I’d put us all in danger.
We needed to get the hell out of there.
The moment I touched Herb’s arm, I heard the sound of the metal bay door at the back of the trailer. Two seconds before it slammed shut, I caught a glimpse of the man closing them—Groundskeeper Willie, smiling.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Phin and Harry. “I’m so, so, sorry.”
But they were already crumbling to their knees, and so was I.
Then my face lay against the cool plank flooring of the trailer, and I heard the voice of another officer coming through Herb’s mike: “Sergeant Benedict, we have no trailer on scene. Repeat, no trailer on scene. Over.”
I couldn’t stop my eyes from closing. Couldn’t fight it any longer.
One lingering, awful thought descending as the gas took me.
“Sergeant Benedict?”
Where—
“Do you read me?”
—will I—
“Sergeant Benedict!”
—wake up?
April 2, 3:22 A.M.
Luther locks the trailer door and lets the QNB gas go to work.
As he waits, he removes the latex nose and the gold cap from his bicuspid, and pockets them both. Then he opens an alcohol swab pack and wipes the spirit gum off his face.
Finally, he un-cinches the pillow belted to his waist, letting it fall to the ground.
Thanks for the assist, Groundskeeper Willie.
Luther puts the gas mask back on, counts slowly to sixty, and then opens the bay door.
All four are sleeping and will stay this way for several hours.
Luther tugs out the steel ramps and then climbs up into the trailer.
He needs to work quickly.
It takes five minutes to load them all into the van. The fat one is especially difficult, and Luther almost considers leaving him, but he can’t.
All four—he smiles—it’s too much of a coup.
Besides, not only is Herb one of Jack’s closest friends, but Luther has a perfect spot for him.
Once they’re all inside, Luther splashes around a bucket of blood in the back of the Sprinter, courtesy of the real groundskeeper, and a bucket of bran cereal mixed with water, courtesy of Kellog’s.
Then he carefully backs the van out of the trailer and drives to the nearest cemetery exit on Western.
There’s a barricade, natch, but Luther’s gas mask, and the new stenciling on the sides of his Sprinter that read CDC—Center for Disease Control—go a long way toward establishing his credentials.
Even so, his van is stopped by cops.
“Don’t open the back!” Luther screams through his closed driver’s-side window. “Lewisite gas!”
“These SRT guys?” a baby-faced cop asks.
“Civilians inside the grounds, and they’re dying.”
The cop and his partner shine their spotlights in on his unconscious passengers.
The blood and the fake vomit make it look like a scene from a warzone.
“Gotta move them! Now!” Luther screams.
The cop, who appears to have just achieved puberty, speaks into his walkie-talkie and then waves him through.
Perfect.
Luther pulls out onto Western, mightily pleased.
Now the real fun can finally begin.
“Through me the way is to the city dolent;
Through me the way is to eternal dole;
Through me the way among the people lost.”
DANTE ALIGHIERI, The Divine Comedy
Sixteen Months Ago
He tackles the house first, stripping it down to bare walls and floor.
It takes him two days to install the chains—drilling deep anchors into the masonry to hold the leg irons, manacles, and neck collars.
Fifteen Months Ago
“How may I help you?”
“When I make a withdrawal, I can request any denomination, even coins, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I need fifty thousand dollars in pennies.”
“Excuse me, did you say fifty thousand dollars?”
“Yes. That comes out to five million pennies.” He smirks. “I’m guessing you don’t have that many in your cash drawer.”
“No, we don’t even have that many in the vault. But we can get them for you. It just may take a bit of time.”
“No problem. I have plenty of time.”
“Might I ask what they’re for?”
Another smile. “I’m going to prove that money can’t buy happiness.”
Fourteen Months Ago
He stands at the opening to the warehouse all day, watching the trucks back in.
Load after load after load of sand, and the growl of the dozers spreading it around.
He can’t remember the last time he’s been this energized.
Finally, after all these years…
Creating again.
One Year Ago
The weather comes two days early.
Ten Mole Fan 18” DMX wind machines.
Six thousand apiece.
When the crew has completed the install, he walks through the warehouse with the remote console, pushing buttons, imagining all the fun to come.
Eight Months Ago
Luther watches Jack Daniels from the tree outside her house. He also notices someone else watching her.
That won’t do at all.
Jack is his, and his alone.
Six Months Ago
The bill for the monitors, the remote cameras and batteries, and all the cables, comes to a hair over two hundred thousand dollars.
“You opening up a television studio?” Luther is asked as he hands over the credit card.
“Something like that.”
Three Months Ago
When the driver for “The Septic Specialist” climbs back into his rig, Luther is sitting in the passenger seat, smiling and holding a subcompact .40 Glock.
“How full of shit is the tank?” he asks.
The driver’s eyes narrow with confusion. “Um, about three-quarters.”
“Buckle your seatbelt and drive where I tell you.”