“Well, what do you like, then?”
“Doing something.” She looked up at him with the dark hair slanting close to her eye. “Something that makes an impression. Something that leaves a mark.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A bullet maybe. That would be a good clean example.”
“Shoot somebody?”
“Shoot something-hear it go off.”
“How about dynamite?”
“Beautiful. I think dynamite would really be fun.”
“But you have to put in your detonators and wire the charge and string the wire out-how about a grenade?”
“Oooo, a grenade, yes! Just pull the pin and throw it.”
“Or hook it up to a trip wire,” Ryan said. “As a joke.”
“I think I’d rather throw it,” Nancy said. “The other way you might have to wait too long.”
“Okay, but where’re you going to throw it?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Nancy said. “I picture throwing it up on a porch or through a window. Isn’t that funny?”
“A guy was telling me, during World War Two the Japs would send these Geisha girls over to our lines bare naked but with grenades under their arms; then they’d come in and the American guys would tell them to put up their hands and wham.”
“Do you believe that?”
“A guy told me that was there.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Why would they walk in? Why not just throw them?”
“Because they were
“Why no clothes? I think your friend’s putting you on.”
“He’s not a friend. He’s just a guy I know.”
“I’ll bet he wasn’t even there,” Nancy said.
“I don’t care,” Ryan said. “Maybe it happened, maybe it didn’t. I don’t care one way or the other.”
Nancy was looking up the slope. She stopped, her gaze holding on the bluff, and Ryan stopped with her. “How about rocks?” she said then. “What if we used rocks and pretended they were grenades.”
“And do what?”
“Throw them.”
“You want to throw rocks.”
“Find some, come on.”
A nutty broad. God, looking for rocks. Very seriously in the dark looking for rocks. It was a dumb thing to do, but he was feeling pretty good now. “Little rocks or big ones?”
“I think a little smaller than my fist,” Nancy said. “They shouldn’t be too heavy.”
“No,” Ryan said. “You can’t have them too heavy. How many you need?”
“Just a few. We’ll make them count.”
Very nutty broad. They took their rocks and went up the next stairway they came to, up to the lawn of a house that was totally dark, partly obscured, and shadowed by trees and shrubbery.
“They’re probably at the club,” Nancy said, her voice low and close to Ryan.
“You know them?”
“I don’t think so. Everyone along here belongs.”
“You’re going to throw a rock at that house?”
“Uh-huh, right through the picture window.”
“Why this house? If you don’t know them-”
“Because it’s there,” the girl said.
“Maybe they’re asleep.”
“What difference does it make?”
They were crouched on their knees at the edge of the bluff. As the girl rose Ryan held her arm with the back of his hand.
“Wait a minute. What do you do after you throw it?” He had taken his sneakers out of his back pockets and was putting them on now.
“I don’t know. Run, I guess. Don’t you run?”
“Where? You got to know where you’re going. You got to have a plan.”
“We’ll keep going around to the front.”
“To where?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just stick with me, Jackie.”
Jackie. Man, he started to think, what are you doing here? But Nancy was up, running crouched across the open lawn, and he was following her, running crouched because she was. It was dumb. There was no reason to hunch your shoulders. You walked in and walked out. Hunching your shoulders didn’t make it work better. You don’t
Nancy stopped within twenty feet of the picture window, which would cost three hundred dollars to replace, and threw the rock in her left hand, throwing it like a right-handed man throwing left-handed. The rock fell short, landing in the shrubbery. “Damn!” Nancy said the one word clearly. She moved in closer, somewhat crouched, turning sideways and throwing in the same motion, and the picture window, a dull reflection in the night, exploded in a shower of glass. She was gone, somewhere around the left side of the house. Ryan raised the rock in his right hand shoulder-high; he started in set to throw as he would for a play at the plate. What the hell are you doing? he thought, and threw in a quick, short motion, not looking at the window, and heard the rock strike somewhere inside the house as he took off after the girl.
“Here!” A whisper hissed from the pines near the road.
She was out of breath, her shoulders moving as she breathed. As Ryan reached her she said, “Did you hear it?”
“Did I hear it? They heard it in Geneva.”
“Loud? Wow. Imagine a real grenade.”
“You know, you throw like a girl. It’s funny, I didn’t think you would.”
“Did any lights go on?” She was looking out through the branches, calming down now.
“I don’t see any. I guess you’re right, they’re at the club.”
She looked up at him. “Let’s do it where people are home.”
“You think that’d be fun, uh?”
“See their reaction.”
“Just stand around and watch.”
“I don’t know.” An irritable little edge in her voice. “Let’s pick the house first.”
The Pointe was old and overgrown with trees, a village of comfortable homes in the north woods, large homes set back from the elm trees that lined the beach drive, smaller but expensive homes on the winding lanes among dense pines and stands of birch. There were more houses than Ryan had pictured, dim shapes now in the tree darkness, soft lamplight showing windows and screened porches beyond well-groomed lawns. Here and there in driveways Ryan picked out the metal shine of automobiles, but there were no cars moving, no headlights creeping along the drive or coming suddenly through the trees. In his mind it seemed quieter than naturally quiet after the shattering sound of the window.
They followed the row of elms, drawn toward the house lights, Nancy leading, then quickly across the road to the pines that bordered one side of a two-story brick and frame Colonial.
“You like it?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t know.” She studied the house for a time. “Lights but no people.”
“They’re in back. In the kitchen. They’re having a glass of milk before they go to bed.”
“Let’s give them one anyway. For practice.”
