“Why did you think Eppie was so aggressive about getting you to intervene with Skidmore on his behalf? Slow as Skidmore is, he's thorough, I'll give him that. He's going to find Eppie out one day, with Deputy Melissa's help.”
“He's not involved in stolen cars?” I stammered.
“Not that I know of,” Orvid wheezed.
“All those boys who always hang around Eppie's.” I swallowed. “They go there for drugs?”
“Drugs and car parts,” Orvid said brightly. “If there were handguns available too, it would be the complete American one-stop shopping experience, don't you think?”
“Eppie Waldrup?” I pictured him sitting in his tortured chair in the junkyard.
“What do you think would induce a man to create a musical instrument like the one Eppie made?” Orvid said, his eyebrows arched. “Except for drugs?”
I had to admit it seemed a more reasonable explanation than I'd ever thought of for Eppie's weird xylophone-gamelon setup.
“Sadly,” I agreed, “I see that you may be right.”
“Oh, I'm right. I've watched him sell weed a hundred times. And recently he's gotten into ecstasy. But I think you know that.”
“So you're not the drug supplier in my hometown.” I shook my head. “I have to absorb that. For some reason, I do believe you're telling me the truth. Skidmore is going to be embarrassed.”
“Not if he catches Eppie,” Orvid said reasonably. “Which he will pretty soon now. Especially if you suggest it to him.”
“Right.”
The wind picked up.
“You'll admit, now,” Orvid said after a moment, “that you don't know what I do for a living.”
“I guess I would have to admit that. Can I do anything to persuade you to tell me what you really do?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, it relates to our task at hand, as well as my aforementioned professional interest in your return to Blue Mountain. I'm reluctant to tell you everything, but for some reason I have an odd inclination to explain the basics.”
“Now I'm not sure I want to know,” I said.
Without warning, Hiram Frazier arched his back and tried to get up.
“He's a killer!” Frazier spat. “He's going to slit my throat!”
Frazier tried to wiggle sideways, away from Orvid.
Orvid flicked his cane and tapped Frazier a good knock on the back of his skull.
“Ow,” was all the complaint that Frazier made, a weak one at that. “He's going to kill me.”
“He's not going to kill you,” I assured Frazier, sighing. “We're going to take you back to Pine City, like I wanted to a minute ago.
Only now you're all tied up and hit in the head and everything. But he's not going to kill you.”
“Well,” Orvid drawled. “Not so fast, Tex.”
I met Orvid's eyes. They were amused, but they were made of steel.
“Actually,” he continued, “that is what I'm here for. And I mean
here
in the larger sense of the word.”
“Sorry?” I thought I was misunderstanding him.
“That's my job.” He shrugged. “I'm a Final Solution Technologist.”
I stared blankly, I could hear the sound of my own breathing.
“Sometimes in the movies or on television,” Orvid explained simply, “a person like me is called a hit man.”
“A hit man?” I felt Orvid had tapped
me
in the head with his cane.
“I hate that terminology. I think
Final Solution Technologist
is much better. Funny, you know? Like the new politically correct style speech.”
“I don't believe you,” I choked.
“It's true. I was pulled into the business by a teetotaler,” Orvid said as if he were telling a campfire story. “He was a man named Lincoln Favor, friend of Judy's family in Chattanooga. He never took a drink in his life. He was married to Mattie Jenkinsâyou know the Jenkins family?”
All I could do was shake my head. Orvid's strange pink eyes sparkled in what little moonlight they captured.
“No,” Orvid said cheerily, “I guess there's no reason you would. But Mattie, she loved Lincoln Favor for eleven years. Until she found out why he was so sober. And he was militant about being sober. Every Christmas, for example, Lincoln's brother would bring out a cup of kindness, and every year Lincoln would get into a fight about it, then he and Mattie would go home mad. There'd be a big buzz in the community about it for a week or two, and then the brothers would make up and things would be back to normal. Apparently, one year Mattie even asked Lincoln why he carried on so
with his brother, who was by no means a drunk, about something so innocent as a simple Christmas toast. Lincoln said that drink was the devil's tool, that drink clouded a man's judgment and unsteadied his hand. Well, Mattie didn't understand why a man needed that much clear judgment just to collect government subsidy, run a little bitty truck patch, and sit at a roadside vegetable market three months of the year, which was Lincoln's public occupation. But she found out. October thirtieth ten years ago, Lincoln Favor was arrested by the FBI because he had killed seventeen men for money. That was Lincoln's private job, his real work: somebody paid him lots of money to kill people. And that's a kind of work that
would
require a steady hand. Mattie was so scared by the whole thing that she moved back in with her mama in Griffin and hasn't spoken a word, not a syllable, in the years since. She's a mute now. And Lincoln Favor escaped. The FBI put him in prison in Chattanooga, which is where I met him. I was there for cutting up somebody in a fight when I was drunk. Lincoln kind of took me under his wing and got me off the booze. Then some men came and got him out and they took me along. The point is: you never know. Lincoln was just like anybody. Judy talked to him many a time in the store. He seemed to have the same face as most any man. But it was a mask. He seemed a stern member of his church congregation, a hardworking man, a Christian in a little Southern town. But he killed seventeen men for no other reason than money. I learned a lot from him.”
The black air around me seemed a net in which I was caught, a dark web, and I felt I couldn't move.
“Does Judy know?” I whispered. “Does she know what you do?”
“Are you serious?” He seemed offended. “We don't keep secrets from one another. I told you this was all her idea, remember?”
Everything in the clearing had gone still. I had to force the air out of my lungs to ask the question I didn't really want to ask.
“How does that have anything to do with me? You said your profession related to your studying me.”
“I have an intuition about these things.” He took hold of the top of his cane. “I always research interesting people like you.”
“What for?” I asked, desperately wanting the answer to be anything other than what it had to be.
“In case someone in my family wanted me to kill you,” he said softly.
He drew his blade from its hiding place.
I was too senseless to move.
Orvid displayed the three-foot length of steel; it slashed a silver cut in the black air beside him. His face had not changed expression.
I could feel something struggling in my chest, only gradually realized it was my heart, like a caged animal, beating at the sides of its prison. Blood pumped past my ear in loud explosions. My stomach was made of ice.
Every nerve ending in my body was screaming at me to run, but my muscles were dead, and my brain was paralyzed.
I felt my jaw fall open; heard sounds pour out of my mouth. Were they words? Was I actually talking?
“So what are the bundles you get,” I seemed to be asking in some desperate attempt to gain time to think, “thrown from the train?”
“I have my jobs delivered that way,” he said brightly, not moving. “Clients send their requests to me in packages that are thrown from the train. A certain conductor is paid very well to deliver what he's told is mail to a rural eccentric at the junction in Pine City. The packages are in a sealed bank courier pack that has a computer-code lock. They contain details of the job, photos, schedules, final decisions. I wait in the abandoned station in Pine City; when I see that the coast is clear, I pick up the bundle and make my final decisions about the job. Does that answer your question?”
“How do you get these clients?” I asked him automatically, exactly the way I would ask a folk informant.
I think I had the idea in mind that if I kept him talking, I would eventually come up with a plan of defense. It was clear to me that Orvid didn't mind talking about his work in the presence of two people who would be dead in a few moments.
“You know,” he said casually, “it's mostly a word-of-mouth business. That's really your best advertising. Most of my clients know nothing about me, but occasionally one has heard rumors of a little person with a big knife, and they find it intriguing.”
“How many jobs have you had?”
“I stopped counting at thirty.”
“You've killed thirty people?” My voice was as thin as the moonlight and quavering.
“Men,” he corrected. “No women, no kids. That's one of my rules.”
“You have rules?” I rasped.
“Lots of them.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I'm something of an avenging angel.”
Frazier twitched.
I finally managed a step backward, away from the blade.
“Really?” I'd missed the casual tone I was aiming for, missed it by a mile.
“Without going into too much boring information,” Orvid said, his voice solid, “I'll tell you that I only take on jobs when I believe I'll be righting some wrong. I know that may seem idealistic to you.”
I didn't have any inclination to argue that murder was hardly, by any conception of the terms, an idealistic pursuit.
“I don't know what you mean.” Anything to keep him talking.
“The last few jobs I've taken should suffice as explanation. Let's see. A man hired me to kill two twenty-year-old boys who raped his eleven-year-old daughter and escaped prosecution on a technicality. I researched the case thoroughly, found the boys were, indeed, guilty. They'd even confessed. When I caught up with them, they were in
the process of kidnapping another child, I assumed for the same purposes. The strangeness of our judicial system is a labyrinth in which many a Minotaur might hide.”
“You killed two boys?” I heard my voice as if it were coming through a tunnel from the other side of the world.
“I killed a congressman who beat his wife repeatedly but was never even arrested.” Orvid went on as if he hadn't heard my question. “His wife hired me from a hospital bed, certain that he would eventually kill her.”
“And somehow people send you information in a package that's thrown off a train?”
“It's perfect,” he answered. “In a high-tech world, my other-century approach usually escapes notice. Not to mention how dramatic it all is. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that our family's always had a flair for the theatrical.”
I began to see white spots out of the corner of my eyes, little flares of light. I had to sit down.
I crumpled clumsily to the ground. It was wet, solid; reassuring in the most bizarre way.
“It's a lot to absorb, I'll grant you that,” Orvid conceded, acknowledging my collapse. “And I wouldn't be telling you this much if it weren't for the fact that Judy and I are leaving the country together fairly soon.”
“You mentioned that,” I said as if we were having a conversation over Sunday dinner.
“My point is,” he insisted, “that I want to explain why I have to kill this man.”
He looked down at Frazier.
Frazier began whispering softly to himself, praying, I thought.
“Judy didn't exactly hire me,” Orvid went on, “but you had a hint of how insistent she can be when she sets her mind to something. She believes it's the right thing to do. He took away her girls. I take him away.”
“Eye for an eye,” Frazier said, more to himself than to us.
“I understand that you think your cause is just,” I said to Orvid slowly, “that your work is right. But ultimately it's all semantics and rationalization. Killing another human being, Orvid, takes a toll. It taxes
your
spirit. It leads you down the wrong path. It eventually destroys the fabric of humanity.”
“No,” he responded simply. “It restores balance. The way I do it.”
“Balance,” Frazier echoed weakly.
I saw in a flash that, despite Hiram Frazier's previous insistence that I might be his other half, Orvid was Frazier's true mirror. They both believed in the same theory of a balanced universe; though it was clearly a theory born of an unbalanced mind.
“You can't murder this man right here right now in front of me,” I pleaded, no other argument coming to me. “You can't hunt down another human being and execute him like this.”
“I can,” Orvid corrected me gently. “I have. And I will.”
He raised his blade.
Night noises ceased, and my temples pounded a violent rhythm. My body weighed a thousand pounds, and I could not move.
“Your high-minded ideals,” I said, too high, too fast, “they have no real meaning in this slaughter. You're not setting anything right by killing this man. You're taking revenge. And you're not even taking this vengeance in the heat of the moment, or for a personal reason. You're doing it as a favor to your
girlfriend
! You have to see that it's not right.”
Orvid paused.
I could see the shadows of a hundred responses shoot across his face before he lowered his blade.
“Thanksgiving week last year,” Orvid said softly, not looking at me, “I went to the school play with Judy. Did you go?”
For an instant I considered the possibility that I had gone mad.
“No.” I didn't remotely understand what he was asking me.
“We came late,” he went on, “stood in the back. Judy wanted to see Tess and Rory in the show because she had helped them with their lines, even sewed the costumes for them. Rory was the head of the settlers, Tess was the Indian princess. Everyone was sitting in
those metal folding chairs in the gym, listening to the words echo around the basketball hoops. Seemed like every soul in the county was there, the gym was packed. The stage looked great: there were trees and houses and clouds; a sky filled with sun. There were stern English settlers gathering in the bounty of the earth's crops: corn, wheat, pumpkins. There were serene Indians, watching, nodding, smoking pipes. Despite the occasion, the settlers looked sad to me. They were all in black and never smiled. The Indians were joking and laughing and making up songs.”
Orvid let out a long breath, and his arm muscles seemed to relax.
“The play was running fine,” Orvid went on after a moment, “and all the kids remembered their lines except for one boy. Judy told me his line was âI think I see our red brothers and sisters over the hill.' When he said this, the Indians were supposed to come in from behind the black curtain. Since he never said it, there was a tense moment of silence when nothing happened, but Tess saved the day. She said, loud and clear from back of the drape, âCome on, my red brothers and sistersâlet's go see what the settlers are having for dinner.' Everyone laughed and the Indians came on in. Tess offered an ear of corn to Rory, and Rory curtsied and took the offering. She was supposed to say, âThank you, Mistress Farmer, for your gift.' Then the two girls were going to sing âCome, Ye Thankful People, Come.' But do you know what Rory said instead?”
“No,” I answered, more baffled.
“Lucinda never mentioned this to you?” His brow wrinkled.
“No, Orvid,” I stammered, “what are you trying to tell me? Why would Lucindaâ”
“Instead of the line Rory was supposed to say,” Orvid interrupted, his voice grating his throat, “she said, âThank you, Mr. Frazier, for your gift.' Judy heard it too; commented on it. Of course it made no sense at the time. Until you told us the name of the man who caused the train wreck.”
“The Lord's still whipping me, isn't he?” Hiram Frazier whimpered.
Orvid looked down at his victim.
“Yes, Hiram,” Orvid said firmly. “He certainly is.”
“You just think you heard that name,” I insisted. “You're experiencing a false memory.”
Orvid looked back up at me.
“For a second or two at the Thanksgiving play,” Orvid went on, his voice thinner, “nobody onstage seemed to know what to do; Judy could see something was wrong with the girls. Then the boy who'd forgotten his line just started singing. Do you know what song?”
I shook my head.
“âBe Thou My Vision.' And for absolutely no reason, everybody in the gym and on the stage, one by one, joined in. That was the end of the play.”
I started to speak, then remembered what was significant about the hymn he'd just named.
Orvid saw the realization on my face.
“That's right,” he assured me. “âBe Thou My Vision' was sung at Tess and Rory's funeral.”
I just sat there.
“I'm not a big believer in this kind of thing, as you might imagine,” Orvid went on, “this spooky stuff. I fall more to the philosophy of âHow can I use this crap to put one over on the rubes?' But I'll tell you what: this one is hard to argue with. Judy absolutely believes it's the hand of God at work. She heard the name too. I don't know what to make of it. But look right here: this guy's name is Frazier.”
Before I could say anything, Frazier spoke up.
“My name is Hiram Frazier,” he said, rote, hypnotically.
“He's barely aware of who he is, Orvid,” I pleaded, “you can see that. You've got to have a little mercy.”
“What the hell would make me be merciful at this point?” Orvid said, his voice a sting on the air.
“You don't make someone be merciful,” I shot back. “You can't force it. Mercy drops on you out of the sky, like rain. And listen, it would be good for both Frazier and you, it works both ways. It would save his life, it could save your soul.”
“Mercy's the kind of thing you usually ask God for, right? Not a guy like me.”
“I swear, Orvid,” I said, breathing hard, “if you're looking for justice, or for balance, you'd better start praying, because none of us is going to be saved. You're better off asking for mercy than for justice. That's the way the universe works.”
“Forgive us our trespasses,” Frazier mumbled, “as we forgive those who have trespassed against us.”
“He's an old man,” I begged.
“He killed two people!” Orvid snapped back. “Two beautiful, young lives that made a difference in this world. He took them away. It's a debt that's got to be paid.”
“He doesn't even remember doing it,” I insisted. “God, he doesn't even remember breaking into my house to scare me with a Bible verse not twenty-four hours ago!”
“Well.” Orvid's pace slowed a little. “Actually he didn't do that, truth be told.”
“What do you mean?” I asked weakly.
“I did that.” Orvid sighed, and there was even a hint of apology in his eyes. “Sorry.”
“You went into my house,” I managed to say, “and left an open Bible?”
“I wanted you to help me,” he said quickly. “I thought if you had a more personal stake in finding Frazier, it would speed things up a little. You know you can be slow as Christmas in your work sometimes.”