Expiration Date (26 page)

He poured the Scrabble tiles on the table and wished he could use more than seven letters in a turn. He had a perfect word for the day:
unpredictable
.

Too bad the word was a full thirteen letters long.

What a pest this kid had turned out to be. Kids were always a challenge.

Asgoth smiled at Monde’s perturbation over the failed dog attack. Hadn’t he suggested a simple poisoning? As a killing machine, how predictable was a dog? Plus, you could never guess a human’s response to such an assault.

Clay Ryker. He was the obstacle, as well as the goal of this charade.

With him gone, I’ll get the key from the train and the funds to go on. I’ll buy back my honor
.

Asgoth sent Monde on his way, then hurried along the street to the uneven stairs leading up to his place. He had a few props to collect; the day was not yet over.

In his apartment Henna was waiting with candles lit and incense burning. Her tank top was tie-dyed, her skirt thin and cerulean, swishing along the rug as her bare feet danced to Tibetan rhythms and chants. He watched with pleasure the way her hair caressed her shoulders and neck. Although her eyes were half-closed in apparent revelry, he sensed a striving in her demeanor. She was reaching for, but not grasping, something beyond herself.

This was the moment he loved most—her straining, her desire.

“Henna.”

“Oh, at last. How long’ve you been here? I should’ve felt you in the room.”

“We have a few minutes together,” he said. “Then I’ll need your help.”

“My help?” She sounded eager.

“Over at the Preston place.”

“If that’s what you wish, A.G.” She spun once with arms extended, eased into position on the gold shag carpet. “If it means striking back at Clay, I’m open to whatever you have in mind.”

Through the front window, Kenny could see evening creeping into town. He hoped his mom would let Clay stay longer. She was in the dining room talking with the man, giggling about something, while dishes remained on the tablecloth.

That was a good sign. Very unlike his mother.

Kenny squelched any long-term hopes, though; Clay wore a wedding ring. Would his mom ever remarry? She knew her husband was gone for good. The few reports from Alaska had him involved with loose women and barroom brawls.

I’ll kill him if he ever comes back and hurts her again. What’d she ever do to him?

“Going outside,” Kenny muttered as he passed through the kitchen. “Gonna see how Gussy’s doin’.”

“She can come back in,” his mom said. “So long as she’s settled down.”

“I’ll throw the ball with her, help her get out some energy.”

“Stay in the backyard. Don’t be out too long.”

Kenny slipped through the door. A storm was gathering, and a breeze rustled the tips of the bougainvillea along the fence. Birds shuffled between trees; moving as one, they dipped and gyrated across the gray black screen of cloud, like a computer cursor in the hand of a preschooler.

“Gussy? Where are you?”

The back fence creaked in the evening wind.

“Gussy, girl?”

The gaps in the fence revealed movement and shadows, and he trembled as he recalled the Rottweiler’s attack. He almost turned back inside.

But where was his puppy? With his saved money, Kenny had finished building a doghouse near the garage, and now all it needed was paint. Gussy was nowhere near, though. Had she dug a hole? Found a gap in the boards?

He trotted around to the side gate. This is where he’d packed the newspapers only hours ago. The ground was still soggy. He searched for claw marks in the dirt along the bottom of the wood. Zippo.

Tacked to the inside of the gate, a lavender sheet of notepaper nabbed his attention. He tore it free. What was that smell? Like Cherry 7-Up.

His heart jumped as he read a threat against his missing puppy. There was only one way to get her back, the note said, and that was to shut up, get on his bike, and go to Engine 418.

What was it about that train? Was someone after his discovery?

Kenny crumpled and tossed the note against the house.
Somebody has Gussy!

He debated going inside for Clay’s assistance but decided against it. The note said to tell no one. Kenny had already seen one dog die today; he couldn’t risk letting his little girl get hurt—or worse.

Anyway, Clay Ryker had done his good deed, keeping Kenny out of danger. Now it was Kenny’s turn to be a hero. For Gussy.

His bike was in working condition, a little scraped, in need of adjustment, but ridable. He eased it from the garage into the street and strapped on his helmet. He looked back once at the front window, at the serene light that glowed from within, then rode into the gathering night.

“For real, baby. A girl can’t
find
no better sister.”

“What time do you plan on getting back, Shanique?” Mylisha cleared glassware from the counter, put a can of Pringles on an upper pantry shelf. “I have classes tomorrow, and I’m behind on homework as it is.”

“Be back when I be back.”

“I’m not joking. What time?”

“Why you hafta be like dat? You know I can’t give you no answer.”

“Sure you can.” Mylisha turned to scold Tyrone. “Honey, you can’t be fiddlin’ with my stereo. Tell Auntie what you want to hear, and I’ll play it for you.”

“Mylisha,” Shanique said, “what’s wrong wit you? Why you be stankin’?”

She raised a hand. “It’ll be all right. Just go.”

“I was plannin’ on chillin’ here for a few, wit you. My big sister.”

“I’ve got my own stuff to think about. Go. Do what you gotta do.”

“Well. Tell you right now, I ain’t gonna worry
my
black butt over you, that is
for
sure. I ask if you’s gonna watch the kids, and you says yes. Now I’m s’posta be all up and feelin’ sorry for you. No, girl, that ain’t how this gonna work.”

“Go! All right? Shake that ghetto bootay, do your thang. We’ll be fine.”

Shanique looked ready to explode. She cocked her head, then waved off her own emotion. “You know, baby, I ain’t gonna let
your
frustration ruin
my
night. This girl’s goin’ dancin’. You wanna stay wound tight, you do dat. I be krunkin’ while you sit ’n pout.” She gathered her kids in her arms, planted wet kisses on their cheeks and eyelids. “You listen to yo auntie and be good, you hear? Mama’ll be right here when you wake up. Sure ’nuff, do
love
my babies.”

Going down the stairs, Shanique’s heels clicked with staccato precision.

“Why’s my mama leavin’?” Tyrone demanded.

“She has to work, honey. Gotta make money so she can buy you two some new clothes when school starts.”

Tawnique’s six-year-old smile spread from pigtail to pigtail. Tyrone scowled.

On the street below, the angry sound of their mother’s new Mustang faded.

Mylisha set her niece and nephew at the kitchen table with a margarine tub of crayons and a pad of construction paper. She perched on a barstool with a college syllabus in her lap. Hidden between the pages, an astrology chart awaited.

This, she knew, was the reason behind her petulance. So she’d driven off Shanique a few minutes early. What did that matter? She didn’t need her sister’s happy-go-lucky attitude shoved in her face, and she didn’t want Shanique telling her “it’s about time you came around” or “I told you so.”

Life’s a mystery. Least mine is. Just looking for a little direction, that’s all
.

Clay found the wadded note in the grass along the fence.

“His bike’s gone,” Kate Preston exclaimed from the side door of the garage.

“I’m going after him.”

Clay clutched the note in his fist and hopped into his Duster before she had a chance to stop him. There was no time. The earlier attempt on Kenny’s life had been diverted, but this was an obvious setup. Why else would it be happening today?

He revved the engine and skidded forward on a layer of burning rubber.

7.1.1.0.4 …

He angled toward the park. The numerals sloshed over his nerve endings. Eight days ago he’d chased the kid from his parents’ front porch, grabbed his arm, sensed the dates on his skin.

Wax … hot and dripping, sluicing over his palm in precise patterns.

No! I’m coming for you, Kenny!

Clay had been wrong to doubt Henna. This seemed obvious now. On the Greyhound she had imparted to him a gift, an ability to discern the parameters of mortal life. So the lady was eccentric, but that was no crime; here, near Eugene, it was commonplace. At the Dixon house he had suspected her, yet
even his mother vouched for her innocence. Henna had shrugged him off so he’d accept the gift on his own.

I accept, I accept! I can’t just sit by and watch a kid bite it
.

As the Duster barreled down Sixth Street, Clay thought of Kate Preston. She was playfully shy and pretty in a natural, no-frills way. Her eyes were pale and blue, marked with the clarity of a person nourished by organic foods and vegetables. She seemed dedicated to her son and dismissive of her husband’s philandering, a church-bred woman struggling between godly intentions and human desire.

Back at the dining table, Clay had felt Kate’s yearning. He’d soaked up her giving and nurturing gestures, aware of his own similar struggles.

“What’s Kenny up to?” he had said. Finding refuge in this concern. An escape.

“Good question,” she’d replied. Also using the diversion.

Together they’d searched the backyard, then realized he was missing.

Dmitri bemoaned the time wasted on that old woman’s guidance. He had tried the phone book, the Internet, the local hangouts …

He still had not found this Kenny Preston.

Did the boy understand the significance of his discovery in the engine cab? Where had he taken the object?

Wandering now, driving the streets of Junction City, Dmitri found himself back on Greenwood. He turned past the Viking Sal, aimed back toward the acclaimed train. For years this town’s citizens had functioned without knowledge of the secrets in their midst. How could history remain so quiet in the face of the future’s barrage?