“Not the plan. You were a good listener.”
“But I might have stopped you. Ruined everything. You told me all I needed to know. If I’d only gone a little deeper…”
“I realized early on that you wanted to keep me to yourself, so that you could get Tomás Gomez on your own. Your hunter’s instinct blinded you, and I counted on you not suspecting me until it was too late. Anyway”—Lunde put his thumb against the trigger—“we all need someone to confess to.”
“Because?”
“Because we’re all lonely.”
Bob stared at Mike Lunde’s thumb. “You told me Tomás Gomez once said that he would have liked you to meet the person he once was. That you would have liked the person he once was. But you were thinking about you and me, right?”
“Maybe. But as I told you, that person died along with his family. So it really wasn’t all that strange to walk around wearing the mask of a dead man. Both of us are ghosts. You understand?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
Mike Lunde closed his eyes. “Bob?”
“Yes?”
“Are you my friend?”
“I think I am.”
“Can you help me this last bit of the way? It’s so hard.”
“I…”
“Just put your thumb here, on top of mine. Help me squeeze.”
“You don’t need to do this, Mike. There are people who can help. Treat your depression. Not just give you pills.”
“Please, Bob.”
“I can’t, Mike. I haven’t carried a gun, haven’t touched one, since…since…”
“Since your daughter died. I know that. Do it for her, Mike. Give meaning to my death. As a protest against everything meaningless.”
Bob looked into Mike’s eyes. The older man smiled gently. Itwas so quiet and so peaceful here. It was quiet out there too now. Much too quiet. Bob couldn’t hear it, he could just sense the running footsteps, the whispered commands. In a few seconds they would be here.
“If I hand myself over now, the whole thing will have been in vain. It would no longer be a genuine work of art. It’s all about the eyes, Bob. The eyes have to be right.”
“But…”
“You can tell them. Explain about the work. Because you’re another one who has lost what you loved most of all. But you can start a new life. It’s not too late for you.”
Bob knew exactly how it would go down. A window shattered, a stun grenade that paralyzed the senses, then a burst of automatic gunfire before Mike had time to turn his rifle against them.
Bob Oz closed his eyes. Then he whispered her name, the name of his greatest joy. Frankie.
—
Kay Myers had taken out her pocket mirror. Now she was holding it around the corner of the SWAT vehicle and could see four men wearing black protective clothing, two on each side of the entrance to Town Taxidermy. Beside her she heard O’Rourke almost whispering into his walkie-talkie.
“Ready in five, four—”
There was a single, isolated bang.
She realized it wasn’t someone from the SWAT team who had started too early, and that the sound came from inside the store. Bob. Everything—sound, light, time—seemed to freeze.
