Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [36]
NOTES:
Lisa,
Sorry to interrupt the Nancy Drew escapades, but I thought we could use a little more serious action. I wasn’t deliberately ignoring your request—Terry Jakes was simply the right man for that job. In fact, he’s the right man for many jobs.
And nice try with Brandy Chester, but you can’t keep a smart woman down. My hope is that your Brandy defeat will convince you to build up some compelling characters of your own rather than trying to tear mine down.
Dave
Dave,
Bravo with Brandy. You know what, in the interest of a peaceful collaboration, you can keep her IQ points. But remember, I can take them away anytime I want.
Sure, I’ll give the story a bit more edge if you think that’s what we need. Although I’ll probably steer away from headbutting. I’ve never understood that as a mode of assault. It has the element of surprise, but it’s like punching yourself and someone else at the same time.
I’m hopeful that you’re going somewhere with this Babalato business.
Any news on the plane crash?
Lisa
CHAPTER 11
Paul scrolled through his internal Rolodex, deliberating over the right person to call when you’re stuck at Diner and you’ve just been headbutted unconscious by Big Marv Babalato. The obvious choice was Lacey, but he needed to keep her as far from this entanglement as possible, or he’d just have another knot to undo. He also didn’t want to bring Brandy into the whole mess.
“Darryl, I need a ride,” Paul said, after surveying the parking lot for cell reception.
Paul provided his coordinates and Darryl promised to leave right after his show, Pulverize That,15 was over. The series involved men (generally unemployed engineers) building giant, state-of-the-art blenders and trying to decimate items that you wouldn’t think could be decimated. Since the show had no narrative hook and a website where you could learn whether the indestructible item was destroyed or not, it troubled Paul that his friend wouldn’t skip thirty minutes of watching an easy chair transform into a smoothie to help him out. Paul reentered Diner and ordered fries and a bag of ice.
Paul sat at the counter, resembling a man with a red welt on his forehead minding his own business. But he couldn’t escape the quiet echoes of conversations that traveled through the bright lights of the dingy eatery.
“Did you hear there was a murder in Mercer?”
“Serial killer, they say. He cuts off their heads.”
“Mercer has always been a magnet for the unwashed and unwanted.”
“I heard it was drug-related. Somebody stepping on somebody else’s turf.”
“I wouldn’t live in that shithole if you paid me to.”
Paul felt the usual Mercer loyalty and it took all his will to control his urge to set the Diner patrons straight. Hell, they came from a town that consisted of a gas station; a motel; Diner; and a mailbox, photocopy, and pet supply store all under the same roof. Who were they to judge? In Emery, there were only fifty people total to kill. Paul had had his fill of Diner, but when Darryl arrived, he was hungry, so Paul sat and waited while Darryl ate his fries.
“What happened?” Darryl asked.
“Don’t ask,” Paul replied.
“Okay,” Darryl said, dunking his fry into a soup bowl of ketchup.
Paul thought a real friend would ask again, but then he realized he didn’t have too many real friends, except Terry, who was feeling more like an albatross every day. He tried Terry one last time and left a message explaining that Darryl would drive him back to his truck.
While her brother was trying to escape from Emery, Lacey was at the Timberline, drowning her confusion in whiskey and beer.
A patron or two asked her where she’d been turtling herself, to which she replied, “Look it up in the dictionary. It’s not a word!”
Tate served Lacey another drink. Her manners surfaced long enough for her to say, “Thank you.”
“I see you’ve reached the anger stage of grief,” Tate said.
“I’m not angry,