“Robert?” said Cousin Francis.

“O’Malley?” said the Byrne boy.

Bobby shifted the bag to cover his erection, and in his so doing,

the barrel of his shotgun slipped out of the bag’s open edge. He looked down at the gun and back up at the two men, who had become transfixed by the sight as an understanding dawned of exactly whom they now were facing. No longer would they see him as little Robert Spangler. He was new and newly powerful.

“I wondered when you’d show up,” she said, as if she were happy to see him, even as that magnificent tortured body involuntarily pulled away at the same time. “Unfortunately, Bobby, we have ourselves a problem.”

“You maybe,” said Bobby, “but I’ve never been better. Isn’t this cozy? A family reunion. But where was my invitation? Oh, that’s right, no Spanglers need apply. I haven’t seen you, Francis, in . . . oh, ages and ages. No time for your cousin?”

“What is going on, Robert?” said Francis. “What have you done?” “Only what I needed to do to protect the future you almost threw away on some Catholic-school skank. Isn’t that what family does? Though while I was out paving the way for your sparkling career, what was being done for me? Tell me, Francis, how have you shown your appreciation to the poor side of the family, you ungrateful snot?”

“Careful,” she said, as if she still had any hold on him. “Why should I be careful, Aunt Gloria? I’m sure we can speak freely. There are no secrets here. We’re all family. Except for Byrne, who has secrets of his own—like the one waiting for him outside.”

Bobby liked how Byrne’s face froze. It was the way you looked when your deepest secrets spilled out onto the floor like steaming intestines from a split gut.

“What are you talking about?” she said.

“Call me Bobby, my one true love, and I’ll slip you a treat when this is all over.”

“Robert, did you kill Colleen?” said Francis.

“That little whore?” said Bobby.

Francis’s face twisted into a politician’s pretend look of righteous anger, and he took a step forward toward Bobby, as if the mama’s boy had the wherewithal to do anything in support of his false emotions. Even so, just to freeze him in place, Bobby pulled the shotgun out of the bag. He dropped the bag and gave the gun a pump, loading a cartridge.

“Save your annoying Truscott self-righteousness for Meet the Press,” he spit out. “It’s amazing how ungrateful you can be when everything is handed to you on a silver serving dish. I did what I had to do to protect your career. I did what you would have wanted me to do if only you had the courage to see inside your blighted soul. And let me tell you something, Francis. Nothing cuts right to the core of your soul more than blood.”

“So who are you going to kill today?” said Byrne, stepping into a conversation in which he had no business. “Me?”

“Yes, for starters, you foolish tool. But I won’t stop there.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“Oh, I was, sweet Gloria, but I’m not anymore. The blood has changed me. Before, I wouldn’t have dared to walk into this house and take my rightful place by your side. But now I have the courage of a cougar, now I dance naked in the moonlight.”

“Stop talking like a cretin,” she said, her voice arrogant and dismissive even in its shaking. “And what happened to you? You look and smell like you rolled around in a garbage heap.” She waved at the air in front of her nose. “I think I’m going to be nauseous.”

“I would think you’d be proud of me, Auntie dear,” he said, “finally standing up for what’s mine, taking initiative, like you’ve always told me to do. But the truth is, right now I don’t give a damn what you think,” and he realized that, for the first time in his adulthood, he truly didn’t. He didn’t care about her or her disappointment or the favors she could grant. It was complete, the transformation, he was finally free of her power and his own failed expectations.

“Bobby dear—”

“Shut up,” he shouted as he waved the gun and watched them all pull away in fear. “I’m in control now, and I like it.” His head swam through the emotion that swelled over him in a glorious wave as he reached, he realized, the absolute pinnacle of his life. Everything before had been leading here, to this magnificent moment of freedom and retribution. “A Spangler is in control, and all of you, even you, sweet Aunt Gloria, will bow down in obeisance.”

“Mr. Spangler?”

He spun his head quickly toward the sound, and the sight was so out of place that it took him a while to process it. Two characters of dubious race, standing on either side of the wide doorway to the room. One was the woman who had come for him earlier, the policewoman, Ramirez, with her long neck and pretty face and something sticking out of her ear. He hadn’t noticed before that she was deaf. The other was a much older black man. Another police officer? Yes, of course, Bobby had seen him at the Toth funeral. And both of them, shockingly, had guns in their hands, and the guns were pointing at him. “Mr. Spangler,” said Detective Ramirez, “we need you to put the shotgun down.”

This was not in his plan. Everything had been going so well, but this was not in the plan. “Excuse me, Detective Ramirez,” he said, trying to keep the edge of hysteria that was now slicing through him out of his voice, “but I’m talking here. Can you give me a moment? Or will I have to start shooting?”

“You can have your moment, Mr. Spangler—Bobby,” said Ramirez. “You can take as long as you want to have your say. I guarantee it. But first you need to put down the gun.”

“Don’t worry, Detectives,” said Francis. “He won’t hurt me.” “Oh, yes I will, Francis, you little prick,” said Bobby with a jerk of the gun that aimed it right at Francis’s chest. “With relish. And mustard.” He turned his head to Ramirez and saw the fear crease her features, and that brought a calm. She hadn’t been afraid for herself, or for Byrne, or for the Qing vase in the corner. No, all she cared about, like everyone else, was the smarmy politician standing before him. It was funny how training a gun on a U.S. senator brought a flush of power. Life would be grand if he could only pull a shotgun on a senator every day. The truth of it caused him to smile.

“You don’t want to do this, Bobby,” said Ramirez.

“But I do, Detective, trust me on that. And what about our date? Are we still on?”

“Of course, Bobby,” she said with a false, nervous smile. Bobby liked that finally it was a woman who had the nervous smile instead of him. “Coffee, just as you said.”

“And more?” said Bobby.

“And more. Yes. So much more. But please, first, you need to put down the gun.”

“See, Aunt Gloria, and all this time you were worried that I didn’t get out enough. I guess all I needed was a twelve-gauge.”

“What is it that you want?” said Aunt Gloria.

“All I ever wanted was for you to honor me like you honored him.”