“We’ve already done it. The fire’s just the finishing touch.”
“I don’t think I want to be there…”
“Well, you’re going to. You know you always do what I want you to.”
“I know, but-”
“Say it.”
“… I always do what you want me to.”
“Tell me why.”
“You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Most of the time. Hey, you know what would’ve been really cool? If we could’ve hung Runyon, too. Right next to Manuel, side by side, like in those old cowboy flicks.”
“That’s gross! Sometimes…”
“Sometimes what?”
“ You scare me. You’re so…”
“So what? Crazy? Maybe I am; I don’t care. Taking risks, having fun, getting even, that’s what it’s all about.”
“Sooner or later we’re gonna get caught.”
“No, we’re not.”
“We almost did already. I almost did. If you get any more out of control-”
“I’m not out of control! Don’t say that to me!”
“Ow! No, don’t hit me again-”
“I will if you give me any more shit like that.”
“I won’t, baby, I’m sorry.”
“Why doesn’t that fucking timer go off? Did you pour kerosene inside the trailer like I told you to?”
“Yeah.”
“Leave trails to the other cabins?”
“Yes, yes, I told you I did.”
“It’s going to be a real big fire. Big and hot, bigger and hotter than the school-remember the school? Last longer, too, hours maybe. All the dry grass out here, it’ll burn fast.”
“What if it spreads this way, climbs up this hill?”
“It won’t. There’s not much wind and it’s blowing away from us.”
“Somebody could see us up here-”
Whoosh!
There it goes! About time! Yes!
Flames jumping growing racing, eating up the grass, climbing the trailer, climbing the shacks, shooting out windows and roofs. That’s it, that’s it! Higher, faster, big red tongues licking up the crack of night.
Look at the trailer burn, like a fat bug on a bonfire. Smell the smoke, acid sweet like pot, like devil’s perfume. Listen to it crackle, like it’s talking to itself, saying burn hotter, faster, burn everything up. Watch it run run run run along the creek and up the cottonwoods and into the orchards, mount the trees one at a time, fuck each one, make it come in a crown of fire.
Somebody’s seen it by now, somebody’s called 911. Won’t be long before the sirens. And then the fire trucks and the firemen and the hoses and the fire laughing at the puny streams of water trying to put it out. And son of a bitch bastard Don Kelso roaring up in his cruiser, I can hardly wait. He won’t be swaggering tonight, giving orders, acting like he knows everything and owns the fucking world. You can’t give orders to fire. You can’t slap fire around and make it behave.
Oh, man, watch it feed, watch it fuck! So hot, so hungry. Swallowing up the camp now, the trees, the fields, the sky, the night, the whole world. Burning everything up. Burning me up inside.
“Hey, what’re you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“No! Not here, not now-”
“Right here, right now.”
“We can’t, it’s crazy, what if somebody sees us-”
“Burn you up, too, burn both of us up together.”
“No, baby, please, please-”
“Don’t fight me, don’t make me hurt you.”
Burning up burning up burning up…
13
When I came into the offices on Monday morning, Tamara said, “We’re not gonna have Jake for a couple of days.”
“How come?”
“He called last night, and again a few minutes ago. Man had a rough weekend up north and it’s still not done with.”
“What happened?”
“Walked blind into a murder and arson case, got himself a bad whack on the head. Guy he was supposed to deliver the subpoena to is missing and the local law thinks it’s because he’s the perp.” She explained the rest of the situation, as Runyon had outlined it to her.
“Christ. How bad’s his concussion?”
“Not too serious. He figured he’d be able to leave today, but there was another fire last night-that’s how come the second call-and now it looks like he’s stuck until tomorrow.”
“He need any help from us?”
“He says no.”
Cause for concern just the same. Runyon had become an important fit in the short time he’d worked for the agency. He’d put his life and his license on the line for Tamara and me on more than one occasion, and a tight professional bond had developed among the three of us-trust, respect, understanding. That was as far as it went, by tacit consent. He wasn’t the kind of man who invited friendship outside the office, or who seemed to need friends at all. Still grieving for his late wife-another reason he had my empathy. I cared about the man, I knew Tamara did, too, and his actions and as much talking as you could get him to do indicated he felt the same way.
“Keep in touch with him. If he needs us, we’ll work something out.”
“Told him that.”
“Okay. Meanwhile, we’ve got the Ogden investigation to move on.”
“Already started,” she said. “Last night, after I got back from apartment hunting.”
“Didn’t tell me you were looking for a new place.”
“Yeah, well, about time I had me a Horace-free environment.”
“Any luck?”
“Not much so far. One place I liked on Potrero Hill, but it’s bigger than I need-three-bedroom flat-and the damn landlord ought to be arrested for extortion, the rent he’s asking.”
“Seller’s market again. We were lucky to get this new office space as cheaply as we did.”
“Don’t I know it. Maybe I ought to just move my butt in here, save money all around.”
She wasn’t serious, but I had to look at her closely to make sure. Tamara is the impulsive type, levelheaded most of the time, but every now and then she gets a notion into her head that rattles the hell out of convention.
I told her how I’d spent part of my Sunday, what little I’d found out from T. R. Quentin. She made a note of it to add to the Ogden file; when it comes to business matters, she’s pure efficiency.
“Not much on Mathias so far,” she said. “Man’s personal finances look pretty clean-no debts or overextensions or big investments, nothing that even has much of a built-in risk factor. Real conservative type, at least on the surface. If he’s got any vices, they’re well hidden.”
“Same profile as four years ago. What about RingTech?”
“Solid. Profits up fifteen percent since Mathias took it over four years ago, expansion plans in the works, looks like they’re going public pretty soon. Another Donald Trump in the making.” One corner of her mouth quirked. “Bet I know who he voted for last election.”
“Yeah. So any financial motive appears to be out.”
“Looks that way. No need for his wife’s assets or the life insurance.”
“And he had full control of RingTech even before her death.”
“One hundred percent. She wasn’t even on the board of directors.”
“Doesn’t leave us with much,” I said. “Except jealousy, if she was involved with another man. Or maniacal possessiveness, if she was planning to leave him.”
“Control freaks like him look at their women same as abusive husbands, you know what I’m saying? Possessions. Can’t stand to lose the women unless they decide to throw them away themselves. Thousands of assholes like that kill their wives every year. After reading that diary, I can see Mathias as one of ‘em.”
“Maybe. The two things that argue against it are his apparent conservative nature and his ambition. And Ring-Tech’s about to make an IPO, you said. Would a guy with his mind-set, on the cusp of a major step upward in the corporate world, risk everything on a crime of passion?”
“Might if he figured he could get away with it.”
“We don’t know enough about him; that’s the problem. All we have is hunches, biased impressions, a lot of secondhand and four-year-old information.”