CHAPTER 4.

Home for the summer stared him in the face like an empty smile. Wade stepped off the elevator onto the eighth floor of Clark Hall, Exham's largest male dorm. Home, sweet home, he thought dryly. Some fun summer. Thanks, Dad.

Silence fogged the hall. There was no noise, no rock and roll, no ping pong ruckus. No nothing. At least Jervis would be on for the summer sessions. Jervis took cla.s.ses even when he didn't need to-just to be close to his girlfriend. The poor jerk was in love, but at least Wade wouldn't have to spend the entire summer alone.

Wade had two best friends: Tom McGuire and Jervis Phillips. Jervis was clearly the more eccentric of the two. He was a philosophy nut, worshiping any manner of unintelligible schools of thought, existentialism in particular. On his door hung an eternal portrait of Sartre. Wade winced at it, as usual.

But the door was open a crack. Wade entered and announced, "Howdy, Jerv! I'm back!"

Jervis was sitting in the corner. He was unconscious.

Wade rushed to check Jervis' pulse, then looked around and gasped. The room had been ransacked. Lamps were knocked over, furniture smashed. The Sony TV screen had a hole in it; in the hole was an empty beer bottle. Bookshelves had been hauled down. Jervis' stereo system and record collection had been thrown onto the floor.

Then Jervis came to. "Wade. Am I...in h.e.l.l yet?"

Wade gaped. Jervis looked in worse repair than the room. Dark smudges like axle grease ringed his eyes. His hair, oily and unwashed, stuck up every which way, while his Lord & Taylor shirt was stained with beer and vomit. He looked skinny, starved. Empty Kirin bottles lay everywhere, all around him.

"You're drunk," Wade said.

Jervis burped. "I ain't drunk. I'm just drinkin'."

"Jerv, what happened here? Do you owe someone money?"

"Yes, my Existenz," Jervis mumbled. "I have been forsaken."

He opened a bottle of Kirin with his teeth. Wade winced.

The bottle cap pried off with ease, along with the side of an incisor.

"Jesus Christ! What happened! Did your entire family die? Did your father's stocks crash? What?"

Jervis spat out bits of tooth. He emptied half the Kirin in one gulp. "The end-that's what happened. The end of the world."

When Jervis got drunk, Wade knew, he became indecipherable with all that existential c.r.a.p. "Is Tom around?" Wade asked.

"I think he's down at the shop working on his Camaro. I asked him to drive me to h.e.l.l when he gets it running." Jervis finished the Kirin on the second pull. "Yes, I'd like that. I'd like to go to h.e.l.l."

"Jerv, your whole room is wrecked. I gotta know what happened."

"Sartre was wrong, you know," Jervis drawled on. "Existence precedes betrayal, not essence. There is no essence. There's...nothing" -and with that, Jervis pa.s.sed out again.

Stepping over empty Kirin bottles, Wade dragged his friend to the bed. Then he took another glance at the damage. It was hopeless. This would take days to clean up.

But what had happened?

He'd have to find Tom. Maybe he knew what had turned Jervis into a drunken, rambling waste.

He stowed his bags in his own room two doors down. Its sameness somehow comforted him. Wade's room came with every luxury. There was a small kitchen, a fridge, a separate bathroom and study, even a trash compactor. How could Dad expect him to do well in school without a trash compactor?

The red light blinked on the answering machine. But n.o.body even knows I'm back, he thought.

Beep: "Wade, I know you're back," said a voice on the machine. "This is Jessica. I...oh, s.h.i.t, I miss you! Please call me!"

Old flames never die. Sure, babe, I'll call you. Next century.

Beep: "Wade, I know you're back," claimed the next voice. "Word gets around when the best looking guy on campus returns unexpectedly. This is Sally, in case you've forgotten my voice. Maybe you've forgotten my body too, so why don't you come over right now, and I'll give you a little lesson in refamiliarization."

No thanks. Body by Fisher. Brains by Mack truck.

Beep: "Wade! I can't believe you haven't called me yet-"

He reset the machine, ignoring the nine remaining messages. It was nice to be wanted, but Wade figured that was their tough luck. Only so much of this handsome devil to go around, girls. Be patient. Chuckling, he locked his room and went out to the Vette.

The campus roads were close to empty. Wade sped past the liberal arts buildings, watching for the famed Exham police, who all seemed to have an affinity for radar guns. Wade's Corvette was definitely on their Ten Most Wanted List, and so was Wade. He probably had enough tickets from these chumps to paper his dorm room.

The campus glowed green with gra.s.s and sun, placated in lazy tranquility. Crosswalks stood vacant, hall entries deserted. This vast emptiness made him feel sentenced; it reminded him of all the fun he'd be missing out on. Summer school, he thought, in disgust and despair. The rest of the world will be partying, and I'll be stuck here.

Next he pa.s.sed WHPL, the campus radio station-progressive, not pop, he thanked G.o.d-and around the next bend the Crawford T. Sciences Center loomed. Wade felt dismal driving by. Here, he'd not only be retaking a biology course he'd flunked last year but also starting his new job in toilet maintenance. Wade valued his reputation very much-handsome rich kids in Corvettes had appearances to maintain-but if people found out he was cleaning johns for minimum wage, he could kiss the rep goodbye. He pondered this potential nightmare so intently he missed the next stop sign.

A horn blared. Wade slammed his brakes.

A burgundy Coupe De Ville blew by, missing Wade's front slope by inches. Wade immediately recognized the car as Professor Dudley J. Besser's, head of the biology department as well as the most miserable ballpopper on the Exham faculty.

You fat hot air bag! Watch where I'm driving!

As the De Ville turned, Wade noticed a woman sitting next to Besser, and sitting close. Did Besser have a girlfriend? Impossible. Only a prost.i.tute or a vision impaired Weight Watchers reject would date that a.n.a.l retentive walking lard barrel.

Then Wade did a double take, took a closer look.

No f.u.c.king way! he thought.

This woman appeared to be Mrs. Winnifred Saltenstall, who was not only beautiful but also the wife of the dean.

Wade eyeballed after the De Ville until it was long gone. It can't be, he mused. Winnifred was centerfold material; Besser was a fat dolt. No known logic could explain an affair between the two of them.

The student shop sat at the far end of campus. It existed solely as an ill conceived courtesy; not many rich kids tuned their cars up themselves, but there were a few diehard hot rodders on campus, and Tom McGuire was one of them. He owned a flawless white 1968 Camaro in showroom condition. The "Eat Dust" vanity plates said it all-this was the fastest vehicle on campus.

"Well, s.h.i.t my drawers," Tom yelled, looking up from the custom rebuilt 350 smallblock. Some old Deep Purple song boomed through the bays. "Since when does Wade St. John go to school during the summer?"

"Since Wade St. John's father lowered the boom."

"b.u.mmer." Tom wiped sweat off his brow. He tossed Wade a bottle of Spaten Oktoberfest. Tom was beefy, broad shouldered, with forearms thick as softball bats. His hair was dark and short, as conservative as his political views. Straight leg jeans and a white T shirt gave him the appearance of a sixties motorhead. He had a fondness for old music, German lager, and bad jokes. "Cla.s.ses start in a week," he pointed out. "We've got some serious partying to do in the meantime." Then he paused, a force of habit. "Hey, Wade. Here's an old one. Did you hear Nixon, Hart, and Kennedy started their own law firm?"

Tom's notorious jokes were indeed old. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. p.r.i.c.kem, d.i.c.kem, and Dunkem."

Tom roared laughter. Wade shook his head.

"But seriously," Tom went on. "It's good you stopped by. I need to tell you about-"

"Jervis," Wade finished.

"Yeah. You been up to the dorm already?"

"I just came from there. Jerv wrecked his entire room."

Tom gave a grim nod. "I heard him trashing the place this morning, and throwing up. I tried to calm him down but the lunatic started throwing bottles at me. I guess he just flipped when it happened."

"What?" Wade asked. "When what happened?"

Stone faced, Tom said, "Sarah dumped him."

Wade slumped in place at the revelation.

"She dumped him right after the spring semester."

Now Jervis' dest.i.tution made sense, Jervis was far more impressionable than most; he was nuts about Sarah Black, head over heels in love. His whole life revolved around her; she was his life. "But I thought they were getting married," Wade said.

"She's getting married, all right. But not to Jerv. It's some German guy she dumped him for."

"A German guy?"

"Some kraut developer's son, richer than s.h.i.t. That's all Jerv knows. And you're probably thinking the same thing I've been thinking."

"Yeah," Wade verified. "That he might go right over the deep end, try to kill himself or something. Could he be capable of that?"

Tom's laugh was stout and hearty. "Capable? You know how much he loves that smug b.i.t.c.h. This is the absolute worst thing that could happen to him. Right now he's probably capable of just about anything."

"Yeah, but suicide?"

Tom shrugged. "He's got a gun."

"What!" Wade exclaimed.

"Sure. He keeps it under his bed, some big old British revolver his grandpop gave him. I took the bullets out of it this morning when he was throwing up, and I swiped the rest of the ammo box."

"Yeah, but he can always buy more. What are we going to do?"

"We're gonna have to pull him out of this ourselves."

"You're right," Wade said. "He's got no one else."

"I'll meet you back at the dorm later," Tom said. "We'll clean him up and drag his a.s.s down to the inn, get some food in him. He's probably been living on Kirins since this whole thing went down."

"Kirins and Carltons," Wade added. "See you tonight."

Wade took off in the Vette, cranking up an old Manzanera song called "Mummy Was an Asteroid, Daddy Was a Small Nonstick Kitchen Utensil." Thank G.o.d for alternative radio; where would he be trapped in a world of bad rap and Madonna? He checked the rearview, then pitched his empty Spaten bottle into the Circle. With the campus this empty, at least he didn't have to worry about getting pulled over.

Halfway through the Circle, he got pulled over.

That's just f.u.c.king grand, he thought. But where had the cop been? They must have cloaking devices on their cruisers. Get ready, he primed himself. Wade wasn't much of a student, but when it came to sweet talking police, he made straight A's. He put on his innocent-face as the cop walked up, boot heels clicking.

"Good afternoon, Mr. St. John. My name is Officer Prentiss. I'd like to see your registration and operator's permit."

Astonished, Wade looked up. The cop was a woman. Girlfuzz, he thought. A d.i.c.kless Tracy. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I just told you. I'm Officer Prentiss and I'd like to see your-"

"I know, my registration and operator's permit." Lenient cops asked for your license; but only hard a.s.ses called it an operator's permit. This might take some work. "How come you know my name before seeing my li-I mean my operator's permit?"

"I know all about you, Mr. St. John," the cop said. "Chief White has properly familiarized me with all of the campus troublemakers."

Wade laughed a chumly laugh. "Good old Chief White, always joking around. If you want to know the truth, my-"

"Your police file is the most extensive in the history of this campus."

Wade paused. It was probably true. "Sure, Officer, I've had a ticket or two, but I'm no troublemaker, I a.s.sure you. And my father happens to be a significant contributor to the Exham Office of Donations, and is a close personal friend of the dean's."

"Which is the only reason you haven't been kicked out."

Wade paused again. This girl must work part time on a rock pile, he considered, and she's using my b.a.l.l.s for the rocks. Disgusted, he gave her the cards. He examined her as she began filling out his tickets. She stood well postured and medium-tall, very storm trooperish in her black boots and tailored tan uniform. Bright, straight blond hair was tied in back in a short tail, like a whip, and her eyes were a cold mystery behind mirrored shades. Wade supposed she would be cute if not for the inhuman police traffic stop set of her mouth. Her prettiness and her cop aura were a marriage of opposites: she invited to be looked at, yet revealed nothing to anyone who looked.

But there was something. Just...something.

"I'm citing you for doing thirty four miles an hour in a fifteen zone," she told him.

"What, the Circle?"

"Yes, the Circle. And you get another one for depositing hazardous material on campus common ground."

"What hazardous material!"

"The beer bottle you just threw."

"Oh, you mean that c.o.ke bottle?"

"It was a beer bottle, Mr. St. John, but of course you're welcome to testify in court under oath that it was not. And since possessing an opened alcoholic beverage container in a moving vehicle is also against the law, you get a third citation."

Wade was getting bombed worse than Pearl Harbor. All these tickets would cost three bills in fines and three more points, which his insurance wouldn't tolerate.