He had an odd thought: Male lions let the females do the hunting, but they are the first to eat the kill. He wondered if wolves were the same. Not likely. We’re not lazy.
The Wolf stole a last glance at Red Two’s house. He doubted he would return there again-and then, in the same moment, had the sensation that he could barely tear himself away. He reimagined the pleasure that rolling past Red Two’s house had given him, spying on her over weeks and months. He had a hard time thinking that phase was finished. It was time for him to head home, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that something was incomplete. He hoped that killing Red One and Red Three would give him the satisfaction he craved. But for the first time he was worried. His feet dragged like an old man’s against the sidewalk and the spring in his step felt diminished. He mumbled to himself as he made his way back to his car, “You work so damn hard, and then something comes along and screws it all up.”
He told himself to not be so hard on himself. Everything else was going according to plan. He misquoted the poet out loud, “Ah, the best-laid plans of mice and men often go astray.”
The Big Bad Wolf snorted and laughed. Flexibility, he believed. He needed to write some pages on the necessity of flexibility. Be prepared for the unexpected. No matter how things are falling into place, always be ready for sudden changes. Like a jump from a bridge.
When he got to his car, he slumped behind the wheel as if exhausted. “We are down to days now,” he said out loud. He liked the forcefulness in his voice. As he put the car in gear, he began to consider weapons and locations. He thought that he should divide his manuscript into two sections: The Hunt and The Kill.
Karen sat primly across from the funeral director.
“This is an unusual request,” he said haltingly, “but not impossible.”
The office had an appropriately somber tone, with lots of dark wood and shaded windows that prevented too much light from slipping in. The funeral director was a bald-headed, stocky man with pudgy fingers, and seemed like a friendly sort even with his somber black suit. A firm handshake, a warm smile, and an enthusiastic voice when death is the subject, she realized. She had expected a cliché, a tall and cadaverous, deep-voiced Uriah Heep of a man.
“Just a small gathering,” Karen said. “I’m afraid since the accident that left her widowed, Sarah really let almost all her relationships drop. She was very isolated and alone. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t some of her friends left who want to pay their respects. Maybe some of the teachers where she worked, or some of her late husband’s coworkers in the fire department.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” the funeral director said. “And family?”
“Unfortunately, very spread out. She was an only child and her parents have passed away,” Karen lied. “And her cousins are unwilling to accept the reality of her death. Or maybe they just don’t care.”
Karen avoided the word suicide, as she knew the funeral director would.
“That is most unfortunate,” he said, but his tone suggested the opposite, that it made matters much easier.
“I thought of doing this at my house-you know,” Karen continued, “just a little private gathering to speak our affection for the deceased-but that seemed too informal.” She knew he wouldn’t like this suggestion.
“No, no, either a church or in one of our smaller venues is much better. I have found that often people whose friendships seemed to have been dropped would be surprised by the strength of the turnout.”
That is, they would be surprised if they weren’t dead, Karen thought. She nodded. “So true,” she said. And at my house there would be no fee. “So can you show me the rooms you have available?”
“Of course,” the director said with a smile. “And let me just bring my schedule book as well.”
He led Karen down a narrow, thickly carpeted hallway painted in somber off-whites. Outside a set of double doors with a plaque that read the eternal peace room, he paused. “No casket?”
“No,” Karen said. “The police have yet to recover her body-if they ever will. I thought just flower arrangements around a montage of photographs.”
He nodded. “Ah, that would be lovely.”
Karen had the impression she could have said, “I want to show homemade pornographic films,” and he would have replied, “That would be lovely.”
The director held the door open for her.
It was a small room, with seats for about fifty. There were speakers mounted into the walls softly playing funereal organ music. In the corners there were vases for flowers. It seemed distinctly artificial and soulless. Karen thought it looked ideal. “Oh, this is nice,” she said, while secretly thinking that if the Wolf managed to kill her, she could imagine no worse place to lie in state. Christ, I hope if he wins, someone takes my dead body and puts it up on a stage and gets every comic in the county to come by and make the worst, most outrageous, most offensive jokes they possibly can over me so that everyone can have a good laugh at my expense. “Those are nice curtains,” she said, pointing at the back of the room. They were fake silk.
“Yes,” the director said. “They lead to a small room. Sometimes family, you know, need some extra privacy.”
“Of course,” Karen said. She thought they would be perfect for what she had in mind.
Just like the Big Bad Wolf, Red Three was thinking about weapons as the van from her school pulled into the parking lot at the mall.
“All right, just two hours. Check your watches now,” the junior faculty member announced as he opened the door for the dozen students packed into the vehicle. “And stay together. Buddy up. And no one get into any trouble.”
The school routinely ferried students over to the mall on shopping trips. Jordan had very rarely signed up for any of these excursions. She did not particularly like the bright lights and canned music that filled the place, nor did she enjoy window-shopping or trying on what passed for cheap teenage fashion.
The junior faculty member-a young man in his early thirties who taught geography-would get himself an overpriced cup of coffee and find a spot in the food court where he could read while waiting for the two hours to be up. He was there primarily to make sure heads were counted and no school or mall rules were broken.
Jordan fully intended to break a major rule.
She had in her pocket one of Red One’s credit cards, and specific instructions about what to purchase. She was pressed for time-not only because the junior faculty member had put a deadline on the mall visit, but because Jordan knew that later that evening Karen would call credit card security, tell them the card had been lost or stolen, and cancel the account.
Her first stop was an electronics store. The video recorder that the salesman was eager to sell her was slightly larger than a cell phone and could be operated with one hand. It had a wide-angle-lens attachment, which Jordan believed would be helpful. Red One’s credit card was rapidly accepted.
Jordan’s next task was something that she had not discussed with Karen. She felt a little guilty as she stepped into the clothing store. It was a higher-end type of place, catering to young professionals. She went directly to shelves of overpriced cashmere sweaters and selected a black turtleneck that she liked in her own size. She took this to the checkout counter, where a girl hardly older than she was behind the register.