“Sam, you need to put things in perspective.”
“I’m listening.”
“Compared to your brain power, Creed is as insignificant as an ant.”
“That sounds about right,” Sam says.
“Except that you’re an angry little boy, and Creed is all the ants in the world.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Assume you’re standing in your yard, and an ant bites your ankle. It burns. You get angry and stomp on the ant hole and crush it. After a time the ants dig their way out and one of them bites you again. Furious, you grab your garden hose and flood the colony. A few days later, you’re in your kitchen, drinking coffee, when an ant bites your foot. You run outside and pour gasoline down the ant hole and light it. In the process, you set your clothes on fire and get burned half to death. While you’re recuperating in the hospital, the ants continue building their colony. By the time you get home, you’re weaker than you started, but the ants are twice as strong.”
“With all due respect Darwin, what’s your point?”
“When the ants bite you, it’s not personal. It’s what they do.”
“That’s it?”
“In part.”
“What’s the rest?”
“At the end of the day, you’re nothing but an angry little boy.”
“And what’s Creed?”
“A force of nature.”
“
“That’s the spirit, Sam.”
6
Rachel Case.
SAM LOOKS HAPPY, sitting in the chair by the wall.
Rachel’s sitting on the side of her bed, facing him in a room so small their knees are practically touching.
“Where’s Kevin?”
“Las Vegas.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How long’s he been there?”
“At least a month, off and on.”
She lets that information roll around in her head until she loses track of it.
She says, “Kevin’s my boyfriend.”
Sam nods. “Have you ever heard the name Gwen Peters?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“She’s an unusually pretty, platinum blonde.”
“How old?”
“Twenty, I think, and a former stripper. She was married to a gambler named Lucky Peters.”
Rachel moves her mouth to one side and nibbles at the corner of her mouth.
“A stripper? Why would I know a stripper?”
Sam says, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she’s been fucking Kevin.”
Rachel leaps to her feet and slaps him with her right hand. As he tries to cover up, she makes a fist with her left, and connects with his jaw. She rears back to slap him again with her right hand, but he grabs her wrist, then- shit!-takes another left hook to the face. He can’t time the left while holding the right, so he ducks under her arms while standing, and lifts her off her feet and throws her backwards, onto the bed. As she tries to sit up he pins her arms, but leaves his face exposed. She head-butts him, connecting with his nose.
Sam feels it break.
He howls and jumps back and runs out of the room to the infirmary.
Kevin is only allowed to call Rachel once a week, on Sundays, but Rachel can call him anytime, if she gets permission from Major Jordan’s office in Area B. She calls the major’s office, a secretary logs her in and dials the number. Kevin often ignores her calls, but this morning, to Rachel’s surprise, he answers.
“Hi baby!” Kevin says.
“You’re in Las Vegas?”
“I am. How’d you know?”
“Who’s Gwen Peters?”
“You remember Callie Carpenter?” he says.
“The blonde.”
“Right. Anyway, Gwen is Callie’s girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?”
“You’ve been fucking her.”
“Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill her!”
“You’re in an underground bunker,” Kevin says.
“But I’m getting out soon, you said so yourself. And when I do, I’m going to slice her throat and stab her eyes. Then we’ll see how pretty she is! Then I’m going to follow you around and kill everyone you look at! Then we’ll go to bed and make love. When you fall asleep, I’ll stab you eight million times!”
“How’s that psychiatric treatment going for you?” he says.
“You think that’s funny? You think I like being stuck here in this shit hole? You think-”
A strange noise comes over the line. Kevin’s voice is breaking up. She can’t understand him, but it doesn’t matter. Rachel’s got something to say, and says it ten times before hanging up.
What she says is, “Gwen Peters is gonna die!”
7
Miles Gundy (Felix).
WITH THE DERBY City Fair attack behind him, Miles knows the police will keep a close eye on plastic containers. That will last what, three weeks? In two months they’ll let their guard down, and if Miles is still alive, he’ll nail a public office building’s restroom. People are used to liquid soap. They won’t give it up without a fight.
State fair officials around the country will stop using hand sanitizers. Government offices might need a little extra coaxing.
Miles catches his reflection in the interior mirror of his Honda Accord and says, “You know what this means? It means you made a difference, Miles! You changed the system.”
He smiles.
It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in central Tennessee, and everything’s going his way. He created mayhem in
