Daryl Gregory - The Devil's Alphabet

They sat for what seemed like hours, Pax pretending to sleep. He wasn’t sure of the time-7:00 a.m., 8:00? From his position on the floor of the van, watching through slit eyes, he could see nothing through the windshield but treetops and gray sky. He tried not to shiver. The van’s heaters didn’t reach past the driver’s and passenger’s seats. The air smelled like stale vintage-but not his father’s.

“There’s the Caddy!” Travis said.

The chubs said nothing for half a minute. Then Clete said, “It’s payday.” It sounded like he was quoting from a movie. He cranked the ignition, forgetting that the engine was already started.

Travis said, “Wait, I thought we were going to wait for a few minutes, let her get into the office.”

“Not too long,” Doreen said.

“I’m just getting ready,” Clete said testily.

Doreen said, “When you get in there, don’t let that bitch push you around.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Travis said. “Just do your part.”

“You know how she is,” Doreen said. “And don’t let Everett intimidate you.”

“We got it, Doreen,” Clete said.

The van jounced over ruts on its way downhill. They reached the highway, went along it perhaps a hundred yards, and then turned up the driveway to the Home. Travis glanced back at him, and Pax kept his eyes unmoving, his jaw slack.

“Playin’ possum,” Travis said. “Just like his daddy.” Pax didn’t move, and Travis laughed. “Have it your way, man.”

The van stopped and Clete said, “Hey, Barron.”

“You’re here awful early,” the tinny voice said from the intercom.

“We figure someday she’ll pay us early just to get rid of us,” Clete said.

“Not a chance,” Barron said, laughing. A second later the gate buzzed and the van rolled forward a few dozen feet and stopped. Pax heard the gate squeal shut behind them.

“Y’all ready?” Clete said.

“You know I am,” Doreen said, her voice low. “And I know you are.” A wet smack, and Pax risked opening his eyes a fraction. Clete and Doreen were attempting to inhale each other’s tongues.

“Guys…,” Travis said.

“I love you, baby,” Doreen said.

“Me too,” Clete said.

Clete and Travis climbed out of the van, and Doreen scooted over to the driver’s seat. “Three minutes, tops,” she said.

“We know, we know,” Clete said.

Doreen put the van in reverse and started backing up. Pax entertained a brief fantasy of jumping up, throwing his bound arms around the chub girl’s neck, and choking her unconscious. But Jesus, he thought, he wasn’t Bruce Willis. Doreen was twice his size and probably twice as strong. She’d just reach back and bash him in the head.

Pax said, “Doreen. You know this can’t work.”

“Look who’s awake,” Doreen said. She braked, then started turning the van around. “You don’t know how well we’ve planned this, Paxton. This is just step two in our ten-step plan.”

Pax pushed himself to a sitting position. “But this is kidnapping. You’re going to have cops all over you. FBI, even. And you’re not exactly going to be able to blend in with the population.”

“Who’s going to call the cops? Rhonda?” Doreen leaned to look in her side-view mirror and backed the van up to the Home’s front door. “Uh-uh. Drug dealers can’t call the cops. That’s the beauty of stealing from a criminal.”

“You’re not serious,” Pax said. “The only beauty is that instead of calling the cops they just kill you.”

“Let ’er try,” Doreen said.

Jesus Christ, Pax thought. They thought they were Bonnie and Clyde, but hadn’t bothered to watch the end of the movie.

Doreen studied the side-view mirrors, her sausage fingers drumming the steering wheel. Pax turned sideways, which put him directly behind the driver’s seat and a foot closer to the Wal-Mart bag holding the box of plastic utensils. Fifty spoons, forks, and knives.

Doreen must have noticed something in the mirrors. She leaned out the window and called, “What?”

Clete shouted something Pax couldn’t catch. Doreen opened her door and hopped out.

Pax scooted closer to the bag and grabbed the box of utensils. It was glued shut. He tore at the lip of the lid, but the duct tape around his wrists restricted his leverage. Outside the van, Doreen and Clete argued about something.

Pax tucked the box under his knee and pulled back on the lid with both hands. The cardboard ripped open and utensils spilled onto the floor. He grabbed at a plastic knife-and then the rear doors unlocked. He tipped a Wal-Mart bag on top of the mess, then twisted around as the door swung open.

“Come out of there,” Doreen said. Behind her Clete was already going back into the building.

“What’s going on?” Pax asked.

“Can’t leave you out here alone,” she said. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him toward her with ease. “We need to put you to work.” She set him on his feet and gave him a little push that sent him hopping toward the building.

Rhonda, Everett, and Barron sat in chairs in the atrium. Only Barron looked upset: face beet red, patches of sweat darkening his brown uniform. Travis had duct taped the guard’s arms to the chair and he’d started working on his legs.

“Morning, Paxton,” Rhonda said.

“Morning,” Pax said. He stood there with his bound wrists and ankles, feeling like a bowling pin. Everett, calm as ever, nodded at him.

Clete had acquired a second pistol-from Everett?-and waved both of them in the captives’ direction. “This is taking too long,” he said.

“We should have used tie wrap,” Doreen said. “I said to buy tie wrap.”

“I told you, they didn’t have-never mind. Doreen, you go get the old man. He’s in the first room on the right.”

“Me? But he’s huge. Have Travis do it.”

“Travis is going to take Everett down to unlock the coolers.”

“And what are you going to be doing?” Doreen asked.

“I’m going to be emptying the safe! You know that’s part of the plan.”

Rhonda said, “You have a plan ?”

“A ten-point plan,” Pax said.

“Everybody shut up!” Clete shouted. “Paxton, start wrapping Rhonda. Doreen, please go find Harlan? There’s a wheelchair back there somewhere.”

Pax lifted his wrists. “I’m kind of tied up here.”

Travis got to his feet and slapped the big silver roll of duct tape into Paxton’s hands. “Work it out.” Then Travis withdrew his own pistol from his waistband and nodded at Everett. “Let’s go downstairs,” he said.

Everett looked at Rhonda. Rhonda said, “The key to the coolers is in the safe.”

Clete stared at her. “You’re lying.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Goodness gracious, Clete, where would you keep the keys?”

“Okay, fine,” Clete said. “We were going to open the safe anyway.” He pointed a gun at Rhonda. “It’s payday.”

“You said that when you came in,” Rhonda said.

Pax started to mention how Clete had been practicing in the van, then thought better of it.

Doreen shook her head and walked toward the double doors that divided the atrium from the patient rooms. Her jeans rode low on her hips, exposing a pale freckled back and an angel wing tattoo over the crack of her ass. Clete herded Everett and Rhonda toward Rhonda’s office, and Paxton followed, taking tiny penguin steps. He stumbled and Travis said, “Hold on a second.” He took a pen knife from his pocket and sliced between Paxton’s ankles. Pax worked his legs and the rest of the tape peeled apart.

“Thanks,” Paxton said.

“Just move,” Travis said. The boy was frowning deeply, as if this little adventure wasn’t turning out to be as fun as he’d expected. Or maybe, Pax thought, he was figuring out that Clete and Doreen weren’t the criminal masterminds he thought they were.