He had been shocked to see how busy they were, as well as how good the new decorations looked. He had never liked the idea of a ladies’ night because of potential problems. But when he saw how much business they were doing, how well Nate had things under control, and especially the WELCOME BACK, BARRY sign hanging out front, it put him in a good mood.
At one point he had pulled Angela aside and asked her if she remembered the first time they met, when she had delivered a package for him. He had offered her a job when she turned twenty-one and promised that she would make more money than she ever had before. She remembered, of course. He said that he hadn’t known that day that it would turn out that he would also make more money than he had before.
As she drove through the darkness after the bar had closed, Angela thought about her mother’s life and her funeral. Betty had come. A few people from the trailer court had come. That was about it. Her mother had never really lived, so there was not much of a life to mourn.
Angela supposed that at least her mother had given her life. But she hadn’t cherished that life growing in her and had continued to do all kinds of drugs while she was pregnant.
Jack had helped put it into perspective for her, though. He had explained how her ability to recognize killers was merely a genetic trait, like big muscles, or long legs, or brown eyes. He believed, though, that the gene responsible for her ability had mutated, as genes occasionally did when living things reproduced, and that mutation was likely what gave her an enhanced version of that genetic ability to recognize killers. Any prey animal that evolved new ways of evading predators had a survival advantage. He said it was the same with humans.
Jack allowed that Angela might be right, that all those drugs had done something to her in the womb and maybe altered that gene, enabling her to have those visions, but he thought it was more likely a natural mutation of the gene—an enhancement that nature conferred on random offspring. That was how life advanced.
He said that since the ability was genetic and passed on in family lines, it was highly likely that either her grandmother or grandfather, or even both, had that ability to recognize killers.
That clicked in Angela’s mind. That was why her grandfather had built their house over the hell hole. That was why her grandmother had told her that they thought little clues they had seen in her meant she was destined for something more than other people. It was why they wanted to leave the place to her rather than Sally. Because her grandparents had recognized that special trait in her, they had trained her with firearms, as well as the virtue of life.
For the first time in her life she thought that maybe it all made sense.
Jack told her that the base ability was in her genes, so if she had kids, that gene would very possibly pass on to them. It was why super-predators killed entire families.
As far as Angela was concerned, that was a good reason not to have kids. She didn’t think she would wish her ability on anyone. At the same time, she wouldn’t give it up for anything.
That ability that ran in the Constantine family had also gotten her grandparents killed, along with relatives in Italy. She wouldn’t want to have kids only to have them hunted down and butchered by some super-predator like Cassiel.
She wasn’t sure which explanation of her ability was correct, but she liked Jack’s theory. She had always thought of herself as a freak. She would rather be what Jack thought she was—an advancement of the species.
A different kind of human.
Angela drove deep in thought for a time, mulling it all over. She trusted Jack. He was doing something important. He was using people with the ability to recognize killers to try to save lives. She grasped the importance of that.
Besides, since she had first recognized a killer, she thought that was what she was meant to do. She saw eliminating murderers as her mission in life. Whatever else she might do in life, that was her thing.
Angela Constantine, slayer of monsters.
Jack was, in a way, doing the same as Angela: going after murderers, eliminating people who should not be allowed to live among innocent people. He also tried very hard to protect those with the ability from the predators hunting them.
She reached over and touched one of the tattoos of the moon she had gotten on her shoulders—crescent of a new moon on her left shoulder, full moon on her right. She’d had them done by the same guy who did the tattoo on her throat, the same guy she had bought her truck from. He’d done a great job. It felt good having those there now, in addition to DARK ANGEL across her throat.
She would see Jack again, and she found herself looking forward to it. They shared something that other people couldn’t understand. That was a good feeling. She knew that she and Jack would work together in the future. She looked forward to that, to going after killers.
She was already feeling that itch that needed to be scratched.
Jack also protected her from bureaucracies that didn’t like what she could do—that dark swamp of the nameless, faceless intelligence complex and authoritarians who would use her as a scapegoat, twist her life for their own agenda, or, more likely, eliminate her because they didn’t like what she was able to do.
Jack had worked it out with Angus so that she would not be touched by any of those government agencies ever again—as long as she kept the whole atomic bomb thing a secret. Jack had something that he held over their heads to make sure they kept their end of the agreement. Jack told her, though, that if she talked to anyone about the atomic bombs that had gotten into America, if she let that secret get out, he wouldn’t be able to protect her. She had absolutely no intention of ever telling anyone that the United States had almost been nuked.
Angela was very, very good at keeping secrets.
Just then, blue lights suddenly illuminated the cab of her truck and strobed in the mirror. A police siren flicked on for a moment, commanding her to pull over. Angela had been so deep in thought she didn’t even know if she had been speeding, but she usually did, so it wouldn’t surprise her to get a ticket.
She pulled over to the side of the road and rolled to a stop. They were at the edge of Milford Falls, so she could see the city lights, but the highway out of town was deserted at that time of night.
Angela rolled her window down and gripped the top of the steering wheel as she waited, so the cop could see her hands and wouldn’t get nervous. In her mirror she saw the door of the police car open and the cop get out with a flashlight.
When the cop reached the side of her truck, the flashlight shined in, blinding her. She squinted, trying to see.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here. Ms. Constantine.”
It was a woman’s voice. Angela shielded her eyes with a hand, trying to see who it was.
SEVENTY-TWO
“That’s right,” Angela said. “I’m Angela Constantine. Do I know you?”
“I’m Officer Denton. We met at the hospital. You were carrying a concealed weapon. I let you off with a warning.”
“Well I told you at the time—”
“Step out of the vehicle. Hands where I can see them.”
Angela groaned inwardly. She just wanted to go home and go to sleep, but she did as she was told, hoping the officer would simply write her a ticket for speeding and then let her go.
“Hands behind your head. Lace your fingers together.”
When she did, Officer Denton bent Angela’s hands down behind her back, one at a time, and put on handcuffs.
“Is that necessary?” Angela asked. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Walk to my car.”
Angela let out a heavy sigh as she walked toward the headlights. Officer Denton stopped her in front of the car, in view of the police car’s camera, and started patting her down.
She immediately found the gun in the holster at the small of Angela’s back. She pulled it out, holding it between a finger and thumb. She whistled as she held it up.
“Would you lookee here at the fancy weapon the trailer park tramp got for herself.”
“Is it against the law to live in a trailer park?”