Maybe

7

Miles Gundy (Felix).

WITH THE DERBY City Fair attack behind him, Miles knows the police will keep a close eye on plastic containers. That will last what, three weeks? In two months they’ll let their guard down, and if Miles is still alive, he’ll nail a public office building’s restroom. People are used to liquid soap. They won’t give it up without a fight.

State fair officials around the country will stop using hand sanitizers. Government offices might need a little extra coaxing.

Miles catches his reflection in the interior mirror of his Honda Accord and says, “You know what this means? It means you made a difference, Miles! You changed the system.”

He smiles.

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in central Tennessee, and everything’s going his way. He created mayhem in one state, today will make two. Miles slides a CD into the slot on the dashboard and jerks his body to the maniacal beat of his favorite tune, Demon Devil Dog, as it thunders from six speakers of surround sound. His Accord offers 160 watts of total stereo output, and Miles is leaving no watt unused.

At this decibel level, one tune’s enough. When the song’s last shriek dies down, Miles glances at the mirror and says, “From now on every man, woman, and child will have to stop and think before washing their hands in a public place. Something they took for granted their whole life will now be a source of fear.”

He nods at himself and adds, “Thanks to you.”

He cruises the tony neighborhood of Blair, a suburb of Nashville, till he sees what he’s looking for.

Balloons and a poster.

Balloons and a poster lets the whole world know a kid is having a birthday party. All you have to do is follow the arrow on the signs. Miles shakes his head in disbelief, thinking how the unsuspecting parents are leading him to the killing field. After today, no parent will dare put up balloons and a poster to direct guests to their children’s birthday parties.

State by state, event by event, Miles will change the way people live their lives.

What better way for a dying, unemployed chemist to achieve immortality?

Miles follows the posters to the party location, turns into the long driveway, parks by the other cars in the circle. He pops the trunk, removes a giant, double-stuffed cookie cake, and carries it to the front door.

He balances the giant cake in his left hand, while pressing the door bell with his right.

A bored teenager opens the door and directs him through the house to the backyard. As the children recognize the brightly-colored box, they rush to surround Miles. Two of the moms clear off a space on the poolside table to accommodate the cookie cake.

Miles’s eyes follow the movements of one of the moms, a pretty redhead, who looks up in time to catch him staring down her blouse. She gives him a disgusted look that shows what she thinks of a delivery man who’s crass enough to attempt a down-blouse while surrounded by children at a kids’ birthday party.

Miles smiles broadly and says, “Happy Birthday!” then leaves. No one thinks to ask if there’s a bill to pay. No one offers him a tip, or escorts him back through the house. As he stands in the kitchen, looking around, he considers sneaking through the house. He probably has time to do some truly dastardly things.

But why push his luck?

He works his way to the foyer, opens the front door, gets in his car, and backs out the driveway.

Miles purchased the pre-made cookie cake in a busy mall in Indianapolis two days ago. It’ll be slightly stale, but the kids won’t notice. They also won’t notice the miniscule amount of ricin poison Miles dusted over the top of the filling. It was a bitch getting the top layer of cookie off the cake and back on again, and it didn’t turn out quite as pretty as it was when purchased, but again, the kids won’t care.

Miles hopes the pretty redhead mom with the pale pink bra samples the cookie cake.