for you I would have expected a mortal span.”
“The only gift you gave me was misery. Longevity was a gift of the lightning that night.”
“Yes, Father Duchaine said that’s what you believe. Well, if you’re right, perhaps everyone should stand out in a field during a thunderstorm and hope to be struck, and live forever.”
Deucalion’s vision had darkened steadily with the escalation of his rage, and the memory of lightning that sometimes pulsed in his eyes throbbed now as never before. The rush of his blood sang in his ears, and he heard himself breathing like a well-run horse.
Amused, Victor said, “Your hands are so tightly fisted, you’ll draw blood from your palms with your own fingernails. Such hatred is unhealthy. Relax. Isn’t this the moment you’ve been living for? Enjoy it, why don’t you?”
Deucalion spread his fists into fans of fingers.
“Father Duchaine says the lightning also brought you a destiny. My destruction. Well… here I am.”
Although loath to concede his impotence, Deucalion looked away from his maker’s piercing gaze before he realized what he’d done.
“If you can’t finish me,” Victor said, “then I should wrap up the business I failed to complete so long ago.”
When Deucalion looked up again, he saw that Victor had drawn a revolver.
“A.357 Magnum,” Victor said. “Loaded with 158-grain jacketed hollow points. And I know exactly where to aim.”
“That night,” Deucalion said, “in the storm, when I received my destiny, I was also given an understanding of the quantum nature of the universe.”
Victor smiled again. “Ah. An early version of direct-to-brain data downloading.”
Deucalion raised a hand in which a quarter had appeared between thumb and forefinger. He flipped it into the air, and the quarter vanished during its ascent.
His maker’s smile grew stiff
Deucalion produced and flipped another coin, which winked up, up, and did not disappear, but fell, and when it rang against the kitchen table, Deucalion departed on the
Chapter 71
Carson driving, Michael riding shotgun: At least this one thing was still right with the world.
He had called the cell number for Deucalion and had, of course, gotten voice mail for jelly Biggs. He left a message, asking for a meeting at the Luxe Theater, at midnight.
“What do we do till then?” Carson asked.
“You think we could risk a stop at my apartment? I’ve got some cash there. And I could throw a few things in a suitcase.”
“Let’s drive by, see what we think.”
“Just slow down below supersonic.”
Accelerating, Carson said, “How do you think Deucalion does that Houdini stuff?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m a prestidigitation disaster. You know that trick with little kids where you pretend to take their nose off, and you show it poking out of your fist, except it’s really just your thumb?”
“Yeah.”
“They always look at me like I’m a moron, and say, ‘That’s just your stupid thumb.’”
“I’ve never seen you goofing around with kids.”
“I’ve got a couple friends, they did the kid thing,” he said. “I’ve played babysitter in a pinch.”
“I’ll bet you’re good with kids.”
“I’m no Barney the Dinosaur, but I can hold my own.”
“He must sweat like a pig in that suit.”
“You couldn’t pay me enough to be Barney,” he said.
“I used to hate Big Bird when I was a kid.”
“Why?”
She said, “He was such a self-righteous bore.”
“You know who used to scare me when I was a little kid? Snuggle the Bear.”
“Do I know Snuggle?”
“In those TV ads for that fabric softener. Somebody would say how
“He was just happy that people were pleased.”
“No, it was a maniacal little giggle. And his eyes were glazed. And how did he get in all those houses to hide and giggle?”
“You’re saying Snuggle should’ve been charged with B and E?”
“Absolutely. Most of the time when he giggled, he covered his mouth with one paw. I always thought he didn’t want you to see his teeth.”
“Snuggle had bad teeth?” she asked.
“I figured they were rows of tiny vicious fangs he was hiding. When I was maybe four or five, I used to have nightmares where I’d be in bed with a teddy bear, and it was Snuggle, and he was trying to chew open my jugular and suck the lifeblood out of me.”
She said, “So much about you suddenly makes more sense than it ever did before.”
“Maybe if we aren’t cops someday, we can open a toy shop.”
“Can we run a toy shop and have guns?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said.
Chapter 72
Sitting at the kitchen table in Michael Maddison’s apartment, Cindi Lovewell used a pair of tweezers to pluck the last of the wood splinters out of Benny’s left eye.
He said, “How’s it look?”
“Icky. But it’ll heal. Can you see?”
“Everything blurry in that eye. But I can see well with the right. We don’t look so cute anymore.”
“We will again. You want something to drink?”
“What’s he got?”
She went to the refrigerator, checked. “Like nine kinds of soft drinks and beer.”
“How much beer?”
“Two six-packs.”
“I’ll take one of them,” Benny said.
She brought both six-packs to the table. They twisted the caps off two bottles and chugged Corona.
Her wrist had already pretty much healed, though some weakness remained in it.
Maddison’s place was hardly bigger than a studio apartment. The kitchen was open to the eating area and the living room.
They could see the front door. They would hear the key in the lock.
Maddison would be dead two steps across the threshold. Maybe the bitch would be with him, and then the job would be done.
O’Connor being barren, Cindi felt sorry for her, but she still wanted her dead in the worst way.
Opening a second bottle of beer, Benny said, “So who was that tattooed guy?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
