What worried her most was that Randy was still in danger. But then she wondered if maybe the story didn't have to run to get his release process started. True, the impact wouldn't be so neat--her story actually getting him released. But what had her goal been anyway? To get him out.
No, Current Events could easily redo the story after he was released. That might be a nice touch. She'd add footage of him wandering around New York, a free man. Maybe reuniting with his brother or sisters.
In the galley, Rune poured cranberry juice for Courtney and made her some instant oatmeal.
"I want to go to the zoo."
"Okay, honey, we'll try. But there's something I have to do first. We're going to go visit somebody. A man."
"Who is he? Is he a nice man?"
"Not really," Rune said and looked up Fred Megler's address in her book.
"POKER," MEGLER SAID. "I THOUGHT THERE WAS THAT show running last night. What happened? I missed poker to stay home. I really hate to miss poker." He lifted up a series of soda cans, looking for one that was full.
"It got stolen."
"Stolen? Somebody stole a TV show?"
"The tape. It got lifted.
"No shit?" Then he winced and glanced at Courtney.
"Shit," the little girl said.
Rune said, "I'm going to do the story over again. But I was thinking maybe you could start the--the what do you call it? To get Randy out?"
"The motion papers."
"Right. I thought you could get Mr. Frost to go into court and ..." She paused.
Megler's face was blank for a moment. "You didn't hear?"
"Hear what?"
"The accident?" His voice, thin as his body, rose, sounding as if everybody in the city were supposed to know.
Oh, no. Rune closed her eyes. "What happened?"
"Frost slipped in the bathtub. He drowned."
"What? Oh, God ... When did it happen?"
"A couple days ago." Megler found a nearly full can of Diet Pepsi. His face brightened at the discovery. "Sure is a good thing you made that tape of him. Otherwise we'd be up ..." He glanced at Courtney. "... you know which creek without a paddle."
chapter 23
ALLAH TELLS US:
Those who do good will find the best reward in heaven, and more. Neither dust nor ignominy touch their faces. Such are the rightful owners of the Garden, and they will abide therein.
Late Thursday morning, Severn Washington was waiting for Randy Boggs to come out of the library. He sat on a concrete step and read the Koran. He frequently did this. Like praying five times a day and ritual washing and forsaking liquor and pork, reading the holy book gave him great personal satisfaction. He kept it with him at all times.
The typeface of the copy he owned was dense. Under the repeated touch of his huge, nubby fingers the delicate onionskin paper of the small volume had become even more translucent than when it was new. He liked that. He had an image of Allah reaching down and making the book more and more invisible every time Washington read it. Eventually it would become transparent, would become just a spirit--vanished and gone to heaven.
And then Washington would follow and his sins--all of them (the liquor store shooting in particular)--would be forgiven; his new life would begin.
Washington didn't want to go too fast, however. There were certain aspects of his present life that he'd come to enjoy. Even here, in Harrison. Prison life wasn't much different from that in his prior residence. Instead of a brick project, he had a stone cell block to live in (a building that wasn't graffitied and didn't smell of shit). Instead of his common-law wife's bland macaroni and chicken and potatoes, he had the Department of Corrections's bland macaroni and hamburger and potatoes. Instead of hanging out on the street and doing occasional construction work, he hung out in the yard and worked in the machine shop. Instead of getting dissed and threatened by dealers and gangs, who had MAC-10s, he got dissed and theatened by the Aryan Brotherhood, who had clubs and shivs.