“You mean Dale’s party?” asked the only girl in the group. Her name was Poppy. She had long, red hair and an oval face. The oversized T-shirt she was wearing obscured her physique.
“That’s the one.”
“Come with us,” Poppy said. “It’ll be fun.” Then she smiled in a way that suggested she wanted more than just his company.
Ethan awoke in Poppy’s apartment just after the sun had started to rise. The redhead was lying next to him, naked and snoring loudly. He kissed her on the forehead, quietly dressed, and left without waking her up.
His head throbbed from all the drinking the night before. But aside from that, he had nothing to complain about.
He’d gotten drunk. He’d gotten laid. And he knew where he could get a fake ID.
“There’s a shop in Little Five Points called Starlight,” said Dale at the party. He was holding a plastic cup filled with beer, swaying slightly. “It’s a new-age crystal joint that I don’t much care for. But ask for a guy named Dallas—he should be able to help you out.”
Dallas was tattooed and pierced everywhere he could be. He led Ethan to the back of the store and patted him down.
“Never can be too careful,” he said, while he did it. “Just because you say Dale sent you doesn’t make it so.”
Ethan found the whole experience humiliating but tolerated it because Dale had already told him what to expect from Dallas.
After he was satisfied that Ethan was clean, Dallas asked for his social security number and last name and told him to wait out front.
“Won’t be but a minute,” he said, and then closed and locked the door behind him.
When Dallas returned, he said, “You spent some time at Ridgeview.”
“How did you—”
“No questions.” Then he took Ethan to an apartment two blocks away.
When they arrived, Dallas unlocked three deadbolts, turned off an alarm, and flipped on a light switch.
A small collection of high-powered computers had been squeezed into the living room. Surrounding them was a scanner, a printer, a fax machine, and other equipment Ethan couldn’t recognize.
From one computer, a wire snaked across the floor to a small bedroom and wound its way up the leg of a camera stand to an expensive digital camera. The camera faced a spotless white wall, which Ethan knew could be highlighted and colored on the computer to match whatever background would be appropriate for the picture of the day.
“You do more than just fake IDs, huh?” Ethan asked after they entered. He could have drawn that conclusion from the security measures alone, but the sophisticated hardware reaffirmed his suspicions.
“You lookin’ for anything else?”
“Not right now.”
“When you do, come ask. I’ll be around.” Then Dallas told him to stand in front of the camera and asked him what state he wanted to be from.
“Alabama.”
The camera snapped. Thirty minutes later, Ethan was holding his new license next to his old one, scrutinizing it for inconsistencies. “It’s perfect.”
“That’s what makes it worth the money.”
Ethan agreed.
NOW
A LIGHT FLICKERED in the tunnel to Martin’s right. His head jerked around, and he stared in terror at the shadowy figure behind it.
The stranger bobbed, moving quickly but awkwardly down a slope Martin didn’t know was there. He knew who it was—the old man, the one he couldn’t stop thinking about. He’d come back from the grave to seek his revenge.
Martin tried to calm down, told himself that was impossible. But who else could it be? He stared hard at the curve of the shoulders, the shape of the head. Then, a voice: “Martin? Is that you?” Cynthia’s voice, and relief immediately followed.
THEN
MARTIN DECLINED ETHAN’S offer to get a beer after class. But two months later, after a friendship began to form, Martin returned the question. He didn’t know Ethan was only nineteen. He assumed if Ethan wasn’t old enough to drink he wouldn’t have asked Martin to a bar.
The bar they selected was called the Tap House and was nothing like the dive they would come to visit regularly. This one catered primarily to the downtown suits. Now, like most any time of day, businessmen and women were huddled around small tables swapping office war stories.
Martin and Ethan caught fragments of conversations as they moved toward a table in the corner. “Did you hear? Bob got fired today,” and “Damn printer’s fizzled out on me again,” were the type of comments buzzing around the room.
After they were seated, Ethan ordered a pitcher of beer from their waitress, and Martin asked him why he had come to National.
“Pop owns a small bank in Alabama, and he thought this’d be a good way for me to start learning the trade,” Ethan said.
“Why didn’t he just have you start working at his bank?”
Because of a bitch named Norma, Ethan thought, and his eyelid twitched. But he knew better than to say that. Telling Martin about Norma would lead to Ridgeview, and he didn’t want to talk about Ridgeview. “Have you ever spent some time in a small town? Everybody knows everybody else’s business. I wanted to get away from that for a while.”
“You planning on going back?”
“You could bet the house on that. But not for a few years.”
The waitress arrived with the pitcher and two mugs, which Ethan then filled.
Martin took a sip. “By the way, thanks for shaping up.”
“Pop wouldn’t be happy if I got fired.”
“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
Ethan nodded. “But he’s weak. Weak like a child, you know? Lets Norma walk over him.”
“Who’s Norma?”
Ethan didn’t realize he’d said her name until Martin had repeated it back to him. Damn. Well, he had no choice now but to go with it. “She’s my ma.”
“You call her
