“I would think you’d be proud of me, Auntie dear,” he said, “finally standing up for what’s mine, taking initiative, like you’ve always told me to do. But the truth is, right now I don’t give a damn what you think,” and he realized that, for the first time in his adulthood, he truly didn’t. He didn’t care about her or her disappointment or the favors she could grant. It was complete, the transformation, he was finally free of her power and his own failed expectations.
“Bobby dear—”
“Shut up,” he shouted as he waved the gun and watched them all pull away in fear. “I’m in control now, and I like it.” His head swam through the emotion that swelled over him in a glorious wave as he reached, he realized, the absolute pinnacle of his life. Everything before had been leading here, to this magnificent moment of freedom and retribution. “A Spangler is in control, and all of you, even you, sweet Aunt Gloria, will bow down in obeisance.”
“Mr. Spangler?”
He spun his head quickly toward the sound, and the sight was so out of place that it took him a while to process it. Two characters of dubious race, standing on either side of the wide doorway to the room. One was the woman who had come for him earlier, the policewoman, Ramirez, with her long neck and pretty face and something sticking out of her ear. He hadn’t noticed before that she was deaf. The other was a much older black man. Another police officer? Yes, of course, Bobby had seen him at the Toth funeral. And both of them, shockingly, had guns in their hands, and the guns were pointing at him. “Mr. Spangler,” said Detective Ramirez, “we need you to put the shotgun down.”
This was not in his plan. Everything had been going so well, but this was not in the plan. “Excuse me, Detective Ramirez,” he said, trying to keep the edge of hysteria that was now slicing through him out of his voice, “but I’m talking here. Can you give me a moment? Or will I have to start shooting?”
“You can have your moment, Mr. Spangler—Bobby,” said Ramirez. “You can take as long as you want to have your say. I guarantee it. But first you need to put down the gun.”
“Don’t worry, Detectives,” said Francis. “He won’t hurt me.” “Oh, yes I will, Francis, you little prick,” said Bobby with a jerk of the gun that aimed it right at Francis’s chest. “With relish. And mustard.” He turned his head to Ramirez and saw the fear crease her features, and that brought a calm. She hadn’t been afraid for herself, or for Byrne, or for the Qing vase in the corner. No, all she cared about, like everyone else, was the smarmy politician standing before him. It was funny how training a gun on a U.S. senator brought a flush of power. Life would be grand if he could only pull a shotgun on a senator every day. The truth of it caused him to smile.
“You don’t want to do this, Bobby,” said Ramirez.
“But I do, Detective, trust me on that. And what about our date? Are we still on?”
“Of course, Bobby,” she said with a false, nervous smile. Bobby liked that finally it was a woman who had the nervous smile instead of him. “Coffee, just as you said.”
“And more?” said Bobby.
“And more. Yes. So much more. But please, first, you need to put down the gun.”
“See, Aunt Gloria, and all this time you were worried that I didn’t get out enough. I guess all I needed was a twelve-gauge.”
“What is it that you want?” said Aunt Gloria.
“All I ever wanted was for you to honor me like you honored him.”
“Well, dear,” she said, her chin dropping, “he is my son. But you, Bobby, have come so much further.”
“Then why is everything always him, him, him?”
“Because he is our shared enterprise, darling. Yours and mine, the entire family’s. Everything he achieves, it’s as if we’ve achieved it, too. And don’t forget, dear, he’s half Spangler.”
“Bobby, listen to me,” said Ramirez. “We want to help you, we really do. Talk to us.”
Aunt Gloria turned to the police and spoke in a tight, angry voice. “If you detectives will . . . calm yourselves for a moment. I’ll take care of this.”
“Bobby, we can’t help you until you put down the gun,” said Ramirez. “I’m afraid of how things might turn out if you don’t put down the gun.”
“Threats won’t be necessary,” said Aunt Gloria. “Come here, dear, come by my side.”
Bobby felt himself pulled in two directions, by Detective Ramirez with her lips and her tawny skin, with her promises of more, much more, even as her gun pointed at his chest. And Aunt Gloria, who had once been his guiding light. And who was finally acknowledging how far he had risen.
“Come, dear,” she said. “I have something to tell you. A secret.”
He hesitated, looked at the detective once more, and then, with the gun still pointing at Francis’s atrophied heart, he took a step toward his aunt. He felt warmer suddenly, comforted, as if the twisted old woman in that chair were the hearth and home he had pined for over the years. He took another step, felt the heat of her as if she were a toasty fire of aromatic love.
“Come closer still,” she said. “The secret I have is for you alone.”
He couldn’t help himself. No matter how far he had risen, she could always pull him to her with a sweet purr from her lovely throat. He went to her, squatted beside her, all the time keeping his gun steady on Francis and his gaze steady on the pretty detective.
His aunt leaned over to him and put her twitching lips close to his ear. With the palsy, she couldn’t help but brush his flesh with her own.
“You’re going to ruin everything,” she whispered so softly that no one else could hear.
“That’s the point,” he said just as softly.
“No, dear. Don’t forget all we owe each other.”
He pulled back as he exclaimed loudly, “Each other?”
“Bobby,” said Detective Ramirez, “Bobby. This isn’t going to end well. Please, I’m asking, I’m begging. Please put down the gun.”
“Listen to her, son,” said the older, black detective. “She only wants to help you.”
“Oh, why are you two bothering me?” he spit out. “Shouldn’t you be outside arresting the man in the car? Do you know who it is? Do you have any idea?”
“The car in front?” said Ramirez.
“Yes, of course, the car Byrne came in,” he said as he let the gun jerk toward the boy standing stock-still in his stupid gray suit before it rested again in the direction of Cousin Francis. “Do you know who is inside that car, listening to our conversation?”