Joe (22 page)

After one last considering look at
me—and maybe there was a little relief there, too—Mr. Landry turned toward
Michael. “Just set ‘em down over there, son,” he said, and headed out the back
door.

I watched as Michael set the crates down
carefully, his tan skin shining with sweat over his carved muscles. He
straightened up and offered me another smile. I returned it, my pulse picking
up pace once more. Having very little experience with the opposite sex, I felt
sort of like a fish out of water.

“That was the last of them,” Michael
said. “You need any help in here?”

I shook my head. “Almost duh-done here
too…Th-th-thanks for the help.”

His green eyes lit up beautifully. I
sighed in my head. I had to admit, I liked this boy, but I was still
suspicious. What had Mr. Landry said about him being too curious? Really, what
had Mr. Landry said overall? I would have to ask him, or else it would bother
me for the rest of the day, and other things needed my attention.

“You’re very welcome,” he said. He
looked down at his feet. “What are you doing after this?”

Me? Oh, nothing much. Just going up to
UMMS to study a sketch I drew that predicts a terrible massacre that is
supposed to happen there, probably tomorrow. Just your typical Sunday. No big.

A sardonic smile touched my lips. “I’ve
got s-s-some errands to r-run,” I said.

Michael’s face took on an uncertain
look. “Oh. Well, I was wondering if maybe you would want to go get some lunch
or something.”

About a million excuses ran through my
head, and I think my jaw unhinged and probably wagged a little unattractively.
I snapped it shut and tried to decide what to say. Was he asking me out on a
date, or just being friendly? Surely it was the latter. Guys like him didn’t go
for girls like…well, girls like me. He probably just saw me as some sort of
mystery or conquest. I knew these things and yet, it was more difficult than
usual to get the excuse from my lips. Whoever said looks didn’t matter was
wrong. It would very nearly be a sin to turn down a man as attractive as
Michael. But, still…

“She would love to,” Mr. Landry said,
shutting the door to the back of the shop. “You guys worked quickly. I can
finish up here. Just let me grab you some money and then you can go.”

Again, my jaw fell lax. Today was
shaping up to be rather strange. Even for me.

A smile lit up Michael’s face once more.
“Not necessary, sir. I was glad to help.”

The old man nodded. “Thought you were
going to say that. Well, thanks again, then. Why don’t you go wash up? The
restroom is at the front of the shop. I’ll send Joe out in a minute. Just need
to go over the inventory with her one more time.”

Michael did as he was told and
disappeared through the door to the front of the shop. Mr. Landry came over and
stood in front of me. He stared at me in that strange way again, and as if
coming to some final decision, he said, “I’ve lived a long time, Joe.”

When he didn’t continue, I nodded my
response.

He let out a sigh that came from old,
dry lungs. “Long enough to know that the best way to live is to stay out of
other folks’ business.” Mr. Landry tapped his head with a calloused finger. “Got
enough going on up here already without concerning myself with others.”

Another long pause. I waited.

“But, well, you’re a good girl, Joe. I’d
like to think that if I’d ever had a daughter she would’ve been something like
you. You’ve helped me out a lot in the past four years. Saved me from a hell of
a lot of trouble, that’s for sure. And I’ve never said nothing about it,
because I know you like your privacy, just like I like mine.”

He paused to scratch his head. I just
continued staring. This was the longest speech I had ever heard from him, and I
didn’t think he was finished yet.

He wasn’t.

“I just want you to know that that young
man out there doesn’t have any bad intentions toward you, but he is…well,
curious
.”
Mr. Landry gave me a level stare. “And the last thing people like me and you
need is someone who is
too
curious.” He let out a short laugh now as he
took in what must have been my lost and confused expression. “You picking up
what I’m putting down, Joe?”

I wasn’t. Not at all, but I nodded
nonetheless. My confusion along with Mr. Landry’s strange comments was starting
to make me uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine.” He waved a hand
for me to go, and I moved quickly to obey. When I reached the door that Michael
had disappeared through, the old man stopped me.

“Joe?”

I turned back around to face him, my
eyebrows going up once more.

“Stop by my apartment when you get home,
would ya? I got something for you. And…and be careful, okay?”

I found myself nodding for what seemed
like the hundredth time since this day had started. If I was being honest, I
wasn’t so much uncomfortable as I was touched by Mr. Landry’s concern for me.
As random and odd as it may be, it was something I was not used to getting from
anyone other than my Aunt Susan. I certainly couldn’t count on my own father
for such advice. It was the
way
he was saying it that made me uneasy.

People like me and you.

What was that supposed to mean? I could
have let it go and left then, but Michael wasn’t the only one who was curious,
which was an observation that seemed unfounded to me. Michael had hardly said
anything all day, let alone asked any questions.

I swallowed hard, wondering if the
question on my mind was a wise one. But when I looked up at the old man again,
he seemed to be waiting for me to ask it. “Sir…what do you mean buh-by
‘puh-puh-people like me and-and-and you’?” I asked.

Mr. Landry sighed again. “Just…you know,
people who need their privacy.” He waved his hand again, shooing me away. “Stop
by when you get home today, okay?”

Of course, I just nodded.

I had a feeling I was “picking up” more
of what he was “putting down” than I wanted to admit. Surely, he couldn’t mean…

“I will,” I told him after a moment,
surprised at the way those two words seemed to fall from my mouth without
hindrance. A tiny, fragile bubble of hope was floating up inside of me, but I
popped it before it could bloom too large. Mr. Landry wasn’t like me. He wasn’t
clairvoyant. I knew this for sure.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t…like you.

And just what was that supposed to mean?
I decided I would make it my business to find out.

“I will,” I said again, and found that a
smile was left on my lips. Whether it was because of the residue of my busted
hope-bubble, or the alien fluency of those two words, I couldn’t tell you.

Chapter
Thirty-Three

Michael

The
raven-haired girl emerged from the door that led to the back room of Mr.
Landry’s shop. Michael reminded himself yet again that the girl’s name was Joe,
but the nickname he had given her in his own mind seemed to be making itself at
home. As long as he didn’t slip up and refer to her as
the raven-haired girl
verbally, it would be okay. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Joe made
“short-spoken” an understatement.

She was smiling now, and Michael noticed
again how alluring she was. Smiles were rare on her. He found himself smiling
in return. “So, is that a
yes
on lunch?” he asked.

Joe took a long time in answering, and
Michael watched her closely as she grappled with the decision. He felt that he
could never tire of looking at her face. The thought took him aback. Since when
had he become some sappy romantic?

When she finally met his eyes with her
own silver-blue ones, he felt his breath catch.
Since I met her,
he
thought.

 “Okay,” she said.

This response made him happy.

“Okay,” he agreed. “How about we go get
cleaned up. I mean, not that you need to get cleaned up, I mean you look fine
just as you are, beautiful actually…” He trailed off. He just couldn’t be
smooth around this girl. Joe was watching him with one brow slightly raised and
a crooked smile on her face. He ran a hand through his hair. “So, yeah. Can I
pick you up in an hour? Do you live near here?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Then all I need is
your address.”

***

Michael drove home, showered, and picked
out a short-sleeved button-up shirt and some khaki-colored shorts. He found
himself whistling around his apartment while Trey gave him poorly-veiled
concerned looks. Michael didn’t notice, nor would he have cared. The
raven-haired girl had something about her that he just loved, and he’d meant it
when he had told her that she was beautiful. She made him feel excited, as
though he were in the middle of some fantastical story and she was the driving
force behind it all. He found it amazing that he could feel so strongly about
someone whom he barely even knew. Then again, even though he had dated many
girls, he’d never felt this way about
anyone.
Joe was truly something
special, and he knew it. He really was a good judge of character.

As he dressed and styled his hair in a
messy way that was painstakingly difficult to obtain, he thought about where he
would take her for lunch. Somehow the decision seemed very important. Just
where did one take a girl like her? Then he got an idea that was brilliant, and
grabbed a large blanket out of his closet. He stuffed the blanket into a wicker
basket that his mother had given him last Christmas—filled with sausage and
cheese and crackers that were long since gone—and headed out the door. Next he
stopped at the deli down the street and picked up sandwiches and chips and a
couple of sodas.

He knew just where to take the girl, and
on a Sunday, the setting he had chosen would be quiet and deserted and perfect.
The Quad at UMMS was a gorgeous place even when filled to capacity with people,
but it was something else entirely when the only thing to see was the rich
green grounds and large old oaks and stone buildings.

The Quad on a Sunday was the perfect
place for a romantic picnic. Perfect. He knew it.

Our friend Danny was of the same mind
that afternoon.

Chapter
Thirty-Four

Decider

The
anticipation was almost too much.

Everything was in place and ready to go.
You would think that he would be trying to savor and cling to it. According to
the plan, today was to be his last full day of life. He planned to shoot
himself tomorrow—just before the police arrived—which still left plenty of time
to do great destruction.  Even so, for Danny, Monday could not come soon
enough.

He had risen at seven-thirty, as he did
every morning, and finished his last journal entry before breakfast. It had
been some grade-A shit, too. Something tasty for the fuckers to chew over and
analyze. He knew what the world’s reaction would be. He almost wished that he
would be around to see it. Nearly everyone in the country would know his name.
The aftermath would surely be something to savor.

But the waiting was
agonizing.
Just
one fucking day to go. Thinking about it gave him one hell of a hard-on.

The box he planned to leave outside of
the Channel Five News station had been arranged with great care. The
leather-bound black journal was on top. Underneath was a recent picture of
himself, one that he thought he looked especially good in, one that would make
the news for weeks if all went well. Next to that was a video diary on which he
had ranted (not the word Danny would have used) about everything under the sun
while holding a black Glock Nine to his temple. The last things in the box were
a small, chocolate-brown teddy bear and four votive candles—a salty gesture to
the mourners who would soon gather at UMMS for a candle-lit vigil. Take that,
you sonsabitches. Take that.

He had cleaned the three guns that he
planned to take with him, polished the black irons metal until the tips of his
fingers were raw. Currently, they were locked in a blue trunk that he kept in
the rear of his bedroom closet. On top of this blue trunk was a plain black
backpack which was loaded to capacity with ammunition for the irons. Black
leather gloves sat beside the pack. Hanging above, on the bar that held his
simple wardrobe—mostly slacks and discreetly-colored button-up shirts—hanging
on tan plastic hangers. His wardrobe was pushed evenly to either side to leave
an open space in the middle. Here hung two hangers. One held black cargo
pants–all those pockets would come in handy, yes indeed–and a black t-shirt. On
the shirt, printed in white, block letters:
Darwin’s Law.

Survival of the fittest, motherfuckers
. 

This thought made things stir and tingle
in his nether regions. This thought felt
good.

At the moment, he was sitting on the
edge of his tightly-made bed, practicing reloading the Nine and the .45. His
hands were making love to the two weapons simultaneously. His fingers flew over
their flesh with ease and familiarity, prodding and poking and
snap!-
ping
and
click!-
ing
.
The irons moaned under his touch. They were sweet
and wet little bitches, and they were ready to ride. Yes, they felt good.

There was only one thing left to do, and
that was to check out the scene of the coming battle, get one last look at
where his destiny would be realized, stand on the grounds where his legacy
would be born into life–spat out in blood and wails between the sweaty legs of
his pistols. The stink of afterbirth would rent the air. He had decided, and so
it shall be. He had Decided.

The place would be empty on this lovely
afternoon, deserted. He would walk the path he would soon take, and plant his
little wired embellishments in the optimal positions he had already chosen,
using a map of the school grounds. The wiring on the bombs had been trickier
than he had expected, but even the small chance that he had wired them right
was enough to make his chest feel light and his mouth water. No matter either
way. The Quad would be plenty full at noontime tomorrow. Plenty full.

Danny had a number in mind as the very
least that he would certainly achieve. The number was fifty. But he shot
straight, so his aspirations were much higher. Fifty would do. It would earn
him the position of the worst school massacre, taking the spot above the
Virginia Tech shooting. Cho didn’t have shit on Danny. Danny was
the man.
Fifty was a low-ball.

“High-Ho, High-Ho, off to the Quad I
go,” he sang.

He grabbed the black duffel bag that waited
beneath his bed. Inside were his homemade explosives. Their weight slung over
his shoulder was full and healthy. A wide jackal’s grin stretched across his
face, and dark, merciless eyes sat coldly above it.

While Danny was doing all this, Michael
was packing up his little picnic basket for his romantic Quad-date with the
strange raven-haired girl. Perhaps it was destiny after all.