Linwood Barclay: Far From True

“Really. Well, my name is Lionel Grayson, and I’m the owner and manager of this place, and if you don’t pop that trunk, I’m calling the cops.”

Maybe it was more likely than Derek thought. Fine, so be it.

“Okay, then,” Canton said.

Derek heard the driver’s door open. But then another door, on the other side of the car. Tyler had been sitting behind Canton. Which meant George was getting out.

Tyler said, “Jesus, George, what are you—”

Derek didn’t hear the rest as both doors slammed shut.

Canton was saying, “You know, this being the last night you guys are open, we were just wanting to have a little fun and—”

The man, this Mr. Grayson, sounding closer now: “Just open it up.”

“Okay, I hear ya, I hear ya.”

Then, George. “You know, man, this is America. You think being a fucking ticket seller gives you the right to violate our constitutional rights?”

“George, just let it go.”

All three voices at the back of the car now. Derek was still pretty sure Lionel Grayson wouldn’t call the cops. He’d just tell them to piss off. Turn their car around and send them on their way. Derek already had a plan. They’d go back to his place, download a Transformers movie to the flat-screen, and get drunk on his couch.

No need for him to be the designated driver any—

Bang.

No, it was more than that. So much more than just a bang. In the trunk, it sounded to Derek like a sonic boom. The whole car seemed to shake.

It couldn’t have been something on the screen. One of the Transformer robots blowing up, say. You had to be in the car, have the radio tuned to the right frequency, to hear the movie.

And even if this had been a regular movie, in a theater, the bang was too loud.

It sounded very close.

George.

Could he really have been that dumb? Had he gotten out of the car with the gun? Had he started waving it at the manager? Had he pulled the trigger?

That stupid, stupid, stupid son of a bitch. Surely to God he didn’t think getting caught over something like this was cause to shoot a guy.

There were screams. Lots of screams. But they sounded off in the distance.

“Jesus!” someone shouted. Derek was pretty sure that was Canton.

Then: “Oh my God!” That sounded a lot like George.

Derek frantically patted the back wall of the trunk, looking for the emergency release. His heart was pounding. He’d broken out in an instant sweat. He found the lever, grabbed hold, yanked.

The trunk lid swung open.

Canton was there, and George was there. So was a third man. A black man Derek figured was Lionel Grayson, the manager. Not one of them was looking into the trunk. In fact, all three had their backs to Derek, their collective attention focused elsewhere.

Derek sat up so quickly he banged his head on the edge of the opening. He instinctively put his hand on the injury, but he was too spellbound to feel any pain.

He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

The Constellation Drive-in Theater’s four-story screen was coming down.

Dark smoke billowed from the width of its base as it slowly pitched forward, in the direction of the parking lot, as though being blown over by a mighty wind.

Except there was no wind.

The immense wall came down with a great whomping crash that shook the ground beneath them. Clouds of smoke and dust billowed skyward from beyond the fence.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Barely a second. Then a strangled symphony of car alarms, whooping and screeching in a discordant chorus of panic.

And more screams. Many, many more screams.

“Hello? Georgina?”

“No, it’s not Georgina. It’s me . You heard what’s happened?”

“I’ve just been waiting for Georgina to come home, to call, let me know where she is. What’s going on?”

“The goddamn drive-in just fell down.”

“What?”

“The screen toppled over. Like a huge fucking wall.”

“That’s crazy. But it’s closed, right? So nobody was hurt or—”

“No, listen to me. This was the last night for the place. It’s packed. It’s just happened. First responders barely even there yet.”

“Jesus.”

“Look, we’ve got a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw Adam.”

“What? You saw Adam where?”

“Adam and Miriam. I was going by the drive-in as cars were going in, caught a glimpse of Adam’s Jag, that old convertible of his? Had to be him and Miriam. Not another car like that in Promise Falls. I’d stopped for a coffee up the road, and when I heard the explosion—”

“It was an explosion?”

“Whatever it was. When I heard it, I drove back, got a quick look at what’s happened. That Jag is toast. I could see the tail end of it sticking out of the rubble.”

“Oh, God, that’s terrible. I can’t believe it. Adam and Miriam, maybe they got out before—”

“No, there’s no way. You don’t see the problem?”

“They’re dead. Yeah, it’s horrendous. My God.”

“There’s a bigger problem, for us. With them dead, someone’ll have to clear out their house, go through their things. Next of kin. Adam’s daughter, what’s-her-name.”

A pause at the other end of the line.

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Now do you see the problem?”

“I do.”

“That was delicious, Celeste,” I said. “Thanks again.”

“You know you’re welcome here anytime,” my sister said across the kitchen table to me. “You want some of the tortellini to take home with you? There’s tons of it. I can put it in a container.”

“That’s okay.”

“I know you’re tired of hearing it, but you know you’re more than welcome to stay here. We’ve got two spare rooms.” She glanced to her right at Dwayne. “Isn’t that right?”

Dwayne Rogers turned to me and said, without emotion, “Of course. We’d love to have you.”

I raised a hand in protest. I didn’t want to live here any more than Dwayne wanted me to.

“No, hear me out, Cal,” Celeste said. “I’m not saying you have to live here forever. Just until you find a place to live.”

“I have a place to live,” I reminded her. Celeste was two years older than me, and had always seen me as her baby brother, even though we were both now in our forties.

“Oh, please,” she said. “A room over a used-book store. That’s not a home.”

“It’s all I need.”

“He says it’s all he needs,” Dwayne told his wife.

She ignored him. “It’s a room — that’s all it is. You need a proper house. You used to live in a proper house.”

I smiled weakly. “I don’t need a big empty house. I’ve got all the space I need.”

“I just think,” Celeste continued, “that living in that miserable space is holding you back.”

“Jesus, let it go,” Dwayne said, pushing back his chair and going back to the fridge for his fifth beer, not that I was counting. “If he’s happy living where he is, then leave him be.”

“This has nothing to do with you,” Celeste told him.

“Cal’s doing just fine,” he said. “Aren’t you fine?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Dwayne just nailed it.”

He twisted the cap off the beer, drew hard on it. “I’m gonna get some air,” he said.

“You do that,” Celeste said, and looked relieved once her husband was gone. “He can be such an asshole.” She smiled. “He’s my husband, so I can say that.”

I forced a grin. “He’s okay.”

“He doesn’t get it. He thinks people should just suck it up, no matter what. Except, of course, when it’s something that’s happened to him.”