Overwhelmed by the flowery incense, Clay’s mind was stuck in an ever-hardening glue of confusion. At his side, Savy was mute, stunned at the sight of Rocco and Deidre in the flesh.
Onscreen, Deidre bent herself over the couch and Boyle positioned himself lustfully behind her. Feeling perverted and embarrassed, Clay wanted to look away. Or storm out of the room. He did neither as Karney unmuted the audio, so they could hear the dirty pillow talk.
“You were there that night,” Savy managed, “weren’t you, Davis?”
“Shhhh,” the rock star hissed. His Adam’s apple bobbed rapidly, sucking from the bottle. “The killer’s about to make his entrance.”
He was right. As Boyle and Deidre lost themselves in their lovemaking, another figure appeared on the outer edges of the candle glow. He was wearing all black, his face paper-white. In the soft light, he looked younger than the man lounging in the recliner, much younger, but the comparison was unmistakable. Davis Karney had transported himself back in time to stand in the Generator and watch Boyle and Deidre with eyes that were neither repulsed nor aroused.
“Rooster,” Clay said. “That’s what they called you.”
And Karney cock-a-doodled and immediately broke up in a spasm of wet coughs. “Huk-huk! Rooster—huk!—that’s a name I thought I’d buried. Isn’t it a-huk-mazing how the past, huk-huk-huk, creeps back on you?” He flopped back in his recliner and that was when Clay spotted what was stashed on the far side of the room. The fire-red canisters. Six of them in all. The under-smell was easy to identify after that.
Shit! Holy shit! “Sav,” Clay whispered. “Savy, we have to split. Right now.”
She followed his gaze, understood.
“Kerosene,” Karney confirmed. “Growing up in Kentucky, I was a little pyro. Huk-huk! Burnt down my family’s barn and killed three horses. Did you read my autobiography?”
Clay and Savy were silent.
“Of course not. But you’ve read every line of every one of Boyle’s books, haven’t you?” Karney shook his head and didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “That’s fucking life for you. Always living in a shadow. Well, if you’d bothered reading the first chapter of For Unlawful Karney Knowledge, you’d know how killing those horses broke my heart. I learned my lesson about playing with fire. Except—guess what? That was a lot of bullshit my ghostwriter added. Because my heart soared when my daddy found their carcasses. Huk-huk! Goddamn things had no love for anyone unless there was food in your hand. And fire’s always been good to me. Ever been to one of my shows? Of course you have—’cause I don’t have to compete with Rocco Boyle for ticket sales. The masses have to see someone for their rock fix, don’t they? So you’ll recall there’s always a pyrotechnics display. And don’t forget the ‘McGorgeous’ video where everyone’s running on fire. I’ve a guy on my payroll who literally gets paid to play with matches. He’s turned me on to all kinds of flammable liquids and jellies. But it’s lowbrow kerosene I love most—’cause it reminds me of Daddy dragging those burnt Morgans out of the barn. I’ve stockpiled gallons. Just waiting. Huk-huk-huk! For a visit like yours.”
With mounting dread, Clay glanced back toward the exit and saw his wet footsteps on the floor. “The room’s lined with the stuff,” Karney said. “It’s on the walls, in the ducts. One spark and we’ll all qualify for the Freddy Krueger lookalike contest.”
“Listen, man, there must be some mistake,” Savy stammered. “We only came to get your autograph.” She squeezed Clay’s arm and started towing him toward the exit.
And for a moment, Clay thought her nonchalance would work.
“Don’t fucking think about it.” Karney dropped the TV remote and lifted a gun. It was silver and compact, and it shined in the same devilish hue as the candles on TV. Karney bared his teeth and pointed it right at Savy’s face.
“No, no, no.” Clay stepped forward, standing in the way. “Be cool. Please. We’re not whoever you think we are.”
“I know exactly who you are!” Karney screamed back. “And WHO sent you! Now you’re both going to—huk-huk—stand here and watch the rest of this—and you’re going to know exactly what happened to them before you do a thing to me.”
The fear sat in Clay’s gut like a meal gone wrong. His eyes shifted helplessly to Savy, who was studying the weapon in Karney’s hand. Slowly her expression shifted from fear to a bold hardness. “I’ve seen a few pieces in my time,” she said. “Enough to spot a fake—”
Karney pulled the trigger. Clay flinched. A three-inch flame emerged, rising straight out of the barrel. A cigarette lighter. “Good eye, bitch. But you haven’t been listening. I don’t want to shoot you, I want to burn you. All I need is to drop this in my lap and the house and those platinum records upstairs and Kiss Kiss in her bath and me and the two of you are totally, irrevocably fucked.”
It was true—Davis Karney had saved the last canister to douse himself and the cushions of his recliner. And yet, despite his righteous tone, his body was trembling, his terror palpable. As if he was the victim here.
“No one sent us, Davis,” Clay insisted. “We’re not going to hurt you. So please don’t—”
A woman screamed and they all jumped, thinking Kiss Kiss had entered the room to witness the death trap. Except the scream had come from the television. From Deidre. She and Boyle had switched sexual positions, and she’d spotted the man in the shadows.
The intercourse was over quickly after that. Boyle withdrew from his lover and swung around to confront what had scared her. Their backs and buttocks faced the camera, bare and vulnerable-looking, while their visitor waded into the candle glow. “Rooster?” Boyle said.
The younger Karney’s face wore no expression. “All those backstage whores weren’t lying, were they? You’re hung
