Something Bad (12 page)

Gabe knew there were two kinds of conversation in the Herndon’s Edge. If one was initiated loud enough for all to hear, it was an invitation for full out participation by the entire congregation of diners. On the other hand, if the conversation was meant to be private, it was necessary to speak in hushed tones, either in a booth, at the ends of the counter, or in Deena Lee and Teddy’s case, behind the half-wall of the kitchen. This subject was now officially open to all in the diner.

Deena Lee took two steps in Gabe’s direction, raised her eyebrows, and smiled. “Gabe, you do any bowling?”

Gabe frowned. “Naw. Tried it once, but my fingers were too big for the holes in the balls they have there. I couldn’t find one that fit so I had to hold the ball in both hands and roll it at the pins. I kept putting them in the gutters. Got blisters on two of my fingers, so I haven’t been back to it since.”

Deena Lee lost some of her smile. “You can have a ball specially made. One with the holes drilled to fit your fingers.”

“That’s what I call too big a chance. I could do that, sure, but what if I didn’t like it, or didn’t do well? If I spent the money to buy a special ball, I’d feel like I had to get my money’s worth. Then I’d be doing something just because I spent the money, not because I liked to do it. That’d make me a fool.” He looked at Deena Lee, then lowered his gaze. Her eyes seemed to be watering.

Gabe’s stomach churned. Maybe I should have lied and told her I hadn’t tried bowling, but I’d like to, he thought. Then we could have gone out together, just the two of us, somewhere other than the café. Or I could have told her that I did try it and I’d like to try it again. He rejected both alternatives since she might lose respect for him if she found out he was lying just to go out with her. He didn’t want to take that risk.

Gabe finished his meal, put a handsome tip under his plate, and stood at the counter. He curled his index finger in a “come here” motion to Deena Lee. When she came close, he leaned so his mouth was near her left ear. As Teddy and the diner patrons tried to home in on the words, Gabe whispered, “Maybe we can go out sometime.”

He didn’t wait for a response since it was once again blistering hot in the Edge. He thought he heard a soft “okay” as he turned to leave. There’s plenty of time to confirm the response, he thought. Don’t want to rush her.

Gabe drove home the long way and mulled over whether he should make an investment in a bowling ball. He decided against it since Deena Lee might interpret that as being too forward. He wanted to take special care to consider her feelings at every step. He was already feeling hungry for lunch the next day.

A
TAP ON
the shoulder brought Thibideaux out of a deep sleep, but he didn’t jump. If the chair didn’t react, it had to be someone familiar. He settled into the hardwood and opened his eyes to the light.

He didn’t know who to expect. In the last five years alone, he had been visited by six different councillors. Each, it seemed, was younger than the previous one. The last one probably shaved once a week. Are these the people who are making the mid-level decisions in the Organization? A sad state of affairs, he thought.

Once in command of his senses, he turned his head to meet his visitor. He was surprised to see a man in his late twenties with a dark mask of unrelenting facial hair belying the morning shave. Still young, Thibideaux thought, but not one of the teens they’ve paraded through recently.

“Sorry to wake you,” the councillor said. “My business will be brief.”

Thibideaux leaned forward. “What is it this time? Don’t you people have anything better to do than bother me when I’m working?”

“You know why I’m here.”

“And do you know why I’m here? Do you know how I work? Have you ever even been in the field?”

The councillor shuffled his feet and frowned. “We all know your accomplishments. And your reputation.”

“Then why do you keep bothering me?” Thibideaux slid forward on the seat and brought his face close to the councillor’s. “If my techniques produce results, why are you people constantly butting in?”

The councillor held his ground. “You know why.”

“Oh yeah. The rules.” He leaned back a little. “I knew the rules inside and out before you took your first breath. The Organization hasn’t had a problem with my methods before.”

“Yes. They have. I’ve read your file.”

Thibideaux rolled his eyes. “Okay. Have your say, then, and let me get back to my work.”

The councillor squared himself in front of the chair and moved his feet apart a little. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his inside coat pocket and opened it. “Your case has now gone up to the Provost level. This is their memo.”

Thibideaux rolled his eyes again. “Shall I hold out my wrists so you can slap them?”

“I don’t think you want to be so flippant this time. This is serious.”

Thibideaux leaned forward and tightened his lips against his teeth. His voice was shrill. “Just have your say.”

The councillor cleared his throat and looked down at the paper. “The provosts say you are to be given no more latitude. They acknowledge your long, dedicated service and your contributions, but they are tired of your continual breach of organizational statutes. They fear you’re becoming a liability to the Organization. They send this warning. If you don’t alter your path, you’ll be pulled from the field and terminated.”

“And what has them so upset this time?”

“You know what you’ve done.”

Thibideaux slid off the chair directly in front of the councillor, who took two steps backward. “Acquisitions in rural areas are complex these days. If you’d ever done one, you’d know that. They take preparation. There has to be a set-up. People have to be primed. That’s all I’ve done on this job. This is legitimate set-up work.”

“And the lives of citizens are fair game?”

“I’ll explain my actions to you once, and only once. So don’t ask again. The first one was going to compromise my set-up plan. He had to be neutralized. The second case is the hook for the plan. If you’ll have a little patience, you’ll see how it plays out. Maybe you’ll learn the difference between theory and actual practice. Maybe the provosts will learn the difference. Besides, I do follow the rules. In both cases, the little ones weren’t harmed.”

“You need to follow all of the rules,” the councillor said.

Thibideaux exhaled. “You’re new at this so I’ll do you a favor today. How carefully have you studied the Organization? The statutes may seem clear to you, but once you’ve worked with them for awhile, you begin to see flexibility in the wording.”

The councillor frowned and shook his head. “The wording is as unambiguous as it can get. There is no room for personal interpretation. You know the Organization forbids it.”

“The statutes would be fine if all of the targets were robots, or computers, but we’re dealing with people here.”

The councillor balled his hands into fists and scowled. “The others don’t have any problem following them.”

Thibideaux took a step forward. His voice climbed up in tone to match his volume. “Compare my success rate to the others. Don’t you suppose there’s a reason? Working in the country isn’t like working in the cities. If you want success out here, then stand back and let me work.”

The councillor held his ground. “I can’t.”

Thibideaux laughed. “Why not?”

“The provosts have given an ultimatum this time. Your entire career will now balance on this one job. You’ll stand review when you’re finished here. I’m instructed to maintain an active oversight of your activities throughout this job.”

“I don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder. I refuse.”

“You can’t refuse.”

Thibideaux looked at the floor and sighed. “Be a nice little boy and stay out of my way. If I’m to stand review at the end of the job, then there’s no need for you to keep watch. I’ll pass or fail on my own performance.”

The councillor folded the paper and shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Why are you being such a pain in the ass?”

“There’s a second part to the memo.” The councillor’s shoulders slumped. “If you don’t pass the review, you aren’t the only one to go.”

“Heads will roll, huh?”

“No, not heads. Just mine. My future with the Organization is dependent on your performance, too.”

Thibideaux smiled. “And what did you do to deserve this assignment? Have you been a bad little boy, too?”

“You just don’t get it, do you? I’m in this situation because I defended you. Time and again. Without me you would’ve stood review long before now. Because of you, this is my last chance.”

“So, you want me to kiss you or something?”

“No. Just try to think of the rules this time. All of them—as they are written. We’re in this one together.”

Thibideaux turned on his heels and walked over to the fireplace. He poked at the cold ashes with a stick. “You said you’d be brief. You’ve had your say. Now leave. I have work to do. And try to stay out of my way. If I’m going to be successful in this assignment,

I’ll need a free hand.”

The councillor shook his head and started to say something, but Thibideaux interrupted. “Leave! Now!”

Thibideaux turned his back. When he turned around, the councillor was gone. He spoke to the chair. “He’ll be thanking me on this one. We’ll make the target. And we’ve got a good secondary in the works as well, don’t we? Just like the last time we were here. But we won’t let the secondary get away this time, will we?”

J
OHN
J
OHNSON
H
ATED
funerals for the same reason everyone else in the Tri-counties was drawn to them. Everyone wanted to find out what “really happened.” That was his job. Besides, he didn’t like being around the locals when they were in the frenzy of inquiry. In this case, the funeral turnout was unusually large since two families were being eulogized together and the buzz of inquisitiveness was hive-deafening due to the nature of the passings.

John looked up at the sky. The weather was beautiful. It remained that way for both the church and cemetery portions of the service, but it suddenly turned nasty when Press’ party broke for the Herndon’s Edge.

John and Billy rushed in the front door of the Edge as the first raindrops fell. John watched a puddle enlarge in the entryway of the café as the rest of the group filed in. The sudden turn of the weather caught everyone without umbrellas and apparently didn’t give Teddy and Deena Lee a chance to pull out the absorbent entry mats.

Teddy had a marvelous table set up with finger sandwiches, potato salad, cheese squares and melon balls. And the staple of all community get-togethers—green jello, with pear pieces this time. Teddy’s jello mold was notorious in the Tri-counties. It was huge, more than two feet across, in the shape of a wreath, and Teddy’s was the only refrigerator large enough to jell the green syrup. The mold was pressed into service during funerals, for promotions and awards, and following victories in local athletic events. Both fortunately and unfortunately, it wasn’t needed very often in the Tri-counties.

John grabbed Billy’s arm and steered him over to the far corner booth. He waited until Mac looked in his direction and flicked his head in a sideways “come here” motion. When the new triumvirate was properly sequestered, John put his elbows on the table and lowered his head, leaning toward the other two. They followed suit. John pulled a folded paper from his back pocket, a move that called the meeting to order.

“I been thinking about this situation and I got an idea of what’s going on.” John’s expression bore the confidence of a theory that didn’t need to be tested.

All three moved their heads closer together as John unfolded the paper. They were so close a Softball would have had trouble falling between them without hitting one or more scalp.

John tapped the paper twice with his right index finger. “This here’s a map of the Tri-counties.” It was a rough sketch produced by John himself.

With two more taps, he added, “This here’s the swamp, and this here’s State Route 27. I figure the best route for the freeway shunt is as close to the swamp as possible since it cuts the distance, and making freeways is charged by the mile.” He looked up and saw the other two were staring at the map. He removed a stubby pencil from his shirt pocket. “But it can’t go too close to the swamp because it always floods a bit in the winter and spring. Also, the winter fogs would be a problem. So, as near as I can figure, the best route is right through here.” He traced over a thick line on the drawing with the pencil.

Billy interrupted the moment of silence, his exuberance expressed in decibels. “That’s beautiful, John. You should have worked for the highway department.”

John and Mac bumped heads before recoiling in their seats. John looked at the crowd in the café and crumpled the map in his lap. “Shut-up, Billy.”

When he was sure no one had noticed, John pulled the map back to the table and smoothed it out with his palms. His voice lowered a little as he leaned forward again.

“This route cuts the distance, but it also goes through the fewest number of farms. Look here. If the shunt goes here, it cuts through two extra farms, while taking it down here goes through an extra three.” John had the faint outline of the borders of each farm drawn in and with each new pass of his pencil, he traced an alternate, more southerly highway path.

“Holy shit,” Mac said, a little too loud.

John crumpled the map into his lap again.

Mac’s hands leapt into action and his voice lowered to a whisper. “You suppose Thibideaux knows about this? Maybe we should let him in on it.”

“Shut up, Mac,” John said between clenched teeth. “This ain’t the important stuff. Look here. Here’s Press’ farm. And here’s the one where the house collapsed. Look where they are. Right in the path of the best route.”