Art Teacher — Orville — gave him Randy Wolf’s address and told him about the diner. They’d been tailing him, and Myron hadn’t picked up on it. Either they were very good or Myron was awfully rusty — or both. Rochester asked Myron why he visited both places.
“The house is where her boyfriend lives,” Myron said. “But he wasn’t home.”
“You think he has something to do with it?”
Myron knew better to answer in the positive. “Just talking to Aimee’s friends, see what was up with her. Who better than her boyfriend?”
“And the diner?”
“I met a source. I wanted to see what they had on your daughter and Aimee. I’m trying to find a connection between them.”
“So what have you learned so far?”
“I’m just starting.”
Rochester thought some more. Then he shook his head slowly. “Way I heard it, you picked up the Biel girl at two A.M.”
“That’s right.”
“At two A.M.,” he repeated.
“She called me.”
“Why?” His face reddened. “Is it because you like picking up high school girls?”
“That’s not it.”
“Oh, I suppose you gonna tell me it was innocent?”
“It was.”
Myron could see the anger mounting. He was losing him.
“You watch that trial with that perv Michael Jackson?”
The question confused Myron. “A little, I guess.”
“He sleeps with little boys, right? He admits it. But then he says, ‘Oh but it’s innocent.’ ”
Now Myron saw where this was going.
“And here you are, just like that, telling me you pick up pretty high school girls, late at night. At two A.M. And then you say, ‘Oh, but it’s innocent.’ ”
“Listen to me—”
“Nah, I think I listened enough.”
Rochester nodded for the Twins to go ahead.
Enough time had passed. Win was, Myron hoped, in place. He was probably waiting for one last distraction. Myron couldn’t move, so he tried something else.
Without warning, Myron let loose a scream.
He screamed as long and as loud as he could, even after Orville the Art Teacher snapped a fist into his teeth.
But the scream had the desired effect. For a second, everyone looked at him. Just for a second. No more.
But that was enough.
An arm snaked around Rochester’s neck as a gun appeared at his forehead. Win’s face materialized next to Rochester’s.
“Next time,” Win said, crinkling his nose, “please refrain from buying your cologne at your local Exxon station.”
The Twins were greased lightning. They were off Myron in under a second. Art Teacher took to the far corner. Ascot Bite flipped behind Myron and pulled him up, using Myron as a shield. He had a gun out now too. He put it against the back of Myron’s neck.
Stalemate.
Win kept his arm around Rochester’s neck. He squeezed the windpipe. Rochester’s face darkened red as the oxygen drained away. His eyes rolled back. A few seconds later, Win did something a little surprising: He released his grip on the throat. Rochester retched and sucked in a deep breath. Using him as a shield, Win’s gun stayed near the back of the man’s head but now angled toward Art Teacher.
“Cutting off his air supply, what with that awful cologne,” Win said, by way of an explanation. “It was too merciful.”
The Twins studied Win as though he were something little and cute they’d stumbled across in the forest. They did not appear to be afraid of him. As soon as Win had come upon the scene, they’d coordinated their movements as if they’d done this before.
“Sneaking up like that,” Hippy Art Teacher said, smiling at Win. “Dude, that was one radical move.”
“Far out,” Win said. “Like, dig it.”
He frowned. “Are you mocking me, man?”
“Tripping. Groovy. Flower power.”
Art Teacher looked at Ascot Bite as if to say,
“Man oh man, dude, you don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“Put your weapons down,” Win said, “or I’ll kill you both.”
The Twins smiled some more, enjoying this.
“Dude, you ever do, like, math?”
Win gave Art Teacher the flat eyes. “Like, yah.”
“See, we got two guns. You got one.”
Ascot Bite rested his head on Myron’s shoulder. “You,” he said to Win, excited, licking his lips. “You shouldn’t threaten us.”
“You’re right,” Win said.
All eyes were on the gun pressed near Rochester’s temple. That was the mistake. It was like a classic magician’s trick. The Twins had not wondered why Win had released his grip on Rochester’s throat. But the reason was simple:
It was so that Win — using Rochester’s body to block their view — could ready his second gun.
Myron tilted his head a little to the left. The bullet from the second gun, the one that had been hidden behind Rochester’s left hip, struck Ascot Bite square in the forehead. He was dead instantly. Myron felt something wet splash on his cheek.
At the same time, Win fired the first gun, the one that had been at Rochester’s head. That bullet slammed into Art Teacher’s throat. He went down, his hands clawing at what had been his voice box. He may have been dead or at least bleeding to death. Win didn’t chance it.
The second bullet hit the man square between the eyes.
Win turned back to Rochester. “Breathe funny and you end up like them.”
Rochester made himself stay impossibly still. Win bent down next to Myron and started ripping off the duct tape. He looked down at Ascot Bite’s dead body.
“Chew on that,” Win said to the corpse. He turned back to Myron. “Get it? The biting, chew on that?”
“Hilarious. Where’s Mrs. Seiden?”
“She’s safe, out of the house, but you’ll need to make up a cover story for her.”
Myron thought about that.
“Did you call the police?” Myron asked.
“Not yet. In case you wanted to ask some questions.”
Myron looked at Rochester.
“Talk to him downstairs,” Win said, handing Myron a gun. “I’ll pull the car into the garage and start the cleanup.”
CHAPTER 24
The cleanup.
