Prodigal Blues (17 page)

Rebecca pointed.
 
"Christopher's drying his face."

Arnold leaned toward her.
 
"Did you put wrinkles on this time?"

"Yes."

"Well, shit…if I'd've known that, I would have had you give me some."
 
He looked at me.
 
"I could get used to this cussing thing."
 
Then, to Rebecca:
 
"You'd better be careful about making yourself look
too
different.
 
Mess around with the look too much and your folks maybe won't know who you are."

"They'll know," she said.

"I hope so."
 
Arnold leaned toward me.
 
"See, what happened was, we got this one Michelle Pfeiffer movie… I don't remember what it was called…"

"
The Deep End of the Ocean
," said Rebecca, then:
 
"I think Michelle Pfeiffer's real pretty."
 
She brushed some of her phony hair away from her face, then—reconsidering—brushed it back down.

"Stupid title for a movie," said Arnold.
 
"Wasn't even an ocean in it.
 
See, in the movie, Michelle Pfeiffer's little boy, he gets stolen from her when he's real young—like two or three, right?
 
They look for him for a long time but then they give up, and one day, like, five years later, Michelle Pfeiffer sees him again, and even though he looks all different, she recognizes him right away.
 
He doesn't look a thing like he did when he was stolen, but she still knows who he is."

"We talked about that a lot," said Rebecca, "and Christopher said that the reason she recognized him, is because she was his mother and that any woman who had given birth to a child would… would… what was the word he used?"

"Instinctually," shouted Christopher.

"You're supposed to be not talking," said Rebecca.
 
"And thank you."
 
She turned back to me.
 
"Christopher said that any mother would instinctually know their own child, no matter how much they might have changed."

"So that got us to thinking," said Arnold.
 
"We all could mostly remember what we looked like when Grendel took us, so we got real good at using the makeup to make our faces look like they used to look—I mean, like we
remember
them looking.
 
Or something like that."

Rebecca patted his hand.
 
"Grendel did not allow us to have any mirrors, except once a month, before the meetings.
 
We got to use mirrors then."

"But you can forget an awful lot about your face in a month," added Arnold.
 
"I never thought about it much before, but, man, a lot of people sure do spend a lot of time looking at themselves in mirrors."

"Or windows, or shiny surfaces," said Rebecca.

"Or puddles," said Thomas from the corner.
 
"Don't forget about puddles."

"Or
puddles
," said Arnold.
 
"So we been working on getting our faces back the way we remember them looking.
 
We don't have pictures of ourselves, though, so we're just guessing.
 
I just hope that Christopher's right and that our moms will know us, anyway."

"How do you know where your families are?" I asked.
 

Arnold and Rebecca looked at one another, then over at the still-kneeling Christopher, who raised one of his hands, index finger and thumb curled into the "OK" symbol.

"Grendel kept track," said Arnold.
 
"He kept track of how long they looked for us, when they gave it up, if they moved, everything."
 
His eyes became suddenly sad.
 
"That's how I found out my grandma died."

"He
always
let us know when our families gave up looking for us," said Rebecca, gently rubbing Arnold's back.
 
"He really enjoyed that part.
 
'I told you they didn't care about you,' he always said.
 
'Only I love you.
 
Only I care what happens to you.'
 
Yeah… he really enjoyed that."

Arnold pulled over the other laptop and started typing with the keys.
 
"All of the information is in here—my family's still living in the same place, but Rebecca's family moved about a year ago.
 
Thomas's folks moved, too… about five blocks from his old house."
 
He showed me his own file, and all the information was there.
 
It was incredibly thorough; not just about him, but about all the members of his immediate family.
 
I wondered just how many city and police officials were parts of
Grendel's
inner circle.

"He's got files on here for the four of us, and all the other kids, too."
 
Arnold called up a section of map and showed it to me, explaining about the various color codes:
 
their "delivery" route was marked by a bright green line; an area highlighted in blue marked a place Grendel had already visited and acquired a child, places to which he did not want to go back because he didn't believe in tempting fate; an area highlighted in orange marked a potential grab point—rest stops, parks, busy restaurants, school playgrounds, etc., places where there were usually a lot of people and at least one child left unattended for a minute or less; and the red areas (this surprised me, because I wouldn't have thought Grendel so obvious) were hotspots—not for grabbing children (at least, not for him), no; these were hotspots for meeting other pederasts, known hangouts where he could, if the whim came on, meet out-of-towners with similar interests; most of these were rest stops and city parks, with a small gold star to mark the locations of the public rest-rooms.

"He once told me that you could find someone there any night of the week," said Arnold.
 
"These guys
told
each other where they went for… you know.
 
I guess there are kids who go there because they
want
to meet guys like this."
 
He shook his head.
 
"Man, I don't get that
at all
."

I couldn't help but notice one of the red-highlighted areas lay along their—
our
—route, and had been further delineated with a silver square.
 

"What's with the square?" I said, and began to point when the laptop's lid was suddenly pushed closed.

"I leave for five minutes," said Christopher, "and you two spill everything."

Rebecca protested.
 
"But you said—"

"—it was okay to tell him about Grendel keeping track of our families," snapped Christopher, pulling the computer from Arnold's lap.
 
"I did
not
say show him the route.
 
Now he knows where we are."

"No, I don't."

Christopher glared at me; his face had dried very nicely.
 
"Don't try to pull one over on me, Pretty Boy."

"I
don't
know where we are!
 
All I saw was the green line and the colored spots along the way.
 
Look, Christopher, I swear to you I didn't see anything else—no town names, interstate or exit numbers, nothing.
 
I just wanted to know about the silver square."

"You'll find out soon enough."
 
Then:
 
"All right, let's grab everything and get the hell out of Dodge."

"I want a pizza," said Arnold.

"
What
?"

"Don't 'what' me, man!
 
I'm hungry and I want a pizza and some pop.
 
There's a Hut right down the road, let's call one in.
 
Sign says they got a two-for-one going on."

"No."

"They got a drive-thru, Christopher.
 
We're not gonna have to walk inside or nothing."

"I said no."

"And I said
I'm hungry
."
 
Arnold was on his feet now, standing right in front of Christopher.
 
"It ain't like we can't afford it, not with all the money we took from him.
 
It's right on the way and I say we get one."

"I could go for a slice or three," said Rebecca.

"With extra cheese," said Thomas.
 
"I like extra cheese."

"What is this?" said Christopher.
 
"A democracy all of a sudden?
 
You guys put me in charge and I said no."

"If you don't let us get something to eat," said Arnold, stepping closer so that his nose was level to Christopher's upper lip, "then I'm gonna start munching on Mark's spare parts and we can all talk about the good old days."

After that, dead silence.

They stood glaring at each other.
 
I almost added that I was hungry, as well, but no one had asked.

Finally Christopher said, in a tight voice:
 
"So… you're getting some of that old nerve back, huh, Arnold?"

"You know it."

After that, more silence; this even deader than the first.

Christopher stepped back—I was sure he was going to haul off and hit Arnold—and reached for something in his back pocket.
 
"Good for you.
 
It's about time, my man."
 
He produced a cell phone, tossing it to Arnold.
 
"Get the number and phone us up an extra-large pie."

"With extra cheese," said Thomas.

"And green peppers," said Rebecca.

"I want
shrooms
," Arnold added.
 
"It's a two-for-one on extra large, so there's gonna be
shrooms
.
 
And sausage."

"Can we get pepperoni, too?" I asked.
 
Everyone looked at me.
 
"In case you guys have forgotten, it's been a while since I had anything substantial to eat."

"And pepperoni for the guest of honor," said Arnold, finding the number in the phone book and then calling in the order.

"Get the thin and crispy crust," Christopher said, "not that deep dish number.
 
There will be no argument on this point.
 
I never liked their deep dish."
 
Then:
 
"Hey, Pretty Boy."

"I really wish you'd stop calling me that."

He leaned down so that his eyes—so cold right now, so much like they were in the video—were staring right into mine.
 
"Swear to me on your wife's grave that you didn't see anything besides colors on that map."

I did not blink.
 
"I swear.
 
Nothing."
 
There was no doubt in my mind that he would not hesitate to kill Tanya—and probably right in front of me—if I lied to him.

"Pinkie-swear?"

So he'd heard that part, too.
 
"Pinkie-swear."

He stared at me for a few more moments, then stood up.
 
"I'll take your word for it, Pretty Boy.
 
Do I have to remind you…?"

"About the gun?
 
No, I think I might manage to retain that."

"Good.
 
By the way"—he slapped a set of keys into my hand—"you're driving for a while.
 
I'm tired."

"Hey," called Arnold.
 
"Do we want free cinnamon sticks or what?"

I
was amazed at how quickly they were able to gather all the bags, cases, equipment, and other items they'd brought inside from the bus.
 
As soon as everyone was packed up and ready to go, Arnold peeked out the window; for the first time I saw that we were in a ground unit of a two-story motel with at least three separate buildings.
 
We were at the farthest possible end of the farthest possible building.

Arnold reached into his shoulder-bag and pulled out a set of binoculars.
 
"It looks good," he said.
 
"The dude behind the desk is talking on the phone and his back's to us."
 
He put the binoculars away.
 
"Good time to get."

Christopher reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash half the size of my fist, peeled off six fifty-dollar bills, and put them on the nightstand along with a note that Rebecca had just finished writing.
 
"We pay our way," he said to me.
 
"It's up to the maids whether or not they give the management their share."

I wanted to ask how they'd gotten everyone in here without being spotted, but then Rebecca was wheeling Thomas through the door, Arnold was right behind them, and Christopher had me by the elbow, pushing me toward the bus and trailer.
 
It couldn't have taken ten seconds for us to clear that room.
 
I felt like we'd forgotten something, but I couldn't say what.