The Texas Twist (32 page)

“I did,” said Radar. “He didn't.”

“Uh-huh. Well, guess what? I believe him. But you get to prove me wrong.” Jessup shot a nod toward the arbor. “As
soon as this damn skit is over, it's you, me, and the money. Got it?” He didn't wait for an answer, but gave Sarah a gentlemanly tip of his hat and went to sit down.

“He's not a nice man,” said Sarah.

“I thought you said it was all all good.”

“That's what Adam told me.”

“I'm starting to think he was fibbing,” said Radar, manifesting false bravado. He cast a wary eye at Jessup's sidearm. “I wish Cal hadn't brought the gun.”

“What? He said it couldn't fire.”

“What do you think black powder is?” asked Radar.

“I don't know.”

“It's gunpowder, as in cartridge, as in bullet, as in bang, okay? It's a real gun. It can fire.”

“I don't know, Radar.…”

“Yes, you do, Sarah. Think it through. He and your guy are in business, and tonight their business is me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He turned to face her, grasping her shoulders in his hands. “Sarah, listen to me: It's not too late to wake up. There's real danger here tonight. Real as in ‘real dead.' Just remember that.”

“Well, you're wrong, Radar. You've been wrong all along.”

“Fine, I'm wrong,” said Radar archly. “Enjoy the ceremony. My advice? Don't stick around for the reception.”

“Radar?”

But Radar had already walked away.

With an
ouch, my feelings
look, Sarah flounced down into a chair. As Radar stepped to the arbor, he noticed Ames and his sidewheels standing among the trees—within them and
across them, carelessly breaking the plane of the laser lights, disrupting the illusion. It lent them the appearance of being there and not there at the same time. Ames wore a tight-lipped expression, but to Radar's practiced eye he seemed to be struggling to stay clamped down. How unraveled was he now?

How much more unraveled would he need to get?

At the arbor, Mirplo stood waiting. He had changed out of his Fool finery and now wore a flowing ochre dhoti, mystic medallions, sandals, and a skullcap, striking the lost chord of some sort of generic holy man. “Hello,” he said to Radar. “My name is Sri Mirplo Mirplo, I'll be your religious practitioner tonight. How many in your party?”

“Two.”

“Ah, the perfect number.” His tapped his Rabota and music swelled to fill the glen, a soothing processional thick with flutes and violins.

Radar leaned in and asked Vic in a low voice, “Do you see Ames?”

“Uh-huh. And his bulky boys,” replied Vic without moving his lips. “They look pretty serious.”

“It's in the job description.”

“So…sally we forth?”

“Sally we forth.”

Vic nodded to a spot in the trees. “Then here comes the bride.”

Borne on the wings of the processional, Allie shimmered through the trees and strode with regal grace to a place by Radar's side. She stood there, radiant, waiting for the ceremony to start. Her hand strayed to her belly and she felt the bulge.
Finally,
she thought,
something to grab onto there.

Vic's medallions swirled around his neck as he turned to face the assembled guests. “Friends,” he said solemnly, “dear friends, welcome. Welcome into this—” with a sweep of his arm he took in the arbor, the chairs, and the holographic trees “—somewhat sacred place. In just a moment we will join this happy couple in eternal wedded bliss. But first if I may,” he said slowly and imperiously, “a few words from the Book of Mirplo.” He clicked open his Rabota with great ceremony, held it out before him like a scripture of substance, and began to read. “‘And it came to pass,'” Vic read or recited in stentorian tones, “‘that in the time of King—' well, his name's not important. ‘In the time of this king the rains came not, and the crops grew sere, and the seeds grew riven and died. Neither a tenth part of the people survived, nor a tenth of a tenth, nor a tenth of a tenth of a tenth, and those who lived became wild men, savage and without grace, visiting violence and destruction upon foe and friend alike.…'” He read on.

And on.

And on.

Where a spiritual verse or two might have been appropriate, some “to everything there is a season” sort of riff, Vic seemed intent on reading the entire body of a strange testament that no one had ever heard before. As faux scriptures go it went well enough, but
way
too long, with labored accounts of wars, prophecies, and visitations from the Lord on High. And while it had a beautiful, lyrical quality to it, what it had to do with a wedding was anyone's guess.

And, man, did it go on.

Radar and Allie didn't seem to mind. They just stood there with their eyes on each other, blind to the rest of the
world. But the guests grew restive, the hired ones because that was part of their script and the randomly invited ones because, really, how long does it take to beat a dead horse?

Sitting alone on the aisle, Sarah was suddenly aware that Adam would never give her a moment like this. He lacked both the imagination and the whimsy, and the thought made her sad—and miffed. Who was she to Adam, after all? She thought about Jessup's confederacy with Ames. She wondered if Radar was right about that.

Was he right about the gun?

A tale emerged from Vic's narrative: the saga of a Chosen people (or Afflicted, depending on how you looked at it) who took all the adversity their God could throw at them and used it to wise up. Who they were, exactly, remained unclear—some lost tribe from somewhere—but as the story unspooled, they seemed over time to become more collaborative, more productive, more accepting, more enlightened. Some would say more hip. Still, it was a dense text, and it made for the sort of soporific sermonizing that puts parishioners to sleep on Sundays.

At a certain point, Ames and Jessup exchanged looks. Jessup's grimly set features made it clear that he regarded this delay as Adam's fault. Adam just looked a little green around the gills. Although Jessup had been his partner and coequal at first, the past few weeks had brought out his bully side. And that Custer getup—a little too militaristic for Adam's taste.

It was during a seemingly endless list of bogus begats that Kadyn started squirming in her seat. Genealogies never make for gripping prose to begin with, but she seemed to find this passage particularly infuriating, as if it were specifically
delivered for her benefit or at her expense. She fidgeted, looking pissed, aggressively eyeballing Mirplo, trying by sheer force of will to shut him the hell up. At last she couldn't stand it anymore. She jumped to her feet and clumped in her sensible shoes down the aisle to the arbor, where she stood, truculent, with her hands on her hips. When this brought no reaction, she waved her hand in front of Vic's face, but he looked through her like a pane of cellophane and just kept droning on. She punched his shoulder. Nothing. Flicked his nose with her finger. Still nothing. At last, exasperated beyond patience, Kadyn said, “That'll do, Vic. We get the joke already. Religions are funny, ha-ha.”

But Vic stayed right on his text. “…and Jasper begat Malachite and Malachite begat Larimar.…”

“Enough with the names, Vic!” said Kadyn. “Enough with the fricking Book of Mirplo! Just knock it off already, huh?”

“…and Mica begat Ruby and Ruby begat Jade.…”

Kadyn pushed her glasses up her nose. “Vic, we were never going to happen. I told you that but you didn't believe me.” Her glasses slipped down. She pushed them up again. “We are not a thing. I don't love you. I don't even like you a lot. I only told you I did to keep you from freaking out completely, but we can all see that that didn't work.”

“…and Gypsum begat Feldspar and Feldspar begat—”

“Vic,
basta!
This crypto-churchy bullshit is not going to change anything. So stop being a total douche and finish the wedding.” Kadyn's glasses slipped down again. They wouldn't stay. “Ooh,” she said, grabbing them off her face and hurling them away in frustration. “Last chance, Vic.”

“And lo was born to Onyx and Umber the child Obsidian, also known as Snowflake.”

Kadyn snarled, backed off three steps, bent at the waist, rushed Vic, and head-butted him in the gut. He went down and Kadyn jumped on top of him, straddling him and pummeling him with both fists. His tried to block her blows with his tablet, but she grabbed it and beat him with it till it broke. Enraged, he flipped her over, pinned her down… and kissed her hard. “That's sexual assault,” she snarled. He kissed her again and her neck veins stood out as she suddenly strained to kiss him back.

This brought Jessup to his feet. “Get off of her!” the big man shouted. He ran up, pulled Vic from Kadyn and roughly tossed him aside.

Ames closed in as well, with his sidewheels right behind. Sarah edged closer, captivated by the tumult—during which tumult Allie slipped away, which is just the sort of thing a tumult is good for.

Mirplo got to his feet, straightening his dhoti and his chains and affecting a look of bruised dignity. Kadyn slumped into a wicker chair, panting, coming down off the surge of her fury. Jessup fronted Radar, his jaw clenched. “You don't think I know what this is? This is bullshit, this is a stall. And now it's over.”

“We haven't finished the ceremony.”

“Finish it later! Right now, we're goin' someplace quiet and talk money.”

“Or what?” asked Radar, “You'll sic Adam's monkey men on me? Careful, I'll sic Kadyn on them.” This elicited a wry, knowing smile from Jessup, which prompted Radar to say,
“Oh, shit.”

“What?” asked Sarah. “Radar, what?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Radar, downcast, “just your garden-variety double-cross.”

“That's right,” drawled Jessup. “Y'all thought you were puttin' Kadyn with me.” He offered her his hand. She got to her feet and took a place by his side. “I saw it comin' a mile away, didn't I, darling? Offered her a better deal.” Kadyn said nothing. Mirplo just looked gutshot. Jessup said to Radar, “But none of that matters now. Now we wrap up this ol' business once and for all.”

“No,” said Radar defiantly. “I'm walking away. Come on, Vic.”

Jessup unholstered his gun.

“For the love of God!” shouted Sarah. “Don't shoot!” Jessup and Ames turned briefly to the sound of Sarah's hysteria, and when they looked back, Radar and Vic were running off through the hologram woods.

“What's the matter with you?” Ames yelled at Sarah.

“He could hurt someone. That's a real gun.”

Ames gave her a dark glower, then chased after Radar and Vic, followed by Jessup and the sidewheels. After a moment, Sarah shrugged and went after them, her cedar chest tucked under her arm like a football.

All this time, Wellinov remained in his seat, unmoving and unmoved. Kadyn came over and sat down beside him. “Looks like they left us alone, Gramps.”

“Do not dare to call me Gramps,” he said jovially. But the lightness of his tone belied his inner disquiet.

Woody hoped his son would be all right.

T
he party was pulsing now, filled to fire-code trespass and fused by lights and trance music into a single, writhing, organic mass. It wasn't a hard crowd to get lost in, and Radar and Vic proceeded to do exactly this. They ducked into the
Betamax Viewing Room and Eight-Track Tape Exchange
and paused there to catch their breath. “You all right?” Radar asked. “Heart in one piece?”

“Just wish she'd picked up the pace some. I was running out of improv.”

“Improv? You made all that up?”

“The whole thing. On the spot.”

“Jeez, Vic.”

“Don't worry, I taped it. Might be good for something someday. Now that I've finished my book.”

“You finished your book?”

“Oh, yeah. Sent it to the publisher today.” Off Radar's amazed look, Vic just spread his palms and said, “What? I
had some free time.”