"I was unaware."

He laughed at that.  "Arnold and me dragged his body back into some bushes behind the gas station and then we took off.  I never once saw an attendant or another customer."

"Lucky for you—this outfit you're traveling in isn't exactly inconspicuous."

"That's the whole idea."

I looked at him.  "What do you mean?"

He sighed, stretched his arms, cracked his knuckles.  "Grendel, he liked his red wine.  Liked to drink it almost all the time.  Sometimes he'd drink a little too much and get chatty.  Whenever that happened, he'd start going on about his 'methods,' about his 'modus operandi.'  Sick fuck actually thought the way he did things was admirable….

"When you first spotted us, what's the first thing that registered?"

"Silver," I said.  "The first thing was how bright the finish is.  Then I noticed that it was a VW Microbus.  Then I noticed the trailer."

"Right.  Now answer me this; if we hadn't slowed down so you could get a good look at Denise—be honest—would you have even noticed anyone inside?"

I thought about it for a moment.  "No, I don't think I would have."

"Which is exactly what Grendel counted on.  You know the two best ways not to get noticed?  Either be so bland you're invisible or stick out like a sore thumb.  This bus sticks out.  If people see anything, it's the bus, not who's driving."

"But that doesn't make sense.  A vehicle like this draws all kind of attention to itself.  You'd have to be stupid to use this for—oh, hang on…"

"Is that a light bulb I see over your head, Pretty Boy?  You already know the punchline, don't you?  That's right—any cop or Highway Patrol officer sees this thing, they think something like you just did:  'Anybody who'd drive something like that must be a damned careful motorist, it's not like they could blend into the traffic.'  They decide that someone would have to be stupid to break the law while driving this contraption, so they automatically dismiss it."

"Grendel couldn't possibly depend on that being the case every time he went out."

Christopher laughed quietly.  "Then you want to tell me why he was never caught or so much as pulled over?  These are the only wheels he used.  Every time he ran one of his 'errands,' it was in this.  Fifteen years, Pretty Boy.  Thirty-seven kids.  Six different states that I know of.  Any cop runs these plates, this thing is cleaner than a nun's fantasies—I got that line from an old Robert Ryan movie.  Everything's registered in the name 'Beowulf Antiquities, Inc.'—which also explains the trailer to them, as well as why the windows are covered up on the inside; after all, if you're moving valuable antiques, you don't want the wood finish to be harmed by harsh sunlight, do you?  So this thing sticks out like nobody's business and draws all kinds of attention to itself and yet somehow never got noticed.  As crazy as it sounds, it works."

"God," I said, shaking my head.  "Is that also why all of you dress the way you do?"

"Bingo.  I blend into to any background, completely forgettable.  Rebecca's an average-sized teenage girl with lots of long, dark hair.  And Arnold is just a black kid in a white shirt."

"You learned all of this from Grendel?"

"No, we signed up for correspondence courses.  I got a 'B.'"

"Sorry.  Dumb question."

"Anything else on your mind?"

"I have to call my wife.  I promised I'd call her.  If I don't call, she'll call the motel and when I don't answer the phone—"

"Easy there, partner.  I know you have to call her, I was listening, remember?"  He pulled the cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and raised the antennae.  "Looks like we got a nice, strong signal."  He began handing it to me, then stopped.  "You tell her everything's okay, you're tired, and just wanted to say good night.  You'll see her when you get home tomorrow night."

"Will I?  See her tomorrow night?"

"Unless you give me a reason to make it otherwise."

I took the phone from him.  "Were you really trying to hit me when you took that shot back in the room?"

He stared at me, unblinking.  "I can't think of one good reason I should answer that."

I punched in our number, praying that I'd get the voicemail; I'm a lousy liar and Tanya can spot my bullshit without breaking a sweat.

"Hello?"

For the first time in our marriage, I was almost sorry to be talking to my wife.  "Hey, honey, it's me."

"Hello, stranger.  Everyone's fine.  Gayle and the kids are asleep.  I got someone a spiffy new cell phone, you're welcome."

"Terrific.  How was the drive?"

"The Columbus airport's a pain in the ass but what else is new?  Traffic wasn't too bad once we got onto the highway.  The kids kept going on about being so high up in the air—this was their first time on a plane.  You should've seen the way they carried on about it.  God, I'd forgotten how cute those two are.  How're you doing?"

"I'm okay.  I'm tired.  Tomorrow's going to be a long day.  I probably won't get in until late."

"Were you able to rent a car in Jefferson City?"

My balls jumped up somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.

It's amazing just how quickly you can disintegrate into total unreasonable panic:  Tanya had asked a simple question, one that let me know she'd spoken to either Edna or Earl at the motel, which meant they'd told her I wasn't there, which meant Tanya might think I still was in Jefferson City, or that someone else might have already checked my room and seen the mess and the blood, which meant the State Police might have already issued an APB, which-meant-which-meant-or-or-or-or-OR.

It must have registered all over my face, because suddenly Christopher was leaning over and mouthing What is it?

Your note I mouthed in return, then said:  "Uh, yeah.  Sort of.  The rental place I found won't have a car available until after noon tomorrow."

"That's fine.  Every little delay just gives me more fuel to burn Perry's ass with.  By the way—what did you mean about criminal charges?"

"I'll explain when I get home."  Christopher grabbed my wrist and turned the cell phone away from my ear so he could listen in.

"Are you back at the motel now?"

I drew a blank.  I looked at Christopher.  He seemed to be caught off-guard, as well.

I was on my own here.  Wonderful.

"Mark?  You still there, baby?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still here… uh, what'd you say?  I didn't hear you."

"Where are you, anyway?  Back at the motel?"

I'd lied to her once already and her bullshit alarm hadn't gone off yet, so I had no choice but to press my luck.  "No, I'm still in Jefferson City but I'm going to be heading back to the motel here pretty soon.  I… I ran into a delivery guy who's taking stuff over to Muriel's restaurant."

"Muriel?  Oh, right, right—Cletus's girlfriend."

Damn, they were a talkative bunch.  I kept waiting for Tanya to ask me about Denise, but she never did; which meant no one had told her about it, which meant that the State Police had told everyone to keep it to themselves for the time being, which meant—

"Mark?  Hello, Earth to Mark."

"I'm sorry, babe.  I'm using a cell phone and it keeps going fuzzy on me.  Look, I gotta go, my ride's getting ready to leave.  I really need to get back and get some sleep.  I'll call you if anything else happens—but if you don't hear from me, it means everything's fine, okay?"