out that Mom is a crook.”

I said, “Well, you would still have a hundred million, a fortune.

But you’re sure you don’t want to tell the Brienings to just shove it and let the chips fall where they may? The DA is unlikely to go after an old lady in a nursing home with a failing memory.”

“No, but it’s people’s opinions. All the other Van Horns besides myself have always been respectable. Respectability sucks as far as I am concerned. I’d rather not be — what did Quentin call it? — some boring old assimilationist. But people should get to choose for themselves. I got to choose who I got to be, and Miriam and Nelson and Lewis and even Yawn should also get to choose who they want to be. It’s only fair.”

“Hunny, you are a kind man,” Art said. “Even to your relatives.”

“So,” Hunny said, “here’s what I would like to do, Donald.

Please accompany me tomorrow morning out to Cobleskill. Let’s see if the evil Brienings will take nine hundred million. That would leave me with enough to give a million each to thirty or forty of the nice folks out at the warehouse — not including Dave DeCarlo — and also pay off Stu Hood his thousand and even Mason Doebler his thousand. Plus put the twins through medical school, and replace the tires on the Explorer, and a few other odds and ends. And if the Brienings won’t accept that deal, then fuck ‘em — they can have the whole billion. Just so they give back Mom’s confession and promise in writing never to bother her or me again. And I would go back to work at BJ’s, and I would see if I can get my pretty darn good life back the way it was before the skies opened up and started raining shit.”

Art said, “Instead of men.”

There was a long, sad silence.

“I’m so sorry, Hunny,” I said, “that I was so little help to you.”

“Oh, you’ve been a godsend, Donald, in so many ways.

Except for one little thing you don’t seem to be willing to go along with, even in return for your fat fee.”

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t been a total disappointment.”

196 Richard Stevenson

“I think you need a drink.”

“I don’t care for the hard stuff. I just never developed a taste for it. But I wouldn’t mind a beer and sitting out on the front porch with the security guys for a while and relaxing. It’s such a nice night out.”

Art brought some cold beer up from the old fridge they kept in the cellar, and we went out with Marylou and the twins and sat on the porch steps and watched the bugs throw themselves maniacally against the streetlights.

ChAPteR twenty-nine

I thought I heard drumming but soon realized it was someone banging on the door of Hunny and Art’s guest room. I had locked the door and gone to sleep instantly after two bottles of Sam Adams, but now it was six twenty Wednesday morning and Hunny was pounding on the door yelling, “Donald! Donald, girl, wake up!”

“Huh? Coming.”

“It’s Mom! They found Mom, and we’re going to drive up and get her.”

“Oh, good. Where is she?” I yanked some pants on and opened the door.

“She’s at the Super 8 in Lake George. With Tex Clermont, just like you said. And that Mexican.”

“Great.”

Hunny was in his boxers and sleeveless undershirt and was red-eyed but animated. He said, “One of Tom In Paine’s people nailed her and called the cops, so I guess we can’t hate Bill O’Malley and those terrible tea-baggers too much.”

“I guess not. Is coffee made? I’ll be down in a minute.”

“There’s one other thing though, Donald.” Hunny lowered his eyes and his head got a little wobbly.

“Is your mother all right?”

“Yes, it’s not Mom. That Albany police detective called. He wants to talk to me. To you, too. He’s coming over, so we have to get out of here before he gets here. I just want to hug Mom before I have to deal with anything else.”

“What’s the problem now? Is it the Brienings?”

Hunny looked at me queasily. “Yes and no.”

“So, what happened?”

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“Crafts-a-Palooza burned down overnight.”

“Oh. Oh my.”

“The TV news says the police think it was arson.”

“Oh.”

“The whole mall went up in smoke and is totally destroyed.

Subway too. Though they think it started at Crafts-a-Palooza.

Both in the front and back.”

“Right. Was anybody hurt?”

“No. A fireman got scratched or something.”

“At least there were no injuries or deaths. The Brienings weren’t in there, were they?”

“No, they were at home.”

“Well, at least there’s that.”

“Are you thinking what I am thinking, Donald?”

“Sure.”

“Will we have to tell the police?”

“I think so.”

“I hate to. Stu is just a fucked-up kid.”

“I know, but he could kill people again.”

“I almost wish the Brienings were in there. I thought of what their little charred corpses would look like. But then I felt ashamed.”

“I guess now they’ll really be on the rampage. But we’ll deal with them. The important thing is that your mom is okay. Let me get dressed and then we’ll head up to Lake George. Is your mother in police custody?”

“Yes, her and Tex and Herero. Can I just have a hug before you put your shirt on?”

I hugged Hunny and kissed him lightly on the nape of the neck. Then he turned and clomped down the stairs and I headed into the bathroom.

§ § § § §

CoCkeyed 199

During the hour-plus ride up to Lake George, my cell phone rang four times. One call was from Timmy, who asked if I had heard the news. I said I sure had. The three other calls were form Lieutenant Card Sanders, and I didn’t answer those. The messages he left, each one in a more urgent tone than the last, demanded that I contact him immediately. Poor guy. Dealing with celebrities could be such a hassle.

Hunny had spoken with Nelson, who was also en route to Lake George, and with his sister Miriam, who was terrified that the Brienings might not wait to be paid off but might just call the DA and announce to the world that Mrs. Van Horn was a

“lowlife.”

Art said, “Maybe you could get Stu Hood to burn your sister’s house down, Hunny. With her in it.”

“Artie, luv, don’t say that. Miriam is a bitch, but she is family.”

“I’m so glad I am an only child. Mom and Dad had me, and I guess then they said maybe we could do better, but let’s not press our luck.”

Hunny had learned from Nelson that the renegade oldsters and their pal Herero were at the Lake George police station, and my GPS led us there directly. An old Dodge Dart with Texas tags was parked out front next to two police cruisers, and Hunny said,

“That clunker must belong to the Mexican.”

We were led into a small conference room that smelled of stale coffee, and no more than a minute after we were seated there was a commotion in the corridor and two uniformed officers led an older, wrinklier, female version of Hunny into the room.

The cops politely went out and closed the door behind them as Hunny leaped to his feet and yelled, “Mom! Mom!” and grabbed the old lady and kissed her on one cheek and then the other cheek and then the first one again.

“Oh, Huntington, what a surprise this is! I’m having such a fabulous time, Hunny, and it’s so nice that you and Arthur could pop in and share it with us. We’ve been having soooo much fun! I never thought I would have this much fun again — stuck in that 200 Richard Stevenson

stinky old home — but Tex and Herero rescued my bored-to-tears old bones for this little vacation from old age, bless their hearts.”

Mrs. Van Horn was gotten up in a chic box-seat-at-Saratoga outfit, beige silk slacks and top, pearl earrings and a Texas-style big-hair do that in no way resembled the old-lady perm in her photos. The hair-do may have been the reason no one recognized her before Tom In Paine’s snitch zeroed in on the Golden Gardens runaway.