Tara pulled up the drive to the carport. A baby-faced man was awaiting them beside his motorcycle, which was big as a bison. He wore dreadlocks and ikat ikat trousers. He looked like a hippie a.s.sa.s.sin. trousers. He looked like a hippie a.s.sa.s.sin.

Shaw got out. The reporters shouted at him from the edge of the lawn. But the baby-faced man said, "Them insects, I told them they had to stay off the property."

"You told them?" Shaw asked.

"Yes sir."

"Who are you?"

"My name's Trevor Miller, sir. I'd like to serve you, if that would be possible."

"Serve me? How?"

"Any way you like."

Shaw kept his hand close to his hip, ready to reach for the .32. Was this a setup? Could this guy possibly be for real?

Said Trevor, "I been up in Hinesville. Fort Stewart, but I got discharged in February. Working Pantry Pride? A butcher? But I come down here for the beach. I was in a bar and you was up on the TV. I asked 'em who you was, and they sent me over here. I got a feeling about you. I know you don't know me from Adam but I bet there's a way I can serve you."

Trevor had a searchingness in his gaze, and seemed to be carrying some hurt, some deep wound. Shaw relaxed a little. Thinking, an apostle? Do I really have an apostle an apostle now? now?

"Trevor, you were in the army?"

"Yes sir. 3rd Infantry."

"Iraq?"

"Yes sir."

"Did you kill anyone?"

"They carry their dead with them, sir, when they can. But I would surmise that I did."

Such formality of speech! And the look he was giving was kin to that abyss-black adoration that Shaw had faced at the press conference. This is what he needed! This was the personnel the cause required. He glanced back at the Boatwrights. They were standing there meekly: heads bowed, gazes averted, awaiting his pleasure. And the reporters at the end of the driveway were calling to him, and the crowd waved its fronds and gave praise.

He turned back to Trevor. "Tell me, those that you killed, you think they're at peace?"

"I don't know, sir. I thought you you might know that." might know that."

"I do," said Shaw. "They are."

"Well. OK then."

"You can serve me as long as you like. You hungry, Trevor?"

"A little."

"Patsy'll fix you something. Then let's talk about security."

Romeo was on 17, supposedly on his rounds, but this time he didn't take his usual left turn at Chapel Crossing Road. He just kept heading up 17. Northward. As if breaking for home, as if returning to Piqua, Ohio. He pa.s.sed the Humane Society, then an old rice plantation, and then a sign that said DARIEN 6 MILES. A shut-down garage: Chancy's Auto Painting and Refinishing. The missionary girls had said this was where you could get a "body suspension" if you needed one. was on 17, supposedly on his rounds, but this time he didn't take his usual left turn at Chapel Crossing Road. He just kept heading up 17. Northward. As if breaking for home, as if returning to Piqua, Ohio. He pa.s.sed the Humane Society, then an old rice plantation, and then a sign that said DARIEN 6 MILES. A shut-down garage: Chancy's Auto Painting and Refinishing. The missionary girls had said this was where you could get a "body suspension" if you needed one.

Next he pa.s.sed a cemetery with no headstones, just little bra.s.s markers on a vast lawn. The sign had Saturn and the moon and shooting stars, and the name: HEAVEN'S VIEW.

The shooting stars reminded him of an event a few years back: a summer night, a little party.

Shaw had organized it. Everyone was supposed to gather at the spillway to watch the meteor shower, the Perseids. Shaw said the spillway was situated over a 'ley line of power' - whatever that was - and from that vantage point the meteor shower would spell out some essential truth about the universe. He said forty people had agreed to come. He said there were pretty girls on that list. Romeo went with him to the liquor store where they bought six quarts of Johnnie Walker and a lot of beer, cups, ice, and Doritos; then they climbed up onto the levee above the rushing water. It was a perfectly clear August night. But n.o.body showed except Chris and p.i.s.sboy and Ricky Cobb's cousin from Toledo.

The five of them sat there and drank. Looking up at the sky, making comments about the b.i.t.c.hes who hadn't shown. The meteor shower was disappointing. It wasn't like a fireworks show; it was just occasional pale streaks in the sky. But the watchers were patient, since they had nothing else to do, and finally there came a sky-crossing that was worth the wait. Slow and pompous, a fiery strut, a star that knew it was a star star. The boys on the levee cheered and whistled and were sad to see it burn out. Then they got quiet. Romeo was trying to figure out why n.o.body had come. Obviously, Shaw wasn't as popular as he'd been in the old days. The stupid tech job was eating him up. He was doing too much chronic and too much dex, and the years were elbowing past him. Maybe he was getting a little weird. Restless, too strident, a surfeit of visions. These days he scared away a lot more girls than he scored. You started to think he'd be doing tech support in the Piqua/Dayton area when he was sixty - unless he got adventurous and moved to Cincinnati.

And me the same, Romeo thought.

One by one Chris and p.i.s.sboy and the guy from Toledo pa.s.sed out. Then it was just Shaw and Romeo. Shaw said that, in his judgment, n.o.body in southwestern Ohio knew how to f.u.c.king live live. He talked about the need to live pa.s.sionately. "Which of our friends lives pa.s.sionately? Not one. Not one. one. I mean there's a difference between existing and really I mean there's a difference between existing and really living. living."

Then he told Romeo, "Now what you you do, is you live. If it weren't for you, I believe I might f.u.c.king kill myself." He was serious. And drunk, and in a state of agitation. do, is you live. If it weren't for you, I believe I might f.u.c.king kill myself." He was serious. And drunk, and in a state of agitation.

He said, "I don't know if anything lasts or not. Give it a thousand years, does anything count for s.h.i.t? I don't know. You look up at those f.u.c.king billion-year-old stars, could anything down here count for s.h.i.t? Does anything last? But I bet one thing lasts. This thing we we have, between the two of us. This friendship? This will last. In some form. Because this is the only worthwhile f.u.c.king thing in history." have, between the two of us. This friendship? This will last. In some form. Because this is the only worthwhile f.u.c.king thing in history."

Romeo was too moved to say anything.

Shaw went on, "No, I mean it, you and me, we're gonna keep reverberating through this universe. When all the dull a.s.sholes who didn't show up tonight have been reduced to their f.u.c.king muons and quarks, you'll still get an echo of us us - this I guarantee." - this I guarantee."

And now, remembering all this two years later, Romeo didn't feel like driving anymore. He couldn't go home to Ohio. He couldn't leave Shaw.

Just short of Darien, at the entrance to the Two-Way Fish Camp, he turned around and drove back to the Wick.

Tara was made crazy by all the calls. The calls came in from Fox News, from the was made crazy by all the calls. The calls came in from Fox News, from the Bombay Times Bombay Times, from some megachurch evangelist who begged an audience. Various unknown Boatwrights called. The Faith Renewal Church of Greenville, South Carolina, called. Senator DeWine's office called. Mom's friends called to say they were organizing a big Jackpot Party for tonight.

By now n.o.body in the family was bothering to pick up, but the recording kept playing. The voice of Jase: "Yeah, you got the Boatwrights, but we're too lazy to answer," then the beep, beep, then importunities from all over the world. This routine growing more and more unbearable till finally Tara said, "Hey, could we shut that off for a while?" then importunities from all over the world. This routine growing more and more unbearable till finally Tara said, "Hey, could we shut that off for a while?"

Shaw was at the little faux-empire desk, studying Mom's Bible, marking key pa.s.sages in yellow. He looked beaky, owlish, fevered. "What?"

"The message machine. Do we have to keep it on?"

He said, "What if Oprah calls?"

Tara knew she was supposed to smile, but she was too weary. She lowered her eyes. He relented: "Yeah, sure. Turn it off. Oprah knows where to find us when she's ready."

She pulled the plug. Then they just sat there, listening to the squeak of Shaw's magic marker, and the dying on Jase's Micro, and the acc.u.mulating hubbub out on the street. You'd think all this might disturb a man trying to pull off a hundred-and-sixty-million-dollar extortion. But Shaw kept serenely highlighting that Bible. If anything, the fuss seemed to please him. He chuckled when he heard some woman outside insisting: "We're from the Today Today show! Don't tell me you don't know what the show! Don't tell me you don't know what the Today Today show is!" show is!"

Then Trevor: "The family's not giving any interviews. But I'll give them the message."

"Just two minutes! If you could let Matt Lauer have two minutes minutes -" -"

"Ma'am, I gotta say, you're trespa.s.sing."

"Think of the good that Shaw could do with an appearance on -"

Trevor: "You see the number I'm dialing here? I'm dialing 911."

Romeo got back to the trailer and found that Claude was still by himself. Looking wretched and smelling like a pot of fermented cabbage. Romeo gave him a few pumps of morphine, and straightened up the trailer. He washed the dishes. He took out the garbage. He vacuumed. Then he gave the old man a sponge bath. got back to the trailer and found that Claude was still by himself. Looking wretched and smelling like a pot of fermented cabbage. Romeo gave him a few pumps of morphine, and straightened up the trailer. He washed the dishes. He took out the garbage. He vacuumed. Then he gave the old man a sponge bath.

At Hermann's Candle Shoppe in the mall, he'd bought a true sponge from the ocean. Now he found an enamel pot under the sink - which reminded him of the bedpan his mother used to set out whenever he was sick - and he scrubbed out the grime and the cobwebs, and filled it full of hot soapy water. He set down clean towels on one side of the bed, and rolled Claude onto them. In turning him on his belly you had to be careful not to bruise him, and make sure he was breathing OK. Bear in mind you've never handled anything so perishable before.

Claude groaned when the sponge touched his back.

"Too hot?" said Romeo.

"No no. It's. Good."

Romeo started at Claude's shoulders and worked his way down. Where the skin was pocked and mottled, its texture resembled the sponge, but Romeo didn't find that repellent. Even Claude's swollen calves didn't bother him - even that horseshoe-crab mockery of a pelvis, even cleaning around the withered a.s.shole. When he had finished the feet, he turned Claude back over, and did his front. The old man's t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es were prodigious: a brace of quail in a leather sack. Everything else had shrunk up, but not his nuts.

But his stomach was ticklish, like a little child's.

Romeo had made it all the way up to the gossamer ribcage when he heard a car outside. He looked out and saw Wynetta's pickup, and the sight dismayed him.

"Your daughter's here."

"Oh." Claude made a gesture: cover me. Romeo got the sheet pulled up just before Wynetta came bursting in. She went right to her father's side and spoke with unnatural volume, as though a court bailiff had just told her to speak up: "Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry! I haven't had no f.u.c.kin cell phone! If you knew how crazy everything's been!"

Claude gave her his sweet wobbly toothless smile. "It's OK."

"I'm so f.u.c.kin f.u.c.kin sorry." sorry."

"No. Problem."

Now she regarded Romeo. Her lips curled into a sneer. "Oh, s.h.i.t, the stoned elf. What you you doing here?" doing here?"

Claude explained, "He's taking. Care of me."

She said, "Oh, no. Oh, no. Were you giving him medicine?"

"Yeah," Romeo admitted.

She said, "You an RN?"

"No."

"Then you can't give him medicine. G.o.d. Daddy, he didn't make you mess with your will will, did he?"

Claude shut his eyes.

"G.o.d," she said, "Where the h.e.l.l is Joanie? She's supposed to be be here. G.o.d d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l. I knew I shouldn't trust that b.i.t.c.h." here. G.o.d d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l. I knew I shouldn't trust that b.i.t.c.h."

"It's OK," said Claude. "I'm good."

"Daddy, you know where I was? I was in Tifton. I went to Tifton with that Greek f.u.c.ktard? And it's like, I lost my cell phone, I don't even know the number of my own father, 'cause all the numbers were on my cell phone. And then I was trying to get that s.h.i.twad to give me a ride home like he said he would, but he's like Numero Uno Selfish c.o.c.ksucker of the Universe, oh, Jesus, and I keep telling him, my daddy daddy! My poor daddy's sick. sick. G.o.d f.u.c.k it." G.o.d f.u.c.k it."

Claude smiled at her, with all the forgiveness he could bring to bear.

Wynetta turned to Romeo. "Hey, f.u.c.ktoad. I know what you want, but you ain't gonna get it. My daddy is not your meal ticket. You can clear the f.u.c.k out of here. Right now."

Claude said, "Wynetta."

"What?"

"He's been good. To me."

"Oh, Daddy. If you knew. I been crying all the way back here. I 'bout had a wreck in Nahunta. Is there any beer?" She opened the fridge. Stuck her head in, and moved things while she searched. Her voice came out flattened. "You didn't drink the PBRs in here, did you?"

Claude took Romeo's hand and whispered, "I'm sorry."

But Wynetta had already pulled her head out of the fridge, and she heard this. She said: "Uh-uh. No sir. You come between me and my daddy? I'll make you bleed outta your a.s.s a.s.s."

Patsy set up her laptop in the kitchen, and went to Bible Gateway.com, to spend some serious time with Scripture. Vowing to herself to go easy on the gin today, and keep far from the temptations of Malibu. Just let me find some gentle parable to give me strength. Sweet Jesus? I'm in your hands. This is your little lost lamb Patsy. Please, Lord. Deliver me from Evil and from these Demons who have come into my life! set up her laptop in the kitchen, and went to Bible Gateway.com, to spend some serious time with Scripture. Vowing to herself to go easy on the gin today, and keep far from the temptations of Malibu. Just let me find some gentle parable to give me strength. Sweet Jesus? I'm in your hands. This is your little lost lamb Patsy. Please, Lord. Deliver me from Evil and from these Demons who have come into my life!

But while scrolling through the pages of the Holy Book, she felt more lost than ever. What the h.e.l.l was all this gobbledy gobbledy? The ma.s.sacres of Chronicles, the oppression of Kings, the merciless butchery of Judges: where was the comfort? Pretty soon her eyes began to glaze over. She sighed, and huddled herself closer to the screen. And sneaked a quick trip over to Google. Keying in: luxury homes luxury homes Just for one minute, she thought.

But the houses she found seemed too generic and suburbs-of-Fort-Worth, so she amended her search to: luxury homes ca That was better - she got some very nice pictures of estates in Brentwood and Bel Air. The residents were maybe not the cream of the A-list, but they weren't warmed-over reality stars either. They had respectable properties. Cobblestoned drives, box hedges. Still, there was something missing. Everything looked kind of stodgy and lonely, and she surfed from one house to another without satisfaction until finally she gave in and added that magic elixir: luxury homes ca Malibu luxury homes ca Malibu Just for one bittersweet minute!

The first place she came to was a twenty-two-million-dollar hideaway in the Colony that looked, she thought, like the concrete-block rest-room station at the Welcome Center on I-95. I can't believe believe this; these places can't cost this much! I bet I could get this for this; these places can't cost this much! I bet I could get this for half half what they're asking! If I even wanted it, which I what they're asking! If I even wanted it, which I don't don't - - Shaw came into the kitchen.

"What you looking at, Patsy?"

She touched her way back to BibleGateway.com just in time, just before he came to peer over her shoulder.

She said, "I'm looking at The Book of Nehemiah. The Word of Our Lord. Is that permitted?"

"Sure," he said. But then he grinned and reached down and checked her History. It was all right there - luxury homes, luxury homes ca, luxury homes ca Malibu - and he laughed. "More like The Book of Brangelina. What a comfort in times of stress! What're you drinking, darling?"

"I'm not drinking."

"Well, let's get to it, girl. This is a time for celebration. How about a couple of g&ts?"

"Oh, not for me," she said.

"All right. Make me one?"

She shrugged. She got up and fixed him a drink so strong it smelled like Christmas. An aroma so endearing she changed her mind and made a little one for herself as well.

She came back and handed him his drink, and sat. He said, "You think I'm messing with your dreams, don't you?"

She gave her ice a swirl.

He said, "I just want you to understand, I'm not going to cost you money. I'm going to make make you money. You'll be much richer because of me. This I guarantee. You're going to make a billion dollars. One you money. You'll be much richer because of me. This I guarantee. You're going to make a billion dollars. One billion billion. You think I'm insane, but I'm telling you the truth. You know how I'm gonna make you a billion dollars?"

She kept her eyes down. Thinking, one billion billion?

"Because you haven't just won the jackpot here. What you've done, you've become a receiver of G.o.d's power."