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Chapter Thirty-Seven
At its best, life can be so simple and good. As it should be. On Saturday morning, Nana and I packed up the kids and we headed over to their favorite place in all of Washington, the huge and wonderful and occasionally elevating Smithsonian complex. We were all in agreement that the Smithsonian, or 'Smitty', as Jannie has called it since she was a very little girl, was where we wanted to be today. The only issues were where to go first, and, ultimately, where to go during the day. Since Nana would be there for only a few hours with little Alex, we let her pick out the day's first stop. 'Let me guess,' Jannie said, and rolled her eyes, 'The Museum of African Art?' Nana Mama shook a finger at Jannie. 'No, Ms Weisenheimer. Actually, I'd like to go to the Arts and Industries Building. That's my choice for today, young lady. Surprised? Shocked that Nana isn't the creature of habit you thought she was?' Damon piped up. 'Nana wants to see the History of Black Photographers. I heard about it at our school. They got cool black cowboy pictures. Isn't that right, Nana?' 'And much, much more,' said Nana. 'You'll see, Damon. You'll be proud and amazed, and maybe stimulated to take a few more photographs than you do. You too, Jannie. And Alex as well. Nobody takes pictures in this family except me.' So we went to the Arts and Industries Building first and it was very -------------- 104 --------------
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good, as it always is. Inside, the dull roar of air-conditioning and the cries of a gospel album mixed nicely. We saw the black cowboys, and also a lot of exceptional photos from the Harlem Renaissance. We stood in front of a twelve-foot photo of ambitious-looking black men in suits, ties and top hats taken from a bird's eye view. A stunning shot that would be hard to forget. 'If I saw that scene on the street,' Jannie said,/! would definitely take the picture.' After Arts and Industries we appeased Jannie and returned to the Einstein Planetarium, where we watched And a Star to Steer Her'for the fourth or fifth time, or maybe the sixth or seventh time, but who's counting. Nana took little Alex home for his nap then, and we trekked on over to the Air and Space Museum. Now began the portion of our journey that Jannie called 'Damon's macho planes-and-trains trip'. But even Jannie enjoyed Air and Space. The Wright Brothers'plane floated high above us, suspended by long wires, and it was magnificent light spruce beams and stretched white sheets of canvas. To its right, the Breitling Orbiter 3, another important page from aeronautic history - the first nonstop balloon flight around the world. And then - 'one small step for man' - the thirteen-thousand-pound Apollo 11. You can be cynical about all this or go with it. I choose to go with it. Makes life a lot easier and more rewarding. After we had studied several of the aeronautic miracles, Damon insisted we catch Mission to Mir on the IMAX screen at the Langley Theater. 'I'm going to outer space one day,' he announced. 'I have news,'Jannie said,'you're already there.' In honor of Nana, we stopped at the Museum of African Art and the kids got a kick out of the masks and ceremonial clothes, but especially the old currency exhibit - cowrie shells, bracelets, and rings. It was incredibly quiet inside, spacious, colorful, cool as could be. The last stop of the day was to see the Dinosaur House at the Museum of Natural History. But then both Jannie and Damon said we had to see the tarantula feeding at the Orkin Insect Zoo. There was a sign on walls painted to resemble a rain forest: 'Insects won't -------------- 105 --------------
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inherit the earth - they own it now.' 'You're in luck/Jannie teased her brother/Your kind rules.' Finally, around six, we crossed Maryland Avenue to the Mall. The kids were quiet, tired and hungry by then - and so was I. We ate a picnic supper under spreading shade trees at the foot of the Capitol. It was the best day I'd had in weeks. No calls from anybody.
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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue
Chapter Thirty-Eight
As he had done so many times before, probably a dozen times by now, the Mastermind watched Alex Cross and his family. Love equals hate, he thought. What an incredible equation, but so true, absolutely true. It made the world go round and it was a lesson Alex Cross needed to learn. Christ, he was such a rucking optimist. It was infuriating. If anyone had cared enough to carefully study his past they would have discovered the keys to everything that had happened so far. His personal crime and murder spree was one of the most daring in history. It had lasted for over twenty-eight years. He could count the mistakes he'd made on one hand. The keys were right there for anybody to see: Narcissistic personality disorder. That's where it all began. That's where it would end. A grandiose sense of self-importance. That was him, all right. Expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements.
Preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, or ideal love. Interpersonally exploitive. Yes, indeed. He lived for it. Lacks empathy. To put it mildly. But please note, Dr Cross and others who might wish to study the -------------- 107 --------------
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long and winding trail - this is a personality disorder. There is no psychosis involved. I am an organized, even obsessive, thinker. I can work out elaborate plots that serve my need to compete, criticize, and control. The three Cs. I am rarely impulsive. Questions you should be asking about me: Are my parents alive? Answer: Yes and no. Was I ever married? Answer: Yes. Any siblings? Answer: Oh, absolutely. Note bene. If I'm married, do I have any children? Answer: Two genuine American beauties. I saw that movie by the way. Loved Kevin Spacey. Adored him. And am I attractive, or physically flawed in some minor way? Answer: Yes and yes! Now do the homework! Draw the love and the hate triangles in my life. Doctor. You're in the triangles, of course. But so is your family - Nana, Damon, Jannie, and Alex Jr. Everything you care about and think that you stand for is right there in those beautiful triangles, wrapped up in my obsessions. So unravel it, before it's too late for both of us. Not to mention everybody you care about in the world. I'm right outside your house on Fifth Street, and it would be so easy to barge inside right now. It would have been easy to kill you and the family at the Smithsonian, the'Smitty7, as your daughter calls it. But that would be too easy, too small, and as I've been trying to tell you-- The phone in the Mastermind's hand was ringing, calling, reaching out to touch somebody. Patiently, he let it continue. Finally, Cross picked up. 'I have a grandiose sense of'self-importance,''the Mastermind said.
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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue
Chapter Thirty-Nine
settled back into my duties in Washington, where I took some abuse from my detective pals about how much I seemed to enjoy working with the Federal Bureau lately. They didn't know that I had been approached about becoming an FBI agent, and was actually thinking it over. But I was still drawn to the mean streets of DC. I had a decent week on the job, and when another Friday rolled around, I also had a date. It had struck me a long time ago that the best thing that had ever happened to me was being married to Maria and having two great kids with her. It's not an easy thing to play the dating game at any age, especially when you have kids, but I was committed to it. I definitely wanted to be in love again if I could, to settle down, to change my life. I suppose that most people do. Occasionally I would hear my aunts say, 'Poor Alex, he doesn't have anyone to love, does he? He's all alone, poor baby.' That wasn't exactly true. Poor Alex, my butt. I have Damon, Jannie, and little Alex. I also have Nana. And I have lots of good friends in Washington. I make friends easily - like Jamilla Hughes. So far, I haven't had trouble getting a date either. So far. Macy Francis and I had known each other since we were little kids growing up in the neighborhood. Macy went on to get a couple of degrees in English and Education at Howard and Georgetown. I went to Georgetown, then Johns Hopkins for my doctorate in psychology. About a year ago, Macy returned to the Washington area to teach English Lit. at Georgetown. We met again at one of Sampson's -------------- 109 --------------