Speedball cartooning set, just like the one her folks had given her when she’d wanted to try cartooning so many years before. Those pens would still feel familiar in her hand. And a bottle of India ink, some standard-size, twenty-pound typing paper, durable paper that would last, no matter how many times it was shoved into envelopes or worked on by her and the editors. Yes, just some nice bond paper, not more than a hundred sheets. Usually, since she did political cartoons, she used strips of paper cut from larger sheets of special artist paper, thicker than a postcard-bristol board, it was called, well suited for brushwork. And one bottle of Liquid Paper. She could just see herself-not more than an hour from now-drawing those sharp, pale lines that would become the man of the hour, Senator No Wrinkles Remus, the soon-to-be president of the U.S., from that fine state of West Dementia, where the good senator has managed to divide his state into halves, to conduct the ultimate experiment with gun control. One half of the state has complete gun control, as strict as in England; the other half of West Dementia has no gun control at all. He gives an impassioned speech to the state legislature, with the blessing of the governor, whom he’s blackmailed for taking money from a contractor who is also his nephew: “One year, that’s all we ask,” Remus says, waving his arms to embrace all of them. “Just one year and we’ll know once and for all what the answer is.”
And what happens in the west of West Dementia is that criminals auction off areas to one another since civilians aren’t allowed to own any device that shoots a bullet out of a barrel. Criminals break-and-enter at their leisure, whenever the spirit moves them. Houses, banks, gas stations, 7-Elevens, nothing is safe.
In east West Dementia, every sort of gun abounds, from sleek pistols that fire one round a minute to behemoths that kick out eight hundred zillion rounds a second. There are simply no limits at all. Because of the endless supply, guns are really cheap. What happens surprises everyone: robbery stats go down nearly seventy percent after a good dozen would-be robbers are killed breaking in-to homes, banks, filling stations, 7-Elevens.
On the other side of it, killing abounds. Everything that moves, and doesn’t move, gets shot-deer, rabbits, cars, people. Some people even take to target-shooting in the rivers. Many trout, it is said, die from gunshot wounds.
There are rumors of payoffs from both the National Rifle Association and the Mafia to No Wrinkles Remus, but like his name, no matter what he does-or people believe he does-that face of his remains smooth and absolutely trustworthy.
She was grinning like a madwoman. She rubbed her hands together. She wanted to draw
She just didn’t want to wait. Lily grabbed her purse, her leather jacket, and headed out of the bed-and- breakfast. Mrs. Blade, standing behind the small counter downstairs, waved her on. Lily didn’t know Eureka well, but she knew to go to Wallace Street. A whole bunch of artists lived over in the waterfront section of town, and a couple of them ran art supply stores.
The day was cloudy, nearly cold enough to see your breath, a chilly breeze swirling about in the fallen autumn leaves that strengthened the salty ocean taste when you breathed in. She managed to snag a taxi across the street that was letting off an old man in front of an apartment building.
The driver was Ukrainian, had lived in Eureka for six years, and his high-schooler son liked to doodle, even on toilet paper, he said, which made you wonder what sort of poisoning you could get using that toilet paper. He knew just where to go.
It was Sol Arthur’s art supply shop. She was in and out in thirty minutes, smiling from ear to ear as she shifted the wrapped packages in her arms. She had maybe eleven dollars left in her purse-goodness, eleven whole dollars left in the world. She wondered what had happened to her credit cards. She would ask Dillon to deal with it.
She stood on the curb looking up and down the street. No way would a taxi magically appear now even though she was ready to part with another four dollars from her stash. No, no taxi. Such good lightning luck didn’t strike twice. A bus, she thought, watching one slowly huff toward her. The bed-and-breakfast wasn’t all that far from here, and the bus was heading in the right direction. She jaywalked, but not before she was sure that no cars were coming from either direction. There weren’t a whole lot of people on the street.
No Wrinkles Remus is looking particularly handsome and wicked, right there, full-blown in her mind again. He looks annoyed when a colleague hits on a staffer Remus himself fancies, his absolute joy when he discovers that the wife of a senator cheated on her husband with one of his former senior aides.
She was singing when the bus-twenty years old if not older, belching smoke-lumbered toward her. She saw the driver, an old coot, grinning at her. He had on headphones and was chair-dancing to the music. Maybe she was the only passenger he’d seen in a while.
She climbed on board, banging her packages about as she found change in her wallet. When she turned to find a seat, she saw that the bus was empty.
“Not many folk out today?”
He grinned at her and pulled off his headphones. She repeated her question. He said, “Nah, all of ’em down at the cemetery for the big burying.”
“Whose big burying?”
“Ferdy Malloy, the minister at the Baptist Church. Kicked it, just last Friday.”
She’d been lying in the hospital last Friday, not feeling so hot.
“Natural causes, I hope?”
“You can think that if you want, but everyone knows that his missus probably booted him to the other side. Tough old broad is Mabel, tougher than Ferdy, and mean. No one dared to ask for an autopsy, and so they’re planting Ferdy in the ground right about now.”
“Well,” Lily said, then couldn’t think of another thing. “Oh, yes, I’m at The Mermaid’s Tail. Do you go near there?”
“Ain’t nobody on board to tell me not to. I’ll take you right to the front door. Watch that third step, though, board’s rotted.”
“Thank you, I’ll be careful.”
The driver put his headphones back on and began bouncing up and down in the seat. He stopped two blocks down, just in front of Rover’s Drive-In with the best hamburgers west of the Sillow River, sandwiched next to a storefront that advertised three justices of the peace, who were also notaries, on duty 24/7.
Lily closed her eyes. The bus started up again. No Wrinkles Remus was in her mind again, playing another angle.
“Hey.”
She looked up to see a young man swinging into the seat next to her. He simply lifted off the packages, set them on the seat opposite, and sat down.
For a moment, Lily was simply too surprised to think. She stared at the young man, no older than twenty, his black hair long, greasy, and tied back in a ratty ponytail. He had three silver hoops marching up his left ear.
He was wearing opaque sunglasses, an Orioles cap on his head, turned backward, and a roomy black leather jacket.
“My packages,” she said, cocking her head to one side. “Why did you put them over there?”
He grinned at her, and she saw a gold tooth toward the back of his mouth.
“You’re awful pretty. I wanted to sit next to you. I wanted to get real close to you.”
“No, I’m not particularly pretty. I’d like you to move. Lots of seat choice, since the bus is empty.”
“Nope, I’m staying right here. Maybe I’ll even get a little closer. Like I said, you’re real pretty.”
Lily looked up at the bus driver, but he was really into his rock ’n’ roll, bouncing so heavily on the seat that the bus was swerving a bit to the left, then back to the right.
Lily didn’t want trouble, she really didn’t. “All right,” she said and smiled at him. “I’ll move.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, and he grabbed her arm to hold her still.
“Let go of me, buster, now.”
“I don’t think so. You know, I really don’t want to hurt you. It’s too bad because, like I said, you’re real pretty. A shame, but hey, I need money, you know?”
“You want to rob me?”
“Yeah, don’t worry that I’ll do anything else. I just want your wallet.” But he pulled a switchblade out of his inside jacket pocket, pressed a small button, and a very sharp blade flew out, long and thin, glittering.
