54 A MAN IN NEED OF FIXING

54

A MAN IN NEED OF FIXING

After having brought all the gear to the searchers and after seeing them off with Sam Crockett and his hounds, Regis Duroc-Jersey is expected to remain at Vida's house until Galen Vector returns with the confirmation that they have left her naked corpse for the delectation of whatever carrion eaters might strip the flesh from her skeleton and break her bones to taste her marrow, in some remote ravine where the time-bleached remains will never be found.

When Regis took the job with Terrence Boschvark, he didn't expect to become an accessory to murder. If he didn't expect it, he must have at least intuited the possibility. The first time that he found himself at risk of the crime regarding José Nochelobo, Regis wasn't surprised. Now here he is again. There's the motivation of great wealth, of course, as well as the expectations of his parents and the competition with his brother, Foster. But he could spend years analyzing influences, seeking the hinge moment when he swung into the dark side, yet arrive at no enlightenment. The heart is deceitful above all things. Rare is the man who knows the full truth of his own heart, and Regis is aware that he doesn't possess that insight.

He spends some time in Vida's library, reading the spines of the novels on the shelves. He is impressed by the wide spectrum of literature that interests the woman, especially since she never went to college. How then did she know what books were worth her time? Or perhaps none of these books are of the right kind. He ought to know if they are or aren't. But he doesn't. Here are entire collections of authors whose names are new to him. For the first time, he allows himself to wonder if Harvard failed him.

An approaching vehicle rackets through the morning. When he steps onto the porch, an SUV pulls to a stop and parks beside his Lexus. It's a down-market brand he doesn't recognize.

Wendy gets out of the driver's door. Explosion of curly auburn hair. Flawless skin. Huge, limpid blue eyes. The pajamas with pink bunnies are gone. She's wearing black boots and black jeans and a blue blouse with black epaulets. She looks more than ever like a character from Japanese anime.

Regis is enchanted and frightened in equal measure, which is a weird feeling, but he understands it.

She understands it, too. She comes to him and stands before him and says, "I realized something after you left my place."

He doesn't dare speak, for he is again under her spell. He fears what revelations he'll make.

"I have long known that I have an important mission," she says.

He can't control his tongue. "You look like a person with a mission. You look like an anime heroine."

"I thought my mission was to save my brothers from themselves, but it might not be given to me to accomplish that. I've worked so hard on them. I've convinced myself that they can no longer lie to me. But my conviction might be self-delusion. After all, they're off on this woman hunt with the wicked Galen Vector. But you ..."

"Me?"

"You." She smiled.

"Me what?"

"For sure, you can't lie."

"Nonsense. I'm a tremendous liar. I've spent my life lying about everything to everyone."

"Not to me. When you're speaking to me, you mean to lie, but when you open your mouth, all the truth spills out of you no matter how much you want to conceal it. That's what happened at my place. Several times. It just happened again now."

He shrugged. "Believe what you want."

"I'll believe what I know. I've been waiting eighteen years for you to show up."

"Eighteen years ago," he says, "I would have been twelve."

"I would have been ten."

"You didn't even know I existed eighteen years ago."

"I didn't know it was you. I just knew it was someone who could never lie to me and that together we would accomplish great things."

"What does that mean—‘accomplish great things'?"

"I don't know. It's what the fortuneteller said. I guess we'll find out."

"What fortuneteller?"

"She operated out of a house less than a mile from here. I paid her with a five-pound block of cheese. Free cheese from the federal government."

"Cheese?"

"It was symbolic."

"Of what?"

"Of what I valued least, which was what my mother valued most."

"Your mother valued cheese above all things?"

"She valued what was free, what she could get for nothing. Momma was addicted to the dole and to defrauding the system as much as she was addicted to her cigarettes, booze, pot, jalape?o potato chips, chocolate-peanut-butter ice cream, and sleazy men, among other things."

"Why's a ten-year-old girl going to a fortuneteller?"

"Looking for a way out."

"A way out of what?"

"Out of a dead-end life. The seer told me to start my own business."

"The seer?"

"The fortuneteller."

"She told you to start your own business at ten?"

"I took up housecleaning. I'm a demon cleaner."

"At ten."

"Even before that. I like clean. I can't stand filth. In six months, I had four clients, four houses. When I was twelve, I added seamstress work."

"What about school?"

"School is school. I liked it. But work is better. Sixteen, I got a beautician license. Twenty, I opened my own salon with four employees. It's the most popular in the county. I like being busy."

"How does a girl of ten realize she's in a dead-end life?"

Wendy cocks her head and regards him with amusement or pity; he can't tell which. "How does a guy of thirty not realize he's in a dead-end life."

"Me? Hey, I'm going somewhere."

"Backward at high speed."

"I'm already rich."

"You'll never be rich enough."

"By any standard, I'm a success."

"Not by the standard that matters most."

"Yeah? What standard would that be?"

"Happiness. You think you're happy?"

"Absolutely."

"Then you don't know what happiness is. You're in a perpetual state of desperation. It's always in the back of your mind."

"What is?"

"That when Terrence Boschvark goes to prison, so will you."

"He's too rich and clever to go to prison. When he has to move outside the law to get something done, he insulates himself with so many layers of deniability that nothing can be proved."

"And you admire that?"

"Maybe I don't admire it. But I respect it."

"That's even worse than admiring it. I've got my work cut out for me."

"What work?"

"Fixing you."

"You're not gonna fix me."

"I don't mean like neutering a dog."

"Goddamn right you don't."

"Don't you go blaspheming. I guess I lost my brothers to the devil, but I'm not gonna lose you."