Tribe (9 page)

Suddenly the words were spilling too eagerly out of his mouth, as he said, “Hey, I'm supposed to clean in there. “In…in that room.”

She stopped at the door, eyed him. “Do you have a key? All the meds are in here, you know. No one gets in here without authorization and a key.”

Zeb lifted out the two keys he'd been given. “I thought one of these was supposed to work.”

“No offense,” said Brenda, “but I doubt it. If you're new I don't think they'd just give you a key for this room.”

“Oh, well…well, maybe I got the rooms mixed up.”

“Yeah, probably,” she said, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “But come on, you can take a couple of swipes in here with the mop. God knows the last time it was cleaned, probably months ago.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Pushing his large dust mop, Zeb swung around, going directly for the doorway and following both his good luck and her into the chamber. It was a small room, maybe eight by six, lined on either side with towering shelves of bottles and small packages, medicine all of it. While Zeb knew he'd hit the proverbial gold mine, he scanned the entire situation and realized immediately that getting in here was only the first battle. The stuff, he saw, was so valuable that every pill, every drop of medication, was stored in a locked case, the front of each a metal grille. Zeb pushed the broom to the end of the chamber, glanced side to side. Shit. What now? Behind him Brenda was opening one of the cases, reaching in, taking out a small bottle. And then, to his horror, he realized that she realized he was looking at her.

She grinned and said, “One of my patients is having a coughing fit. This codeine stuff ought to calm him down.”

“Oh, right…right.”

He plowed the dust mop forward, while out of the corner of his eye he watched as she shut and locked the cabinet door. He bent forward, pretended to pick at something on the floor. He moved forward a bit, used the dust mop to scrub at some imaginary spot. Glancing up, he saw Brenda standing by the door and staring at him.

“You're right,” said Zeb, “this place hasn't been cleaned in months. It's filthy. I mean, look at all the dust.”

She said nothing, merely grinned, her round face animated, her red hair thick and bouncy.

“You'd better get that medicine to your patient. Don't let me slow you down,” he continued. “I'll just pull the door shut behind me.”

“That's okay. I'll wait. You need a key to lock the door.”

“Well,” said Zeb, thinking as fast as he could, “just leave me your key. I'll lock up and bring it to you when I'm done.”

“What are you trying to do, silly, get me fired?” She stared at him with a soft smile. “I don't mind waiting.”

“But…”

“Say, do you want to get a cup of coffee?”

Oh, shit, thought Zeb. He hadn't stopped to think that this thirty-something woman might have her own agenda. She was kind of cute. But she was too old for him and…and…He saw her standing against the closed door. He felt the thick handle of the broom in his hand. The drugs were right there, everything he wanted ready for the taking. In his mind he saw himself ripping the keys from her, shoving her down, helping himself to exactly what he'd come for.

“No, I can't. Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head and starting to push the mop again. “My shift's almost over and…and I gotta be someplace.”

“Oh, well,” said Brenda, still smiling, “maybe some other time.”

“Sure.”

Zeb then pushed his small pile of dust and dirt toward the door, which Brenda held open. Stepping into the hallway, he turned to the right as she locked up behind him.

“Bye,” called Brenda with a wink. “Don't work too hard.”

“Don't worry, I won't.”

He kept pushing his broom, working his way to the end of the corridor, then turning at the first corner. Crap, what was he supposed to do now? How was he going to do this? Tonight the place was so deserted that he'd been sure it was the perfect opportunity. Even the nurses' station was empty.

Across the hall he saw a pay phone. He'd almost called her before. And he wanted to again. He just hadn't expected to be, well, so lonely, and reaching into the pocket of his blue uniform, he felt a handful of quarters. He shrugged and leaned his dust mop against the wall, crossed to the phone, dialed the number, and deposited over a dollar in change. The line clicked, and then the phone on the other end started ringing. And ringing. Zeb clenched his eyes shut.

“Shit.” Where could she be?

After he'd run away to his father and stayed at The Congregation, his contact with his mother had been sparse, not much more than a letter per year. When he'd started thinking about leaving the cult, though, she'd been the first and only person he'd told; knowing that they were always watching, always listening—there was a persistent rumor that the phones were tapped—Zeb had wisely snuck off the compound and called her from a pay phone. Yes, she said, run as fast and as far as you can. Don't come to Santa Fe, because they now knew where she lived. And they will look. Just run, she said, and if there is a God they won't find you.

He was about to hang up on the eighth ring when the phone was finally answered, and he said, “Mom?”

“Oh, my God, Zeb,” replied Martha. “Where are you? Are you all right? How's the baby?”

“We're fine, Mom. We're in Minneapolis.”

“I've been so worried.”

“Really, we're okay,” he insisted, not wanting to go into it all. “How about you? You don't sound so good.”

“It's just been…well, things have been a little rough here.”

“What's that mean? They haven't been there, have they?”

“Don't worry, I'm fine,” said Martha, avoiding the answer. “Just be careful, okay?”

“But—”

“Zeb, I want to come up there.”

“No, you don't need to.”

“But you might need help. I want to be close.”

“Aw, Mom,” moaned Zeb, now wishing he'd never called her. “It's really cold up here and there's a ton of snow. There's a huge storm going on right now. You wouldn't like it.”

“Zeb, I'm coming up.”

“But I don't have enough room for you. My place is really small.”

“Then I'll stay at a Holiday Inn or something. There has to be one of those downtown.”

“Listen, Mom, we'll talk later. I'm at work.”

“Zeb, I'm coming. I—”

“Mom, I love you. Gotta go. Bye.”

He hung up and stood there shaking his head. Oh, brother. He leaned his head against the wall, banged it several times. Talk about dumb things, calling his mom. It would be just like her, too, to come up here. In fact, he'd be surprised if she didn't just show up.

What a frigging mess. He was flat broke and he thought this would have been the perfect time to slip into that room and steal some of the expensive stuff. He just hadn't been around hospitals enough, hadn't known, hadn't realized how tightly things would be controlled. Not only were all the drugs locked in one room, they were locked in cages in a locked room.

So how the hell was he going to get it? And if not tonight, then when?

He should just leave here. Just drop this stupid dust mop, go back to his locker, get back into his jeans, and take off. After all, all he really wanted was to see Ribka, his baby girl.

Paul wasn't quite sure
what to make of the situation. He stood in the deep snow just outside the kitchen window and so far he hadn't been able to locate her, the woman who owned the house. Perhaps she was upstairs resting. Or bathing. Perhaps this man, the one who was dancing and singing out there in the living room, had come over just to watch the baby for a bit. Or maybe he'd come over to watch the child while she went out. Wait, no. Her car was in the garage, so she was here. Then again, maybe she had gone somewhere. Perhaps she was just at a neighbor's or someone had picked her up.

The unknown made him uneasy. The snow was making him cold. Unbelievable, he thought, looking at the light in the alley. The snow was coming down in thick sheets. This had to be a sign, he thought. Perhaps this was just like one of the great biblical sandstorms that had shielded God's worthy. Most certainly. And he was The Chosen, here to rescue the infant Ribka. Praise Jehovah, for it was He who had brought this storm, He who was laying down this snow like a protective cloak. Yes, Paul would take the child in his arms and flee, and his tracks would soon be buried by the huge flakes.

Filled with an inspired sense of purpose—by their fruits ye shall know them, he thought—he moved back around the corner of the house. He looked down at a solitary basement window and realized just how he was going to accomplish this, his heavenly duty. No front or back door for him. No, he thought, bending over and tapping the glass. He'd just have to suck in his gut.

Paul stroked his mustache with his right hand, looked around to be sure no one was watching. He backed around a bit, and then with one swift movement he mule-kicked a sharp hole in the storm window. Leaning over, he pulled aside as many shards as he could, then reached through and opened the latch. Tugging at the window, he felt it move. Excellent. His main concern had been that the windows were nailed shut. But they weren't, and once he had lifted the storm window he punched another hole in the inner window. Paul peered into the dark basement. A washing machine. Dryer. Bicycle. A pile of laundry on the floor.

On the edge of the window frame he saw a small rectangular device, a magnetic contact, part of a security system. He tensed, quickly pulled his pistol from his pocket. And waited. He forced himself to be patient. But nothing happened, no alarm crooned. Very good. So the system wasn't activated.

Now came the true test, he thought as he lowered himself to the ground. Whether or not he could actually fit through this small window might prove to be his biggest problem of the night.

Numb with shock, Todd
stared at the front bumper of his Cherokee stuck deep in the snow. “Wow.”

“That was close.”

“No shit.”

Janice said, “I can't believe you didn't smash into that car.”

“Thank God there wasn't anyone up here on the sidewalk. I would've plowed right into them.” Todd turned to Janice. “Are you sure you're all right? Not even a bruise?”

“Nothing.” As the snow blew all around her, the shivering Janice moaned, “Just cold.”

“I'll check things out. Why don't you get back in?”

“But…”

“Janice, the engine's still on and the heater's going full blast. You're cold and I'm not.” Knowing exactly what was going through her head, Todd added, “Just let me take care of this.”

“Okay, okay, you be the hunk.”

“Right,” he countered, “and you be the babe and get back in the car before you freeze.”

As she went around the other side of the Cherokee and climbed in, Todd walked slowly around his vehicle, shocked at how close they'd come to a major accident. Somehow he'd avoided sliding into the other vehicle, and yet that stupid other car, the Mazda, hadn't even stopped. Perhaps the driver hadn't realized how close he'd come to being smashed.

Shaking his head, Todd examined the fenders. When he couldn't find a single nick, he bent over, studied the front tires. No apparent problems there, even though he'd flown over the curb at such a good clip. At worst he might need an alignment; at best he might only need a car wash.

Behind the steering wheel a few moments later, he plunged the stick shift into reverse and said to Janice, “Well, let's see if the Butchmobile will live up to its name.”

He gave it some gas and the vehicle tugged at the snow that was gripping the front bumper. Todd released the gas pedal and pressed on the clutch, thereby letting the Cherokee roll forward, then he pressed down again on the accelerator and the car pulled backward. He continued this rocking for another few seconds, and then in a burst the four-wheel-drive vehicle was free. Much too quickly, the Jeep shot across the sidewalk and dropped its rear tires onto the street. Todd braked, checked for traffic, then backed onto the street.

“So far so good,” he said as he put the car into first gear and drove off.

“Just get me home,” said Janice, slumped against her door.

Todd drove through Uptown, a busy shopping district now deserted, and all the way south to 36th Street, where he turned left at the cemetery. Michael was in there, buried in the Gracewood plot Todd had bought, his body now sealed in the ground by the frozen earth. It was still hard to imagine that he was gone, that Todd would never speak to him again, never hear his laugh, never hold him in his arms. He saw Michael's image: his dark brown hair, his mustache, his cute face always eager with a smile. Would those four years of their relationship, albeit closeted, prove to be the best of Todd's life? Perhaps. A pity he hadn't realized and appreciated it at the time. And it was no wonder he'd been taking it slow with Rawlins; if it did get truly serious, Todd didn't want to make any of the same mistakes.

Todd drove in silence through the storm. Neither he nor Janice said another word as they continued through the snow and down the slick streets toward Minnehaha Creek. When they finally crossed the frozen stream and turned left, Janice's brightly lit house shone on the hill.