At Risk of Being a Fool (20 page)

“Come on,” she said. She took Phyllis by the arm, and pulled her through the dining room, and across the walking track. There were no windows in the inner rooms, though they were open to the track. Phyllis pulled back. Sorrel fought the urge to hit her, to leave her, and through her panic, the words came. “Phyllis, it’s okay. Don’t worry now. Look, it’s, uh, time for dress-up, for a performance, all right? You’re going to be, I don’t know, um—”

“The Queen?” said Phyllis, with a tremulous smile.

“That’s right, the Queen. So we need to get you made up, all right?”

“All right,” said Phyllis.

“It’s too late for a play,” said Marian.

Where had Marian come from? All around her, suddenly, were old ladies, four or five of them. What the hell was she going to do?

“It’s almost bedtime,” said Marian, frowning. “It’s dark outside.”

“Yes, well,” said Sorrel, “but there’s going to be a play tomorrow, and this is the best time to figure out your costumes, right? So, uh, I can find the right makeup for you for tomorrow.”

Marlo trotted back to them, in time to hear the tail end of the explanation. “Great idea, Sorrel,” said Marlo. “You’re absolutely right. Come on, ladies.”

Jeanie arrived, holding onto Edward’s arm.

“We have to get everyone away from the windows,” said Sorrel. Oh God, the windows, all her old ladies. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t loose off a bomb and hurt all these old people. Could he? She wanted to run, to get the hell out of here, but something held her. “Come on, Jeanie. Help me get the others.”

There was a bustle of confusion, as activities began in the middle of the evening. Kherra reappeared and organized balloon volleyball, which involved a dozen people sitting in the ice cream parlor chairs, hitting balloons at each other. In the dress-up room, Marlo fitted feather boas and fancy dresses to residents. Jeanie sat at the piano, picking out a tune, singing “She’ll be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain When She Comes.” An aide, a housekeeper, and two nurses appeared with stragglers. Nate and another guy came in, both of them with friendly smiles, and checked all the bedrooms.

It was bizarre.

Sorrel retrieved a balloon and gave it to Bill. She wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t. Nate would take care of it, and the guy must be long gone, with Kherra bellowing at him like that.

God, Kherra. Who’d have believed it? Running out there, yelling obscenities at a running shadow, protecting her old people. Kherra, she saw, was looking at her, a warm look in her eyes. Sorrel flushed and managed a smile at Leda.

After half an hour, Nate and the other guy left, waving casually. The nurses began winding up activities and corralling their charges towards their bedrooms. Jeanie took Edward to his room.

“I’ll be with you in twenty minutes, Sorrel,” she said.

Sorrel nodded and collapsed into a chair against the wall.

“You did a good job,” Kherra said. Sorrel looked at her gratefully. “It scared you a lot more than I figured. Did you think he was lookin’ for you?” She waited for a beat, and continued. “It was probably the same guy that showed up last week. That was before you came. He was likely hopin’ to see where the drug cabinet was. Didn’t have a thing to do with you.” Kherra seemed to read Sorrel’s relief. “Take it easy, girl. There’s a whole lot of things that go on, that don’t have nothin’ to do with you. Or your family. It’s okay, honey. You did fine.”

She touched Sorrel lightly on the shoulder as she left. Bewildered, Sorrel discovered that she didn’t mind the touch. A rare moment of pleasure lightened her heart.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

"…
Estelle won’t discuss the bomb, or anything else. Not even the license plate list. Drat. She’s likes to argue, and that’s about it. I’m making a list of topics to fight about. If you think of any, let me know. Yesterday, I got her going on sealing court records of juveniles. I ask you, Shelley, how boring!

She insists the girls at Bright Futures are safe from temptation, “and not for any of your sentimental reasons, either, but because they simply haven’t the opportunity. I know where they are every minute. I get a history on every phone call, and they know it. Number called, time, date, duration, and so on. There are few.” Well, I’d guess so. Sounds like a police state, if you ask me.

Of course, she’s wrong. I know Sorrel’s little trip to the health clinic was after Estelle was in the hospital, but she called Randy from work before the bomb, and Estelle didn’t know. I wonder if Sorrel or Brynna has access to explosives. Rosalie does. Her Dad’s a hunter. Uses a rifle, she says. He’s a plumber too, so there’s the pipe for the bombs. If this were a murder mystery, I’d be all over him. But he sounds like he’s death on drugs and crime, since that’s why he kicked Rosalie out in the first place. That girl really worries me. Today I saw her heading upstairs again, to talk to Mr. Kemmerich, her so-called friend. I half expected him to come down and complain about her, but he didn’t. And that worries me, too. That’s the third time that I know of that she’s wandered upstairs to talk to him. He’s not the sort to give free legal advice, so it couldn’t be about Dominic. Or maybe it could, and she’s paying him somehow. Only, where would she get the money?

It’s scary, Shell. My kids connect with all three explosives. I like all of my kids. Of course, I liked Robert five years ago, and you know how that worked out. My major failing. I like everybody, but that thing about his sister was too much, even for me. He’s in the Corrections system, somewhere, but he won’t go through my program. He must be over twenty-one by now.

Thanks for listening, sister mine. I hear the train rumbling. Time to go stand at the window, do a little dreaming, and try to catch some sleep. The trick, I find, is keeping Rita’s tail out of my mouth.

Love you always, Jeanie

Jeanie hit Send, and shut down the computer. She leaned against the windowsill as the screen went blank behind her. The train passed by, its comforting rumble carrying her niggling worries with it.

Rosalie, whose love for her father was more constant than her love for a wailing baby.

Quinto and his math, still not up to the blueprint level, but getting there.

Tonio, hungry, living in his car, but still getting to school and work.

Sorrel, who might lose Tiffany by trying to save the new baby.

Brynna, plain, sour, malicious, but so wistful, like a child looking into a neighbor’s house on Christmas Day.

Dillon and his grandmother, and the cat.

Corrigan, who steered clear of Dillon and Sorrel, and loved the other four. Shelley said she hadn’t named him Wrong-Way Corrigan for nothing. So maybe the two were all right, and the other four were major trouble.

The end of the train grumbled its way past the window, like a fat dog waddling its weary way to the doghouse. Jeanie flicked off the light and got into bed. It was so cold, without Edward’s warmth to snuggle. Rita’s purrs picked up the comforting rhythm of the train in the distance. Jeanie slept.

~*~

He stood in the shadow of the apartment building and studied the street. A light breeze lifted a scrap of newspaper. It skittered down the asphalt, and stuck under the front tire of a Ford Taurus. There was a streetlight behind him, past the bushes, and another at the end of the street. All the houses and apartments were dark.

He straightened with an easy grace and moved soundlessly down the street. His car was at the park, a couple of blocks back. There wasn’t a lot of traffic around here. He didn’t want to stand out, driving around in the quiet.

It was too quiet, almost spooky. How could they stand it, living here? Were they all old, and gray-haired, tottering along the sidewalks with their canes? Still, old folks had young ones coming around, taking care of them. There was a playground too, so there must be kids.

He scanned the road. Two small apartment buildings faced each other, two stories each, end-on to the street. Tiny things, couldn’t hold more than six families each. Then came a house, maybe the manager’s, and another building, facing the street. Eight units in that one, it looked like. A little playground took up the front, but there was no graffiti, no rusting appliances, no beer cans, or Burger King wrappers, and not a single TV light in any window.

He passed the apartments and came to a line of four little houses. He paused, counted them, and checked the cars. Third one. Yeah, that was it. He circled the car, glanced around, and peered inside for the dog harness. He checked the license plate, but he already knew. There were no lights on in the front of her house. Early to bed, early to rise, made a guy something, something, something.

He leaned against the car, looking at the house.

First, it was the construction site, Rivera and Wogan getting their noses in where they didn’t belong. That one was chancy. There were too many people around. He liked things to be precise, exactly on target. Even after Wogan went down, Rivera didn’t get the idea. Now there was a rent-a-cop coming around nights, just dropping by.

He hadn’t worried about that at first. “Random basis,” that was a laugh, like “random surveillance.” Like a guy didn’t figure out when the cops were going to show up, or drop by. The longer you were out of good old D-Home—Juvenile Detention Home, the judge called it—or wherever, the less “random” the checkups were. There were always a couple hours here or there, if you timed it right. Being under house arrest, with that thing strapped around your ankle, that was more trouble. Still, there were ways around it, when it mattered. Even getting out of the transition houses wasn’t that much trouble, if you went at it right.

But he couldn’t get the schedule figured out for this rent-a-cop. Whether the guard planned it that way, had crummy digestion, or was just a pal of Rivera’s taking a personal interest, he didn’t know. The guy nearly caught him last night. He’d skipped out quick, scaling the back fence as the guard rattled the front gate.

He’d had to look things over. It made him edgy, not knowing exactly when the roof was going up, afraid he’d miss by a couple of days. It was the best way though, the most likely way to work it. Rivera always checked the supports himself, first thing every morning. Rivera was predictable. It was something a guy could count on.

The only thing was, that security guy was a pain.

The courthouse bomb had got a little whacked out, with Sorrel working right there. Maybe he should combine the problems. He’d have to think it through. This one, though, was no trouble. There was the house itself, but that wasn’t good. The dog or cat might trip it when she wasn’t around. Daytimes were no good. Too many people noticed what he did. He’d cut it way too fine that last time, when he’d been watching in the park. Besides, she was never home in the daytime.

And then a few hours ago, that black woman nearly caught him at the old folks’ home. It had surprised the hell out of him, too. He’d kept track of the security guard, and timed his little expedition for when everybody was watching TV in the main rooms. But the one old lady saw him, and then that woman came shooting out of there yelling at him. What had she thought she’d do, if she’d caught him? She was wide-awake, though, he had to give her that. His grandma was like that, up to everything. He’d never been able to pull a thing on her.

The only people who ever saw him were the brain donors in the old folks’ home, first Jeanie’s old man, and now the old lady. It was like, you had to be crazy to see a guy who was invisible. There’d been too many close calls, though. He was taking too many chances. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the whole deal got under his skin.

So if he couldn’t use the house, and he couldn’t use the old folks’ home, that left the car. He turned, looking at the dog harness. Shit.

It bothered him some, this one did, not just because of the dog. But she wouldn’t learn, wouldn’t stop trying to get her little hooks into people. Now she was in everybody’s face, talked to his parole officer, even talked to his neighbors, for God’s sake. The worst of it was, she was pulling the girls in with her, and they should know better. Especially Brynna. He studied the windows, automatically looking for a way in.
Don’t let the cat out.
She was always saying that. A small smile twisted his mouth.

A small rumbling vibration ran through his feet. His body stilled. What the hell? The vibration became a sound, a distant rattling, coming nearer. A train whistle sounded, breaking the stillness of the quiet street.

The hood of the car rattled under his butt. He straightened as a new thought arose. Trains. Some of the gangs damn near owned ‘em, or thought they did. Better check.

He moved up next to the house. There was the track, right through her back yard. Don’t let the cat out, for damned sure. It was a stupid little cat, with no sense at all. She’d jump right onto a train track to see what that big thing was, get run down, and squashed into a cat burrito in three seconds. Flat.

Light glowed on the scraggly weeds near the rails. The only light in whole street, and it was in
her
house. Wouldn’t you know it?

He moved down the track a ways, and checked the crossing sign. Sure enough, not only gang-owned, but
them
. Shit, just when he was doing his damnedest to stay clear. That was the end of
that
plan. Just as well, maybe. No telling how many trains went through here, maybe some of them at high enough speed to set off a pipe bomb with the vibrations. You just couldn’t tell with those damned things. Between gang involvement and train activity, it was just too risky.