Brock Clarke - The Happiest People in the World

Then she walked back to the car. “Hey!” the guy said, but then she didn’t hear Mr. Korkmaz shoot him, which was too bad. Locs got into the driver’s side, and a second later Mr. Korkmaz got into the passenger’s. They drove onward. Locs turned on the heat. It had gotten cold; snow was starting to fly. That was the right way to describe it, too: the snow was not falling; it looked, as with an airplane, like it was proceeding horizontally from one place to the next. Broomeville, Broomeville. Then a sign saying it: BROOMEVILLE: 7 MILES.

“I would not shoot that hairy man,” Mr. Korkmaz said.

Locs almost drove off the road. Not because of the sentence, but because Mr. Korkmaz had spoken: Was it possible that he’d really not spoken for over four hours? What had he been thinking? It occurred to Locs to ask him something. Locs knew her plan: She would somehow evade Capo et al. and go to Matthew’s house, where he would be, and then they would figure things out from there. Love. Barring that, she would shoot people until she found Matthew, and then they would figure things out from there.

“What’s your plan?” Locs asked Mr. Korkmaz. She didn’t see the gun. He was wearing a heavy waxed coat with many pockets. Locs assumed the gun was in one of them. She’d bought both guns for herself; she had not intended to give one to Mr. Korkmaz. But she didn’t ask for it back. Old, frail Mr. Korkmaz would not look, to anyone who didn’t know him, as though he was likely to have a gun, let alone be able to use one. It might end up being good to have someone who didn’t look like he’d have a gun, have a gun.

“My plan?”

“We get to Broomeville. .,” she said, turning to look at Mr. Korkmaz, who was looking out the window at a billboard that said NIRVANA: THERE’S ONLY ONE! She had no idea what the billboard was advertising or whom it was quoting.

“You assist me to find Søren. I prevent him from murdering the cartoonist. We return to Skagen.” He shrugged, rubbed the dashboard as though for good luck. “Or we stay here.”

“In Broomeville?”

“In America,” Mr. Korkmaz said. “PT Cruiser.”

“What?”

“What does it mean, PT Cruiser?”

Locs realized that he was talking about the rental car. It was a PT Cruiser, the most ridiculous of all the ridiculous American cars with their ridiculous names: it was humpbacked and clunky and was supposed to remind you of American gangsters standing on the running boards with tommy guns in the movies and no one actually getting hurt except for the one or two guys who absolutely deserved it and the one or two guys who were totally expendable.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Locs said. “It’s supposed to remind you of America.”

“Well, it succeeds,” Mr. Korkmaz said. “I like it.”

“You do?” Normally, Locs would have thought the person who would say such a thing too stupid to live. But Mr. Korkmaz had already lived such a long time. Plus, she really did like him, or would have, had she not been manipulating him and had there been more time. They were almost in Broomeville now: one mile to go. “Listen,” she said. “Suppose Søren has already killed the cartoonist?”

Mr. Korkmaz shrugged again, still looking out the window. It was starting to gust: the trees were bending and bowing; the ground was still bare, but the air was getting thicker with snow, and little tornadoes of it were touching down here and there on the road. It got even colder in the car, even with the heater on high. It felt, atmospherically, like something big was about to happen.

“Søren could not kill anyone with intention,” Mr. Korkmaz finally said. Locs thought he was probably right. On the other hand, she knew of several people who could definitely intentionally kill Søren. But she didn’t say that. The sign told Locs to turn left to get to downtown Broomeville. She did, driving through the narrow chute of trees and tenements and railroad tracks and railroad cars. The snow was now pouring through the narrow opening above; it was as though they were at the bottom of a mailbox and someone was dumping snow in the slot. But through the snow, Locs could see the town square up ahead. “I would shoot that hairy man if he had previously killed Søren,” Mr. Korkmaz said. “That would be the only reason.” And before Locs could respond to that, she saw Matthew and Kurt pull up outside the Lumber Lodge. Matty — wearing his Cornell hat, of course — got out of the passenger’s side; Kurt got out of the driver’s side. Kurt is old enough to drive, thought Locs. Oh, Matthew, we’ve wasted so much time. And while she was wasting time thinking this thought, Matty and Kurt walked into the Lumber Lodge.

As soon as Kurt had told Matty what he’d remembered about Henry, what he’d told his mother, Matty had insisted they go down to the Lumber Lodge immediately. He barely knew why himself. Matty just had some vague sense that if Ellen dumped Henry for lying to her, which Matty was sure she would do, then Matty needed to be around, the way Henry had been around when Ellen had dumped Matty. And Matty also had the vague sense that it’d be better if Kurt were there, too, so that Ellen could see the whole family to which she could be returning, not the broken Dane (Dane?) she should be leaving behind. But Matty didn’t know how to explain all this to Kurt, so instead he said, “We need to go to the Lumber Lodge.” And then, before Kurt could ask why, Matty added, “You can drive.”

Kurt had, adequately. Now they were walking into the Lumber Lodge. The first thing Matty saw was the streamers. Some of them were sagging low, and Matty had to resist the mighty urge to tear them down. The next thing Matty saw was Ronald standing in the middle of the bar holding an enormous gun. Holding was perhaps the wrong verb. His left hand was on the trigger — if that’s what you called the firing mechanism on a gun that was as big and menacing as the one Ronald was holding, and Matty wasn’t at all sure that it was — and his right hand, his crippled hand, was kind of supporting the barrel. When Ronald noticed Matty and Kurt, the barrel slipped a little bit, but he caught it with his claw and raised it again. And only then did Matty look at where Ronald was pointing the gun. To the left of the bar, standing up against the wall, one hand in the air, the other in his coat pocket, was Dr. Vernon. Behind the bar was Ellen. Sitting on the other side of the bar was Henry. His back was to Ronald; he was sitting there, apparently eating chicken wings, like there was nothing else in the world to do.

“Kurt!” Matty said. Because Kurt was walking across the room now. Past Ronald, at whom he nodded, and who nodded back, gun still trained, it was obvious, on Henry. Kurt walked past Henry, whom he smacked on the shoulder, as you’d do with anyone you knew who was eating wings at the bar. To his mother. He put his left arm over her shoulder and left it there. Had he ever done that before? Ellen wondered. Was this what stupid people meant when they said stupid things about all the good that came out of the bad? Meanwhile, Matty was standing across the room. He should have been over there, with her, with their son. But no, Matty was standing there on the far side of the room, paralyzed. I can’t believe I was ever married to him, Ellen thought, and then she thought, But then again, I kind of can’t believe that I’m still not.

“I really am going to kill you now,” Ronald said. It was clear that Ronald was talking to Henry. But Henry didn’t turn around. “Guidance counselor!” Ronald shouted. And still, Henry just sat there, eating! Ellen started to itch all over. What is wrong with you? Ellen thought. Who are you? Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in? Is there anything more infuriating than someone who doesn’t seem to know he should be terrified? But then Ellen saw Henry’s barely raised eyes looking at the huge mirror behind the bar. Eating, eating, calmly, unimpressed, in his very Henry way, but also looking in the mirror, seemingly aware of everything going on behind him, and next to him, too. He glanced at her, raised the chicken wing to his mouth, smiled with his eyes, then returned them to the mirror. And wow, Ellen realized how much she loved him and always would. She loved him so much that she couldn’t believe that she wasn’t going to take him back, that she wasn’t going to forgive him for lying to her. It would be, she thought, something she would probably always regret. But. Ellen put her arm around Kurt, and together they walked across the room, toward Matty, whom Kurt was trying to command with his eyes.