesn't have anyone to love, does he? He's all alone, poor baby."
That wasn't exactly true. Poor Alex, my butt. I have Damon, Jannie, and little Alex. I also have Nana. And I have lots of good friends in Washington. I make friends easily — like Jamilla Hughes. So far, I haven't had trouble getting a date either. So far.
Macy Francis and I had known each other since we were little kids growing up in the neighborhood. Macy went on to get a couple of degrees in English and education at Howard and Georgetown. I went to Georgetown, then Johns Hopkins for my doctorate in psychology.
About a year ago, Macy returned to the Washington area to teach English lit at Georgetown. We met again at one of Sampson's parties. We talked for an hour or so that night, and I found that I still liked her. We agreed to get together again soon.
I called Macy when I got home from my bust of a trip to California. We met at the 1789 Restaurant for drinks and maybe dinner. Macy's choice. It was near her place in Georgetown.
The restaurant is in a Federal-style town house at Thirty-sixth and Prospect. I got there first, but Macy arrived a few minutes later. She came up, gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek before we sat down in the cozy pub. I liked the fleeting touch of her lips, the smell of a citrus fragrance on her neck. She had on a lilac turtleneck sweater — sleeveless — a black skirt that lightly hugged her, suede sling-back heels. She had small diamond studs in her ears.
As far back as I can remember, Macy had always dressed well. She'd always looked nice, and I guess I had always noticed.
"You know, I'll tell you a secret, Alex," Macy said once we had ordered glasses of wine. "I saw you at John Sampson's party and I thought to myself, Alex Cross looks better than he ever did. I'm sorry, but that's what went buzzing through my head."
We both laughed. Her teeth were even and shiny white. Her brown eyes were bright and intelligent. She had always been the smartest in her classes. "I thought the same thing about you," I told her. "You like teaching okay, the new job at Georgetown working out? The Jesuits leaving you alone?"
She nodded. "My father once told me you're lucky if you ever findsomething you like to do. Then it's a miracle if you can find somebody who'll payyou to do it. I found both, I guess. How about you?"
"Well," I said seriously, "I'm not sure if I love my job or if I'm just addicted to it. No, actually I do like it most of the time."
"You a workaholic?" Macy asked. "Tell the truth, now."
"Oh, no… Well, maybe… some weeks I am."
"But not this week? At least not tonight."
"No, this week has been mostly relaxed. Tonight is very relaxed. I need a whole lot more of this," I said, and laughed.
"You look relaxed, Alex. It's so nice seeing you again." Macy and I continued to talk easily. A few people were eating at banquettes in the pub room, but it was mostly quiet. Parents of Georgetown students often take their kids to 1789 for a special meal. It is special. I was glad I was meeting Macy here. She'd made a good choice.
"I asked some girlfriends about you," she confessed, then giggled. "Alex Cross is 'not available,' a few of them said. 'He's kind of a coconut,' one sister said. The other girls said she was crazy as a loon. But — are you?"