Down in the Zero

Stay focused, I told myself. Stay inside. Think about the money.

I kept with the Pike to Exit 18, turned north, following the kid's directions. Soon it got real empty, even for the suburbs. Big pieces of land, wood fences that wouldn't keep anyone out, street signs on high posts with names that were supposed to make you think of colonial America and horses.

The roads got narrow. Curvy blacktop. Like moonshine country without the hills.

The house was set back only a short distance from the road. I drove just past it, like the kid said, turned back into a crescent driveway and parked. I could see a big garage through the rearview mirror, on the other end of the driveway. I popped the trunk, grabbed my duffel bag and walked through the quiet night around to the back door.

The lights were on. I rang the bell. The door jumped open— the kid must have been waiting.

I stepped past him into a huge kitchen. It had a nook with a round table set into a bay window, a restaurant–size stainless steel double–door refrigerator, a matching triple sink, more built–ins than I could count.

'Anybody else around?' I asked him, walking through the kitchen, past a dining room dominated by a long, rectangular table, going down a couple of steps into the living room.

'No. Just me. I've been waiting…'

'Yeah. Okay. I'm here now. Like I said. Just relax.'

'You want a drink or something?'

I shook my head no. Kid probably thought I swilled rye by the quart. Next thing he'd ask me if I was packing a rod.

I sat down on a long, cream–colored couch, facing a panoramic window that looked out toward the road. I looked around. The Prof was right— the joint stunk of money. I half closed my eyes, thinking about being alone in the place for a few hours. Jewelry, cash, gold coins, bearer bonds, who knew? Sure, I'd be a suspect, but so what?— I was born a suspect.

A phone rang, a soft, insistent trill. The kid reached over behind him without looking, came out with a white cordless. He pulled out the antenna, said 'Hello' in a shaky voice. Like he was waiting on bad news. Expecting it.

As soon as he heard who it was, his face switched from fear to petulance. He held the phone to his ear for a minute, listening. Occasionally, he tried to get a word in edgewise, but the caller wasn't having any.

'It's late…'

The kid cocked his head, listening.

'I have company and— ' he said.

More listening, shaking his head.

'No, you can't come here. Not tonight. Just find some other fucking place to party, okay?'

He put the phone behind him, still watching me.

'My…friends. They know nobody's going to be home for a while, so…'

'They gonna listen to you?'

His face flashed white, like it never occurred to him that his pals wouldn't stay away.

'Yeah. Sure! I mean there's other places, right?'

'I don't know.'

'Well, there are.' Pouty little creep.

'Whatever you say, kid,' I assured him. 'Is there a garage or something…where I can park my car?'

'Sure. Out by the stables. Come on, I'll show you.'

As we walked around, I got a better sense of the place. Behind the house was a big slab of land, rising up to a flat plateau. 'Three and a half acres,' the kid told me, like I had any idea of what an acre was. 'That used to be the stable,' he said, pointing to a two–story thing that looked like a barn. 'We use it for a garage now.'

He opened the door and I backed my car in between a beige Lexus sedan and a red Mazda Miata roadster. The Plymouth looked like a rhino at a tea dance.

'Yours?' I asked him, pointing at the Mazda.

'Yeah. Graduation present. It's last year's,' throwing it off.

He closed the wood doors to the garage. No lock. I saw a flight of steps around the side of the building.

'What's this?'

'It's to the caretaker's apartment. Above the stables.'

'Caretaker?'

'For the stables. When we had horses. There's nobody there now.'

I looked up at the dark windows. 'You got electricity up there?'

'Sure. It's real nice, actually. Mom says we're gonna rent it out, one of these days.'

I lit a cigarette, thinking how peaceful it was out there, when I heard the thump of rap music on the move. Gravel crunched in the driveway. It was a white Suzuki Samurai, a topless little jeep, loaded with people. The driver