Chloe stood, obviously not satisfied with the help her therapist was offering, which was none. “I’ll try.” She left the office, closing the door behind her.
Val let her head fall to the desk. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, why didn’t I go into pathology? she thought. It would be so peaceful sitting around, boiling up beakers of urine and culturing bugs. No wackos. No stress. Okay, occasionally you’d be exposed to some deadly anthrax spores, but at least other people’s sex lives stay in the bedroom and the tabloids where they belong.
Her appointment with Martin and Lisbeth Luder rose in her head. They were in their seventies, had been in counseling because they hadn’t had a decent conversation since 1958, and today they had come in and dumped a half hour of explicit sexual narrative on her, an account of perversions they’d indulged in the night before, starting at around 2 A.M. The visual conjured in Val’s mind—all that parched, wrinkled flesh in furious fric-tion—culminated in flames, as if some giant cosmic Boy Scout had decided to rub two old people together to make a fire. The worst of it, the absolute worst of it, is that she’d found herself getting turned on while listening. She’d had to change her panties between appointments four times today.
She considered pouring herself a hefty tumbler of brandy and settling down in front of the television, but that wasn’t going to do it. Batteries; she needed four C-cell batteries and she needed them now. Then it was time to dig through her lingerie drawers and find a long-forgotten friend—and hope that it still worked.
Molly
Long past dark and Molly was still staring though the gap in the curtains at the trailer that ate the kid. The problem with being nuts, she thought, is that you don’t always feel as if you’re nuts. Sometimes, in fact, you feel perfectly sane, and there just happens to be a trailer-shaped dragon crouching in the lot next door. Not that she was ready to go out and pro-claim that fact to anyone, because no matter how sane you feel, some stuff just sounds too crazy. So she watched, still wearing her Warrior Babe outfit, hoping someone else would come along and notice. Around eight, someone did.
She saw Theophilus Crowe going from door to door in the park. He came into view two trailers down at the Morales home, spoke briefly with Mr. Morales at the door, then headed for the dragon trailer.
Molly was torn. She liked Theo. Yes, he’d taken her to County once or twice, but he’d always been kind to her—warned her about the guy in the day room who cheated at Parcheesi by eating the marbles. And he never spoke to her like she was a crazy woman. Theo was a fan.
As Theo was raising his black Mag lite to tap on the dragon trailer’s door, Molly saw the two windows on the end slowly open, revealing the cat’seye pupils. Theo obviously didn’t see them. He was looking at his shoes.
She threw up the aluminum sash and shouted, “They’re not home!”
The constable turned toward Molly. “Just a second,” she said.
She bolted out the door of her trailer and stopped by the street where Theo could see her. “They aren’t home. Come here a second,” she repeated.
Theo tucked his Mag lite into his belt. “Molly, how are you?”
“Fine, fine, fine. I need to talk to you, okay? Over here, okay?” She didn’t want to tell him why. what if the eyes weren’t there? What if it was just a trailer? She’d be on her way to County in a heartbeat.
“They’re not home then?” Theo said, pointing over his shoulder to the dragon trailer. He was staring at her now, at the same time trying not to stare. He had a goofy grin on his face, the same sort Molly had seen on the kid right before he got slurped.
“Nope, gone all day.”
“What’s with the sword?
Oh shit! She forgot she’d grabbed the sword on the way out. “I was just making some stir-fry. Chopping up some veggies.”
“That ought to do it.”
“Broccoli stems,” she said, as if that explained everything. He was looking at the leather bikini, and she watched his eyes stop on the scar above her breast, then look away. She covered the scar with her hand. “One of my old Kendra costumes. Everything else is in the dryer.”
“Sure. Hey, you don’t get the Times, do you?”
“Nope. Why?”
“The kid that delivers it, Mikey Plotznik, left for his route this morning and no one has seen him since. Looks like the last paper he delivered was a few doors down. You didn’t happen to see him, did you?”
“About ten, blond kid, Rollerblades? Kinda evil?”
“That’s him.”
“Nope, haven’t seen him.” She watched the eyes of the dragon trailer close behind Theo and took a deep breath.
“You seem a little tense, Molly. You okay?”
“Fine, fine, just wanted to get back to my stir-fry. You hungry?”
“Did Val Riordan get hold of you?”
“Yep, she called. I’m not nuts.”
“Of course not. I’d like you to keep an eye out for this kid, Molly. One of his buddies fessed up that Mikey had a little bit of an obsession with you.”
“Me? No kidding?”
“He might be creeping around your trailer.”
“Really?”
“If you see him, give me a call, would you? His folks are worried about him.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thanks. And ask your neighbors when they get home, would you?”
“You betcha.” Molly realized he was stalling. Just staring at her with that goofy grin on his face. “They just moved in. I don’t know them very well, but I’ll ask.”
“Thanks.” He said, still just standing there, like a twelve-year-old ready to make an assault on the wall-flowers at his first dance.
“I’d better go, Theo. I have broccoli in the dryer.” No, she had wanted to say she had to get back to dinner, or to her laundry, not both.
“Okay. See ya.”
She ran into her trailer, slammed the door, and leaned against it. Through the window she could see the dragon trailer open an eye and close it quickly. She could have sworn it was winking at her.
Theo
A niggling voice in Theo’s head told him that finding the Crazy Lady attractive—extremely attractive—was an indicator that he was less than sane himself. On the other hand, he didn’t feel that bad about it. He didn’t feel bad about anything, not since he’d walked into the trailer park anyway. He had to deal with an explosion, a lost kid, the recent increase in general nuttiness in town—a virtual shit storm of responsibility—but he didn’t feel all that bad. And in that moment outside of Molly’s trailer, reflecting and waiting for the tide of lust to ebb, he realized that he hadn’t smoked any pot all day. Strange. Normally this long without nursing from his Sneaky Pete and his skin would be crawling.
He was heading back to his Volvo to resume the search for the lost boy when his cell phone rang. Sheriff John Burton didn’t say hello.
“Get to a land line,” Burton said.
“I’m in the middle of trying to find a lost kid,” Theo replied.
“A land line now, Crowe. My private line. You have five minutes.”
Theo drove to a pay phone outside the Head of the Slug Saloon and checked his watch. When fifteen minutes had passed, he dialed Burton’s number.
“I said five minutes.”
“Yes, you did.” Theo smiled to himself in spite of Burton’s tone, which was on the verge of screaming.
“No one goes on the ranch, Crowe. The lost kid is not on the ranch, do you hear me?”
“It’s standard procedure to search all the ranchland. Emergency services has the area gridded out. We have to cover the whole grid. I was going to call in some deputies to help us. The volunteer fire guys are exhausted from the explosion this morning.”
“No. None of my guys. Don’t call the Highway Patrol or the CCC either. And no aircraft. If the grid on the ranch has to be checked off, then check it off. No one goes on that land, is that clear?”
“And what if the kid actually is on the ranch. You’re talking about a thousand acres of pasture and forest that won’t be searched.”
“Oh bullshit, the kid is probably in a tree house somewhere with a stack of Playboys. He’s only been missing for what, twelve hours?”
“What if he’s not?”
There was silence on the line for a moment. Theo waited, watching three new couples leave the Head of the Slug in less than a minute. New couples: in Pine Cove everyone knew who everyone else was dating, and these were people who didn’t go together. Not that unusual a phenomenon perhaps on a Friday night at 2 A.M., but this was Wednesday, and it was barely eight o’clock. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling a wave of horniness. The couples were groping each other as if trying to get all the foreplay out of the way before they reached the car.
Burton came back on the line. “I’ll see that the ranchland is searched and call you if they find the kid. But I want to be the first to know if you find him.”
“That it?”
“Find that little fucker, Crowe.” Burton hung up.
Theo got into his Volvo and drove to his cabin at the edge of the ranch. There were at least twenty citizen volunteers searching for Mikey Plotznik. The effort could spare him long enough to catch a shower and change his smoke-saturated clothes. As he parked the Volvo, an expensive, tricked-out red pickup truck pulled into the ranch entrance and rolled slowly by. As they passed, a Hispanic man sitting in the bed laughed and saluted Theo with the barrel of an AK-47 assault rifle.