Yes. She was in a bad way. She was dying of leukemia. She’d been exposed to radiation from an explosion, seen the cloud from within three miles of its epicenter.
So that’s why Water says she’s a tree? The mushroom cloud reminds him of a tree.
No, Fred said. The day after my father met Selah, we went to her cabin as agreed to collect the twins and put her in a hospice. We found the boys crying under a bristlecone tree a little up the trail from their house. It seemed Selah had hanged herself early that morning.
Forty-one
It was dark with the exception of one lamp on a table that cast a dim pool of light on the floor. In the gloom it seemed brighter than it really was. Water sat in a chair near the lamp, reading a copy of GQ, wondering if there would ever be a Hugo Boss suit or Dolce & Gabbana sweater designed with conjoined twins in mind. Beside him, under his caul, Fire snored.
The door was flung open and Brewster strode in, flicking the overhead fluorescent light on, bathing the room in harsh radiation.
Am I disturbing, he asked, and sat on the edge of the bed.
A very nervous nurse flitted by his elbow. They are Dr. Singh’s patients, he said. We should call him to come in before you ask them any more questions.
Brewster’s look shut him up.
Water put down the magazine. Fire shifted about under Water’s robe.
Why even bother reading a magazine like that, Brewster asked. Do you think with the right disguise you can fit in?
A completely blind chameleon still takes on the colors of its environment, Water said.
Is that what you are, a chameleon?
Water was silent.
I asked you a question, Brewster said. I’m not as soft as Dr. Singh, so answer me.
A vexillologist is an expert in the history of flags, Water said.
I know this is just an act you’re putting on, Brewster snarled.
Pope Pius II wrote an erotic book, Historia de duobus amantibus, in 1444, Water said.
I know you’re really the one in control here, Brewster said. I’ve seen your MRIs.
Michael Jackson holds the rights to the South Carolina state anthem, Water said.
Don’t play this game with me, Brewster said.
Black bears are not always black. They can be brown, cinnamon, yellow, and even white.
Do you know that I have the power to keep you here indefinitely?
A dog can hear frequencies that a human ear cannot, Water said.
And then before Brewster could speak again, Water began rocking and repeating facts, rapid-fire, leaving no room for Brewster to speak:
The infinity sign is called a lemniscate.
Take your height and divide by eight, that’s how tall your head is.
Pittsburgh is the only city where all major sports teams have the same colors: black and gold.
It is illegal to own a red car in Shanghai.
Zipporah was the wife of Moses.
Donald Duck’s middle name is Fauntleroy.
A baby eel is called an elver; a baby oyster is called a spot.
Paper bags are outlawed in grocery stores in Afghanistan. They believe paper is sacred.
Thomas Edison was afraid of the dark.
Shut up, shut up! Brewster said.
He was interrupted by the sound of Fire’s caul snapping open.
What the fuck is going on, he asked.
George W. Bush is related to every U.S. president from George Washington to Barack Obama, Water said. Barack and W are eleventh cousins.
Enough, Brewster said.
As soon as Dr. Singh comes in, I will be lodging a formal complaint, Fire said.
With that, he retreated under the caul, snapping it closed.
It’s just a matter of time, Brewster said, then you’re all mine.
Forty-two
From the small street off Fremont, the lights were close enough to touch. The sound of piped music was loud enough to make conversation hard, not that the group of boys, girls, men, and women strolling the short street was interested in talking. Even though prostitution was illegal in Las Vegas, the police never really bothered the workers there. They were pretty good at policing themselves, and at keeping drugs and violence, which was bad for business, out of their area.
Vegas, someone once said, was no different from any small American town, except that everything hidden and denied there was celebrated in Vegas. It was, effectively, America’s, and increasingly the world’s, darkest and brightest subconscious.
Horny Nick was bored. He polished his horns and lit a cigarette. He’d had no takers yet, but Sundays were quiet and drew a more conventional crowd less likely to go for a rent boy with filed teeth, tattoos, and implanted horns.
Farther down the street, Annie and Petrol worked a corner. Annie was having a great night, and who didn’t want to fuck an elf from Lord of the Rings? Petrol drew a class of men who wanted to dominate or be dominated. Horny Nick was an acquired taste but one that cost more, so he wasn’t worried. With only a few johns he could make what Petrol and Annie took twice as long to earn.
Peggy patrolled nearby, keeping a watchful eye on her friends, earning her keep as security. She was walking past Petrol and Annie when she saw a silver compact pass by, headed up the street. There was something off about it, she intuited, and for her that was enough. She began to run up the street shouting as Horny Nick leaned into the window.
Peggy was less than ten feet away as Nick opened the passenger door and got in. The car peeled away from the curb and joined the traffic with practiced ease. Too slow to draw attention, fast enough to get away quick.
I’m Horny Nick, Nick said.
The driver smiled and, turning to him, jabbed a Taser to his jugular. Nick was unconscious in three seconds, a wet patch forming on his jeans.
Outside, receding rapidly, Peggy hadn’t given up the chase.
She finally stopped in the middle of the street, breathless, where Petrol and Annie joined her.
What is it, Annie asked.
Nick is in trouble, Peggy said, dialing.
Who are you calling, Petrol asked.
Salazar.
Salazar’s phone went to voice mail.
Shit! Peggy screamed. She knew it wouldn’t help to call the regular police.
Forty-three
In the growing desert cold, the lights of the carnival were like sharp points. The man in the wheelchair still sat in the spotlight, singing, his only concession to the cold a blanket draped over his legs.
Fred, are you involved in any downwinder action groups, Sunil asked.
Salazar sat forward.
Do you think we’re eco-terrorists now, Fred asked.
Fire said he was a downwinder nationalist, Sunil said. That’s a direct-action group.
Even if that were true, you think I’m involved?
It bears thinking about, Sunil said. Given that you share a similar… I’m not accusing you of anything, just trying to understand.
No offense, but that’s just dumb. How would getting arrested at Lake Mead next to a blood dump help you commit an act of terrorism?
I don’t know, Sunil said.
Let me ask you something, she said.
Fair enough, Sunil said.
Where are you from? There’s an accent.
South Africa.
Well, since you share the fucked-up history of South Africa, have you ever killed anyone on either side of the political divide?
Sunil shifted. Killed someone, he said. No.
Fred smiled cruelly. Watched someone die, she asked.
Sunil looked away.
I’m not accusing you, Doctor, I’m just getting to know you.
So you think that Fire and Water are innocent of all charges and they aren’t crazy?