The Devil's Alphabet

tight for her. Nothing remained of her hair but a few wispy patches.

“My son, my son,” she said. The fingers of her right hand lifted from the bed, summoning him forward. She smiled up at him. “Still handsome.”

She wore the lightest of nightgowns; anything heavier caused her terrible pain. He sat on the floor and carefully put his hand in hers. Her palm was velvety, but her fingers were rough and chapped, as if her body couldn’t decide which direction it wanted to go.

“How is Jo?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. He didn’t want to tell her. She loved Jo like a daughter.

“And Deke?”

“Still growing,” Paxton said.

“Good.”

A minute passed. Then she said, “When you were born the nurse put you in my arms and… oh my.” She smiled through cracked lips. “The future just rolled open. Years and years. And I could see you, all grown up. Just like this. And I thought, I will know this little man the rest of my life.”

“Yeah?” She’d told him this story before. He used to ask her to tell it.

“The first and only time in my life that happened. Don’t tell your father.” She smiled again and closed her eyes. Minutes passed, but he knew that she hadn’t fallen asleep. He shifted his weight and she said apologetically, “You can go.”

“No, I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, Paxton.” She opened her eyes again. “I don’t mind that you don’t like to come in here. I’m not too pretty. And you were just a boy. You’d already seen more than your share.”

He shrugged. “Now that I’m here…”

“Off to bed,” she said. “You need your sleep.”

“In a little bit,” he said.

He was still talking to her near dawn when a thick arm fastened around his neck and a voice spoke into his ear. “Hate to interrupt your conversation, Cuz.” The arm yanked him to his feet and dragged him backward out of the room. A moment later he was dumped to the floor. Three chubs loomed over him like planets: Clete, Travis, and the redheaded chub girl from the clinic-Doreen. She wore a pink hoodie open over a black tank top that exposed sweeping vistas of cleavage.

Clete stood with his hands on his hips, a black pistol tucked ostentatiously into his waistband. Travis held a big roll of silver duct tape.

“Just in case you were wondering,” Clete said. “This is not a hallucination.”

Chapter 14

THE VINTAGE WORE off but the headache did not.

They’d taped his wrists and ankles and then tossed him onto a mattress in the back of a rusting, orange-brown Ford Econoline van with bare metal walls and no side windows. Clete hadn’t driven far-ten miles at most-and as the sun came up he pulled into the woods, backed the van around, and then parked with the nose pointed downhill. Clete and Doreen sat up front with Travis squatting between them on a stack of three cases of aluminum cans, one Mountain Dew, two Bud Light. Along one side of the cabin were Wal-Mart bags and cardboard boxes full of supplies a teenager would buy for an all-night kegger: bags of Cheetos and Cool Ranch Doritos, a four-pack of Red Bull, a pack of Fig Newtons, paper plates, a box of plastic utensils. It was only when he realized that one of the bags held a jumbo pack of adult diapers that he guessed what the chubs were going to do.

They sat for what seemed like hours, Pax pretending to sleep. He wasn’t sure of the time-7:00 a.m., 8:00? From his position on the floor of the van, watching through slit eyes, he could see nothing through the windshield but treetops and gray sky. He tried not to shiver. The van’s heaters didn’t reach past the driver’s and passenger’s seats. The air smelled like stale vintage-but not his father’s.

“There’s the Caddy!” Travis said.

The chubs said nothing for half a minute. Then Clete said, “It’s payday.” It sounded like he was quoting from a movie. He cranked the ignition, forgetting that the engine was already started.

Travis said, “Wait, I thought we were going to wait for a few minutes, let her get into the office.”

“Not too long,” Doreen said.

“I’m just getting ready,” Clete said testily.

Doreen said, “When you get in there, don’t let that bitch push you around.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Travis said. “Just do your part.”

“You know how she is,” Doreen said. “And don’t let Everett intimidate you.”

“We got it, Doreen,” Clete said.

The van jounced over ruts on its way downhill. They reached the highway, went along it perhaps a hundred yards, and then turned up the driveway to the Home. Travis glanced back at him, and Pax kept his eyes unmoving, his jaw slack.

“Playin’ possum,” Travis said. “Just like his daddy.” Pax didn’t move, and Travis laughed. “Have it your way, man.”

The van stopped and Clete said, “Hey, Barron.”

“You’re here awful early,” the tinny voice said from the intercom.

“We figure someday she’ll pay us early just to get rid of us,” Clete said.

“Not a chance,” Barron said, laughing. A second later the gate buzzed and the van rolled forward a few dozen feet and stopped. Pax heard the gate squeal shut behind them.

“Y’all ready?” Clete said.

“You know I am,” Doreen said, her voice low. “And I know you are.” A wet smack, and Pax risked opening his eyes a fraction. Clete and Doreen were attempting to inhale each other’s tongues.

“Guys…,” Travis said.

“I love you, baby,” Doreen said.

“Me too,” Clete said.

Clete and Travis climbed out of the van, and Doreen scooted over to the driver’s seat. “Three minutes, tops,” she said.

“We know, we know,” Clete said.

Doreen put the van in reverse and started backing up. Pax entertained a brief fantasy of jumping up, throwing his bound arms around the chub girl’s neck, and choking her unconscious. But Jesus, he thought, he wasn’t Bruce Willis. Doreen was twice his size and probably twice as strong. She’d just reach back and bash him in the head.

Pax said, “Doreen. You know this can’t work.”

“Look who’s awake,” Doreen said. She braked, then started turning the van around. “You don’t know how well we’ve planned this, Paxton. This is just step two in our ten-step plan.”

Pax pushed himself to a sitting position. “But this is kidnapping. You’re going to have cops all over you. FBI, even. And you’re not exactly going to be able to blend in with the population.”

“Who’s going to call the cops? Rhonda?” Doreen leaned to look in her side-view mirror and backed the van up to the Home’s front door. “Uh-uh. Drug dealers can’t call the cops. That’s the beauty of stealing from a criminal.”

“You’re not serious,” Pax said. “The only beauty is that instead of calling the cops they just kill you.”

“Let ’er try,” Doreen said.

Jesus Christ, Pax thought. They thought they were Bonnie and Clyde, but hadn’t bothered to watch the end of the movie.

Doreen studied the side-view mirrors, her sausage fingers drumming the steering wheel. Pax turned sideways, which put him directly behind the driver’s seat and a foot closer to the Wal-Mart bag holding the box of plastic utensils. Fifty spoons, forks, and knives.

Doreen must have noticed something in the mirrors. She leaned out the window and called, “What?”