'You know what I've done?' Felton said again. 'You know the Red Rose killer?' His face was bursting with mirth and pleasure. His cheeks were flushed. 'Huh? You know that guy, Ma? Guy ties up colored girls and shoots them in the snatch?'
Mrs. Felton turned and looked firmly at the inexpensive tole lamp at the end of the couch.
Felton threw his arms wide, his face alight with laughter. 'Ma, that's me. I did that, Ma. How do you like them apples, huh, Ma? Your boy Gordon is famous.'
His mother whirled around at him.
'Shush,' she hissed. 'You just shush, this minute. I don't want to hear another word. I have friends to think of. You don't care what you do to me, do you?'
'What I do to you, Blackie? I'm the fucking serial killer, Blackie, and you did it to me.'
'Don't call your mother by her first name,' she said.
'I refuse to listen.' She resumed her examination of the lamp.
Felton stood with his arms apart, his chest heaving, the smile beginning to narrow. His mother gazed steadfastly at the lamp. He looked at her staring away from him and shook his head once. He looked at Susan.
'You?' he said.
Susan shook her head slowly.
Felton stared at her and his eyes slowly filled with tears. He shook his head again and shifted his wet gaze at me.
'So, Big Daddy,' he said. 'It's you and me.'
'What's in the bag, Gordon?' I said.
His eyes dropped. He'd forgotten it. He looked back up at me.
'My stuff,' he said.
His face remained teary, but it began to be shrewd.
'You got a warrant?' he said. His eyes began to move around the room.
I took my gun out from under my arm.
'Right here,' I said.
Mrs. Felton saw the gun. Apparently she wasn't as fixated on the lamp as she looked.
'Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,' she said.
I walked across the living room and picked up the gym bag from the floor between Felton's feet. I handed it to Susan. She unzipped it. 'There's some duct tape, clothesline, and a revolver,' she said, 'and some of those sanitary gloves made out of saran wrap or whatever.' I was looking at Felton. He stared back at me, the tears still muddling his eyes.
'Gotcha,' I said.
Felton smiled faintly. He shrugged his shoulders. From the couch his mother hissed at him.
'Run.'
He looked at her as if she'd appeared from the skies.
'Run, Gordon. We'll say they're lying. No one will know.'
'Ma…'
'Run,' she hissed. Her voice seemed hoarse, almost guttural.
'Run, run, run, run…'
'The gun will convict him, Mrs. Felton,' I said.
'It won't. They don't have to know. They don't.'
She stood up from the couch and walked to her son.
'Would you put me through this,' she hissed. 'For God's sake, run.' She shoved herself suddenly between us. I put one hand on her shoulder. She slapped Felton in the face hard.
'Run, you rotten brat.'
Felton gave her a look of such horror that it made my throat close. He whirled and dashed for the kitchen. His mother grabbed hold of my gun hand.
'Run,' she screamed. 'Run, run, run, run, run.'
I shoved her out of the way and looked at Susan. She had her gun out too. Goddamn.
'I'll be fine,' she said. 'Get him.'
I went out the back door after Felton.
Felton was across the drive when I rounded the corner. He went down the stairs to the beach. I jammed the gun back in the shoulder holster and snapped the safety strap as I went across the drive after him. When I reached the stairs he was a hundred yards up the beach toward Nahant. I settled into a fast jog on the damp sand. My goal
