“What color were they?”
“Red. It’s going to be a girl.”
The hospital Yolanda had chosen was called St. Joseph’s, only everyone called it St. Joe’s. It was a long drive from where they lived, but Yolanda had checked around and been told it was the best. That, and she’d found the right doctor, a white-haired Russian gentleman with a twinkle in his eye and the gentlest of hands. Those hands, she had decided, would bring her child into this world.
“Did you talk to Gerry? Does he know?” Mabel asked when they were on Dale Mabry Highway and only a few miles from the hospital.
“He hasn’t called since yesterday,” Yolanda said.
“Oh,” Mabel said.
A wailing ambulance blew past, and traffic stopped altogether. Mabel threw the car into park. She glanced at Yolanda and saw the corners of her mouth trembling.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“There was another part of my dream,” she said.
“Please tell me.”
“The man with the truck gave me an apple. I went into our house to show Gerry. Only he was gone, and so were his clothes and all his things. It was like he’d disappeared.”
Cars were moving again, and Mabel tapped the accelerator. Reaching across the seat, she took Yolanda’s hand and held it all the way to the hospital.
Amin pulled up Bart Calhoun’s gravel driveway and saw his teacher’s mud-caked pickup truck parked in the garage. Calhoun had not impressed him as the type who spent his Sunday mornings in church. He killed the engine and took several deep breaths. He did not like this part of it. Calhoun had
Amin looked up and down the street. The neighborhood was not fully developed, and Calhoun’s closest neighbor was a quarter mile away. He opened his door and glanced sideways at Pash. His baby brother looked terrified.
“Promise me you will not let me down.”
Pash stared at the dashboard as if hypnotized.
“Answer me,” Amin said.
“I will not let you down,” Pash whispered.
Amin glanced in the backseat at Gerry, still bound and gagged. “What about him?”
“He is not going anywhere.”
“What if he tries to escape?”
“I will beep the horn to alert you.”
Pash’s lips were trembling. Amin put his hand on his brother’s knee and said, “The end of one journey is at hand, while another is about to begin.”
Amin started to climb out. In his mirror, he saw Gerry staring at him. Reaching between the seats, he smashed his fist into Gerry’s stomach. Gerry curled into a fetal position, his gag muffling his screams. Amin had killed five different men whose identities he’d stolen in the past two years, and their final moments had ranged from defecating on themselves to crying like babies.
“If you try to escape, I will come out and shoot you. Understand?”
“Yes,” Gerry spit through his gag.
Amin adjusted the .357 in his pants so the handle hung over his belt buckle. He covered the weapon with his sweatshirt and got out of the car.
He was smoothing the sweatshirt out when Calhoun answered the door. His teacher was unshaven, and there was lint in his buzz cut. Like he’d just woken up, Amin thought. Only Calhoun’s eyes were alert. He squinted at Amin.
“What’s up?” Calhoun asked.
“Pash and I are driving to Laughlin to play blackjack,” Amin said. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions to help avoid the surveillance.”
There was a hesitation in Calhoun’s response, a split-second delay that wasn’t normally there when he spoke. A screen door separated them. Calhoun kicked it open with his foot.
“Want some coffee?” he asked as they crossed the house and entered the converted garage that served as Calhoun’s classroom.
“No thanks.”
Calhoun flipped the fluorescent lights on, and their brightness momentarily blinded Amin. He walked painfully into a desk and heard Calhoun’s pace quicken. His teacher was heading for his office.
Amin followed him, fingering the .357’s handle beneath his sweatshirt. His teacher’s office was Spartan. A desk, and a swivel chair with busted leather. On the desk sat an ancient PC. Its screen saver was on, and showed tropical fish swimming in a deep blue ocean.
Calhoun took the chair and slapped his elbows on the desk. The desk was covered with flash cards that he used to test his students.
“What seems to be the problem?” Calhoun asked.
Amin hesitated. His teacher had already forgotten their conversation.
“Pash and I are going to Laughlin.”
“Oh, that’s right. Why do you want to go there? The casinos are all burn joints. Make a big wager, and management will sweat your play like there’s no tomorrow.”
Amin stiffened. Calhoun had his legs under the desk, and was moving them. His teacher was a cowboy. From what Amin had seen in the movies, cowboys were prone to doing stupid things.
“We need a break from Las Vegas,” Amin said. “You mentioned during class that the facial recognition equipment in Laughlin was easy to beat. You got interrupted and never explained how.”
Calhoun smiled at him. “Most of the casinos in Laughlin use the same surveillance cameras they had ten years ago. Walk through them fast enough, and the lens can’t pick up enough information. I’ve got a book on which casinos in Laughlin have them.”
“You do?”
“Sure. Want to see it?”
“Yes.”
Calhoun shot his hands under the desk. Amin hesitated, then jumped back, the shotgun blast coming straight through the desk and missing his head by a few inches. The flash cards exploded into the air.
Calhoun frantically tried to reload. Amin drew his .357 and pumped four bullets into him. His teacher’s chair was on wheels, and he flew straight back, hit the wall, then fell off the chair onto the floor.
Amin came around the desk. Calhoun lay on his back. His eyes had a flicker of life in them. His lips parted, and Amin realized he was trying to say something.
He had always liked Calhoun. His teacher was what Americans called a man’s man. He knelt down and placed his ear next to his teacher’s lips.
“Fuck your mother,” Calhoun whispered.
His teacher died before Amin could shoot him again.
Amin took the swivel chair and sat in front of the PC. The computer looked like the first one ever made. He clicked the mouse to erase the screen saver. The underwater scene vanished, and he found himself staring at an FBI MOST WANTED poster. In its center was a picture of him, standing on the sidewalk outside the Excalibur. He scrolled up and found a note from the sender.
Bart, every casino in town got this last night.
Ever see this guy before?
Amin read the poster and swore in his native tongue.
The FBI had tied him to the murders in Reno, Detroit, New Orleans, Biloxi, and Atlantic City. It didn’t have a lot of information, but it said just enough—
He got off the Internet. Calhoun’s computer had a word-processing program called WordPerfect, and he
