‘That was two thousand years ago, Kathryn. And we’re no different. Not a bit. Car races, downhill skiing, rugby, boxing, bungee-jumping, football, hockey, air shows – we’re all secretly, or not so secretly, hoping for death or destruction. NASCAR? Hours of cars making left turns? Would anybody watch if there wasn’t the chance of a spectacular fiery death? The Colosseum back then, Madison Square Garden last week. Not a lick of difference.’
She noted something else. ‘The poem, the line about hand and heart … The name of your website. Sword in the hand piercing the heart. Little different from humanitarian aid.’
A shrug, and his eyes sparkled again.
‘I’d like to know more about your clients. Are they mostly in the US?’
‘No, overseas. Asia a lot. Russia too. And South America, though the clientele there isn’t as rich. They couldn’t pay for the big set-pieces.’
It would be a tricky case against many of these people – men, nearly all of them, Dance supposed. (She guessed the sexual component of the Get was high.) Intent would be an issue.
‘The man who hired you for this job, in Monterey?’
‘Japanese. He’s been a good customer for some years.’
‘Any particular grudge with this area?’
She was thinking of Nashima and the relocation center at Solitude Creek.
‘No. He said pick anywhere. Chris Jenkins liked the inn in Carmel. So he sent me there. It has a good wine list. And comfortable beds. Nice TV too.’
She began to ask another question. But he was shaking his head.
‘I’m tired now,’ he said. ‘Can we resume tomorrow? Or the next day?’
‘Yes.’
She rose.
March said to her, ‘Oh, Kathryn?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s so good to have a kindred soul to spend some time with.’
She didn’t understand for a moment. Then realized he was speaking about her. The chill pinched once more.
He looked her up and down. ‘Your Get and mine … So very similar. I’m glad we’re in each other’s lives now.’ March whispered, ‘Good night, Kathryn. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.’
THE LAST DARE
TUESDAY, APRIL 11
CHAPTER 86
‘Real, dude.’
Donnie and Nathan bumped fists. Wes nodded, looking around.
They were in the school yard, just hanging, on one of the picnic benches. There was Tiff; she looked his way and lifted an eyebrow. But that was it. No other reaction.
Some of the brothers, and there weren’t many of them here, were hanging not far away. One gave him a thumbs-up. Probably for track. Donnie’d just led the T and F team to victory over Seaside Middle School, winning the 200 and 400 dash (though, fuck, he’d gotten the branch once he’d gotten back home because he was one second off his personal best on the 400).
That was Leon Williams doing the thumbing. Solid kid. Donnie nodded back. The funny thing was that Donnie didn’t hate the blacks in the school at all, or any other blacks, for that matter. Which was one of the reasons that tagging black churches in the game was pretty fucked up. He disliked Jews a lot – or thought he did. That, too, was mostly from his dad, though. Donnie didn’t know that he’d ever actually met somebody who was Jewish, aside from Goldshit.
Donnie looked at his phone. Nothing.
He said to Nathan and Wes, ‘You heard from him? Vulcan?’
Vince had left right after class, saying he’d be back. It had seemed suspicious.
Nathan said, ‘He texted.’
Donnie said, ‘You, not me. Didn’t have the balls to text me.’
‘Yeah. Well. He said he’d be here. Just had something to do first and Mary might be coming by – you know her, the one with tits – and kept going on, all this shit. Which I think means he’s not coming.’
‘Fucker’s out if he doesn’t show.’ There was a waiting list to get in the DARES crew. But then Donnie reflected: of course, for what was going down today, maybe better Vince the Pussy wasn’t here. Because, yeah, this wasn’t the Defend game at all. It was way past that. This was serious and he couldn’t afford somebody to go, ‘Yeah, I’m watching your back,’ and then take off.
Wes asked, ‘Just the three of us?’
‘Looks like it, dude.’
Donnie glanced at his watch. It was a Casio and it had a nick in the corner, which he’d spent an hour trying to cover up with paint, so his dad wouldn’t see it. The time was three thirty. They were only twenty minutes away from Goldshit’s house.
‘Plan? First, we get the bikes. Get into the garage. That’s where they are,’ he explained to Nathan. ‘Here.’
‘What’s that?’
Donnie was shoving wads of blue latex into their hands.
‘Gloves,’ Wes said, understanding. ‘For fingerprints.’
Nathan: ‘So we get fingerprints on the bikes? We’re taking ’em, aren’t we?’
Donnie twisted his head, exasperated, studying Nathan. ‘Dude, we gotta open the door or the window and get in, right?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Nathan pulled the gloves on. ‘They’re tight.’
‘Not now, bitch. Jesus.’ Donnie was looking around. ‘Somebody could see you.’
Fast, Nathan peeled them off. Shoved them into the pouch of his hoodie.
Wes was saying, ‘We gotta be careful. I saw this show on TV once. A crime show, and my mom’s friend Michael was over. And he’s a deputy with the county. We were watching it together. And he was saying the killer was stupid because he threw his gloves away and the cops found them and his fingerprints were inside the gloves. We’ll keep ’em and throw ’em out later, someplace nowhere near here.’
‘Or burn them,’ Nathan said. He seemed proud he’d thought of this. Then he was frowning. ‘Anything else this guy would know, we should know? Your mom’s friend? I mean, this is like breaking and entering. We gotta be serious.’
‘Totally,’ Wes said.