Beyond the Chocolate War

he was the same scrawny kid. But something was different about him. His eyes, for instance. Carter remembered Brother Andrew in Religion describing missionaries who challenged jungles and cannibals as 'God's holy men.' That was Obie now, the gleam in his eyes, his intensity, his missionary zeal. Carter knew, of course, that Obie had broken up with his girl. Had heard rumors of a gang rape. He also knew that Bunting had split Archie and Obie apart Otherwise he wouldn't trust Obie at all.

'Tell me about the diversion,' Carter said.

Obie told him. He required two pieces of action by Carter. The first at the Vigil meeting when the Fool would be chosen. The second during Skit Night.

'Is that all?' Carter asked.

'That's all.'

'Then tell me why. Why you need these diversions.'

'It's better if you don't know the details, Carter. Then you can't be blamed for anything later.'

'Archie's the target, right?'

'Right.'

Carter wondered if he should confide in Obie, if he could tell him about the letter to Brother Leon and the telephone call, about these terrible days and nights while he waited for Archie to take his revenge.

But Obie, he realized, was too preoccupied with his own concerns. And suddenly Carter felt a wave of optimism. Obie was taking action against Archie. And this action, whatever it was, could draw Archie's attention away from himself.

'Okay,' Carter said.

Obie punched his shoulder. 'Terrific,' he said.

'Details,' Carter ordered.

'Later. But I'll tell you this much. Archie Costello will never be the same again.'

'Good,' Carter said, slapping his hand against the dashboard, the sound like a gunshot in the car.

'Unfinished business,' Obie said, flipping through his notebook, using it as a prop in order to avoid looking Archie in the eye.

'The Fool, right?' Archie asked, running his hand over the hood of his car, flicking a speck of dust off the gleaming metal.

'Right,' Obie said.

'And the guillotine,' Archie added, studying his car with a critical eye. He disliked dust and dirt, kept the car properly polished and shining all the time. 'Frankly, Obie, it doesn't excite me. . '

But then nothing ever excited Archie.

Obie was prepared for that reaction but could not show too much eagerness.

'I've got a few ideas,' Obie said.

'What ideas?' Having concluded his inspection of the car, Archie leaned against it now as he fumbled in his pocket for a Hershey.

Obie told him, spelled it all out in detail, as much detail as he dared to risk, knowing Archie would want to provide the final finishing touches. Which he did, of course.

'You surprise me, Obie,' Archie said as he opened the car and slid easily behind the wheel. 'You're developing a devious mind.'

'I learned it all from you, Archie.'

But Archie had already roared away, leaving Obie in a cloud of blue exhaust.

As Carter turned into the main corridor, a book slid from the bunch he was carrying and dropped to the floor. The others also spilled out of his hands. Sheepishly, he bent to pick them up. Disgusted with himself, he pondered the possibility that he was losing his coordination along with everything else.

A commotion farther along the corridor caught his attention. A group of guys had gathered at the trophy case across from Brother Leon's office. Marty Heller, pimple-faced, greasy-haired, called down the corridor: 'Hey, Carter, take a gander at this. . '

Carter hurried toward the cluster of students, curious about what he would encounter at the trophy case. His case, because most of the trophies in it had been won through his efforts.

Marty Heller stepped back and swept the other kids aside. 'Look,' he said.

Carter looked. Aware that the other guys were not looking at the trophy case but at him as he looked.

It was a trophy case no longer. A trophy case has trophies and this case no longer had any. It was empty. But not really empty. On the middle shelf stood a small porcelain ashtray, the land purchased in a joke shop or trick store. The ashtray was in the shape of a toilet.

'Who the hell would steal the trophies?' Marty Heller asked in his squeaky off-key voice. His voice had been changing for three years now, was still totally unpredictable.

'They're not stolen,' somebody said, a voice Carter did not recognize, probably a Vigil plant, courtesy of Archie Costello.

Stunned silence then, but a silence filled with the knowledge of what the voice meant. There was only one alternative to the theft of the trophies. The Vigils. And everybody knew that.

'Jeez,' Marty Heller said, 'Brother Leon'll go ape when he finds out. . '

But Brother Leon did not go ape. Because he never found out. He was away for the day at a conference of headmasters and school principals in Worcester. By the time he returned the next day, the trophies were mysteriously back in place, the small toilet gone.

Marty Heller confronted Carter before the bell rang the next morning. 'What the hell's going on?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Carter told him, hurrying on his way.

But he did know, of course. The knowledge had kept him awake most of the night. And had given him nightmares when he slept.

The cafeteria. First lunch period. A group of guys huddled around the table nearest the entrance to the kitchen. They were staring so intently at a hidden object on the table that everyone else felt it must be a pornographic magazine, something dirty.

Richard Rondell stumbled away from the table in utter disgust. He had in fact expected to see a beautiful dirty picture when he made his way into the group — Rondell was the raunchiest guy in the senior class, with only one thing on his mind — and he was angered to learn what all the excitement was about. Newspaper headlines, for crying out loud.

STUDENT BEHEADED IN MAGIC ACT

And below, in smaller type:

AMATEUR MAGICIAN

GETS PROBATION

The dipping was frayed and wrinkled, edges tattered, obviously ripped from a newspaper. Obie handled it delicately as he held it up for display. He had chosen this moment carefully, making certain that Bannister had been assigned to the second lunch period. The clipping needed only a minimum amount of exposure. Only a few students had to see it. But Obie knew the outcome. The word would be carried to all reaches of the school, exaggerated and embellished probably, racing from student to student, class to class.

By the time the last bell had sounded and everyone headed home or to afternoon jobs, the effect of the newspaper story was firmly established. Now everyone thought that Ray Bannister was a killer.

With a guillotine.

Nobody knew yet that Ray Bannister and the guillotine would become the highlight of Skit Night.

Nobody but Archie Costello and Obie, who'd had the fake newspaper made to order at the magic store in Worcester.

The command came to David Carom from the piano in the parlor as he went down the stairs on his way to take a walk. He had taken a lot of walks in recent days. Had to get out of the house. Away from prying eyes.

The command was earsplitting, a chord played off-key, followed by another, as if a maniac were in the parlor