CHAPTER 28

.....Tanya didn’t take her time dressing. She pulled up her jeans quietly, buttoned her blouse with efficiency.
.....She paused by the door, looking back to where Crawford lay on the bed. The sheet was pulled up to his bare chest and he stared up at the ceiling.
.....“This was an only time, Roy,” she murmured. “We have to live in this town together, you, me... and Dan, and we don’t need the complications.”
.....She waited, and finally he nodded. The door closed quietly behind her. The scent of Sand and Sable remained.
.....He could hear the faint sounds of her retrieving her bicycle from the side of the house, and the faint purr of the chain as she pedaled away.
.....He rolled over and grabbed the cigarettes and lit one up, eyeing the answering machine idly as he did so.
.....No messages.
.....He paused in mid drag, looking at the machine. There was never no messages. Every time he walked through the door and keyed the machine, he would have to sit through minutes of trivial bullshit, from asinine complications at the station to even more asinine complaints from the citizenry.
.....He vaguely remembered fumbling to turn the ringer of the telephone off, but...
.....He grabbed the cord from the machine and it trailed up easily, the mount hanging loose as he pulled it free.
.....“Fuck me.”
.....He turned on the ringer to the telephone and it immediately began to scream at him.

.....The milling mass of the news crews turned as the black-and-white Humvee roared across the football field, emergency lights flashing and siren wailing. Sod flew, rudely uprooted from the lovingly tended green and flung from the tires in its wake. Cameras swung around to capture the department brand on the side as it careened by to slide to a halt near the ambulance.
.....The sheriff swung out of the vehicle and bolted towards the crime scene, leaving the door open behind him and lights still spinning.
.....Cops moved in to meet him.
.....The news jackals grabbed their equipment and followed.
.....Clyde met him first. “Jesus, Roy! Where the fuck have...”
.....Crawford’s gaze was locked on the school. “Where’s Pierce?”
.....“...you been?”
.....“Is Pierce okay?” Crawford demanded as Clyde fell in beside him, matching the sheriff’s pace towards the rear of the building.
.....“He’s not here.”
.....Crawford stopped and swung around on the deputy. “Not here? Are you sure?”
.....Clyde’s brow furrowed as he concentrated. “Yeah. He was here, but after we did a body count...”
.....“Body count?” Crawford held up a palm, eyes closed. “How many?”
.....“Just one... the shooter.” Clyde smiled. He was on the ball again, or rather, on the eightball that he had managed to sneak in just before the sheriff arrived. “We nailed the son-a-bitch just as he was gettin’ ready to shoot the Ziegler boy.”
.....Crawford sighed in relief, then eyed the school. “Was Pierce here at all?”
.....“Yeah,” the deputy nodded. “But he must have got out once the shooting started. He got his girlfriend out and then he just disappeared.”
.....“Disappeared? What...”
.....That was all he managed before the media fell on him.

.....“How many are dead?”
.....“Did the shooter have a history of violence?”
.....“Were any of the victims sexually molested?”
.....“Is there anything that could have been done to prevent this?”

.....A chopper emblazoned with a FOX News logo roared past overhead, swinging around to get another shot of the high school as the bustle of the hectic Crime Scene continued below. Another wave of dust blew across any evidence that might have been found.
.....Parked behind the school, the rear doors of the ambulance hung open. The two EMTs gripped the gurney on either side as they rattled it down the stair leading from the exit. No delicacy was needed and none given as they rolled it up to the vehicle. A zipper was slid shut over a blood-stained sheet, and the gurney was manhandled in. The doors slammed shut and the paramedics rounded the vehicle and climbed in.
.....The ambulance took off, the sirens left untouched.
.....There was no rush.
.....As Roy watched the vehicle pull away, he turned at the sound of his name. Kyle was moving hurriedly towards him with a plastic bag in hand. Despite the exertion, the man seemed pleased about his delivery.
.....“Sheriff?” he gasped. “We got the shooter’s wallet.”
.....Roy nodded and took the package from the deputy. He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, opened the baggie and pulled out the wallet.
.....He slid out the driver’s license.
.....He looked at it and took a breath, held it, and then exhaled. The corner of his mouth twitched, but otherwise his face revealed nothing.
.....He slid the ID back in its slot and tucked the wallet inside his jacket.
.....“Uh, Sheriff? That’s...”
.....Roy slugged him and Kyle’s ass hit the dirt for the second time in as many days. As the cop sat up again, rubbing his chin and regarding Roy with kicked puppy dog eyes, the sheriff stared off at nothing in particular, the wheels turning...
........and turning...
.....He didn't notice the brief wash of breeze from the shockwave that ruffled his hair, snapped at his clothes...
........ but the dull WHUP of the explosion that followed a millisecond later caught his attention. Every car alarm in a five block radius began to wail, a cacophony of various electronic cries that someone was trying to steal goodies, each trying to drown the others out.
.....Kyle's puppy eyes went wider as he looked across the football field and Crawford followed his gaze.
.....A small mushroom cloud was uncurling up into the air, roots concealed by the buckled cyclone fence that ran along Pine Street on the other side of the field. The plastic slats that had been wove between the links in school colors fluttered in the backwash of the freshly stoked furnace.
.....Kyle was already off his feet and bolting towards the new source of aggravation, making good time for a man packing fifty pounds excess weight. His waddling sprint would have looked pretty silly if the situation wasn't so damned dire.
.....Whatever he'd done wrong in the sheriff's eyes, the man was full on intent in rectifying it.
.....All Sheriff Roy Crawford had left to summon up was a tired sigh. Now what?

.....Straw Hat had slowed the white Econoline down as he cruised Pine Street, eyeing the avenue for Clyde's Humvee.
.....Whatever kind of hell was going down in the high school, at least he was making some amount of bank out of it. Clyde was already down for almost a grand in crystal meth for the day, and the day was nowhere near over.
.....Five minutes before, his "Achy Breaky Heart" ringtone had alerted him that Clyde was up for another bindle. Maybe two or three. Business was good. Maybe he'd get one of those new plasma screens out of the day. That'd be nice... football was just around the corner.
.....Just around the corner on Second Street, Omkar Singh paused his Metro at the stop sign, glanced both ways and hung a left onto Pine.
.....After the swarm of media had locked up every free room at the Watergate, he'd been idling in frustration up until Room 22 had dropped by to let him know that he'd be checking out the next morning. The man hadn't met his gaze and he had walked funny as he exited the lobby.
.....Singh was piqued. A assistant producer for MSNBC had just left the lobby, leaving behind a standing offer for a bed, any bed. With 22 staying on until 11am the next day, that was $480.01 out of his pocket.
.....He sighed. That was that, then. Done with handling the money for the day, he posted his cleaning girl at the desk to handle any complaints about television reception or lack of towels and headed out to the school for a look-see himself.
.....He took the back way to avoid traffic.
.....Singh glanced at the radio dial as he twisted the knob in search of better coverage. The speakers hissed and spat at him, the reception no better in the Metro than it had been at the motel.
.....Parked at the intersection of Fifth and Pine, Clyde dropped the Humvee in gear as he saw the Econoline near, slow down for the hand-off.
.....As he pulled onto Pine, the thought crossed his mind that with the chaotic events of the day distracting everyone from the small stuff, he might use the window to do something about his accomplice in the matter of that asshole from the night before. Not that he didn't trust the man to keep his lips shut, but on the quiet ride back he'd dropped a hint that for services rendered, his own services might be running a little dearer from then on.
.....Asshole. It wasn't as if it were all that hard to find another source—
.....Singh looked up from the radio to see the ass-end of the suddenly parked Econoline rushing up at him through the windshield. The first thing that went through his mind was a signal to his foot to hit the brakes. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, but the signal didn't make it the rest of the way.
.....At twenty miles an hour, the impact wasn't much of a jolt. But it was enough to set the rolling meth lab off like a small blockbuster bomb.
.....The last thing that went through Singh's mind was a million tiny beads of white hot glass as the windshield of the Metro vaporized in the fireball.
.....Three blocks from the epicenter, the blast knocked the Humvee sideways and dropped a rear wheel in the gutter. There was shattered safety glass in Clyde's lap and his ears were ringing. Mouth dry, he watched the fireball eat itself and then settle back down into the remains of the van. The mushroom cloud belched up from what was left of the vehicle, sides flayed out and down like a scorched banana peel. The roof fluttering off to settle onto the playing field.
.....The only thing on Clyde's mind was the question of where he was going to get more lines to get him through the rest of the day.