“You fuckin’ fat man,” El Paso sneered. “What’s up with this?”
“Easy, El Paso.”
Behind Roland, Oz’s voice floated out of the darkness soothingly, as though he were trying to calm an excitable animal. Which, Roland thought, wasn’t far off the mark.
El Paso watched in horrified realization as Roland withdrew the garrote from his pocket, gripping the handholds and testing the tautness.
“You didn’t do as you were told last night, did you, El Paso?” Oz asked.
“How could I know that bum was heat, that he would fight back? What would you expect me to do?”
“I would expect you to obey orders,” Oz said. “Roland told you to keep it low-key, and, because you didn’t, there have been a series of consequences you’re unaware of. That should teach you a valuable lesson. You don’t always know why you’re given an order. It’s not your place to know. It’s mine.”
El Paso looked at the garrote that Roland was relaxing and then snapping taut. Roland was watching the switchblade, which the kid was now waving unsteadily, nervously. And yet, he maintained his swagger.
“Come on, man,” he said, appealing to the void of darkness outside the light. “Give me another chance. I won’t do nothing like that again.”
“You’ll do as you’re told?” Oz asked.
“Yeah, yeah.” Then, “Yes, sir.”
“Without hesitation or question?”
“Without question. I swear it.”
Oz said silkily, “It’s a little late in coming, but I’m very pleased to hear that.”
Chapter 34
Andrew’s bashfulness and sweet countenance had endeared Dylan to him from the get-go. He also had Mitch’s eyes, which might have had something to do with the little boy’s appeal.
But she also found herself observing Andrew from the standpoint of a psychological analyst. It was an occupational hazard.
While waiting with him in the hospital lobby, he self-pacified by playing with his cars, delighted in the tropical fish in the aquarium, and watched other people with open curiosity but no perceivable fear of strangers.
He also seemed right at home in the unique wonderland of the fishing camp. She’d remarked to Mitch that she was surprised he wasn’t frightened of the hunting trophies, especially the razorback.
“The one time he showed some fear of it, Molly told him that he shouldn’t be afraid because Roger the Razorback was a friend of hers. That was that. He thinks Molly hung the moon, so anything she says is scripture.”
By the end of the day, Dylan had concluded that being shuttled between Mitch and his grandparents seemed not to have had a negative effect on the child. He was well adjusted and well behaved, usually minding after being told only once either to do something or to stop.
Now, however, as they were having dinner, his good behavior began to deteriorate to that of an obstinate two-year-old-going-on-three.
She and Mitch were eating “John’s famous” gumbo. Andrew was having a single portion of microwaveable mac and cheese, which Mitch had bought in a convenience store on their way back from Lafayette. He’d also bought a box of Froot Loops, which he’d hidden in the pantry so Andrew wouldn’t want the cereal for dinner.
After having eaten only half of his macaroni, Andrew was making a smeary mess of it on his plate. His hand was covered in orange goo. Mitch, losing patience, wiped his hand clean and pushed a spoon into it. “Use your spoon.”
Andrew dropped it onto the table, where it landed with a clatter. “I want to get down. I want to play cars.”
“Not until you use your manners and finish your dinner. Eat your apple slices.”
Andrew picked up one and threw it to the floor.
Mitch pointed his index finger at him. “Enough, Andrew!”
Andrew’s lower lip began to tremble, then his whole face crumpled. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and released a wail. Fat tears puddled in his sapphire eyes.
“Meltdown.” Mitch sighed. He pushed back his chair and stood. He lifted Andrew off the makeshift booster seat, a stack of old telephone directories, and hoisted him onto his hip.
