We arrived at a plateau of deep woods and small meadows. On the right, a blacktop lane that led away among the trees was secured by a low wooden ranch-style gate between two stacked-stone columns. I knew at once that it would lead me to the rhinestone cowboy, but I urged Mrs. Fischer to keep driving.
The plateau was broad. On both sides of the state route, a few more gated lanes led to private properties far back in the forest. Just when the pavement began to rise again, the headlights caught a sign on the left that announced FIRE ROAD / FORESTRY DEPT ONLY.
In the absence of a fire, no one would be using that rough dirt track. Mrs. Fischer parked on it, facing out toward the state route, but in far enough among the trees to avoid being seen by passing traffic, of which we had encountered none since turning off the interstate. She damped the headlights, cut the engine.
When I got out of the limousine, the flanking woods were quiet except for the metallic tick-and-ping of the cooling engine. The air smelled of pines and of something I couldn’t name.
On all sides, the night seemed to watch me as if the columnar trees were elements of a coliseum, as if I were the martyr of the hour, as if the darkness were full of lions.
In the passenger compartment of the limo, through the open privacy panel, I said, “Ma’am, I hope this boat is big enough to take all those kids.”
“It can comfortably seat ten adults in back, dear. I’m confident we can accommodate at least seventeen wee children.”
I opened the gunnysack, withdrew everything that we had gotten from Kipp and Mazie, and began to prepare myself by the frosty glow of the small LED flashlight.
“Ma’am, one thing I didn’t ask, and I’m curious.”
“What is that, dear?”
“Purdy Feltenham.”
“Heath’s best man at our wedding. He was such a charmer.”
“Why did he have to go everywhere with a sack over his head?”
“He was considerate, dear.”
“What did he look like?”
“Purdy was born with terrible facial deformations. Far worse than the Elephant Man. People tended to faint when they saw him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, they learned a valuable lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“Not to pull the sack off the head of someone who wears one. And not to tease and torment people. A lot of nasty teenagers soiled their pants because they pulled that sack off Purdy.”
“A memorable lesson.”
“On the plus side, Purdy’s looks made him rich.”
“How so?”
“He bought his own ten-in-one and was the star of it.”
“Ten-in-one?”
“A freak show in a carnival, a tent with ten attractions in it. They’re outlawed now, but Purdy became a millionaire back when.”
“Still, he had to go everywhere with a sack over his head.”
“Don’t fret, child. The sack had eye holes.”
“That’s good to know.”
“And he didn’t wear the sack in the carnival world, where he spent ninety-nine percent of his time. Carnies accept everyone.”
“Not everyone. I had a problem with two carnies once, these guys, Bucket and Pecker. Excuse me, ma’am, but that was his name.”
“What was your problem with them, dear?”
“I annoyed them, so they tried to kill me.”
“Please tell me you didn’t pull a sack off one of their heads.”
“No, ma’am. I never would.”
“Good. If they were bad men, they weren’t friends of Purdy.”
“No, I’m sure they weren’t. But it’s sad.”
“What’s sad?”
“Purdy must ha
ve lived a lonely life.”
“He married a beautiful girl, Darnelle, who worked the kootch show. Hootchy-kootchy. That doesn’t mean she was a stripper. Kootch dancers didn’t strip nude.”
“So his face didn’t bother her?”
“His face didn’t bother anyone, dear, once you got to know him. Purdy was all heart, not all face.”
I said, “That’s a nicer story than I expected.”
“Child, your story will turn out nicer than you expect, too.”
“I wouldn’t bet everything you own on that, ma’am.”
“Neither would I.”
“Good for you.”
“But only because I’m not a betting woman.”
Wearing two shoulder holsters, a Glock under each arm, and a police utility belt hung with all manner of stuff other than a gun, I got out of the car, and Mrs. Fischer got out, too, because the bulletproof vest buckled from behind, and I needed her to cinch it tight so that I could do a final adjustment to the shoulder rigs.
When I was geared-up and ready to go, she said, “Now let me look at you, child.”
She couldn’t have seen me all that clearly in the dark of the woods, under an overcast sky, but she checked the four spare-magazine pouches on the utility belt, to be sure the flaps were snapped shut. She asked if I had my Talkabout, which is a walkie-talkie, and I said that I had it. Cell-phone service would either be poor or non-existent in this remote place, so if we needed to scheme together, Talkabouts were the best bet, as long as we were within range of each other. She checked off other items on my utility belt, brushed at my Kevlar vest as if she saw lint on it, pinched my cheek, said, “Well, you look as invincible as you are cute,” and I felt as if I should be a brave boy and go out to the street to wait for the school bus all by myself.
I had gone only a few steps when she softly called my name. She hurried to me and said, “The vest won’t puncture, so let me pin this to the sleeve of your sweater.”
“Pin what?”
“My little diamond-and-ruby exclamation point. For good luck. It doesn’t mean what I told the waitress it meant.”