The hell with it, he thought. He could play with it just the way it was, so long as he didn’t pull the trigger for real. For the next twenty minutes, he did room searches the way he saw them done in Cops, with the weapon held at arm’s length, gripped by both hands. When he played that he was holstering the gun, he stuffed it up to the trigger guard down the back of his pants, the way Mel Gibson did it in Lethal Weapon.
With the upstairs cleared of bad guys, of which he’d had to shoot at least half a dozen while catching two bullets himself—one in each shoulder—he paused long enough to put the sheets in the washer, and took his battle to the first floor.
He noticed the telephone at about the same time that he was getting bored again. He wondered what The Bitch was talking about today. After hesitating for just a moment, he picked up the phone and dialed. This time he had to keep his pacing to a minimum, because he was tethered by a real phone cord. Like the day before, it took many tries to get through, but when he finally did, he went right to the front of the line.
Denise was talking to Quinn in Milwaukee about the caller’s fears for Nathan’s safety when she got the note that the real star of today’s show was on line fourteen.
“Hey, Quinn?” she interrupted.
“What?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you on our other line here.” She stabbed the button. “Nathan Bailey, are you there?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the voice said. This afternoon, he sounded like the boy he was, his tone free of the burdens it carried the day before.
“Try not to call me ‘ma’am,’ okay, Nathan?” Denise said. “I’ve got a reputation, you know?’
He giggled. “Yes, ma… Okay.”
“Say hi to Quinn, Nathan. She’s from Milwaukee, and she thinks you’re pretty cool.”
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi, Nathan!” Quinn nearly shouted. “I just want to tell you that I believe you, and I hope all of this works out for you. For what it’s worth, if I ever have a little boy, I hope he’s every bit as polite. As you.
“Thanks,” he said a little sheepishly. He wasn’t sure he knew what she was talking about, and he was certain that he didn’t like that “little boy” crap, but it was a nice thing for her to say.
“Listen, Quinn,” Denise said, “what do you say I hang up on you and chat with Nathan for a little while?”
“Of course,” Quinn said agreeably. “You’ve got a great show, Bitch. Keep up the good work. And Nathan, you be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”
“So, have you been listening to the show this morning?” Denise asked. “You’re quite the celebrity today.”
“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t,” he said, his tone genuinely apologetic. “I’ve been sleeping.”
“Well, I don’t wonder:’ Denise laughed. “I guess doing all that laundry tires a boy out, huh?”
Nathan’s bowels turned to ice. “What?” he gasped. His voice was cold as stone. How did she know? How could…
“You didn’t see the press conference either?”
Press conference? What the hell is she talking about? His mind raced to put the pieces together, but they weren’t there. He said nothing.
“So you don’t know!” Denise announced, clearly tickled to be the one breaking the news on the air. Talk about great radio! “Your hosts from last night—the Nicholsons—came home this morning and found some things missing. Like a car. They also found your note.”
Nathan’s heart began to race. His hands were shaking. This wasn’t going right. Not the way he had planned it at all. He didn’t think they’d get home so soon. And if they got the note, then how come everyone knows? He asked them specifically…
“CNN had you tagged this morning as the world’s favorite burglar,” Denise explained. “It’s hard to think bad thoughts about a kid who does laundry.”
Nathan still didn’t see what was so funny. It was great that people thought nice things about him, but what did that matter? What it really meant was that the cops were still only a few hours behind him. How long could it be before they found the Beemer, especially if they were looking for it? The good news was that people didn’t go to church in the middle of the week, and the car wasn’t visible from the road.
It’ll be okay, he thought, calming himself down. I only need a few more hours.
A thousand questions flooded his mind all at once. He needed to get caught up fast on what everyone else knew. So he started asking.
Lyle Pointer watched the press conference live from his living room as he slowly and methodically reassembled his just-cleaned .357 Magnum. The Nicholsons looked like they had stepped out of Little House on the Fucking Prairie. Steve looked like the ex-college football star type, probably a quarterback or maybe a kicker. Kendra, no doubt, was the drooling cheerleader, though Pointer was willing to bet that she’d put on a good thirty pounds since they were married.
The kids were like all other kids, nondescript. Both had dark hair and dark eyes. Jamie, the older of the two at maybe thirteen, was clearly thrilled to be on television, though like his mother he could’ve afforded to drop a few pounds. His sister, Amy, was about nine, Pointer figured, and far too shy to say anything to the reporters.
Considering the work that had to be done, Pointer was none too pleased with the attention the Bailey kid and his antics were getting in the media. The more people watched, the tougher it was going to be to whack the kid and get out. But he had done tough hits before, and within a day or two this business would be done and Mr. Slater would be off his back. And the reporters, God love them, would have plenty to report.
The very fact that CNN had chosen to carry the Nicholsons’ comments live spoke volumes about how out-of-control this media frenzy was spinning. The questions were all shouted at once, and each family member would take a shot at giving a rambling, disjointed answer consisting mainly of incomplete sentences. Jamie, in particular, was intent on getting his two cents’ worth in at every conceivable opportunity, and nearly beamed with pride that America’s criminal du jour had chosen to dress himself in his clothes.
Yes, they said, Nathan had broken into their home through the French doors in the back. Except for clothes and the car, nothing appeared to have been stolen, though he had consumed three frozen pizzas. From what they could tell, Nathan had slept in the master bedroom and showered in the master bath, and believe it or not, he had washed all the linens and towels and re-made the bed before he left.
When Jamie described the pile of bloody clothes in the downstairs bath, a huge flurry of enthusiastic questions followed, which only served to confirm that the family didn’t have any real details to share.
Then Kendra read the note:
Dear Mr. amp; Mrs. Nicholson and Kids, I hope I got your name right. It was the one on your Time magazine. I’m sorry I broke into your house. I tried to be careful, but I broke a window out of your back door. I cleaned up the glass, and when I get the chance, I’ll be happy to pay you back.
You have a really nice house. You have the best TVs I’ve ever seen. Please tell your boy that I had to take some of his clothes. Please tell him thank you and I’m sorry. I found some laundry and I did it along with the sheets I slept in last night. I didn’t use any bleach because I’m not very good with it and sometimes people don’t like it.
I also had to take your other car. I’ve drove before and I promise I’ll be really really careful. So don’t worry. I’ll figure out a way to tell you where it is when I’m done.
You probably figured out by now that I’m in pretty bad trouble with the police. I did some bad things but it’s not like they think, honest. If it’s okay with you, please don’t call them for a day or so or maybe even a week after you find this. I really will take care of your stuff.