Wouldn't cry. Planned instead. Resolve. He resolved to do it. Do it. Kill them. Every last stinking one of them. He didn't know it would be such easy work. Such enjoyable work. Not like work at all. More like play. Fun. And I'll have fun, fun, fun.
Enough. Get down to work, you. Fooling around, all the time, all the time. Got to plan it out right. Friday night. Music soothes the savage beast. Ha. Music is his name. Musical accompaniment. Music to kill by. Shit, don't start the fucking laughing again. How can he help it when he's so goddamn funny? Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy. Get out the diagrams, the charts. See who's next. He knows who's next.
This one is really going to get them. Really get them. Blow them out of their socks. Blow them from here to kingdom come. Blow, Gabriel, blow. Who did it? they'll ask. Who could do such a thing? they'll say. Who? What beast? What maniac? What brilliant mind could conceive such a thing?
And I'm the last one. The last chance, the last rose of summer, the last Mohican, the last supper, the last killer, the last suspect. I'm the last one they'd ever suspect. Perfect. That's me.
LOOKING BACK—25 YEARS AGO
At about the mystic hour of midnight on Monday, a woman bit a cop instead of biting a dog, and in addition the fracas occurred in front of the Seaville police station. Patrolmen Bob Phillips and Pete Shaw were just relieving each other when they heard a terrific crash in the municipal parking site as a motor car backed into a parked truck. A woman driver refused to get out of the car and was abusive to the officers. The woman then fell out of the car. As Patrolman Phillips endeavored to help her up she turned and bit him in the right thigh so severely that he was attended by a physician.
FOURTEEN
Chuck Higbee was almost overwhelmed by his sense of well-being. You just don't always feel this good, he thought. And then he wondered if he was going to have to pay. It was stupid but that's the way his mind went. You get something good, you have to pay for it. Maybe with a disease, or could be you lose your wallet. He'd been given a raise that morning, twenty dollars more a week. Sally'd been real pleased, rubbed up against him in the kitchen, promising more to come later.
So now he and Sal and the kids were walking down Main Street toward the bank parking lot where the first band concert of the season was being held. They always went to the first one, some of the others, and always the last. The band wasn't great, but it was fun sitting there with friends taking in the night air, listening to renditions of "Oklahoma!" or "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and ushering in the Memorial Day weekend. Still, Chuck couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to have to pay somehow. It was a dumb superstition, but he guessed he didn't lick it off the ground; his parents talked about paying for what you get in this world all the time.
Of course their big example was the fire. Ed Higbee had just gotten a bank loan for the farm, so he and Rosie went out celebrating, dancing at the new club in town, and the damn place caught fire. There was panic and, although his parents had gotten out, Ed had third-degree burns on his right arm and part of his back. So they were always talking about how they had had to pay a lot more than interest on that farm loan.
And what about his own life? The same day he'd gotten his job with the bank he and Sal had found out that their six-month-old, Mary Beth, was hydrocephalic. How's that for paying dues? Sure, it turned out okay, she had the shunt operation and it was successful, but there were some hairy days in there.
Chuck looked down at Mary Beth, five now, and as cute a little girl as he'd ever seen. She looked like her mom, big brown eyes, and yellow curls the color of buttercups, and just as healthy as she could be. He squeezed the little hand in his.
"What, Daddy?" Mary Beth asked.
"Hi, cutie," he said.
"Hi."
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Katie,
Enough. Get down to work, you. Fooling around, all the time, all the time. Got to plan it out right. Friday night. Music soothes the savage beast. Ha. Music is his name. Musical accompaniment. Music to kill by. Shit, don't start the fucking laughing again. How can he help it when he's so goddamn funny? Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy. Get out the diagrams, the charts. See who's next. He knows who's next.
This one is really going to get them. Really get them. Blow them out of their socks. Blow them from here to kingdom come. Blow, Gabriel, blow. Who did it? they'll ask. Who could do such a thing? they'll say. Who? What beast? What maniac? What brilliant mind could conceive such a thing?
And I'm the last one. The last chance, the last rose of summer, the last Mohican, the last supper, the last killer, the last suspect. I'm the last one they'd ever suspect. Perfect. That's me.
LOOKING BACK—25 YEARS AGO
At about the mystic hour of midnight on Monday, a woman bit a cop instead of biting a dog, and in addition the fracas occurred in front of the Seaville police station. Patrolmen Bob Phillips and Pete Shaw were just relieving each other when they heard a terrific crash in the municipal parking site as a motor car backed into a parked truck. A woman driver refused to get out of the car and was abusive to the officers. The woman then fell out of the car. As Patrolman Phillips endeavored to help her up she turned and bit him in the right thigh so severely that he was attended by a physician.
FOURTEEN
Chuck Higbee was almost overwhelmed by his sense of well-being. You just don't always feel this good, he thought. And then he wondered if he was going to have to pay. It was stupid but that's the way his mind went. You get something good, you have to pay for it. Maybe with a disease, or could be you lose your wallet. He'd been given a raise that morning, twenty dollars more a week. Sally'd been real pleased, rubbed up against him in the kitchen, promising more to come later.
So now he and Sal and the kids were walking down Main Street toward the bank parking lot where the first band concert of the season was being held. They always went to the first one, some of the others, and always the last. The band wasn't great, but it was fun sitting there with friends taking in the night air, listening to renditions of "Oklahoma!" or "Yankee Doodle Dandy" and ushering in the Memorial Day weekend. Still, Chuck couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to have to pay somehow. It was a dumb superstition, but he guessed he didn't lick it off the ground; his parents talked about paying for what you get in this world all the time.
Of course their big example was the fire. Ed Higbee had just gotten a bank loan for the farm, so he and Rosie went out celebrating, dancing at the new club in town, and the damn place caught fire. There was panic and, although his parents had gotten out, Ed had third-degree burns on his right arm and part of his back. So they were always talking about how they had had to pay a lot more than interest on that farm loan.
And what about his own life? The same day he'd gotten his job with the bank he and Sal had found out that their six-month-old, Mary Beth, was hydrocephalic. How's that for paying dues? Sure, it turned out okay, she had the shunt operation and it was successful, but there were some hairy days in there.
Chuck looked down at Mary Beth, five now, and as cute a little girl as he'd ever seen. She looked like her mom, big brown eyes, and yellow curls the color of buttercups, and just as healthy as she could be. He squeezed the little hand in his.
"What, Daddy?" Mary Beth asked.
"Hi, cutie," he said.
"Hi."
"Love you."
"Love you, too."
Katie,
Similar Books
