Sadie heard Ford wonder how he hadn’t really known Willy before, and think that James had been in front of him, in front of everyone, the whole time. He needed his own friends now.
Bright, new images popped up in his mind, tiny dots forming precise outlines of houses restored, parks built, a girl—
Willy made a sharp turn and slammed on his brakes.
“Here we are. Home sweet home.” He’d pulled up alongside a gray stone building, parking next to a blue Porsche. “Former home of Woodland Baptist. Now home to yours truly.” Willy tapped his chest proudly.
“The Porsche yours too?” Ford asked.
Willy grinned. “Just holding it for a friend.”
They went around the back to the door of the chancellery. It had been beautifully refinished and buffed to a high gloss. “Did you do this?” Ford asked, running his palm lovingly over the wood.
Willy nodded. “Did all the woodwork myself. Left the front shabby so no one gets ideas.” He punched a number into a keypad and the door clicked open.
They stepped into the cool, silent interior of the nave of the church. The pews had been removed, and the place was stacked with boxes of coffeemakers, salad spinners, curlers, Tupperware, and an inflatable pool. The boxes formed a corridor seven feet high that wound through the nave around other stacks of phone chargers, the complete Shakespeare collection, and a bulk of toilet paper.
Sadie felt nervous, and she was glad when the hair on the back of Ford’s neck began to prickle. Willy may be a friend, but he’s clearly a troubled friend.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ford said, and it was true.
“I like to know I have everything under control,” Willy explained. “If anything happens, I got what I need to handle it.”
What is the inside of his mind like? Sadie wondered.
Sadie heard Ford wanting to ask what situation called for six popcorn poppers, but he didn’t.
The trail ran past Chia Pets, YourLastMop, and a ship-in-a-bottle kit, toward a room at the back, separated from the nave by a partition.
“This must have taken a ton of work,” Ford said.
Willy looked genuinely pleased. “Yeah. Not many people see all this. Sort of a private hobby, I guess you could say.”
Sparkplugs, rubber bands, grow-your-own tomatoes—Ford looked up and realized Willy was halfway to the door in the back wall. He rushed forward to catch up to him. “Don’t we have to stay within three feet of each other?”
Willy turned around, frowning blankly, then his face cleared. “Oh, because of the chips. Nah, that doesn’t matter here.”
“Why not?” Ford asked.
“I have a surprise for you.”
The hair prickled on the back of Ford’s neck more. “Why doesn’t it matter?” He followed Willy through the door into a big office, only partially filled with boxes. A large maple desk sat in the middle with a television behind it and a Crock-Pot beside it. The Crock-Pot was on, and the dried-out smell of three-day-old chili filled the air.
“You hungry?” Willy asked.
Ford shook his head, looking for a place to sit between the Accu-Lawn garden sprinklers, childproof knife set, beige cowboy hat, Miracle Ear hearing aid, drill—
The hat. Ford grabbed it and looked inside.
It was lined with tinfoil and had magnets taped around the edge. Unquestionably Bucky’s, Ford thought.
“Where did you get this?” he asked Willy.
“Right off Bucky’s head, would you believe. Was wearing it when they brought him in to chat.” He winked at Ford. “I have you to thank for that. Never would have found him if he hadn’t been so gung ho about talking to you.”
Willy is the Pharmacist, Sadie said aloud, before she caught herself.
Ford flinched, then said, “You’re the Pharmacist.” His mind entered a state of suspended animation, as though disbelief had wrapped all his thoughts in cotton.
Willy smiled and took a little bow. “That I am.”
It makes perfect sense, Sadie thought to herself. Willy was always the butt of everyone’s jokes, but really the joke had been on them.
Ford, still struggling to grasp everything, stuck with monosyllables. “How?”
“I’m the brains behind the operation. Or, I suppose I should say, the brains behind the brains,” Willy chuckled. “They all answer to me. Have a seat.”
“I’m fine standing,” Ford said.
“Sit the hell down,” Willy thundered, towering over him. The whites of his eyes showed, and his teeth were bared.
Ford sat. Instantly, Willy was back to his old self, retreating behind his desk. “That’s better. You wanted to see the Pharmacist. The Pharmacist is in.” He spread his hands. “What can I do for you?”
Ford’s thoughts were jumbled, and he had no idea where to begin. He stared at Willy’s familiar face, trying to make any of it make sense. “Why call yourself the Pharmacist?”
“MRP,” Willy said. He had a blue aluminum baseball bat propped on his thigh, resting his chin on the end. “Mr. Pharmacist. Keeping the civil body healthy and in good working order.”
“Through violence.”
“Most natural thing in the world,” Willy told him. “Violence is the way of animals from birth on. Can’t have order without violence. Everything worth having has violence in it.”
“But people only do what you say because you’re using mind control,” Ford said.
“Not at all,” Willy objected, sounding almost hurt. “It’s an incentive-based system. People do what we want, and we give them what they secretly desire. Or they don’t, and we give them what they most fear. It’s up to them.”
Ask how they know what desires and fears to use, Sadie said.
Shut up, Ford ordered. But he said, “How do you know what incentives will work?”
“From the chips,” Willy answered vaguely. “It’s a complicated process.”
He’s hedging, Sadie said. Push him for specifics.
Ford ignored her. “What about why you killed James? Is that complicated?”
Willy frowned, his eyes drifting around the room. “Who says I killed him? Lots of people wanted him dead. You, for one. He slept with your girlfriend. Don’t look surprised, you knew that.” The eyes now honed in on Ford. “Hell, he practically let you drown. He thought he was so great, but he wasn’t anything.”
Ford’s mind tightened, like an old-fashioned toy being wound by a key. “So why bother with him?”
Willy sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, slapping the bat against his palm. “He stole something of great value. Can’t let stealers go unpunished.”
“You mean Plum.”
“You think that’s why James was killed? Out of jealousy for that little tart?” Willy whooped with laughter. “Wrong.”
Sadie heard Ford wondering what kind of patron Willy was. It was hard to picture them together. “What did he take?”
“Money,” Willy said, like it was obvious. “James comes to me with this plan. Says he’s going to free City Center, free me, from the tyranny of the Pharmacist. Great guy, your brother. Way it works, that ungrateful girl told him where all the cash is kept—right here, in fact”—he gestured around the room—“and how to get into the safe. She’s only interested in the dough, but James aims higher.” Willie tapped his head. “He’s going to hide out here and ambush the Pharmacist when he comes in to count the money in his safe. The key being since James doesn’t have a chip, he won’t show up on the scanners in here. Just like he’s the invisible man, he says.” Willie grinned. “Only, he was plenty visible to me.”