The Bones of Old Carlisle (8 page)

Big earth gonna come
and with her, trouble in batches:
barbed wire/killing/camisoles,
but today it’s all just a howling black dime
no space/no time/smaller than sperm
no face/no swing in the hips
just a sprig of fecund chips
an infinite, omnipotent code
the nearest ever been to god.

Big earth gonna come
and with her, trouble in batches:
stockings/fucking/frankincense.

Arrowroot shook the book and snapped it shut. “Can’t you just
leave God out of it?” he complained to himself. “I want to read about
the universe, not some fool’s religious take on the mess. Oh, and that
ain’t poetry, you idiot.”

Before he’d opened his eyes, Karl Arrowroot sensed that someone
else was in the room. There was breathing, perhaps, or the shift of
muscles, or the subtle creaking of the floor boards.

There was light, too, more than there should have been if his
blinds were still down.
He rolled toward the window. Before it stood the outline of a
naked female.
“Whatcha seein’, Ginger?” he asked, not quite awake.
It was not his late wife but Tamani who turned toward him.
“Nothing yet,” she said, “but they’re coming today.”
Arrowroot sat up with start. “Dammit, Tamani, you’re not supposed
to be in here!”
“I know,” she said. “My need to watch the mountain is more
important than your need for privacy.”
“And you ain’t supposed to be naked in here, that’s for sure,” he
added. “Especially in the state my room’s in.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice flat.
“Because it’s a mess,” said Arrowroot. “Which would imply my
life’s a mess,” he added, and his voice trailed off. “Not that you’d
be wrong. Not that you’d care.”
Arrowroot looked at her long enough to notice a large bruise on
her hip, then he turned his eyes away and pointed to the bedroom door.
“See that bathrobe hanging there?” he asked. “The black one? You need
to put that on.”
Tamani complied, finding the bathrobe and draping it over herself
in one fluid motion.
“Now, close it, and tie it so it stays closed,” he said. “And
open my bedroom door.”
Tamani, now decent by Arrowroot’s standards, moved back to the
window to resume her vigil. Arrowroot looked at the clock on his
nightstand. 7:30 a.m. He hadn’t been up this early on a Sunday for
months. The light was still on beside his bed so he turned it off.
“Why is there an animal on your bed?” Tamani asked him as she
peered out the window.
“That’s Othercat,” Arrowroot said. “She’s my cat.”
“Is she for eating?”
“Nope, petting,” Arrowroot said, and he adjusted his nightshirt
and lurched to the foot of the bed to demonstrate. “Try it, if you can
tear yourself away from the window.”
Othercat wasn’t picky about being petted, enjoying Tamani’s
tentative strokes between her shoulder blades as readily as
Arrowroot’s more experienced attention. “This is a happiness,” she
said, returning to the window.
“Now, tell me again why you’re watching from my bedroom?”
Arrowroot inquired.
“It’s one of the things I let myself remember, from before,” she
said. “Also, the approximate time one or more will come, the
languages, the location of the crystals, and the fact I could be
eaten.”
“This morning,” Arrowroot said, rubbing his face, “everything you
say just raises more questions. I’m going to get breakfast. Are you
hungry?”
“I’ve eaten,” Tamani replied, still staring.
Arrowroot headed to the kitchen, fearing the worst. But Tamani
seemed to have done a decent job both of feeding herself and cleaning
up afterwards. Arrowroot found the empty shells of three eggs in the
trash, and crumbs from pancakes. All his butter was gone, though. She
had a particular fondness for high fat, apparently.
He found a plate in the sink and several glasses on the counter.
Of course, any of it could have been left by Danielle or Guillaume, he
knew. He wasn’t used to having anyone else in the house.
He was making coffee when he heard the vibration of his phone,
from its ledge near the microwave, telling him someone had called. It
was Chief Hatfield, from the police line, at 6 a.m. 6:30 and 7. During
one of those calls, he’d left a message: “Karl, this is urgent. If
that girl is with you, this is double urgent. Call me. Call me asap.”
Arrowroot erased the message and stared at his phone. This was
too far outside the expected for him to even begin to speculate. He
called the police line, got the voice mail system directing him to
either leave a message or dial 911. So he hung up and dialed Floyd’s
cell phone.
Floyd answered immediately. “Karl,” he said.
“What the hell?” Arrowroot demanded.
“Is the girl with you?” Hatfield asked.
“Yes, Floyd, and I repeat, what the hell?”
“Can’t talk right now, we’re already on our way.”
“On your way where?” Arrowroot asked. “Who’s we?”
“Can’t talk,” Hatfield replied. “We’ll be there in five.”
“Here?” Arrowroot asked. “You mean, at my house, in five
minutes?”
“Roger that,” said Hatfield. “Just go about your business. I’ve
already said too much. Don’t tell the girl anything.”
The line went dead. Arrowroot stared at his phone for a long
moment, then set it down and turned to the coffee maker, profoundly
glad he was not hungover this morning.
Two minutes passed. Three minutes. Four. These were some of the
longest minutes of Arrowroot’s life. The coffee finished brewing, he
brought it and a bowl of cereal into the living room, by the front
door, and started eating. He thought about going back up to his room
to get dressed, but he knew Tamani was still there.
The living room was meant for formal entertaining, but it wasn’t
a bad place to have breakfast. Arrowroot had begun remaking the room
soon after he became mayor, when he realized how hard it was going to
be to get his political ideas implemented, no matter how good, no
matter how many people they might make happy.
With only his wife to consult, and she generally agreeable to his
proposals, he attacked this room with gusto. First went the old pine
floor, which he replaced with an elaborate parquet of walnut and
cherry. Then came cherry baseboards and deep cherry paneling that ran
up to a walnut chair rail. Above that, the walls were plaster, painted
peach and hung with landscapes, portraits and still lifes, a good
number of them original art Arrowroot had bought at estate auctions in
Europe and closer to home. For the crown molding, he chose more
cherry, custom carved with stylized vines, leaves and moons. The
ceiling was made of tin, pressed with starbursts and roseates. After
he’d finished it, Arrowroot filled the room with one-of-a-kind
furniture: roll-top desks, an 18
^th
century armoire, couches and chairs
of cherry and silk, along with the leather inlaid poker table where he
was taking his breakfast.
He was waiting for the sound of at least one car engine, possibly
more. He was waiting for a knock on the door. But he wasn’t expecting
a scream. So when Tamani shrieked in his bedroom, he spilled a slug of
coffee on his lap.
He set his mug down and headed upstairs.
Tamani cried out again.
“Tamani?” he inquired when he reached his bedroom door. “What’s
going on?”
She was still at his window, staring toward the mountain,
ignoring him.
The next sound came from downstairs, five pounding thumps on the
front door: “bang bang bang bang bang.” If he were still holding his
coffee cup down there, he’d have gotten another splash on his
nightshirt.
“Just a minute,” he shouted.
Whoever was at his door didn’t want to wait a minute. “bang bang
bang bang bang,” they thumped again.
Arrowroot dashed down the stairs two at a time and threw open the
front door, where he found Chief Hatfield, police Lt. Hernando Juarez,
and a man and a woman dressed in military fatigues.
“Hi, Karl, can we come in please?” Hatfield asked, even as all
four of them headed into the foyer.
“Well, you were about to break my house down with all that damned
pounding,” Arrowroot retorted, “so yeah, sure.”
“Where’s the subject?” demanded the woman. She was short and
blonde, her hair tucked under her cap, her eyes hidden behind aviator
sunglasses. Like the soldier beside her, she was wearing the insignia
of the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” Arrowroot said, turning to the woman with a
warm smile. “I missed your name the first time you said it.”
“I didn’t say it,” she replied curtly.
“Well maybe you should have,” said Arrowroot, his voice rising,
“seeing as how you’ve just barged into my domicile at 8 a.m. on a
Sunday morning.”
“Sir, are you an attorney?” she asked.
“Nope, even better,” Arrowroot replied. “I’m a citizen of the
United States of America. And you’re standing in my castle.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa now, everyone!” said Chief Hatfield, raising
his hands and stepping in between Arrowroot and the woman. “Let’s just
all get on the same page, take a few seconds, it won’t cost us
anything.”
The woman stepped to the side, scowling at Arrowroot, and he
glared back at his own reflection in her sunglasses.
“Okay,” Hatfield began, “Karl, you know Hernando, of course.”
“Buenos dias, Hernie,” Arrowroot said, nodding.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” Juarez replied.
“And this is Major Stapleton, Connie Stapleton,” Hatfield said,
motioning to the woman. Next he pointed to the man, a squat, swarthy
soldier with a thick mustache. “And this is Captain Emil Bonaventure.”
Arrowroot greeted both of them with an unsmiling handshake.
“Good,” Hatfield said. “So Karl—“
For the second time that morning, Arrowroot was jangled by a
female shout.
“Daddy!” It was Danielle, at the top of the stairs, looking down
at everyone, apparently wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt.
“Is that the subject? Is that the subject?” Stapleton asked
sharply.
“No, that’s my daughter,” said Arrowroot. “Danielle, these folks
are on a hair trigger this morning, how ‘bout you quit hollerin’? Go
put a little something on, you know?”
Danielle had other ideas. “Is this about Robert?” she asked, and
before anyone could answer, she was in tears, finishing the stairs on
a run and throwing herself against her father’s chest. “Oh Daddy Daddy
Daddy, God no, Daddy!”
“Danielle,” Arrowroot said, stroking his daughter’s hair,
“please, Honey, I think it’s about Tamani, just get a handle on
yourself.”
“Oh, God no, it’s about that man she threw in the water, isn’t
it?” Danielle asked, turning toward the officers with horror in her
eyes. “Did he die?”
“Get that down,” Stapleton ordered Bonaventure, who quickly made
a few scribbles in a small notebook.
“Hush, please,” Arrowroot whispered to his daughter. “You just
ain’t helping at all here.”
“Chief,” Stapleton pleaded, addressing Hatfield. “Chief, we’re
losing time here, she’s a serious flight risk.”
“Karl, where’s Tamani?” Hatfield asked. “This is really, really
serious.”
“Are you going to arrest her?” Danielle asked.
“We need to talk to her,” Stapleton replied. “Now.”
“She’s in my bedroom,” Arrowroot said, glancing at Danielle. “She
showed up about the time I was waking up. I mean, she slept in her
own—“
“When’s the last time you saw her there?” Stapleton asked.
“A few seconds ago,” Arrowroot said. “She screamed.”
“Why did she scream?” asked Stapleton.
“It was about the time you folks showed up,” Arrowroot replied.
“And why would that make her scream?” Stapleton persisted.
“Hell, I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe she saw the size of
your knuckles and knew you were about to rap my front door off its
hinges. Scared the hell out of me too.”
“Danielle, was Tamani in your dad’s bedroom when you walked by?”
Chief Hatfield asked.
“I didn’t look,” Danielle admitted. She was still blinking sleep
away, but Arrowroot knew trouble was coming, as soon as she got her
bearings. It didn’t take long.
“Oh my god,” she exclaimed. “Oh my god, I know what this is.
You’ve come for her, haven’t you? Army wants their property back.”
Stapleton spoke first but her words were drowned out by
Hatfield’s. “This is a joint situation, Danielle,” he said, “city and
Fort Shergawa.”
“I’m sure it is,” Danielle answered. “Floyd, you know they’re
just using you. They’re using you for cover.” Danielle turned toward
Stapleton. “So what happened? She knows too much? Did she see someone
get killed? She’s just gonna disappear, isn’t she? Were you doing
experiments on her?”
“We don’t have time for this,” Stapleton announced.
“Oh my god,” Danielle said, turning to her father. “I’ve got it.
Oh my god. That explains everything. She’s one of those super
soldiers, they’re pumping her full of, like, steroids. Steroids and
probably drugs.”
“Miss,” Stapleton interjected.
“Daddy, don’t you see?” Danielle’s voice was rising, and she
gestured wildly with her hands. “That’s where the muscles came from.
That’s why she was violent. The drugs scrambled her brain, so she
doesn’t know how to eat or even shave her underarms. Oh my god. And
now she’s just trying to get away, but they’ve found her. Oh my god!”
“Miss!” Stapleton said again.
Danielle turned to Stapleton and stared for a long moment.
“You,” she said. “You’re heading this up, aren’t you? Are you
gonna kill us too? Now we know what’s really going on? I’m wanna see
your face, freak.”
With a shout, Danielle lunged at Stapleton, clawing at her
sunglasses. Stapleton grabbed one of Danielle’s hands and twisted it,
and Danielle went down to her knees, screaming.
“Get your hands off my daughter!” Arrowroot shouted, but before
he could reach Stapleton, Hatfield was behind him, wrapping him in a
bear hug.
The next few moments were utter chaos, the sort of interaction of
complex human bodies, directed by far more complex human minds, that
would be impossible to capture with words alone. In Arrowroot’s memory
of the event, Guillaume appeared from nowhere and attached himself to
the junction of the two women’s hands, desperately trying to loosen
Stapleton’s grip. There were shouts, bodies falling and rising, a
toppled chair, a scream as Bonaventure tasered Guillaume in the lower
back. The scene ended with Guillaume crying out defiantly in French,
Danielle lying on her side in a fetal position, and Arrowroot writhing
in Hatfield’s iron grip. “You’re breaking the Constitution!” he
screamed. “You’re breaking the goddamned Constitution! In my goddamned
house!”
“Karl!” shouted Chief Hatfield. “Karl!”
“What?” Arrowroot shouted. Everyone else had gone quiet and
Arrowroot realized his voice was inordinately booming. “What?” he
repeated, more quietly.
“Just calm down, please, and let us tell everyone what’s going
on,” Hatfield pleaded.
“Well,” retorted Arrowroot, still struggling to break free,
“you’ve got a hell of a way of explaining things so far.”
Stapleton’s hat and glasses had come off, revealing a long rope
of blonde hair and a black and swollen left eye. The injury looked at
least a week old, Arrowroot noted. She quickly found her glasses and
put them back on, wrapped her hair in a knot behind her head and
pulled her hat over it all. She was standing over Danielle, who was
harmlessly curled up on the floor, crying quietly. Bonaventure was
kneeling next to Guillaume, taser at the ready, but the Frenchman was
also lying passively.