‘Uh-huh. Maybe you ought to take a couple of aspirin and lie down for awhile.’
‘That’s probably a good idea.’
‘Sure.’ There’s a soft bing. It has to be Bucky. ‘I’ll just say goodb—’
‘Is everything good there?’
No, Billy thinks. Everything is mega fucked up, Bev, thanks for asking. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘I didn’t mean it about the plants, either. I’d feel terrible if I came back and found Daphne and Walter dead.’
‘I’ll take good care of them.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so very, very, very, very much.’
‘You’re very welcome. I have to go, Bev.’
‘Okay, Dollen. And thank you very, very, v—’
‘Talk soon,’ he says, and ends the call.
The text is from one of Bucky’s many communication aliases. It’s brief.
bigpapi982: No transfer of funds yet. He wants to know where you are.
Billy texts back under one of his own communication aliases.
DizDiz77: People in hell want ice water.
5
He scrambles some eggs and heats some tomato soup for supper, and this time he’s able to keep it down. When he’s finished he puts on the six o’clock news, tuning to the NBC affiliate because he doesn’t want or need to watch the Channel 6 video again. An ad for Liberty Mutual is followed by his own picture. He’s in his Evergreen Street backyard wearing a smile and an apron that says NOT JUST A SEX OBJECT, I CAN COOK! Others in the background have had their faces blurred out, but Billy knows them all. They were his neighbors. The photo was taken at the barbecue he had for the folks on the street, and he’s guessing it came from Diane Fazio because she’s always clicking pix, either with her phone or her little Nikon. He notes that his grass （he still thinks of it as his） looks damn good.
The super beneath the picture says WHO IS DAVID LOCKRIDGE? He’s pretty sure the cops already know. Computer fingerprint searches are lickety-split these days, and his dabs are on file from his Marine days.
‘This is the man police believe is responsible for the brazen assassination of Joel Allen on the courthouse steps,’ one of the two anchors says. He’s the one who looks like a banker.
The other anchor, the one who looks like a magazine model, picks up the narrative. ‘His motive is a mystery at this point, and so is his method of escape. Police are certain of one thing: he had help.’
I didn’t, Billy thinks. It was offered and I turned it down.
‘Seconds after the rifle shot,’ says the banker anchor, ‘there were two explosions, one across from the shooter’s location in the Gerard Tower, and the other from behind a building on the corner of Main and Court Streets. According to Chief of Police Lauren Conlee, these weren’t high explosive devices but rather flash-bangs of the sort used at fireworks shows and by some rock and roll bands.’
Magazine model anchor picks it up. Why they go back and forth like that Billy doesn’t know. It’s a mystery. ‘Larry Thompson is on the scene, or as close to it as he can get, because Court Street is still blocked off. Larry?’
‘That’s right, Nora,’ Larry says, as if confirming he’s really Larry. Behind him is yellow police tape, and around the courthouse the misery lights on half a dozen cop cars are still flashing. ‘Police are now working under the assumption that this was a carefully planned mob hit.’
Nailed that one, Billy thinks.
‘At her press conference today, Chief Conlee revealed that the suspected shooter, David Lockridge – probably an alias – has been in place since early summer, using a unique cover story. Here’s what she had to say.’
Larry Thompson is replaced with a clip of the chief’s press conference. Sheriff Vickery, he of the ridiculous Stetson, isn’t in attendance. Conlee starts in with the story about how the shooter （she doesn’t bother calling him the suspect） pretended to be writing a book, and Billy turns the TV off.
Something is gnawing at him.
6
Half an hour later, while Billy is in the Jensens’ second-floor apartment, spritzing Daphne and Walter, he comes to a decision. He had no plans to leave his basement apartment on the day of the shooting, had in fact planned to stay there for several days, maybe even a week, but things have changed, and not for the better. There’s something he needs to know, and Bucky can’t help him with it. Bucky did his job, and if he’s smart, he’s now on a plane getting his ass out of the fallout zone. If there is fallout, that is. Billy still can’t be sure he’s not just jumping at shadows, but he has to find out.