Magnus put his hands on his hips and looked at Ted. “Get even.”
“I went to the sheriff’s to report it but I couldn’t stay. Cops creep me out. I’ve seen him around town, the gunman. He said his name was Henry but I think it’s Edgar something.”
“What kind of a small-town moron robs a cabbie where he lives? Maybe you should have filed a report.”
“Probably too late now.”
“Do you know him?”
“No. Just a high school kid, I think, maybe jumping in with the Fallbrook Kings. Some homies watched him rob me and they were smiling.”
“Violent children, one and all. What’s he look like?”
Ted described Edgar and his provocative girlfriend and the beat-up old Chevrolet Malibu he’d seen them in.
“It’s okay you didn’t tell the cops. You’re almost always better off without them. Do you carry a gun in the cab now?”
“I pick up my new gun next week. It’s a Glock.”
“You’ve got a right to protect yourself. Even though spineless liberals, from the president on down to our own mayor, will tell you different.”
“Evelyn Anders is a curse on this town.”
“I saw your cartoon of her. Someone sent it to the Rogue Wolf site. Great work, Ted.”
The next words seemed to come out of Ted’s mouth before he’d even thought them. “They expelled me from college for that drawing. I disagree with her politics, the way she throws public money around. Tax money. My money. She wants to control every thing I do. Actually, I like her face. She’s pretty in her own way. But I’m angry that privileged liberals like her have no idea what it’s like to be me.”
Cade gave Ted a long, serious look, leaned back against the counter, and crossed his muscular arms. His eyes were the same blue Ted remembered from over a decade ago. “You know what happened to my mother here that night, don’t you?”
“Everybody knows what.”
“The government refused to let her carry a gun and she was murdered by a man she didn’t even know.”
“I get mine in a few days.”
“Everything happens for a reason, Ted.”
“I never believed that. I think things happen for no reason.”
“Listen. Everything is connected but people don’t always see the connections. Sometimes it’s risky to let connections be known. Let me give this Edgar fellow some thought. And here, you give some of these to your friends, will you? Put some of them up around town, maybe when you’re between customers. There’s the Web site at the bottom. Don’t stop drawing cartoons. Draw more. Post them, post them, post them. You’re allowed to do that — the United States Constitution says so.”
Ted took the flyers, nodding. “Anders has no right to take our guns.”
Again Cade Magnus leveled his eyes on Ted and again Ted felt the boost of something optimistic inside him, something that could fuel action. “Ted, we call ourselves the Rogue Wolves now. Go to our Web site and see what my father has to say about our brave new, post — nine-eleven, crash-and-recession republic — run by a half-breed socialist who wasn’t even born here. Our motto is ‘Live free, fight alone.’ We believe in the white race over every other. We are the opposite of big government. We do not ask you to vote for us, to pledge your allegiance, or pay taxes to us. Live free, fight alone, Ted. That way they can’t hurt us. Nobody connects with anybody else. No trail. They can’t rob our bank accounts, or our imaginations, hearts, or souls. Think about what you can do. What only you can do. And stop by, anytime. I’d like to see more of you.”
When Ted was climbing into his truck in the Pride Auto Repair lot he saw a tall khaki-suited man standing across the street, seemingly intrigued by the front window display of the photography studio. Ted had sometimes stopped to admire the happy wedding pictures and wholesome family portraits and the flattering graduation pictures of high school students. The man certainly looked like the one in Open Sights and the one who was walking behind him after the Magnus rally the other day. Same big head. Ted wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. Again.
He drove around the Carmella Street barrio looking for Edgar. He had the windows down and it was the first time since the fire that the air of Fallbrook smelled alive: trumpet vine and hillside sage, late-season roses. Young people cruised the fragrant evening, rolling along slowly in their cars, music throbbing. The youngsters walked or rode scooters or bikes. There was a big wheeled barbecue set up in a front yard, with a sign, and a husky man and a stout woman cooking and others waiting in line. Some of the girls and young women had Chihuahuas in their arms or on leashes and the dogs on leashes zigzagged the sidewalks, straining for freedom. Ted looked out at the small groups of people on the corners — all of them wanting to see and be seen. Cortez Market was bustling and the music blared from a small discoteca with posters of musicians in the windows.
Ted put on a Cruzela Storm CD and turned the volume so Cruzela’s voice would be part of the world but not dominate it. Her voice was low and smooth, but it could climb high and not lose its honey quality. Ted found it almost unbelievable that someone as talented as Cruzela Storm would perform at Fallbrook High School. And just to build lighted crosswalks that the city didn’t need. He’d still pay to see her. Although if arrogant Mayor Evelyn got up on her soapbox she’d probably ruin the whole show for him, and for everybody else.
Then there he was — Edgar — standing at the corner of Old Stage and Via Entrada, not two hundred feet from where he had robbed Ted. A streetlamp held him in a cone of light: shorts past his knees and a singlet and the killah shades even after dark. Ted felt his heart speed up and his hearing crank into overdrive. He turned off Cruzela and let the truck move at idle. Edgar’s girlfriend was there, tight jeans and black boots, and they were arguing. Ted saw Edgar register his truck, then who was driving it. He braked and stopped at the corner where they stood. Before even thinking Ted raised his left hand, which was dangling out the window, and made a gun of it and pointed it at the big high school boy. Edgar tracked the motion from behind the dark lenses like a creature with compound eyes. “What do you want, man?”
Ted went brittle with anger. Or was it fear? Edgar’s voice was loud and clear, and Ted was aware of the distant throb of the music and the sound of the truck engine and the sudden silence of the pedestrians at the intersection. When he finally heard it, his voice was high-pitched and wavering. “You owe me twenty-two dollars.”
“I’ve never seen you. How can I owe you? Come on, Jessie, let’s go.”
“I want my money back,” Ted said
“Then get outta that truck and try to take it.”
“Oh, no. You might pull your gun again.”
“I don’t have a gun. He’s trash-talking, Jessie. Let’s go.”
Edgar took her hand and turned away but she wrenched loose and stepped into the street and up to Ted’s open window. “Get fucked, you fat shit.” Edgar grabbed her wrist again and pulled her to the curb and up Via Entrada. Ted heard her laughter and her boot heels as they disappeared gradually into the darkness. Get with the program. Get even. Get fucked. He drove away with his heart beating hard and his ears ringing with defeat and rage. He would love to get even. Love to. And then some.
With everybody.
Chapter fourteen
Evelyn Anders stood under a shade canopy at the Emergency Resource Center, waiting to tell her fellow citizens what the city could do for victims of the fire. It was a warm Saturday morning, eleven days since the blaze had been extinguished. The tables in front of her had stacks of informational pamphlets, anchored by rocks against the breeze. The Emergency Resource Center was set up in a church parking lot in the hills east of downtown. The centerpiece was a large gleaming trailer with the words CERTIFIED EMERGENCY RESPONSE TEAM — C.E.R.T. emblazoned across its flanks.