Under the Dome

idea.

He rolled another shopping cart over to the locked rifle cases, working through the considerable ring of keys hanging from his belt by touch alone. Burpee’s sold exclusively Winchester products, and given that deer season was only a week away, Rommie thought he could justify a few holes in his stock if he were asked. He selected a Wildcat.22, a speed-pump Black Shadow, and two Black Defenders, also with the speed-pump feature. To this he added a Model 70 Extreme Weather (with scope) and a 70 Featherweight (without). He took ammo for all the guns, then pushed the cart down to his office and stowed the guns in his old green Defender floor-safe.

This is paranoid, you know, he thought as he twirled the dial.

But it didn’t feel paranoid. And as he went back out to wait for Rusty and the kids, he reminded himself to tie a blue rag around his arm. And to tell Rusty to do the same. Camouflage wasn’t a bad idea.

Any deer hunter knew that.

8

At eight o’clock that morning, Big Jim was back in his home study. Carter Thibodeau—now his personal bodyguard for the duration, Big Jim had decided—was deep in an issue of Car and Driver, reading a comparison of the 2012 BMW H-car and the 2011 Ford Vesper R/T. They both looked like awesome cars, but anybody who didn’t know that BMWs ruled was insane. The same was true, he thought, of anyone who didn’t understand that Mr. Rennie was now the BMW H-car of Chester’s Mill.

Big Jim was feeling quite well, partly because he’d gotten another hour of sleep after visiting Barbara. He was going to need lots of power naps in the days ahead. He had to stay sharp, on top. He would not quite admit to himself that he was also worried about more arrhythmias.

Having Thibodeau on hand eased his mind considerably, especially with Junior behaving so erratically (That’s one way to put it, he thought). Thibodeau looked like a thug, but he seemed to have a feel for the aide-de-camp role. Big Jim wasn’t completely sure yet, but he thought Thibodeau might actually turn out to be smarter than Randolph.

He decided to test that.

“How many men guarding the supermarket, son? Do you know?”

Carter put his magazine aside and drew a battered little notebook from his back pocket. Big Jim approved.

After thumbing through it a little, Carter said: “Five last night, three regular guys and two new ones. No problems. Today there’s only gonna be three. All new ones. Aubrey Towle—his brother owns the bookshop, y’know—Todd Wendlestat, and Lauren Conree.”

“And do you concur that that should be enough?”

“Huh?”

“Do you agree, Carter. Concur means agree.”

“Yeah, that should do it. Daylight and all.”

No pause to calculate what the boss might want to hear. Rennie liked that a bunch.

“Okay. Now listen. I want you to get with Stacey Moggin this morning. Tell her to call every officer we’ve got on our roster. I want them all at Food City tonight at seven. I’m going to talk to them.”

Actually he was going to make another speech, this time with all the stops out. Wind them up like Granddad’s pocketwatch.

“Okay.” Carter made a note in his little aide-de-camp book.

“And tell each of them to try and bring one more.”

Carter was running his gnawed-upon pencil down the list in his book. “We’ve already got… lemme see… twenty-six.”

“That still might not be enough. Remember the market yesterday morning, and the Shumway woman’s newspaper last night. It’s us or anarchy, Carter. Do you know the meaning of that word?”

“Uh, yessir.” Carter Thibodeau was pretty sure it meant an archery range, and he supposed his new boss was saying that The Mill could become a shooting gallery or something if they didn’t take a good hard hold. “Maybe we ought to make a weapons sweep, or something.”

Big Jim grinned. Yes, in many ways a delightful boy. “That’s on the docket, probably starting next week.”

“If the Dome’s still up. You think it will be?”

“I think so.” It had to be. There was still so much to do. He had to see that the propane cache was disseminated back into town. All traces of the meth lab behind the radio station had to be erased. Also—and this was crucial—he hadn’t achieved his greatness yet. Although he was well on his way.

“In the meantime, have a couple of the officers—the regular officers—go on over to Burpee’s and confiscate the guns there. If Romeo Burpee gives the officers any grief, they’re to say we want to keep them out of the hands of Dale Barbara’s friends. Have you got that?”

“Yep.” Carter made another note. “Denton and Wettington? They okay?”

Big Jim frowned. Wettington, the gal with the big tiddies. He didn’t trust her. He wasn’t sure he would have liked any cop with tiddies, gals had no business in law enforcement, but it was more than that. It was the way she looked at him.

“Freddy Denton yes, Wettington no. Not Henry Morrison, either. Send Denton and George Frederick. Tell them to put the guns in the PD strong room.”

“Got it.”

Rennie’s phone rang, and his frown deepened. He picked it up and said, “Selectman Rennie.”

“Hello, Selectman. This is Colonel James O. Cox. I’m in charge of what’s being called the Dome Project. I thought it was time we spoke.”

Big Jim leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Well then you just go on then, Colonel, and God bless you.”

“My information is that you’ve arrested the man the President of the United States tapped to take charge of matters in Chester’s Mill.”

“That would be correct, sir. Mr. Barbara is charged with murder. Four counts. I hardly think the President would want a serial killer in charge of things. Wouldn’t do much for his standing in the polls.”

“Which puts you in charge.”

“Oh, no,” Rennie said, smiling more widely. “I’m nothing but a humble Second Selectman. Andy Sanders is the man in charge, and Peter Randolph—our new Police Chief, as you may know—was the arresting officer.”

“Your hands are clean, in other words. That’s going to be your position once the Dome is gone and the investigation starts.”

Big Jim enjoyed the frustration he heard in the cotton-picker’s voice. Pentagon son-of-a-buck was used to riding; being rode was a new experience for him.

“Why would they be dirty, Colonel Cox? Barbara’s dog tags were found with one of the victims. Can’t get much more cut-and-dried than that.”

“Convenient.”

“Call it what you want.”

“If you tune in the cable news networks,” Cox said, “you’ll see that serious questions are being raised about Barbara’s arrest, especially in light of his service record, which is exemplary. Questions are also being raised about your own record, which is not so exemplary.”

“Do you think any of that surprises me? You fellows are good at managing the news. You’ve been doing it since Vietnam.”

“CNN’s got a story about you being investigated for shady bait-and-switch practices back in the late nineties. NBC’s reporting that you were investigated for unethical loan practices in 2008. I believe you were accused of charging illegal rates of interest? Somewhere in the forty percent area? Then repo’ing cars and trucks that had already been paid for twice and sometimes three times over? Your constituents are probably seeing this on the