Along Came A Spider

CHAPTER 41

T ONE-THIRTY in the morning, Gary Soneji/Murphy walked out of a Motel 6 in Reston, Virginia. AHe caught his reflection in a glass door.

The new Gary-the Gary du jour-looked back at him. Black pompadour and a grungy beard; dusty shitkicker's clothes. He knew he could play this part. Put on an Old Dixie drawl. For as long as he needed to, anyway. Not too long. Don't anybody blink.

Gary got into the battered VW and started to drive. He was completely wired. He loved this part of the plan more than he loved his life. He couldn't separate the two anymore. This was the most daring part of the entire adventure. Real high-wire stuff.

Why was he so revved? he wondered as his mind drifted. Just because half the police and FBI bastards in the continental U.S.A. were out looking for him?

Because he'd kidnapped two rich brats and one had died? And the other-Maggie Rose? He didn't even want to think about that-what had really happened to her.

Darkness slowly changed to a soft gray velvet. He fought the urge to step on the gas and keep it floored. An orangish tinge of morning finally arrived as he drove through Johnstown, Pennsylvania.

He stopped at a 7-Eleven in Johnstown. He got out and stretched his legs. Checked how he looked in the VW Bug's dangling sideview mirror.

A scraggly country laborer looked back at him from the mirror. Another Gary, completely. He had all the country-hick mannerisms down cold; modified cowboy walk as if he'd been kicked by a horse; hands in pockets, or thumbs in belt loops. Finger-comb your hair all the time. Spit whenever you- get the chance.

He took a jolt of high-octane coffee in the convenience store, which was a questionable move. Hard poppy-seed roll with extra butter. No morning newspapers were out yet.

A dumb-shit, stuck-up female clerk in the store waited on him. He wanted to punch her lights out. He spent five minutes fantasizing about taking her out right in the middle of the podunk 7-Eleven.

Take off the little schoolgirl white blouse, honey. Roll it down to your waist. Okay, now I'm probably going to have to kill you. But maybe not. Talk to me nice and beg me not to. What are you-twenty-one, twenty? Use that as your emotional argument. You're too young to die, unfulfilled, in a 7-Eleven.

Gary finally decided to let her live. The amazing thing was that she had no idea how close she'd come to being killed.

“You have a nice day. Come back soon,” she said.

“You pray I don't.”

As Soneji/Murphy drove along Route 22, he let himself get angrier than he had been in a long time. Enough of this sentimentality crap. No one was paying attention to him-not the attention he deserved.

Did the major fools and incompetents out there think they had any chance of stopping him? Of capturing him on their own? Of trying him on national TV? It was time to teach them a lesson; it was time for true greatness. Zig when the world expects you to zag.

Gary Soneji/Murphy pulled into a McDonald's in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania. Children of all ages loved McDonald's, right? Food, folks, and fun. He was still pretty much on schedule. The “Bad Boy” was dependable in that regard-you could set your watch by him.

There was the usual meandering lunchtime crowd of dopes and mopes moving in and out of Mickey D's. All of them were stuck in their daily ruts and daily rutting. Shoveling down those Quarter Pounders and greasy string fries.

What was that old Hooters song-about all the zombies out there in Amerika? All you zombies? Walk like a zombie? Something about the millions of zombies out there. Gross understatement.

Was he the only one living near his potential? Soneji/ Murphy wondered. It sure as hell seemed that way. Nobody else was special the way he was. At least he hadn't met any of the special ones.

He turned into the McDonald's dining room. A hundred trillion McBurgers served, and still counting. Women were there in droves. Women and all of their precious children. The nest-builders; the trivializers; the silly gooses with their silly, floppy breasties.

Ronald McDonald was there, too, in the form of a sixfoot cutout shilling stale cookies to the kiddies. What a day! Ronald McDonald meets Mr. Chips.

Gary paid for two black coffees and turned to walk back through the crowd. He thought the top of his head was going to blow off. His face and neck were flushed. He was hyperventilating. His throat was dry, and he was perspiring too much.

“You all right, Sir?” the girl behind the register asked.

He didn't even consider answering her. You talkin' to me? Robert De Niro, right? He was another De Niro-no doubt about that-only he was an even better actor. More range. De Niro never took chances the way he did. De Niro, Hoffman, Pacino-none of them took chances and really stretched themselves. Not in his opinion.

So many thoughts and perceptions were crashing on him, deflecting off his brain. He had the impression that he was floating through a sea of light particles, photons, and neutrons. If these people could spend only ten seconds inside his brain, they wouldn't believe it.

He purposely bumped into people as he walked away from the McDonald's counter.

“Well, ex-cuse me,” he said after a jarring hipcheck.

“Hey! Watch it! C'mon, mister,” somebody said to him.

“Watch it yourself, you jerkoff.” Soneji/Murphy stopped and addressed the balding shitkicker he'd bumped. “What do I have to do to get a little respect? Shoot you in the right eyeball?”

He downed both hot coffees as he continued on through the restaurant. Through the restaurant, Through any people in his way. Through the cheesy Formica tables. Through the walls, if he really wanted to.

Gary Soneji/Murphy pulled a snub-nosed revolver from under his Windbreaker. This was it: the beginning of America's wake-up call. A special performance for all the kiddies and mommies.

They were all watching him now. Guns, they understood.

“Wake the fuck up!” he shouted inside the McDonald's dining room. “Hot coffee! Comin' through, you all! Wake up, and smell it!”

“That man has a gun!” said one of the rocket scientists eating a dripping Big Mac. Amazing that he could see through the greasy fog rising from his food.

Gary faced the room with the revolver drawn. “No one leaves this room!” he bellowed.

“You awake now? Are you people awake?” Gary Soneji/Murphy called out. "I think so. I think you're all with the program now.

“I'm in charge! So everybody stop. Look. And listen. ”

Gary fired a round into the face of a burger-chomping patron. The man clutched his forehead and wheeled heavily off his chair onto the floor. Now that got every-' body's attention. Real gun, real bullets, real life.

A black woman screamed, and she tried to run by Soneji. He leveled her with a gun butt to the head. It was a really cool move, he thought. Good Steven Seagal shit.

“I am Gary Soneji! I am Himself. Is that a mind p blower or what? You're in the presence of the world famous kidnapper. This is like a free -for-nothing dem onstration. So watch closely. You might learn some thing. Gary Soneji has been places, he's seen things you'll never see in your life. Trust me on that one.”

He sipped the last of his McCoffee, and over the rim of his cup watched the fast-food fans quiver.

“This” he finally said in a thoughtful manner, "is what they call a dangerous hostage situation. Ronald McDonald's been kidnapped, folks. You're now offi cially part of history.'