It was, Shane knew, utter and complete idiocy.
The dead could be dangerous. Murderous.
“I know they can,” Shane answered. He held up his hand to show his missing fingers, smiled to show his missing teeth, and then he tilted his head slightly to reveal the scars upon it.
The boy nodded and appeared to be satisfied with the answer.
“Yesterday,” Jimmy began, “when my friend first became sick, I walked around the backyards of his home and his neighbor’s, looking at various insects and spiders. Despite the window being closed, I heard Jeff Driscoll’s father speaking with a woman. It took only a minute for me to understand he was not engaged in conversation with his wife. This was confirmed when his wife shot him. A single bullet passed through the back window, and I was able to see a dead woman.”
Jimmy described Miriam Shaw and the woman’s anger.
“Did the police talk with you about this?” Shane asked.
Jimmy shook his head. “My friend’s mother explained to them that I was somewhat difficult since I have Asperger’s. She stated it would be detrimental to my mental well-being for me to be interviewed by the police, and that there was no way I could have seen or heard anything. They spoke for some time, and then, the police left. I was not questioned.”
Shane shook his head, disgusted. He looked at Jimmy. “Did anyone else go into the house?”
Jimmy nodded. “Yes, Jeff’s cousin. I could not sleep and woke up early, but I did not want to disturb my friend, so I went outside. He did not seem himself when he left, and so I did not wish to express my condolences at the time.”
“Did he have anything with him?” Shane asked.
“No,” Jimmy answered. “He did not have anything.”
“This cousin, was he a cousin on his mom’s side or his dad’s?”
“His mother’s side,” Jimmy stated.
Shane shook his head and grinned. “How in the hell do you know all this?”
“My friend’s mother talks quite a lot on the telephone,” Jimmy informed him. “She is, as my Aunt Jane would say, an incorrigible gossip. Whenever I visit, she is inevitably speaking with someone and discussing the goings-on of the neighborhood. I am quite surprised at the number of people who are believed to be having affairs with other neighbors. There is even some discussion about who the true father might be of the twins across the street. My friend’s mother surmises that the father is actually the UPS delivery driver who she herself has attempted to engage in indiscreet conversation when her husband is not home.”
Shane laughed and shook his head. “Well, on that note, I want to say thank you, Jimmy. You’ve been a lot of help.”
The boy nodded. “You are welcome. Will you harm the ghost when you find her?”
“Yes,” Shane answered, his tone flat and neutral.
Jimmy offered him a slight bow and said, “Good.”
Chapter 25: Advanced Robbery
Sunday, 12:30 AM
“What are these supposed to do again?”
Marty, his mind clouded with worry for his daughters, looked up, his irritation at the interruption plain on his face. A trio of men stepped away from the man who had asked the question.
The man, who went by the name Killa, repeated the question.
“The iron,” Marty informed him, keeping control over his face, “will inhibit the ghosts of the items we are about to steal.”
“Huh,” Killa mused, turning the iron slag around. “You sure there are ghosts where we’re goin’?”
“I’m sure I need some quiet to finish this,” Marty replied, and a hint of his anger slipped out.
“Hey, don’t take that tone with me,” Killa snarled.
“Do you want to get paid?” Marty asked.
Killa’s face, puffy with either lack of sleep or the beginning of liver disease from alcoholism, relaxed. “Yeah. I wanna get paid.”
“Then you’re going to deal with it if I happen to be a little angry,” Marty informed him. Straightening up, Marty glanced at all four men. He had been forced to stop at one of the halfway houses to find them. No one with any sense wanted to be near him anymore.
I can’t blame them, Marty thought. Everyone dies. Or disappears, which is essentially the same thing. No, the good ones won’t come near me.
The men in the room with him were the dregs of the criminal world. Junkies who stole enough for their next high. Fools who didn’t understand why they were locked up for beating their girlfriend or wife.
I have taken the bottom out of the barrel, and I am scraping the mud beneath it, Marty thought. Absurd.
“You all have your iron, correct?” Marty asked, looking around the room.
All four men nodded.
And look at this, a five-man team, not six. I couldn’t gather up a sixth man to accompany us. Nothing about this is good. Not a damned thing.
“So, we doin’ this now?” Killa asked.
Marty shook his head. “No, not yet. I’m waiting for the delivery of a van. Once it’s parked where we need it, then we’ll go.”
“When’s that gonna be?” a man named Owen asked.
“Maybe today.” Marty shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow. I don’t know.”
“What are we supposed to do ’til then, huh?” Killa demanded.
“Drink,” Marty answered. He motioned toward the kitchen. “There’s beer, hard liquor. Plenty of stuff to eat. You just can’t leave. You need to stay.”
“What about the halfway house?” Lowe, the other man, asked. “We’re way past curfew now.”
“That’s been taken care of,” Marty informed them.
“How’d that happen?” Killa asked, taking a beer out of the refrigerator.
“Money changed hands. Quite a bit of it,” Marty said with a small, hard smile. “The gentleman running the halfway house is a colleague and rather adept at making paperwork and people vanish for however long I need them.”
The men laughed and began to pour themselves drinks.
“Now,” Marty stretched, “I have to go for a bit. Remain here. There are bedrooms above, bathrooms as well. All I ask is that you behave and that you’re here when I return.”
“What if we’re not?” Killa asked. “You gonna send us back to the house?”
Marty shook his head. “No. I’ll just end up killing you. Don’t upset me, Killa. Just do your part so we can get paid.”
The other three men chimed in with their agreement, and Marty left the house.
It was time to find Shannon.
***
Sunday, 5:30 AM
She answered the phone on the second ring.
“Shane,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “You all right, mi amor?”
He smiled at the term of affection and stubbed out his cigarette. “No, love, I’m having a hell of a time right now.”
He heard a click and imagined her sitting up in bed and turning the light on.
“What’s wrong?”
Shane cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with his problem. “It’s the whiskey.”
“What about it?”