Wilma spat on the grass. “I want to cunt-punt that cow every time she opens her mouth.”
Snake shook his head. “Get on in there. We’ll see you in a minute.”
Wilma expelled a stream of profanity under her breath, but she went.
Snake led the way out to the horse barn, which no longer smelled like manure and leather but like the toxic ag chemicals Snake had spent his life around.
“That son of a bitch thinks he’s the devil?” Alois said as they passed into the shade under the broad roof. “He’s a fuckin’ joke.”
Snake stopped just inside the barn and turned. “What are we doin’ out here, boy?”
“I told you, I got something to show you.”
Snake suppressed a scowl. He’d had to learn to get used to Alois treating him like a real father. “What?”
“A little toy I been workin’ on.”
“Well, where is it?”
Alois reached into his pocket and brought out a dull metal cube about an inch and a half square. Using his thumbnail, he flipped a tiny catch, and one side of the cube slid halfway open.
“What is it?” Snake asked. “A Rubik’s Cube or something?”
Alois handed the cube to his father as though passing him a rare and fragile relic. “Look inside, but don’t touch anything in there. Seriously.”
Snake gingerly moved the little cube up and down until he got it the proper distance from his aging eyes, then backed to the edge of the shade and turned the gadget until the sun shone into its tiny opening.
What he saw appeared to be the works of a mechanical watch. In front of the watch sat some sort of compressed spring. Snake squinted into the tightly crowded space. Rising out of the mouth of the spring was a thin sliver of metal, like a needle. But Snake had no idea what the function of the mechanism might be.
“What is it?”
“I call it the Needle Box,” Alois said proudly.
“And what the fuck does it do?”
“It kills.”
“Kills what? People?”
Alois gave him a strange smile. “Anything. Any mammal, for sure.”
“How?”
“Simple. Inside there is a spring-loaded hypodermic needle. Attached to the needle is a tiny rubber bladder. The trigger is attached to a timer right now. But the whole thing is mechanical. Doesn’t put out any electrical field.”
Snake turned the gadget in his hand again. On the opened side he saw a tiny hole, which must be where the needle would emerge if triggered.
“What comes out of the needle?” he asked.
“Anything you want. Cyanide. Ricin. Thallium. The quickest killer’s cyanide, obviously. I already killed a pig and two dogs with it. Killed them so fast you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Huh,” Snake said, still studying the toylike device. “Could you rig one to trigger remotely?”
“Sure, yeah. It’s the poison that’s tricky. Ricin or thallium’s the way to go if you want somebody to suffer. Thallium’s the worst. That’s a living hell, and the best doctors in the world can’t save you.”
“Where do you get thallium?”
Alois smiled with wicked pleasure. “It’s gettable.”
Snake nodded in appreciation of the skill that had gone into building the little machine. Alois had obviously inherited the aptitude that had made Snake a dab hand with improvised explosives. “And how do you plan to use this thing?”
Alois reached out and lifted the Needle Box from his father’s hand. “How about this? I could make one cut in a motorcycle seat—very carefully—and plant this baby right under someone’s butt cheek. Toons, for example. And anytime I wanted over the next twelve hours . . . he’d get a shot of cyanide. And tha-tha-tha-that’s all folks!”
Deep pleasure spread through Snake’s belly and chest. But his mind was moving so fast, he stifled the laugh he felt rising and took back the box from his son.
“Where else? Could you put it in a car seat?”
“Sure. Any kind of seat that’s got enough padding.”
Snake looked back toward the office and shook his head. Then he released his laugh, a sudden expulsion of triumphant glee.
“What you thinking, Pop?” Alois asked.
Snake laughed until he’d caught his breath. “I’m picturing Toons with the red-ass, boy.”
Alois laughed, too, so happy was he to have earned his father’s respect.
“The Needle Box,” Snake said. “How many of these little boogers you got?”
“A couple. But I can build more. All you want.”
“Two’ll do.” Snake winked. “For a start.”
Chapter 16
We spent a lot of the afternoon cleaning the house in preparation for my mother moving back in tomorrow. Annie especially wants the house to be in perfect condition, and she took quite a while arranging things just so in the guest room where Mom will be staying. Mom would probably prefer to sleep in her own house, but there’s no question of that while Snake and his VK soldiers are on the loose, especially after the warning he sent to Dad.
About an hour ago Tim and I drove down to C&M Seafood and bought twenty pounds of huge crawfish that had just come off the heat. Now we’re all gathered around the kitchen table—even the security guys—cracking shells and sucking heads while Annie yells “Gross!” every minute or so. Serenity’s been trying to get her to suck the meat from a head, but Annie steadfastly refuses.
A loud knock at the door causes Tim to get up a little more swiftly than the average person might, but he’s calm about going to check who’s there. When he returns, a handsome black man of about twenty-five is following him. Because Carl Sims isn’t wearing his Lusahatcha County deputy’s uniform but a light blue polo shirt and jeans, it takes me a second to recognize him.
“Carl!” I cry. “What are you doing here, man? Not official business, I hope.”
“Nah, man,” he says. “I got a little news for you, on that thing you asked about, but it’s nothing urgent.”
The woman whose son was killed at the Bone Tree . . .
“I see y’all got some mudbugs!” Carl says, laughing. “Big ones, too.”
“Sit down and make a plate.”
“I won’t say no to that.”
As Carl grabs two paper plates to make a stable shelling and eating platform, I notice Serenity watching him with a level gaze.
“Oh, Carl,” I say, “the lovely lady to Mia’s left is Serenity Butler. She’s a writer from Atlanta. But she’s a Mississippi girl at heart.”
“That right?” Carl’s eyes are bright with interest. Clearly he did not fail to notice Serenity when he first came in.
“You two have something in common,” I tell him. “Can you guess what it is?”
He looks at her for a while, and for a moment I think he might guess the truth. But when he finally speaks, he says, “I can’t imagine, I’m sorry to say.”
“Serenity was in the Gulf War. The first one.”
“Embedded reporter?”
Serenity laughs. “Army corporal.”
Carl’s grin loses its levity. “Seriously?”
“Nine months in Iraq.”
“Glad to know you, Serenity.”
“Tee.” She holds her butter-slick hand over the table. “Just Tee.”
Carl takes her hand and shakes it. “Okay, Ms. Tee.”
“Carl was in the second war,” I tell her.
“Army?” she asks.
“Marines.”
“Iraq or Afghanistan?”
“Fallujah. First and second battles.”