The wake-up

29

Thorpe knocked on the Meachums' front door this time. The curtains were drawn. He knocked again. "Ray?"

There had been too many unanswered knocks in the last twenty-four hours. First, Claire rapping on his door while he was busy with the Engineer last evening, Thorpe unwilling to let her in, as though the Engineer could see through the computer screen. Then afterward, he had gone over to her place, knocked, called out her name, but she didn't answer, either. He didn't blame her. Now it was Ray Bishop who wasn't responding.

Thorpe looked around. A man across the street was mowing his lawn with headphones on, grass spraying his shanks, oblivious to Thorpe and everything else. Thorpe went around back, uneasy now.

"Ray?" Thorpe knocked on the back door again. "It's Frank." Thorpe used a credit card to spring the lock. It was easy. He'd barely opened the door when he caught the smell and knew Bishop was dead.

Ray Bishop was sprawled beside the refrigerator, faceup, his head beaten in. Blood was everywhere-splashed on the floor, sprayed across the walls, dark fingers dripping down the stove and refrigerator like the hand of God. Not a forgiving God, though, but a raging, petulant God who smote believers and nonbelievers alike, women and children and tired old men who had turned their lives around.

Thorpe knelt beside him. Bishop's face was barely recognizable: swollen and bruised, crusted with black blood, his jaw shattered, the orbit of one eye caved in. A line of tiny red ants streamed from one of the baseboards, up Bishop's arm, and to the corner of his mouth. Thorpe flicked them away, but they kept coming, and he grew angrier, squashing them with his fingers, flattening them with his shoes, smearing them to paste. They would return-there were always more ants-but not for a while.

He kicked aside the blood-caked hammer on the floor, sent loose teeth caroming across the tile. Thorpe felt sick. He sat beside Bishop again, wondering what his last moments had been like. The knuckles on his right hand were raw-he had gotten a few punches in. It wasn't much consolation, but Bishop might have taken some small pleasure in that. He didn't go gently, and that was all Thorpe was hoping to ask for himself.

Vlad and Arturo must have come by a couple nights ago, right after Thorpe left… or maybe they had surprised Bishop the next morning, before Clark and Missy had had a chance to call them off. Thorpe was certain he had convinced those two, but Vlad and Arturo had already been told to kill Meachum, kill anyone else they had found there, and they had found Ray Bishop and pounded his skull apart. Bad timing.

Thorpe looked at Bishop's ruined face, forced himself not to turn away. "I'm sorry, Ray. I'm not sorry you were here… because you made that choice yourself, and it changed you, it changed you back, and I'm glad you got the chance, glad you took the chance, because there's not one in a hundred who would have done what you did." Thorpe's vision was blurry, hot tears running down his face, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm just sorry I wasn't here with you when they came."

Thorpe wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He cleared his throat, his voice a low rumble now, a prayer for the dead, and a promise. "I'm going to kill the men who did this to you, Ray. I give you my solemn word."

A lone red ant squeezed out from under the floorboard, started toward Bishop's body. He got halfway there before another ant emerged, antennae twitching. Then another. And another.

Thorpe couldn't even give Bishop a decent funeral, couldn't notify his family. If he called 911 to report the murder, the cops would be all over the house, and they would ask around until they found where Gina and Douglas Meachum were. The Meachums would have to fly home, right back into trouble. No, he was going to have to leave Bishop right where he was.

Thorpe watched the ants' slow progress while he considered what to do. By the time he crushed the first ant with a forefinger, he knew. He punched in the number on his cell phone, wiped his eyes again while it rang. "Hey, girl, it's Frank." He listened. "Yeah, well, I knew we'd be talking again, too. It's hard to say good-bye, isn't it?" He nodded. "Tell Clark there's been a change of plans… That's right. That's right. Tell him you won the bet, but don't tell me what it was. I don't think I could handle it." He laughed, his finger hovering over the second ant. "Look, I don't know if Clark wants to go after Guillermo… okay. Well, I'm glad you convinced him. I wanted to let you know that I'm available. I'll work with Vlad and Arturo; that's no problem." He pinched the red ant between his thumb and forefinger. "We can work out the finances later, but I want Guillermo taken care of. He thinks we're still working out our business arrangement, but I spotted one of his homeboys cruising my neighborhood a few minutes ago, and I don't think he's planning to deliver a Candygram."