'Not so lucky-he still got cooped up here for twenty-odd years. Longer than he would've been in prison. Maybe it wasn't just alcohol. Pelley'd been mining for years; he could've got some kind of heavy-metal poisoning in his system. Or he was just a short-term crazy, freaked out and got better. Whatever, he never needed any neuroleptics, just some antidepressants. Year after year, he's hanging around, no symptoms, guess they thought it didn't make sense.'
'Antidepressants,' said Milo. 'Sad sack?'
'Why all the interest? He cause problems on the outside?'
'Only for himself, Frank. Starved himself to death.'
Dollard's mouth twitched. 'He never liked to eat… So where'd they find him?'
'In a garbage dump.'
'Garbage dump,' said Dollard, as if visualizing it. 'This is gonna sound bleeding-heart, but he wasn't really that bad of a guy. At least when I talked to him, he really felt remorse for what he'd done to his girlfriend and those kids. Didn't even wanna get out. Which don't excuse what he did, but…' He shrugged. 'What the hell, we all have to go sometime.'
'Who was his doctor?' I said.
'Aldrich. Not Argent.'
'You're sure he had no contact with Dr. Argent?'
Dollard laughed. 'Can't be sure of anything but death and taxes. And to answer your next question, he wouldn't a known Peake, either. Pelley was on B Ward, Peake's always been on C.'
'What about out on the yard?' I said.
'Neither of them ever went out onto the yard that I saw. Peake never leaves his damn mom.'
'So who did Peake have contact with?'
Dollard's eyes got cold. 'I answered that last time you were here, doc. No one. He's a damn zombo.' He looked at his watch. 'And you're wasting my time. Let's get this over with.'
Turning, he stomped past the big gray building, bull neck pitched forward. A well-trodden dirt path veered to the right. When we reached the west side of the building, the dirt kept snaking to a group of three low, single-story beige structures cooking in the full sun.
A sign said ANNEXES A, B, AND C. Behind the smaller buildings sprawled another brown yard, as wide as the one in front, locked and empty. Then more chain link and a bulk of forest. Not eucalyptus, like at the entrance. Denser, green-black, some kind of pine or cedar.
'Where does that lead?' said Milo.
'Nowhere.'
'Thought there was only one building.'
'These aren't buildings, they're annexes,' said Dollard, smiling. He hurried us past A. Double-locked door, plastic windows. Darkness on the other side of the panes, no signs of habitation. Outside were a few plastic picnic benches and a cement patio swept clean. The silence was punctured by occasional shouts from the main yard. No birdsongs, no insect chitters, not even the faintest stutter of traffic.
Annex B was empty, too. I sensed something behind me, glanced over my shoulder. The main building, shielded from the morning sun, had darkened to charcoal.
Then the illusion of movement danced in a corner of my right eye, and my head buzzed, seized by split-second vertigo that passed just as quickly.
I looked back without stopping. Nothing. But for that brief interval, the entire structure had seemed to tilt forward, as if straining on its foundation. Now it was immobile as a building had to be, rows of windows dull and black, blank as a series of empty scorecards.
Dollard hurried to Annex C, stopped at the door, nodded at the pair of techs standing guard. Two black men. No Wark. They checked us out before stepping back. Dollard used his key, opened the door wide, peeked in, let the steel-reinforced panel swing back in Milo's face as he charged in.
'Morning, gentlemen,' Dollard repeated.
None of the men returned the greeting. He said, 'Let's do the pledge,' and began reciting. No one stood. Dollard's tone was bored. Chet and Grandpa and the lean black man joined in.
'Hey, all you patriots,' said Dollard when it was over.
'Born in the U.S.A.,' said Chet. To us: 'Top of the morning to ya morning becomes Elektra electrified all those ions ioning boards gotta keep everything smooth, pressed, even the French cuffs, fisticuffs cuffing up Rodney King yo bro.'
The lean black man angled his head toward Chet and shook it disgustedly. No one else seemed to pay attention to the giant's ramblings, though the old man's hands were shaking more conspicuously.
'Okay,' said Dollard, perching on the edge of the oak desk. 'It's been a while since you guys got together because Dr. Argent no longer works here but-'
'Fuck her,' said the sweating Hispanic. 'Fuck her in the ass.'
'Paz,' said Dollard in a tight voice. 'Keep it clean.'
'Fuck her,' said Paz. 'Giving us her pretty-face attention and then cutting out on us.'
'Paz, I explained to you that she didn't quit, she was-'
'Fuck her,' Paz insisted. Sweat dripped from his chin. He appeared on the verge of tears. 'Fucking fucked up, man… no fair.' He looked at his classmates. None of them paid attention.
'Fuck her,' he said weakly. 'Can't motherfucking treat people like that.'
'Fuck you,' said Chet, cheerfully. 'Fuck everyone everything the old Kama Sutra pretzel bake about time we had some fun around here oral love oral roberts oral hygiene.'
'Fuck her,' said Paz sadly. He closed his eyes. His chest vibrated with every exhalation. The vibrations slowed. Within seconds, he appeared to be sleeping.
'Nighty-night,' Chet said. 'Fuck everyone equality for all rights and responsibilities and participatory democracy with liberty under God livery too riding a pale horse-'
'Enough,' said the lean black man. Weary voice, but clear, calm, almost parental.
'Good point, Jackson,' said Dollard. To Chet: 'Enough, big man.'
Chet remained cheerful. His yellow beard was littered with crumbs and his eyes were bloodshot. He gave a throaty, equine laugh. 'Enough is too much enough is never enough unless which is a paradox so enough can be anything depending on the dimension of-'
'Hey, man,' said Jackson, sitting up straighter, 'we all know you went to school, you're a genius, but hey. Okay?' Baring his teeth at Chet.
Chet said, 'I'm no genius I'm the genus and the species and the-'
'Yeah, yeah, yeah, the mama, the son, and the Holy Roller Ghost,' said Jackson. 'Hey, okay. Chill out, okay?' His grin was pantherish.
Chet said, 'Hey hey hey bro muhfuh you know whu hey hey hey I be okay you be-'
Jackson moved forward in his chair.
'Chet,' said Dollard.
'Chet,' said Jackson.
'Chet,' giggled Chet. Slapping his desk, he reached down, bared his ruined leg, ran his hand along the pole of skin-sheathed bone.
Dollard said, 'Cover that up.'
Jackson had disengaged, was staring at the ceiling. Kindly Grandpa twiddled his thumbs and smiled sweetly.
Paz let out a loud belching snore.
Chet continued to finger-walk up and down his own leg. A smile spread slowly, bristling the yellow beard.
Another snore from Paz.
'Cover it,' said Dollard.
Chet laughed and complied.
The heavy, freckled black man's head lolled; he seemed to be sleeping, too. Grandpa caught my eye and favored me with a smile. His cheeks were fresh apples. The comb tracks in his hair were drafting-table precise.
The only one who hadn't moved was the pale, thin man in the stocking cap. His fists remained glued to his
