Spoonbenders

Teddy had known about the hole, he’d watched Buddy dig it, but he’d thought the kid had filled it in, not covered the trapdoor with turf. Somebody could have been killed!

“Can you climb out?” Graciella asked him.

“Hmm,” he said, as if seriously considering it. If he were younger, he might be able to scamper up those cross-braces until the handholds were blocked by the door, then leap manfully and pull himself up. He wondered if he’d ever been that young. Or manful.

Instead, he yelled for help. And again. Eventually two heads appeared at the lip of the grave: Archibald and Clifford.

“Is everyone okay?” Graciella said.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Archibald said.

Clifford said, “The shooting’s over. The police are here. Destin’s wounded, but he’s fine.”

“The children are fine, too,” Archibald said.

Graciella didn’t look relieved. “Get me out. Now.”

“Is there nobody under seventy up there?” Teddy asked.

“Do you want help or not?” Archibald said.

Teddy made a basket of his hands, and stooped to allow Graciella to step into it. The men above hauled her up and out. Goodness, she had lovely legs. He was almost sad that they hadn’t spent more time down here, trapped like miners after a cave-in. They could have bonded while they waited for lunch to be lowered on ropes.

Archibald and Cliff had to lie on their bellies to reach him. “Just a moment,” Teddy said. He plucked the Borsalino from where it had come to rest against the dirt wall. He brushed it off and set it firmly on his head.

“Now,” he said. The men pulled him up by both arms, and he felt the stitches of the sleeves of the DeBartolo popping at his shoulders.

Archibald and Cliff hauled him onto the grass like a porpoise from a tank. By the time he got to his feet, Graciella had reached the house, calling her sons’ names.

Then Teddy saw Buddy. Irene sat beside him, tears in her eyes.

Not Buddy, Teddy thought. He couldn’t take it if Buddy was hurt. He was their innocent. Maureen’s most beloved.

Teddy glared at Archibald. “I thought you said—”

“I meant the little children,” he said.

IRENE

She saw Dad and Graciella being pulled from the hole, and everything clicked. The evidence was laid out across the house and grounds. The instant sinkhole. The metal, ricochet-proof window blinds. The medal around his chest.

She leaned close to her brother. “You did this, didn’t you? You saw it all.”

“Is everybody okay?” he asked desperately.

“Everybody’s okay,” Joshua said. She looked up. He was studying her with a desperate, worried expression. Jun was at his side, holding a white puppy. Where the hell had that come from? And why hadn’t Joshua run? All this craziness, and he was worried about her. He’d come looking for her.

“How about Dad?” Buddy asked.

“He’s fine, Buddy! He’s fine!”

He burst into fresh tears.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, holding him. “You did good. Look, Dad’s coming.” He was marching toward them, scowling. Dad’s worried face was a lot like his angry face, so it was hard to read his mood.

“I saved one of them, at least,” he said.

“You saved them all, Buddy. All the—”

Oh. He meant one of his parents.

“I think I want to rest now,” he said.

“Just don’t go to sleep.”

“It’s not that kind of tired,” he said. “I can’t keep on like this. Knowing. I’m worried all the time.”

Oh God. All the time? This explained so much about Buddy.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know. Watching out for you guys—that was supposed to be my job.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t take it anymore.”

She heard the truth of it in his voice—and recoiled from it. “I know it feels that way right now,” she said. “But someday soon—”

“I don’t want to know about someday. I don’t want to know about any of it anymore. I just want it to…stop. There’s something you’re going to do for me now, Reenie.”

Dad said, “What the hell is he talking about?” He loomed over them, grimacing. Up close, there was no ambiguity: Buddy was distraught.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Archibald said.

“That thing,” Irene said to the magician. She glanced at his hand. “Does that work?”

“Absolutely,” Archibald said.

“You’re telling the truth,” Irene said. She wanted Buddy to hear that.

The pistol, this micro-lepton gun, looked like something she’d find at the Ben Franklin dime store when she was a kid. Irene reached up, palm open. Archibald’s eyes narrowed. Then he placed it in her hand.

The gun was surprisingly heavy. Buddy watched her as she weighed it.

“This is irrevocable,” Archibald said to Buddy. “Do you understand?”