“With what?” said Wags.
They didn’t answer.
“These tunnels-are they scary?” Wags said. “I’d like to see them, at your earliest convenience. Also, I’m growing partial to the jacket.”
“You can’t have it,” Nat said.
“Can I borrow it?”
“No.”
Wags took off the jacket, handed it to him obediently.
“What do you want to do?” Nat said.
“Resume my education, I already told you. Beginning with Fatty Arbuckle.”
“I meant do you want me to call your parents or do you want to go back to the hospital?”
“Give me a hard one,” Wags said.
They sent him to the hospital in a taxi.
“Now what?” said Izzie; back in Nat’s room.
“I don’t know,” Nat said. But what could it be? Either Grace had heard her father’s analysis and had some sort of violent psychological reaction or… what? He couldn’t think of anything else. “She must have overheard.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“It’s part of a pattern.”
“Pattern?”
“Grand Central Station,” Nat said, “all over again.”
“Grand Central Station?”
“When your family was splitting up and Grace stood on the railing.”
A look he hadn’t seen before, at least on her, appeared on Izzie’s face. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of a look like that if he hadn’t seen what she’d done to Wags.
“You know everything about us, don’t you?” she said.
“You didn’t have to tell me.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
They sat in silence. The wind was blowing harder now, driving snowflakes against the glass; they made a soft drumming sound.
“We just sit here, then,” Izzie said, “waiting for her to reappear. Is that the plan?”
Nat had no other; but this one had a flaw. First he just sensed it, an uneasy feeling, then he identified it, then it grew bigger in his mind: the bowling jacket, size XXXL. He picked it up and did what he probably should have done in the first place. He searched the pockets. There were two. Nothing in the left-hand one. Something in the right; something his fingers identified before he even pulled it out: a switchblade knife. There were always a few kids at Clear Creek High who carried them. He pressed the button. The blade, longer than the ones he’d seen, snapped out. Nat knew then that she was right and he was wrong. Something bad was happening.
Izzie held out her hand.
He gave it to her.
“Like this?” she said.
Like that.
She folded the knife, stuck it in her pocket.
“Let’s go,” he said. She was already moving.
They went down to the cave. Everything, the whole mess, was exactly the way they’d left it, except for the painting of the nude bathers and the centaur, the painting that had fallen. Now it was propped against the wall, facing the wrong way. On the back, in big black letters: A milion sounds nice. Right here soon say by dark. Call the cops and she die$.
28
Identify and explain: “There is so much goodness in cunning.”
Was luck still with him? Bottom line: yes. The expression bottom line pleased him; the kind of expression he was going to need in the future. A golden future. He’d asked for a break-who deserved one more? — and maybe he’d gotten one, maybe the breaks would finally start breaking his way. The kid from the flats, on his way to the big time. For one thing, he had the girl.
Drop-dead fuck-you, and he had her! Had one of them: they were twins, of course, not just sisters, he knew that now, had figured it out, maybe a little late; twins, so one couldn’t be bigger than the other, none of that big- sister-little-sister shit. And the one he had probably wasn’t as good-looking as the other one right now, not after their little-not fight, he didn’t want to say fight, more like a dust-up. But any-he didn’t want to say damage, more like nicks and scratches-any of that was probably temporary, and even if not, she was still drop-dead fuck-you, the best-looking girl ever in his life, bar none. Wouldn’t trade her for a million bucks.
Just joking.
“Babe,” he said. They had funny names, these twins, names he had never really grasped, couldn’t relate to. He just called this one babe. “Babe?”
She wasn’t answering.
Freedy could live with that. They both, he and she, needed a little breather, were both a little banged up. His right arm was still funny, not dangling useless anymore, but not right. That was one of the reasons his initial encounter with the girl hadn’t gone smooth as planned. He hadn’t been 100 percent, but take nothing away from her. A girl, and she’d given him a bit of trouble, more than Saul and his big boys. Amazing. Was it possible that at one point he’d even been lying on the floor while she climbed that rope ladder, almost to the top, almost free and clear? And those scratches on his face, and one eye half shut, not as bad as hers, but still. She was amazing.
She was amazing and he liked that. “Babe?” he said.
Not answering. He liked that too. He was getting more mature. A man, a diesel, buff, ripped fuckin’ animal such as himself needed a woman to match. That was the revelation that had hit him while he lay beside her in the spyhole room between F tunnel and the dollhouse, both of them just breathing for a while. He liked her. And would he answer in her place? Hell no.
Having a woman of your own power, making the right match-it went back to Adam and Eve. Had he ever had a woman like that, an equal, in his life? Not close. Nothing against Estrella, he’d learned a lot from her, especially practical things, like how to make dreams come true, but she wasn’t close.
“Going to need some information from you,” he said.
Not answering. No sound in the spyhole room but the dripdripping, nothing to see but total blackness.
Needed information, to make this dream come true. He’d already made-didn’t want to say a mistake-not the best moves once or twice, no fault of his own. Like forgetting to write a ransom note at first-maybe not the best move. Had to give people guidance, right? Had to provide leadership. Meant he’d had to leave the spyhole room, go all the way back, down F, into N, over to the trapdoor, down inside again, retracing the whole route he’d dragged her, just to write that note like he should have in the first place. He needed a-what did they call it? — detail person. He hadn’t dragged her all the way back with him, of course, hadn’t had to since she’d still been, not unconscious, more like sleeping, or whatever.
“Need that information,” he said.
Not answering.
And maybe there’d been one or two other-glitches, that was it-glitches, too, but how could they be blamed on him? Want to grab a million bucks as it flies by? Have to act fast. He’d acted fast, pounced on her as soon as he knew what was happening, soon as the other sister had left. Hadn’t expected that much resistance, who would
