“Simon is off somewhere, but the uncle is here. And stay away from the sink,” Ranger said.
I gave him his gun back, followed him into the trailer, and immediately checked out the kitchen area. The snake was sprawled on the counter, its head in the sink. I guess it was thirsty. The uncle was at the small built-in table.
The uncle wasn't much older than Simon Diggery, and the family resemblance was there, blurred over a little by hard drinking and an extra fifty pounds. He was wearing black socks and ratty bedroom slippers and huge boxer shorts.
“Give you a quarter if you pull your shirt up,” Bill Diggery said to me.
'Til give you a quarter if you put your shirt on" I told him.
Ranger was against the wall, watching Diggery. “Where s Simon?” Ranger asked.
“Don't know,” Bill said.
“Think about it,” Ranger told him.
“He might be at work.”
“Where is he working?”
“Don't know.”
Rangers eyes flicked to the snake and back to Bill. “Has he been fed today?”
“He don't eat every day,” Bill said. “He probably ain't hungry.”
“Steph,” Ranger said. “Wait outside so I can talk to Bill.”
“You aren't going to feed him to the snake, are you?”
“Not all of him.”
“As long as it's not all of him,” I said. And I let myself out.
I closed the door and waited for a couple minutes. I didn't hear any screams of pain or terror. No gunshots. I hunkered down in my jacket and shoved my hands into my pockets to keep warm. A couple more minutes passed, and Ranger came out, closing the door behind him. “Well?” I asked.
“Simon is working in the food court at Quakerbridge Mall. Bill didn't know more than that.”
“Did you feed Uncle Bill to the snake?”
“No. He was right… the snake wasn't hungry.”
“Then how did you get him to talk?”
Ranger slid an arm around me, and I felt his lips brush my ear when he spoke. “I can be very persuasive.”
No kidding.
Quakerbridge is on Route One, northeast of Trenton. It seemed like a long way for Diggery to drive for an odd job in a food court, but what the heck, maybe Diggery was lucky to get it. And maybe he had a better car than I did. That thought brought me up to a sobering reality. Diggery for sure had a better car than I did because I had no car at all.
Ranger drove out of Diggery s neighborhood and headed north. We were on Route, and I was dreading the section of highway where I'd left the Vic. I didn't want to see the poor, sad, broken-down car. It was a reminder of what was wrong with my life. Crappy job, hand-tomouth existence, no future I was willing to co
mmit to. If it was June and the sun was shining, I might feel different, but it was cold and the clouds had returned and a mist had started to fall.
“I need macaroni and cheese,” I said to Ranger, clapping my hands over my eyes. “I promised myself French fries, jelly doughnuts, birthday cake… and I never got them.”
“I have a better way to make you happy,” Ranger said. “Less fattening but more addicting.”
“Pharmaceuticals?”