That night, Mary prepared roast beef and mashed potatoes with gravy, and we drank mulled wine and watched videotapes of How the Grinch Stole Christmas and A Charlie Brown Christmas and Scrooge and It’s a Wonderful Life.
We went to sleep with visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads.
The next morning, we opened our presents. I received books and cassettes and videotapes and clothes and, from Philipe, an automatic rifle.
Mary prepared a turkey dinner, which we ate sometime in the mid-afternoon.
I could not help thinking of my previous Christmas, spent alone in my apartment. I felt better here with the others, but I still found myself thinking of even earlier Christmases, those spent with Jane and my parents. Then I had been really, truly happy. I had not realized it then, but I knew it now, and that knowledge depressed me. Not for the first time, I wished that I could turn back the clock and return to those days, that I could know then what I knew now, and that I could do everything over again.
But that was impossible, and I knew that it would only depress me further to look back at the past, and I forced myself to concentrate only on the present and the future.
Mary saw me sitting alone in the corner of the suite that we’d commandeered for Christmas Day, and she came over and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
I smiled at her. “Merry Christmas.” I gave her a hug, kissed her on the cheek, and took the hand she offered me, walking back into the thick of the festivities, where Tommy was trying to teach Junior how to play Nintendo.
Fifteen
Business in the desert cities did not stop for the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and we took the opportunity to do a little spying on the enemy. Joe told us who the power brokers were and where they worked, and we spent the week walking into some of the newer and more exclusive office buildings, checking out the lairs of our adversaries.
None of the security guards stationed at the entrances to the banks or corporate offices saw us, and we walked easily past them, into the buildings, choosing doors at random, going in. Some were locked, of course, but others weren’t, and behind them we saw deals being made, bribes being offered and accepted. We saw secretaries having sex with bosses, saw an executive with a photo of his wife and daughter on his desk fellating a younger man.
Sometimes these people would jump up in shock and outrage and horror when we barged in.
Sometimes they did not see us at all, and we stood watching as though we were invisible.
None of the power brokers were ever in, though. They did take the week off, no doubt spending it with their families, and it was lucky for them that they did, because we always arrived armed, ready to take out whomever we could.
New Year’s Day was on a Saturday this year, and Philipe had Joe call Harrington on the Thursday prior and set up a meeting on the first. Harrington didn’t want to have it on that day, he wanted to stay home, watch the games, but Joe said it was then or never, and the businessman finally agreed.
Joe hung up the phone. “He asked me if I’d finally come to my senses and decided to resign,” he said. “I told him that’s what we’re going to talk about.”
“Good,” Philipe said, nodding. “Good. That gives us a full day for target practice.”
We spent Friday in the desert, shooting at cans.
All of us.
Even Tim.
Saturday, we awoke early, too restless and anxious to sleep. Part of it was because the specifics of what we intended to do were still hazy in our minds — Philipe might know exactly how we were going to take out the power brokers, but he hadn’t yet shared it with the rest of us and we were vague on the details.
That ended at breakfast.
Over McMuffins picked up by Joe, with the sounds of the Rose Parade coming from the TV, Philipe outlined precisely what each of us was to do in what he called “the operation.” The plan was simple and — because of who we were, because of what we were — foolproof.
Joe was scheduled to meet with Harrington and the others at Harrington’s office at eleven, but we were in front of the building by nine, sitting in our cars, watching, waiting. The first man, the one with the cigar, arrived around ten. They were all there by ten-thirty.
“He’s not coming,” Joe said at ten-fifty.
“Who?” Philipe asked.
“Jim. The Ignored guy who’s supposed to be the new mayor.”
“What do you expect? He has no say in any of this. He’s just a puppet.” Philipe opened the door, got out of the car, motioned for the terrorists in the other cars to do the same. They emerged carrying revolvers and shotguns and automatic rifles.
“All right,” Philipe said. “You know the plan. Let’s get in and get it done.”
“Wait a minute.” Joe cleared his throat.
“What?”
“I want Harrington. He’s mine.”
Philipe grinned. “You got it.” He looked around the assembled group. “Are we all ready?”
“No.” Mary, holding on to the trunk of our car, shook her head. She had driven over with us, riding in the backseat next to Joe. She’d spent the night with him.
Philipe turned to face her, annoyed. “What is it now?”
She looked pale. “I… I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it.”
“Bullshit,” Philipe said.
“No. Really.” She seemed as if she were about to throw up.
“You were in on Familyland — ”
“I can’t do it, okay?”
Philipe looked at her, then nodded. “Okay.” He sighed. “Wait here with the cars.”
She smiled weakly. “You want me to drive the getaway vehicle?”
He looked at her, then grinned slightly. “If you can handle it.”
“Yes, boss.”
Once again, he looked over the group. “Anyone else want to bow out?” His gaze settled on me, moved to Tim, to James. We all shook our heads. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s get these fuckers.”
We strode into the building. Don and Bill staked out the south stairway, Tommy and Tim the north. Paul and John stayed in the lobby, in front of the elevators. The rest of us went up.
I held tightly to my automatic rifle and stared at the ascending numbers lighting up sequentially above the elevator door. My hands were sweaty and felt slippery on the gunmetal.
How had I gotten into this? I thought. How had this happened? I felt in my gut that I was doing what needed to be done — it seemed like the right thing to me — but at the same time I could not help thinking that something here was way off base. This was not supposed to feel right to me; I should not want to kill these men.
But I did.
I started thinking about all the ways in which I and the others were average, ordinary. Did average, ordinary individuals want to go around killing people?
Maybe they did.
I thought again that something had slipped off track somewhere along the line.
Then the elevator doors opened and we were on the fifth floor. Most of the lights were off. Only a few soft recessed fluorescent bulbs illuminated the long hallway. We walked slowly toward the office, our weapons at the ready.
“Harrington’s mine,” Joe repeated.
Philipe nodded.
We moved into the darkened waiting room, and the door into the inner office opened slowly.
“You go in first,” Philipe whispered. “Tuck your gun in your belt. Hide it.”
Joe turned toward us, scared. “You’re not going to leave me alone?”