The Last Day Read online

  “So … know ah'm sayin’? … this same perv that's on the TV news gave you this and he wants it back enough to pay you five hundred dollars for it?” he asked. “Jesus … know ah'm saying? … this is our lucky day.”

  “That's right,” she said. “He doesn't look like a pervert, but according to the news he is.”

  “And, like we know, you know, look, he wanted to fuck you because you, you know, look like a little kid.”

  “I never said that. He was just friendly, is all.”

  “He wanted to fuck you, a’ight. I think he gave you the little car, like but when you said you wouldn't suck him off in the airplane bathroom, he took it back. So, look here now, you friggin’ snatched it out of being angry and scared and like that. Indian- giving son of a bitch likes young stuff. And he has big bucks, right?”

  She shrugged. “How would I know that?”

  “He has his own damned company. He owns the big place they showed on the TV How much you reckon we could ask him for? To keep his unproper advances on you quiet. A lot, is how much, know ah'm sayin’? Like I could get my tattoo finished, man.”

  “The detective said five hundred bucks.”

  “I figure it's worth like a thousand, you know? Like maybe a lot more than a thou,” he said, smiling to show the top row of prominent yellow teeth. “That's a starting point for a negotiating placement. Like see, they say one, you say naw it gone be more like ten, and we settle right smack in the middle.”

  “His investigator gave me weird vibes. I think I better take the five hundred and get it over with.”

  “You got this perv by the gonadies, my darling. You just say if this pervert don't pay the five grand, you might jes have to talk to the man about him putting his hands on your leg. Maybe saying he'd pay you—know ah'm sayin’?—to put on a Catholic schoolgirl uniform and let him fuck you while you sucked on his lollipop.”

  “It was on an airplane. I doubt he thought I could get a school uniform on a plane. And how could he screw me while I did that, like I even would?”

  “Naw, dig this, I mean later on, baby doll. He gave you that little card with your picture drawed on it so you could call him and set things up in a motel, you see. Let your brain create a little here. A real- life eighteen- year- old virgin that looks more like about thirteen. He wanted to talk to you. Anybody that wouldn't is a queer, pure and simple, know ah mean?”

  Alice smiled at the compliment. “You think I look thirteen?” Earl was generous with compliments only when he was horny or had an idea about what she could steal, which was about always.

  “You call this dude back and tell him he needs to make us a better offer? Then you say you can't be bothered to think about it fa’ less’n five grands and you ’ont come off that number even if hell freezes up. He tries to say no, you tell him you are going to talk to the cops about him trying to touch yo’ snatch and saying you looked maybe twelve or some shit, and ’bout him wanting to get a motel room and all ’at. Stick to it. I'll be right there to give you like lots of my own love and mental support you need. If he gets rough and tries anything I'll have my dad's gat.”

  “You'd shoot him if he threatened me?”

  “To protect the woman I luz with all my heart? On truth, I would! I gots a three- eighty and I can use it, know ah'm sayin’? And I don't give a flip how big he is, a bullet right between the dude's eyes will make him my size.”

  Alice took the model car from Earl and tossed it onto the pillows on her bed. Running her hand up his leg, she grasped him through the material and felt him stiffening. She looked up at him, batted her eyelids, and bit her tongue, so he could see its tip. That, she knew from practicing in the mirror, made her look very sexy.

  “Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Hell yes I'd shoot the fucker. I'd shoot the fucker for five grand. Fuckin’ A, I would.”

  “But I'm not worth your risking jail.”

  “Well, obviously you no Playboy beauty. You gots them tooth fences ’n’ a roly- poly belly and don't have no tits to speak of, but I luz you anyway.” He pressed his splayed fingertips against his chest for emphasis. “See, know ah'm sayin’? To me, you are more or less pretty enough in your own way, and you smart. My mama says, you got a lot to speak for yourself, rich girl or not.”

  “That so,” she said.

  “You know I love you, baby doll. You're my girl. I know you be savin’ yourself for your husband, but that's gone be me, know ah'm sayin’? I mean you needs to give it up for your man, know ah'm sayin’?”

  Alice looked into his dull blue eyes and thought about it.

  Tongue tip between her teeth—adorned with gleaming wire—Alice unzipped Earl's pants and freed his rigid member but didn't look at it. She'd seen it before.

  “Maybe like later on we can do it. I'm not ready yet. But I'll make you happy.”

  “A wise man once said, A wise man take whats he can get,’ ” Earl said.

  When she began moving her hand on the shaft in the manner of someone chopping at a block of ice with a pick, he closed his eyes and he began moaning his approval softly. She picked up the pace, hoping for a quick resolution.

  “Hey!” he said. “This ain't a race. Damn, don't you gots some soothing hand lotion or some shit.”

  “It makes my hand feel slimy.”

  “Then relax up on your grips or you gone take my skins off. Know ah'm sayin’?”

  “I know what you're saying,” she told him.

  Alice followed his instructions mindfully and as soon as she slowed down, he closed his eyes again. This was familiar territory, and she had come to view this exercise with the clinical detachment of a scientist conducting an experiment. As she stroked him, she watched his face carefully, so when he got that weird look and started whimpering, she would know to grab up his dirty T-shirt lying on the floor by the bed.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Ward picked up the sheets off the guest bedroom floor and started to put fresh ones on the bed.

  The first night he'd spent in that room was after an argument he'd had with Natasha months earlier. He slept in the guest room the night after that in response to her cold silence the following day. Soon they had both accepted the change in sleeping arrangements as though it had been an order from the health department.

  There was a gentle tapping on the door and Ward turned. “Yeah.”

  Natasha opened the door. She had a towel around her neck, and her T-shirt was clinging to her bare torso in places. “I finished five miles on the treadmill. Every muscle I have is screaming. Look at this,” she said, holding out her hands. “No shaking.”

  “That's great. Maybe it was just stress.”

  “Ward, what are you doing?”

  “I'm just making the bed up.”

  “Yeah, the FBI screwed up the nice job you did making mine this morning. I saw it before they got here. Thanks for the gesture. I appreciated it.”

  “I didn't make your bed,” he said.

  She cocked her head and smiled at him sadly.

  “Anyway it's after six,” she said. “I was going to take a shower and make dinner.”

  “I probably need to shower worse than you do.”

  She turned to go, then turned back, saying, “With the drought, we shouldn't be wasting water.”

  “We have a well,” he said.

  “It still seems wasteful,” she said, tilting her head. “Maybe you've forgotten, but the master bathroom shower will comfortably hold two. And there's really no reason to make up the guest room bed, unless you just want to.”

  Ward stared at her.

  “Ward, I'd like for you to come back home to me,” she said. “If you want to. I really miss us.”

  Ward remained frozen, but Natasha crossed to the bed and took his hand in hers and led him from the guest room down the hall to their old bathroom.

  Lying in bed an hour later, Natasha said, “The casket. Is it possible the FBI put it there for some bizarre reason?”

  Ward felt anger rising insid
e him. “I don't know. It's the only thing I can think of. It was sick.”

  “Somebody made it,” she said. “It doesn't seem possible that Barney got it from one of his friends and didn't show it to us. It might represent something that had nothing to do with a dead child. You know, like some Halloween deal he got that we didn't know he had?”

  Ward shrugged. “I really hope that's the case. I mean, we never inventoried his things, but it seems unlike anything that he would have wanted around.”

  “I saw where you marked tomorrow on the calendar. We should take some flowers and visit the grave together.”

  “I thought you marked it,” Ward said.

  Natasha pulled away suddenly and turned to face him, going up on her elbow. “You didn't mark it?”

  “No, I didn't. I mean, not that I recall. Nights get weird sometimes.”

  “Like the baseball.”

  “Okay, so, if I haven't lost my mind, and I didn't make up your bed this morning before I woke up, or put the baseball under the pillow, or take Barney's watch, what does that mean?”

  “That I did it and don't remember,” she said.

  “But I'm the one who loses time, does things I don't remember doing, says things I don't recall saying. But I never saw that casket thing before you found it, and I certainly would never have put it in his room.”

  “I never thought you did,” she said. “What did you do with Buildy Bear? I didn't see him in the guest room or Barney's room.”

  “I didn't touch Buildy. Seriously.”

  Natasha sat up and crossed her ankles. “Jesus, Ward. This is too freaky. I had him in this bed night before last. I was sort of feeling … I got him from Barney's closet, and slept with him while you were gone. I went to bed last night and he'd vanished. I thought you took him.”

  “No. Christ, Natasha, maybe I do have Alzheimer's. My mother …”

  “You're too young for that.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Ward, if you didn't do any of those things, and I didn't, then who else? We're the only people here.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  When his phone rang at midnight, Todd was eating a sandwich.

  “Mr. Hartman?” a small, familiar voice asked.

  “Speaking,” he replied, turning on the re corder and plugging it into the phone.

  “I was wondering if you've talked to Mr. McCarty about the … you know … that little toy car?”

  “I have.”

  “Well?”

  “He'll pay to get it back. Have you located it?”

  Todd heard a whispering male voice in the background say “Ten grand.” It could be that she'd called the cops and they were monitoring or recording the call, but the cops would not be so dumb as to be whispering instructions to the girl. This was an interesting complication. Hopefully the other person was in for the payoff and cared less about making self- serving waves. That person might keep Alice Palmer on task and they'd resolve the matter expeditiously

  “Yeah, I've found it. I mean, I know where it is.”

  “And you can get ya hands on it,” the other voice whispered.

  “I can get it,” Alice said. “I don't have it in my hands right now.”

  More whispering. Todd wished he could tell her to put a hand over the mouthpiece while someone, probably her boyfriend, was giving her instructions. This was strictly amateur time.

  “So, what's Mr. McCarty's offer?”

  “He said he'd pay a thousand dollars.”

  “I was thinking like ten,” she said nervously.

  “Well, Alice. It's one of a kind, which means it is worth something to him but probably nothing at all to anybody else. See, there's only been one owner, and so most collectors don't even know about it, and they would suspect it's a fake and they'd ask Mr. McCarty about it, but if they know about it, they'll know it's hot and know they could never sell it or show it to anybody. But it seems that the man seated beside you for the entire flight told me he saw Mr. McCarty show it to you, then put it back in the briefcase without opening it again. He heard him say he couldn't part with it, but he'd give you one instead. He saw you take it.”

  “He didn't see shit because he was gone to …”

  “I know. He was down the aisle at the time waiting for a turn in the lavatory.”

  Silence.

  “Stealing that car, since it is worth more than five hundred, would be grand larceny, a felony. With your record, and since you are an adult now, you could do jail time and we don't want that.”

  “She could call the police,” the male voice blurted. She covered the mouthpiece this time for several seconds but not before he heard the male say, “Tell him the old pervert wanted to fuck you.”

  Todd smiled. This was entertaining.

  “You can call the cops if you want to, and make any accusation against Mr. McCarty you can think of. But extortion is a more serious felony than grand theft, and I have a very credible witness as to everything that went on during the flight. The witness happens to be a retired judge,” he lied. “Someone else saw you take the car while Mr. McCarty was away from his seat. There's more, but you are walking a very tight rope.”

  Silence.

  “He's a known pervert,” the male voice added. “Just turn on your TV.”

  “Shut up!” Alice screeched at the young man.

  “Good advice, Earl. You don't want to be involved in anything criminal. I can get you two thousand, Alice. Mr. McCarty is not a pervert. I doubt Earl wants to do time for conspiracy to commit extortion, a serious felony. What do you say, Mr. Tucker?”

  “How you know my name?” Earl blurted out.

  “I know a lot more about you than your name. This is a serious game you're playing, kids. You both have records. If this doesn't end with me paying you two thousand and getting the car, your grandchildren will be visiting you in jail.”

  A long pause.

  “You can't threaten us with no criminal charges. You ain't no cop,” Earl said.

  Alice said, “Okay. I'll take the two grand.”

  “I think that would be the smartest move you two could make. Let's set up a meeting that's convenient for you.”

  “And me,” Earl said.

  “No, Earl,” Todd said. “Like most things, this is way out of your league. You should just go home and wait until Alice calls you.”

  Doubting that Earl was that smart, Todd planned to keep on his toes. Not that Earl was dangerous, but with the terminally stupid you just never knew.

  “How about we meet tomorrow night?” Todd asked.

  “Somewhere public,” Alice said. “I want to make sure you don't try anything.”

  “Like?”

  “Like ripping me off.”

  “Alice, I wouldn't dream of stealing from you. Concord Mills Mall in the food court. Tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Tomorrow night. I got classes and other stuff to do in the daytime. Like maybe eight? Bring the money.”

  “I will. Bring the car.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  While Ward watched Natasha dressing from the bed, his cell phone rang. It was his uncle Mark.

  “Morning, Unk,” Ward said.

  “How are you and Natasha feeling?” Mark asked, his voice rife with concern.

  “That would depend on your definition of ‘feel,’ ” Ward replied.

  “This is all temporary, kid. I know you were set up and the FBI will figure that out real soon. You gotta keep your chin up. Your father never let the bastards get the better of him, and you're a McCarty.”

  “Thanks, Unk. I appreciate your faith in me. I wouldn't have been successful without your support and experience. That's a fact and I hope you know that.”

  “Thanks, kid. But I'm just an old car salesman with a great product line.”

  “You've always been there for me. I know it and I appreciate it more than I can say.”

  “You're gonna make an old man cry. Listen, the other reason I called is that I got a call from Flas
h Dibble a few minutes ago,” Mark said. “He asked me to tell you he's as interested as ever to buy the company. He says this virus thing is all a load of crap and he knows you aren't responsible and he is sure you'll be cleared. He thinks that once the company changes hands, its reputation can be salvaged. He also told me that the FBI is going to interview him this morning and he's going to tell them it's a bum rap. His words. He and your father go way back. They were never friends, but they had respect for each other. It's Trey that's the douche bag. Flash is just an astute businessman.”

  “So how much less you figure we're worth to him now?” Ward asked.

  “He didn't say anything about reducing his last offer. We could have Gene feel him out on that. You want, I can talk to Gene.”

  “It seems like the timing on this scandal is sort of providential for Dibble, doesn't it? I'll be interested in seeing if his new offer is a bit reduced.”

  “Ward, we both know that at the present, our clients are vulnerable to all of our competition. Being our customers is a potential public relations problem for them, too. This is NASCAR, and moral rectitude, even though it's in short supply, is still a big issue with the fans.”

  “It's more than a public relations nightmare for me,” Ward said, angrily. “You want vulnerability? How about a few years in federal prison? Or being a registered sex offender for the rest of my life?”

  “We all know this is a setup of some sort. Flash is one hard- skinned son of a bitch, but if it ends up he had anything to do with this, he'd be destroyed, and the man has hundreds of millions at stake. Even if he wanted to do it to force a sale, I just don't see him risking getting caught doing this.”

  “There's Trey,” Ward said. “I think he's capable of doing something like what happened.”

  “He's one mean, not-too-bright shit-for- brains. And those are his best points. Still… Ward, I don't think he's behind this.”

  “He wants the company as much as, or more than, his father does. If it wasn't for Trey, Flash could certainly have already bought a company like ours for a lot less. If I get locked up, Trey would get some sort of twisted revenge because I said no to him.”