The Unwilling(98)

He looked away, and I told him it was okay, that we were fine.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked.

“I’m trying to.”

He wanted more, but that was all I had, those few words before I walked into the morning heat, started the Mustang, and pointed it at Chance’s house.



* * *



For Reece, it felt like being pulled apart. He needed to be here, but wanted to be with the girl. He’d looked so long for the right girl; there’d been so many disappointments.

“Your friend is late.”

He dropped the curtain and turned from the street. The kid couldn’t help that his friend was slow, but X would be awake by now, and eager for information. If he knew that Byrd was missing, he’d have a location: Reece’s home. And the girl was at Reece’s home.

“Did he seem normal on the phone?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing strange? No suspicions?”

“No.”

Reece studied the kid, looking for the lie. He was slumped, the jaw slightly open. “If you’re lying, you’ll regret it.”

“I already regret it.”

It was the first life Reece had seen in the boy, and he felt unexpected sympathy. “If you hadn’t made the call, I’d have killed you. You’ll feel better once you accept that fact.”

But the kid didn’t understand. Or wouldn’t.

Reece paced the room until a car sound took him back to the window. Not the French kid, but almost as good. The driver slowed to check the address, then did as Reece had asked, parking up the street, and then walking back to the house, a large duffel bag hanging from each shoulder. He moved quickly for such a tall and heavy man, wind rising off the street to stir his shaggy hair. Unlocking the door, Reece said, “You’re late.”

“Yeah, well.” The big man shouldered past. “It’s not the easiest address to find.”

Reece had not seen Lonnie Ward since the night they’d taken Tyra Norris, but his eyes had the same eagerness, and his face the same misshapen cast. “Did you bring everything I asked?”

The big man shrugged the first bag off his shoulder. “Sony DXC-1600 Trinicon tube handheld color camera, paired with a Sony BVU-100 U-matic-S Professional Portapack VCR color videocassette system, state of the art and fully portable at four ounces under fifty-five pounds.”

“And for editing? Splicing?”

“Second bag. Lighting, too.”

“Good, good. Thank you.”

“So?” Lonnie put down the second bag, his eyes on Chance. “We killing this kid?”

Reece said, “It’s complicated.”

But the big man was clearly puzzled. The boy was bound and silent; they had this quiet place. “So what are we doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“Him, actually.” A sound rose in the street, and Reece twitched the curtain, staying in the shadows as a second car pulled to the curb.

The big man peered over his shoulder as a teenager stepped onto the sidewalk. “Another kid?”

“Not just a kid,” Reece said. “A lever long enough to move the world.”



* * *



For Chance, it played out like a dream. He heard every word, but couldn’t hold them in his head. He saw the men separate, but didn’t understand the reasons. The small one stood behind him, and the other disappeared deeper into the house.

“Yo, Chance.”

Gibby had said as much a thousand times in a dozen years. Chance wanted to call out, to say, Run, damn it, run, but the small man had a blade against his throat, his mouth so close to Chance’s ear that his breath was damp and warm.

“Tell him to come in.”

The blade was fire on Chance’s skin.

“Go ahead, son. It’s okay.”

“I’m in here.” Chance closed his eyes to wish it away. “The living room.”

The front door closed with a click of steel. “Gibby in the house!”

He’d said that a thousand times, too. Three footsteps, and then six. By the time he reached the living room door, Chance was broken all the way through.

The line of fire …

This thing he’d done to his friend …

Gibby rounded into the room, and froze in disbelief, his eyes flicking from the blade to the man who held it, both hands fisting as his jaw tightened into a dogged line. One full second. That was the tick of the clock. Then the shaggy giant stepped near-silent from the hallway, and dropped Chance’s best friend with a single blow.



* * *



Reece secured Gibby to a second chair as Lonnie went to work. For a man so inherently slow and shambolic, he managed the equipment with impressive dexterity, connecting the camera to the tripod and VCR, and the VCR to the editing deck, all of it done with minimal movement and a snake’s nest of thin, black cable. There was, however, the matter of time and timing.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. Bare minimum is fine.”

But the big man shook his head. “You’ve never asked me to do this before. I want it to be perfect.”

He unpacked lights, reflectors, and diffusers, so filled with enthusiasm and pride that Reece felt a twinge of regret. Lonnie did love a good snuff film. “Um, we’re not actually killing anyone.”