Rusty Nail

CHAPTER 8

ALEX CHECKS THE caller ID. It’s Jack Daniels.

Alex knows the number.

Alex knows a lot about Jack. Jack has been part of the plan from the very beginning.

It’s a little after ten p.m. and the lights are off in Diane’s house. This has been a good base of operations, but Alex knows it can’t last. Jack will come by eventually. She might even be on her way now.

What to do, what to do?

“An ounce of prevention,” Alex says, and smiles. In the bedroom are a suitcase and a trunk. Alex begins to pack – clothes, shoes, gear, the video recorder, all of the equipment. Alex takes it through the back door, through the yard, and into the tiny, unattached garage adjacent to the alley.

The trunk goes into the backseat of the rental car, and Alex finds a tire iron and a length of garden hose in the garage.

The car has a safety device in the gas tank that prevents siphoning, but Alex breaks through it with the crowbar. The hose snakes down the tank, and a few foul-tasting sucks on the other end brings forth the gas.

Alex fills two old buckets and a washtub, then removes the hose.

It takes two trips to carry the gas back to the house. Slosh-slosh-slosh. First the bedroom. Then the kitchen. Then the den. The place is filthy with Alex’s fingerprints, and this is much faster than wiping it all down.

When the gas has been poured, Alex begins to search Diane’s cabinets for matches. There’s a box on top of the refrigerator. Alex takes a deep breath, tastes gasoline fumes, and smiles.

The doorbell rings.

Jack.

Alex selects a matchstick and drags it along the side of the box, annoyed at the interruption.

Arson should be savored.

The match is dropped, igniting the linoleum floor with a soft whoomp.

Next to the sink is a semiautomatic pistol. Alex picks it up and walks into the living room, through a path in the flames, and waits patiently for Jack.