Terminal (20 page)

“Sounds like New Age crap to me,” Dugan grunted. “I never bought in to all that worshipping crystals and singing to the whales crap.”

“Some of that is a little far-fetched,” Oscar admitted, “but a lot more of it has been proven outside the mainstream scientific community.”

“So what were you in a previous life?” Sherm scoffed. “A frog or a slug or some shit like that?”

Oscar’s ears and neck turned red.

“Wait,” Sherm continued, “I know! You were a fucking tapeworm, right? A tapeworm hanging out of a dog’s ass?”

“You can laugh all you want, but I believe in it. I really do. You guys ever hear of Joan Grant?”

We shook our heads in unison.

“Her first book, Winged Pharaoh, came out back in 1937. It took place in ancient Egypt and at the time, the critics hailed it as a brilliant historical novel, because she so realistically captured what it must have been like to live back then. People couldn’t believe how accurate the descriptions were. It was like you were walking through Egypt; the sights, the sounds, the smells. But the thing is, it wasn’t her imagination. Joan Grant had lived it before, as Sekeeta, the daughter of the pharaoh and later on, a priestess-pharaoh herself. She also lived in Egypt decades later as a man named Ra-ab Hotep, and as Ramses II. Besides all of that, she also remembered previous lives in Greece from the second century B.C., in medieval England and in sixteenth-century Italy. She went on to write seven more historical novels, though she called them posthumous autobiographies.”

“And do you really believe in that nonsense?” Dugan arched his eyebrow.

“It’s not nonsense. It’s no more far-fetched than believing in ghosts or in God and the Holy Trinity, is it?”

“Blasphemer!” Martha pointed a crooked finger at him. “See how their evil influence has corrupted you? Now you commit the ultimate sin as well. You blaspheme against the Holy Spirit. Oh, the pits yawn wide for you, young man— for all of you. There must be blood, now. Great quantities of blood. Torrents and rivers and oceans of it. Only blood can wash . . .”

Sherm pointed his gun at her and pulled the hammer back.

“Martha. I’ll say this nice and slowly and I’m only going to say it one more time, so make sure you pay attention. Shut! The! Fuck! Up!”

Her mouth clamped shut and she did as she was told.

“I know what happens when we die,” Benjy piped up.

“Quiet down, baby,” Sheila shushed him.

“No,” Sherm shrugged, “might as well let him go. Shit, everybody else has made a contribution. Let’s hear his.”

Sheila eyed him carefully.

“Seriously,” Sherm said, “I want to hear this. It’s gotta be good, better than fat boy’s or Martha’s ideas at least.”

“Go ahead, Benjy,” I encouraged him.

He nodded.

“When people die, they go into a bright place that leads to another, bigger bright place. The first bright place is supposed to make you feel safe, but it isn’t, because it’s full of the monster people. The monster people are made out of darkness, but they can hide in the light and when they do, you can’t see them. They turn invisible in the light. All you can hear is their voices.”

Sherm jumped, and I wondered what was bothering him.

“If you’ve been bad,” Benjy continued, “the monster people won’t let you go on to the bigger bright place. Instead, they take you with them, to a dark place, and then you can see them. They’re scary-looking and they’re mean. They smell icky and they . . .”

Benjy shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and went on.

“That’s what happens if you’ve been bad. You don’t get to go to the bright place. You stay in the darkness with the monster people. But if you’ve been good, then Jesus comes, and he rescues you from the monster people, and he takes you to live with him in the bright place. It’s very nice there, and you get to see everybody else who’s died.”

When he’d finished, our reactions were mixed. Sheila and I smiled at each other. Roy, Kim, Sharon, and even Dugan grinned. Sherm clapped his hands in a slow, sarcastic way. Martha stared at Benjy.

“Blood of the lamb,” she muttered over and over again. “Blood of the lamb . . .”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Sheila snapped. “Why can’t you just shut up?”

“I keep saying it because it is true. Only blood will wash this clean now. Innocent blood. As the Lord instructed Abraham, saying to him to make an offering of his son, Isaac, so shall He command us now. The lamb for the offering.”

“I don’t understand what you’re going on about. What are you saying? What do you mean?”

The word started in Martha’s throat as a moan and increased to a sirenlike wail.

“Expiation! Expiation is what I’m talking about. Great sin has happened here today, and only expiation will set things right again in the eyes of God. We must offer up your lamb.”

Sherm lashed out with his foot, and his boot crashed across her mouth. Her dentures flew across the vault, landing next to Mr. Kirby, and blood spurted from between her crushed lips. Martha cried out more in anger than from pain.

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” Sherm screamed. He slammed the end of the pistol barrel against her forehead and thumbed the hammer back. The soft click sounded deafening.

“Sherm”— I held out my hands in protest—“hold up. Wait a second! Think about this, man.”

“Fuck that. Ain’t nothing to think about, Tommy. I’ve had it with this old cunt.”

“I hear you, dog. I hear you. We’re all sick of her shit. But think, man. If you shoot her now, the cops will rush this place. You know that. We talked about it already. They’ll be on us like white on rice, just like they would have been if you’d shot Lucas or Keith.”

At the mention of the delivery driver and the manager, he jumped. His muscles were coiled, like a snake ready to spring forward and strike its victim.

“Don’t do it, son,” Roy chimed in. “Things are bad enough already.”

“I am not afraid,” Martha spat, blood running down her chin.

Before Sherm could reply, we were all suddenly distracted by a new sound. A low, sonorous thrumming that seemed to come from overhead. As we turned our eyes to the ceiling, the noise grew louder, rapidly approaching.

THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA

“What the fuck is that?” Oscar shouted. His eyes were wild and scared.

It was right over our heads and it sounded like the ceiling was going to collapse, like a construction crew had decided to drive a bulldozer on top of the roof or something. The bank felt like it was shaking. The steel walls vibrated against our back as the sound rocked the building to its foundation.

“Finally!” Dugan’s shout was one of joy and relief, but his face was apprehensive.

“They’re coming in,” I hollered, leaping to my feet and pointing the pistol at everything and nothing.

“Is that a tank?” Oscar shouted. “Do they have a tank?”

“Oh God,” Kim whimpered, shutting her eyes. “This is it. We’re going to die . . .”

The noise increased, exploding around us, making speech next to impossible.

“This is it . . . This is it . . . This is it . . . We’re really going to die . . .”

Benjy tried to put his shoulders up over his ears, to shelter them from the thunder. Even in my panic, I found myself wishing that his hands were free. He was just a little boy. I was terrified and I could only imagine how he felt.

“Sherm,” I yelled over the deafening roar, “what the fuck are we gonna do?”

“What?”

“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? THEY’RE COMING IN.”

“Relax, yo. It’s just a helicopter.”

“What?” I cupped my hand to my ear and gripped the gun tighter. My palms were sweaty.

“A HELICOPTER. IT’S A FUCKING HELICOPTER.”

I gaped at him, my heart racing in my chest, then the noise started to subside. The speed and rhythm decreased, and then stopped altogether. Finally, all we could hear was the distant, muffled whine of an engine, then even that stopped.

“They’ve landed.” Sherm grinned. The look on his face was very close to joy.

“Who landed? What the fuck are you talking about, Sherm? That was a goddamned helicopter. Who was in it?”

“The York County Quick Response Unit,” he said with obvious pride. “They finally arrived. Sounds like they landed in the parking lot.”

“Oh great,” I sighed sarcastically.

“Damn straight,” he replied. “Now things should get really interesting around here.”

His laughter seemed almost as loud as the chopper’s blades had been, and just as sharp.

Eventually, we all relaxed again, as best we could given the circumstances. I convinced Sherm to bring in one of the big bottles of water for the cooler, and we gave everybody a sip. I dribbled some down John’s throat too.

Sherm was bored.

“So tell us, Dugan. How long have you been banging Sharon?”

Corded, ropy muscles rippled underneath Dugan’s chambray work shirt as he bristled, straining against his bonds.

“Why, you little piece of shit. You’d better hope I don’t get loose, boy. I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”

Sharon tried to shush him, but Dugan ignored her.

“I won’t have him talking that way about you. Enough is enough!”

Sherm laughed. “Hey, man, all I did was ask you a question. But since you don’t want to answer nicely . . .”

He picked up the gun and walked toward Dugan.

“I’ve fucking had it with you people. I don’t care if the commando squad is here or not. It’s time for somebody to die.”

My heart started racing in my chest.

“Come on, Sherm.”

“Stay out of this, Tommy.”

“Hey,” Roy stammered. “Now wait just a minute, Sherm. Wait a darn minute!”

“Nope. I don’t think so, Roy. I asked him a simple question and he decided to call me names and threaten me instead. I don’t play that shit.”

Dugan stared at the pistol in Sherm’s hand. His eyes were defiant and filled with hate. He did not speak.

Sherm leveled the gun at him.

“We met in high school,” Sharon interrupted. “We were sweethearts when I was a junior and he was a senior.”

Sherm glanced down at her, smiled, and looked back at Dugan.

“See, your girlfriend answered politely.”

He sat down again. Dugan fumed, and Sharon looked embarrassed.

“So you were high school sweethearts. Sounds like the perfect romance. Go on.”

Dugan began to speak.

“I got drafted in ’69, and two weeks after I graduated, I was on my way to basic training at Fort Bragg. I couldn’t afford college, and there was no way I was dodging the draft, running off to Canada like some of the freaks from this town. I was with the First Cavalry in Vietnam. Sharon wrote to me at first, but—”

He trailed off, and Sharon continued for him.

“But I was still in school and still young, and Vietnam seemed so very far away.”

Her voice was quiet, thoughtful and apologetic all at once. I got the feeling that she was talking to him more than the rest of us.

“While he was over there, I watched my friends date and go to the prom and the Sadie Hawkins dances and to the drive-in on Friday nights, and all I did was sit at home, waiting to hear if he was alive or not. Waiting for a letter every day and crying myself to sleep on nights when one didn’t show up.”

“Until Lee.” His voice was hoarse, and even after all these years, the memory still bothered him— whoever Lee was.

“That’s right. Until Lee.”

“Another boyfriend?” Kim asked, and I wondered if this was the first time she’d heard about her coworker’s life outside the bank.

“Sort of. He was nothing like Dugan, and I didn’t love him— but he was there and Dugan wasn’t, and one night we ended up together in the back of his Mustang.”

“You got pregnant?”

“No, nothing like that. We used protection, even back then. But two of Dugan’s friends saw us, and they wrote to him and told him about it. After that, he stopped writing to me. He— he never came back home.”

“I did two tours of duty, just to get her out of my head.” Dugan sighed. “But it didn’t work. When I got out, I came home to a country that I no longer recognized. I flew from ’Nam to Hawaii, then from there to San Francisco. I was supposed to change planes in California and fly to Baltimore, and then make it back here to Hanover. I was dreading coming back— I hurt inside from all the things I’d seen and done, and I couldn’t bear to face Sharon. You see, I was young and stupid, and while the war made me older in some ways, it didn’t help me to understand women any better. I didn’t understand that she was young and that what she did with Lee was because of that. She loved me, but she needed somebody. It wasn’t fair that she should spend her senior year like that, not knowing if her boyfriend was alive or dead. I just wish I’d known then what I know now.”

“When I got off the plane in San Francisco, there was a big protest going on inside the airport. Some of the protesters started calling me a baby-killer and all kinds of other garbage. They spat on me! I was so shocked that I just walked away. I walked. I think that messed with me in ways the war never did. And after what had happened with Sharon, it was the final straw.”

“I can’t believe they spat on you,” Oscar said. “They didn’t talk about that in school. They barely even covered Vietnam. It’s like it didn’t happen, so they don’t want us to know about it.”

“Yeah,” Dugan nodded, “that sounds about right.”

The smile on his face was grim, and I noticed tears streaming down Sharon’s cheeks.

“So what happened next?” Roy prompted.

Dugan sighed. “Well, I made my way up the coast, working odd jobs here and there. But everywhere I went it was the same, and I never stayed long. I felt like I didn’t belong anymore, but I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face Sharon.”

“And her memory followed you wherever you went?” Roy asked.

Dugan swallowed his emotions and nodded.

Kim’s eyes grew misty. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I finally came back this month for our high school reunion, and when I walked into the Fire Hall and saw her across the room . . .”

He stopped and stared into her eyes. The love they had for each other was so strong that it rolled off them in waves. Seriously. I could feel it there in the vault. Once again, I found myself thinking of Michelle and T. J. again. What had I done to them? Not only was I dying of cancer, but it looked like the cops might do me in first. Even if we did make it out of here alive, it was just a matter of time. That would be time spent in a jail cell, kept away from them by iron bars and electronic locks. I’d see them only through a glass window; speak to them only through a phone. I’d die wearing an orange jumpsuit, and in the end, I would die alone. They would not be there to comfort me, and I would not be able to comfort them, to reassure them that it would be okay. I would be alone and so would they.

“I ended up marrying another friend of ours from school,” Sharon was telling the group, “but we divorced six years ago. He found a younger woman.”

“What happened to Lee?” Oscar wanted to know.

“He dodged the draft,” Dugan said. “He went over the border to Canada and died fifteen years later in a drunken driving accident near Niagara Falls. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt.”

“I’ve been to Canada,” Roy mused. “Beautiful country.”

“What took you there, Mr. Kirby?” Sheila asked.

“My job. I was a sales representative for the foundry here in town. I traveled all over the globe before I retired.”

Sherm and I glanced at each other, and Roy caught the look.

“What?” he asked.

“The three of us worked for the foundry too,” I confessed. “We just got laid off.”

“Shut up,” Sherm hissed.

“Why does it matter, dog? They know who the hell we are already, don’t they?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Fuck it. Who cares—” The phones began ringing again, interrupting him.

“That’s the cops, wanting our list of demands. Guess we’ve delayed them and shown them we’re in control long enough. Better give it to them this time before that annoying fucker breaks out his bullhorn again. They’ll probably have the negotiator for the Quick Response Team on the line too. This should be fun. I’ll stall them and see if we can get an ambulance for Carpet Dick while I’m at it. You stay here and make friends with the nice people.”

He ran out of the vault and answered the phone in Keith’s office.

Sheila arched an eyebrow. “There’s one thing I’ve got to know, Tommy.”

“What’s that?”

“Why does he call John ‘Carpet Dick’?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” I turned my attention to Roy. “So you worked for the foundry too, huh?”

“Yes indeed. I gave them forty years of my life. Then I retired, and I’ve been bored ever since.”

“Why the hell did you retire in Hanover?”

“I’d seen the world already,” he explained, “and my wife had family here in town. We never had any children of our own, but both of her sisters lived here, and we had nieces and nephews to spoil. After my wife died though— well, I don’t know. I guess I just had nowhere else to go. It’s funny. Not funny humorous but funny in a sad sort of way. This town used to be a good place, the kind of place you wanted to retire in. Until the jobs dried up and the Baltimore folks began arriving. Now it’s depressing. It’s like the town has cancer— it’s dying. I guess I’ll just die with it.”

I shivered. John lay limp in my arms, and his skin was turning alabaster. I needed another cigarette. My arms were growing tired from trying to keep the pressure on his wound. My hands were numb and the sticky blood dried and flaked on them. It felt like glue.

I shifted my weight and reached into my pocket with one hand. I pulled out Lucas’s cell phone, set it aside and dug into my pants again, finding a crumpled pack of cigarettes. I shook one out— only three left, and lit it up. Immediately, I felt the nicotine rushing through my veins.

“Should you be doing that?” Sheila arched an eyebrow.

I breathed out smoke and gave her a thin, tight-lipped smile. “Do you really think it matters at this point?”

“No, I guess not. I just thought you might set off the smoke alarms or something.”

If you only knew, I thought. Smoke alarms are the last thing I need to worry about from cigarettes. You know those little warning labels on the side of the pack? Those are what you need to worry about. It turns out the Surgeon General was right all along.

“The fire alarm is turned off anyway,” Sharon reminded her. “Otherwise, it would have gone off when Sherm had Lucas check on his truck.”

“Can I get one of those please, Tommy?” Kim asked. “That is, if none of the rest of you mind?”

“Actually, I could use a smoke too.” Oscar agreed. “A cigarette would taste really good right about now.”

Shrugging, I shook out the last two cigarettes, lit them, and put them in their mouths.

“Thanks.”

Kim inhaled deeply, a look of pleasure crossing her face. Her innocent, pouting lips expertly wrapped around the filter. She really was a knockout.

“It’s kind of weird smoking at work. We have to take our smoke breaks outside, of course.” She giggled nervously, the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t worry, hon,” Sharon said. “I won’t tell Keith if you don’t.”

“God, I hope he’s okay.” Kim took another puff and the cigarette bobbed between her lips. “We haven’t heard anything since Sherm took him to the office.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Sherm wouldn’t have killed him— if only because we’ll need the leverage. Keith and Lucas both— they’re fine.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked.

“Sure.” But I could tell they didn’t believe me. That was okay. I wasn’t sure that I believed me either. I’d been lying to my wife and son so why should lying to strangers be any different? I tried to change the subject.

“So what about the rest of you? What’re your stories? Oscar?”

“Nothing special, really. I go to college in York and live with my parents here in Hanover because it’s cheaper that way.”

“Girlfriend?”

He sulked. “What do you think?”

From Keith’s office, I heard Sherm barking into the phone.

“We’ll make you wait another fucking hour if you don’t shut up and play ball. Got that, motherfucker? Good. Now, write this shit down.”

“What are you studying?” Sharon asked Oscar, raising her voice over Sherm’s.

“Art. I want to be the next Todd McFarland.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a famous comic book artist. The guy that created Spawn. He’s a multimillionaire now.”

“I never understood how grown men could read comics,” Kim said.

“Actually,” Roy corrected her, “today’s average comic book readers are mostly adults in their thirties.”

Oscar laughed in surprise. “How’d you know that?”

“I read them myself, occasionally. They provide a fascinating look at pop culture. Characters like Superman and Batman and Captain America are our modern-day myths, much like Hercules and Zeus were to the Greeks. You can learn a lot about a society by studying its folklore.”

“That’s right,” Sherm shouted, “and it better have a full tank of gas!”

“I read comic books too,” Benjy chimed in.

Roy smiled. “What are your favorites, Benjy?”

“Dexter’s Laboratory and Scooby Doo. That’s the only two that Mommy lets me read. She says the other ones are too scary.”

“Maybe when you’re a little older,” Sheila assured him, kissing his head. I wished her hands were untied so she could smooth his hair, the way Michelle did with T. J. I thought it might make them both feel better— more secure.

“How about you?” I turned to Kim.

“Me? I have no life. I work here. I go home to my cat, Tessa. I curl up with a Karen Taylor book or maybe something by Nora Roberts, watch Will & Grace until bedtime, and then I go to sleep. Twice a week I take night courses at the community college. That’s it. Boring, huh?”

“No boyfriend?”

“No. Men are pigs— at least the ones in this town are. My girlfriends and I go clubbing in York on the weekends, but the men there aren’t much better. They’re all either players or losers. Or married.”

“Or all three.” Sheila laughed.

“You got that right,” Kim agreed.

“Dance halls,” Martha stirred, “are nothing more than dens of iniquity, centers of obscenity. Do you enjoy them? The wickedness? The filth? Do you feel a stirring in your loins when you go there? When a man grinds against you? Your body is Christ’s temple and you defile it with that behavior. Harlot! Jezebel! Then went Samson to Gaza, and saw there a harlot, and her name was Delilah . . .”

“Dammit, Martha, leave her alone,” Sharon warned.