The Speed Queen (18 page)

Lamont killed the Closes, if you want to get technical about it. He burned them alive.

Firestarter
, right?

That's one way I wouldn't like to die — like Joan of Arc or those old-time witches. In the movies you can always tell the flames are like ten feet away from them. In real life I bet it would take a long time. They'd smell, like when you forget something in the oven. Nobody does it anymore, not officially at least.

So it was Lamont. Natalie didn't kill anybody until the Sonic.

When we had everything packed and I'd fed Gainey his breakfast, Lamont brought a gallon can of kerosene up from the basement and told us to get in the car. Outside it was cool but bright, the grass was wet with dew. You could smell the red dirt. Everything had gone too far, and I was trying to concentrate on the little things. I put Gainey up front because it would help with the cops if they stopped us. While I was getting him set, he clawed off an earring. I swore and made him cry, then apologized. I was all buckled in when I remembered his diaper bag.

Inside, Lamont was splashing the kerosene over Mr. Close. It puddled in the folds of the trash bag. His hand was flicking like it was trying to shoo a fly. In the other room, Mrs. Close was moaning, and I hoped Lamont would count that against Natalie.

"Hold up!" I said, and zipped in and grabbed the diaper bag. "Okay," I said, "go ahead."

I followed him into the dining room, where he did Mrs. Close. Her nightgown went gray where it spilled. I noticed the space where the piano was supposed to go and told Lamont about it. When he was done, he threw the can against the hutch, breaking some plates. He took out a pack of matches.

"Can we talk for a minute?" I asked him. "About me and Natalie."

"Why?" he said, and then he saw that I wasn't going to let it go. "Okay," he said, and we sat down on the couch. His brushburn was sweating little beads.

"I'm all done with her," I said. "It's over.

"So?"

"I mean I'm committed to you."

"It's a little late for that, isn't it?"

"Is it?" I said.

"I don't know."

"I love you," I said.

"I know that," he said, "I love you too," but he didn't sound happy about it.

"We should get going," I said. "I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay," he said.

And he kissed me then, I don't know why. I didn't expect it.

I held the front door open while he flicked matches at Mrs. Close. It took him a few tries. Every time a match scratched, she jumped. It made me sad because she was nice, giving me the diet Pepsi and saying thank you.

Mr. Close caught on the first one.

"Did you see that?" Lamont said as we ran across the yard, and for the first time in a while it was like it used to be. But I knew that wouldn't last.

Gainey was in the car with Natalie the whole time. The only time he would of seen anything is when I brought him from the kitchen out to the car, and I turned so I was between him and Mr. Close. He won't have nightmares, at least not about that.

The one way that gives me nightmares is the way they used to do it in India. They made you lie down on the ground and brought this trained elephant in to step on your head. It's like the trick with the girl in the circus except the elephant puts his toot down. Sometimes I have this nightmare where I'm dressed up in this sequined outfit like a trapeze artist, and they make me lie down in the sawdust, and the elephant comes out. It's like it's real. I'm lying there looking up at the bottom of his loot. It starts coming down. It's dirty and there are peanut shells stuck to it.

And it doesn't stop. It steps right on my head. I can hear my nose crack and feel everything getting pressed flat. When it's over, I get up and my head's like an all-day sucker on my neck, like in a cartoon. You can see the footprint right in the middle of it. And then the brass band goes ta-daa, and I curtsy and throw my arms out wide like it's a trick.

I drove. Lamont's foot still hurt him, and Natalie didn't have any real experience at the wheel. The state police were running brand-new Crown Victorias with a factory interceptor package, and they were still thirty horsepower short of our Hemi. The only thing that was going to catch us was a Harley Electraglide, that or a chopper.

Our plan was to head west, cutting just north of the city. 40 had all the cops. We'd stick with the smaller highways and state roads. East of the state line there were lots of empty stretches where we could make up the time.

We picked out a few places we might try—Bullhead City, Lake Havasu City, Roswell, New Mexico. Natalie suggested Victorville, or Truth or Consequences. Lamont said San Bernardino was the crank capital of the world; the Marines trained right near there at Twentynine Palms.

"Yuma," I said.

"Fresno," Lamont said. He had the atlas open on his lap, his finger following a road through the Texas panhandle, and Natalie was looking over his shoulder, and I couldn't tell if the possibilities for me were opening up or narrowing down. I checked my mirrors and kept the needle right between the 5s.

We all planned the Sonic job, all of us. We weren't even off of 66 when we needed gas. We had twelve dollars between us, which wouldn't even fill the tank, so we knew we had to do something.

It was Saturday. At my old Sonic the manager would do a drawer skim right before the lunch rush and deposit it before the bank closed at noon. Friday was our busy night so it was always a chunk of money.

"How much is a chunk?" Natalie said.

"Two thousand?" I said. "It's probably more now."

"That'll do it," Lamont said. "What about alarms?"

"None. No cameras either. It's a real cut-rate operation. Lunch shift you're going to have six people at the most. The manager's trained to hand over everything. The rest of them are just kids."

He didn't answer right away. We were coming into Arcadia, a few miles east of Edmond. We passed Bob's Bar-B-Que and the Round Barn; already there were tourists hanging around outside. I looked at Natalie in the mirror, and she looked back at me like it wasn't her decision.

"What time is it now?" Lamont said.

Eleven-ten.

The weather was bright, like I said. Fifty, fifty-five, some high clouds. Light wind. You can make it windy it that makes it more dramatic, red dust blowing all over. Rain would be even better. And you definitely want to make it at night so you get the red neon, that's what Sonic's famous for. Maybe at closing time while they're mopping up, that way we'd take them by surprise.

I had on Levi's and a mustard sweatshirt with Snoopy on it, the kind with the pocket in front for your hands. Under that I was wearing a light blue Eskimo Joe's T-shirt. Just a regular bra and underwear, white tube socks, red Chuck Taylors. A pair of fake Ray-Bans. Little heart earrings Lamont had given me for my birthday and my pearl ring. I looked normal.

Lamont was wearing a blue-and-black-plaid flannel shirt, his jeans with the hole in the knee and Mr. Close's work boots because his shoes were ruined. The chain for his wallet was hanging out, and his pocketknife case on his belt. He didn't wear any rings or anything like that. White tube socks with stripes, regular brief-type white underwear.

Natalie had on designer jeans —Guess or Jordache, something dumb. She had on a white pullover with no sleeves that was too small for her; you could see a line of skin right around her belly button. Beige flats and no socks. At least two gold chains, gold hoop earrings, more than one ring on each hand. Probably some kind of barrette, and makeup, definitely coral lipstick. She liked pink or blue bras and underwear, always matching.

Gainey had on a green jumper with a hood and little blue tennis shoes with rainbow laces. Pampers.

Everyone inside except the manager had red-and-black Sonic uniform tops on, and black jeans. Who knows what they had underneath.

We weren't heavily armed. Lamont had his pistol and Mr. Close's shotgun, which we didn't even take out of the trunk. Natalie had a A5 and I had a little .22.

I didn't even want the thing. I'd never fired a gun before, I didn't even know how to load it or take the safety off, Lamont had to do that for me. He said we wouldn't have to shoot but if we did we'd better know how.

I was driving, Lamont was the passenger, Gainey was in back behind me, and Natalie was in back behind Lamont. This goes for after the robbery too; we kept our positions to avoid confusion.

I'm not going to call it a massacre, like it says on the cover of her book. A massacre is more than five people. She's just using it to sell more copies.

I read somewhere that one of John Grisham's books sold 8 million copies. It's okay, you're still a better writer than he is. Maybe this one will do better.

I don't remember what we talked about Maybe we didn't anything, maybe just "Turn here," or things to remember once it got started.

It was a simple plan. I wouldn't leave the car. We'd pretend we were reading the menu. We'd wait till all the carhops were inside. Lamont would go in first, then Natalie right behind him. I wanted to go with him but he said we all knew I was the best driver and that he was counting on me. He just said it so I wouldn't be jealous, which was dumb, because I already was. I said fine.

Inside, he'd ask something dumb like could they use the restrooms, and make the manager explain that only employees were allowed in the building. Once Lamont had him away from the phone, he'd show him the gun. Then Natalie would slip in behind the counter and grab the person doing drive-thru. The rest was just rounding up the carhops and the fry cooks and locking them in the walk-in fridge. Clear out the safe and the register and stick it in a sack.

I was supposed to buzz for an order and the number for my stall would light up on the panel so they'd know it was me. Lamont would get on that channel and tell me when to pull around to the window. Natalie would hand me the sack and I'd stick it under Lamont's seat, then roll around and pick them up out front and we'd be off.

I came up with most of the plan because I'd worked there, I have to admit that. I still think it would of worked if it wasn't for Victor Nunez. Maybe someone would of still gotten our license plate, but it wouldn't of been anything like what happened. We didn't go in planning to kill anyone like the prosecution said. So right there is five counts that should of been second degree at the most. At least that's what Mr. Jefferies says.

I don't know what we said to each other, it wasn't anything important. I'm sure you can come up with something more interesting.

Whatever it was, we turned it down low before we pulled into the Dairy Kurl to get Gainey his sundae. We'd all been up for two days straight and we needed to think. I don't remember an 8-track. If it was the radio it would have been KATT, the classic rock station, only because there's no good rock station around here. Everything's country or Christian. The Katt played your usual Stones and Zeppelin with a little Aerosmith or the Crue thrown in. It's still like that, kind of stuck in a time warp.

If you want a great driving tune, you might go with "Radar Love," it pretty much tells the whole story. There's a live album with about a sixteen-minute version. There's this great line in it, The radio's playing some forgotten song. You can put that in because it's true —I can't remember what was on.

Nothing wimpy though. "Land Speed Record" by Hüsker Dü was one of our favorites, you can always use something off of that. Louder, faster!

I guess not everyone's seen a Sonic. I thought they were everywhere.

The one we went to had a drive-thru lane as well as the regular drive-in part. The drive-thru lane wraps around the building. You go behind and there's the order board then you come around the other side and pick up your food at the window. The drive-in stalls are outside of the lane; there are twenty-four. twelve on each side. Over the stalls you've got a canopy held up by the poles the Order-Matics are on. The ends are red triangles, which is part of the logo. The stalls are kind of diagonal, and they're all oil-stained. You pull up and your window's right by the Order-Matic.

The building itself is square with a red triangle on top. There are two windows in front and each of them has a neon sign —one says Burgers in red script, the other says ONION RINGS in green block letters. Speakers attached to the canopy play rock all day long, just loud enough so you can hear what song it is. You'd hate to live by the place.

In back there's a regular dumpster and a grease-only dumpster that the sparrows love. In front there's a skinny island of grass and shrubs between the in and out lanes of the drive-thru, with a fake Japanese bridge about a foot high.

The sign's like a gas station sign, it lights up from inside. SONIC, it says in red, America's Drive-In. You see the other side when you leave; it says, Happy Felting. At night red neon completely outlines the canopy and the building. It's a great place to take your car right after you've waxed it. The food's not bad either. Even when I worked there I'd eat it.

Mr. Jefferies has tons of pictures of it. He could even take you there. You'll probably see a lot of little stuff I've forgotten.

It's funny, the post office in Edmond has this fountain outside with the names of all fourteen victims on it. You'd think Sonic would do something like that for its employees, but there's nothing. In Mr. Jefferies' pictures the windows are fixed and the carhops are serving people like nothing ever happened.

It wasn't lunch yet so it wasn't busy. There was a new T-bird in a stall on the right, halfway up, and on the left in about the same place an old gold Tempest that Natalie thought was a Goat. She was trying to impress Lamont with her knowledge of cars.

"Close," I said. "It's got the same nose."

"It's not a LeMans?"

"389 tripower," I said, "four-speed, probably has that old Positrac," and Lamont laughed like he was proud of me.

A carhop came out with a tray —Kim Zwillich, the short one with the red ribbon holding her ponytail. I could only see the neon in the windows; the signs were on, even at eleven in the morning. We pulled into the last stall on the right. At the far end of the lot the employees' cars were parked head-in next to the dumpsters. There were four of them, all small and foreign, beat-up little riceburners.

It was cool under the shade of the canopy. Lamont stuck his gun in his belt. Natalie put hers in her purse and left the flap unsnapped. We watched the guy carhop come out to the T-bird with a single drink —Reggie Tyler. He was Natalie's size, with long blond hair parted in the middle and feathered back. We were too far back for me to see if he had a mustache at that point. When he disappeared around the corner, Lamont opened his door.

"Can you get some napkins?" I asked, because Gainey was making a mess.

"Napkins."

"Be careful," I said.

"We will,"'he said. "You just be ready."

I wanted a kiss but he was already out, with Natalie right behind him. I watched them walk toward the front under the canopy. Lamont had an extra sway in his step because of the toe.

They were talking like nothing was up, so close together you'd swear they were married. I was supposed to look at the menu like I was trying to decide something, and right then I thought, heck, I can do that.