He quickly turned off the engine and raised his hands. The other driver did the same. In a scratchy whine he said, “Geez, what’s your problem?”
Winder held the semi-automatic steady. He was surprised at how natural it felt. He said, “Is this what it takes to have a civilized conversation with you shit-heads?”
Quickly he checked over his shoulder to make sure the kits hadn’t crawled from the den. The outlandish-ness of the situation was apparent, but he’d committed himself to melodrama. With the gun on display, he was already deep into felony territory.
The smartass driver apologized profusely for burying Winder’s shoes. “I’ll buy you some new ones,” he offered.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Winder yearned to shoot the bulldozers but he didn’t know where to begin; the heavy steel thoraxes looked impervious to cannon fire.
The lazy driver said: “You want us to get down?”
“Not just yet,” said Joe Winder, “I’m thinking.”
“Hey, there’s no need to shoot. Just tell us what the hell you want.”
“I want you to help me fuck up these machines.”
It was nine o’clock when the knock came. Joe Winder was sitting in the dark on the floor of the apartment. He had the clip out of the gun, and the bullets out of the clip. A full load, too, sixteen rounds; he had lined up the little rascals side by side on a windowsill, a neat row of identical copper-headed soldiers.
The knocking wouldn’t go away. Winder picked up the empty gun. He went to the door and peeked out of the peephole. He saw an orb of glistening blond; not Nina-style blond, this was lighter. When the woman turned around, Winder flung open the door and pulled her inside.
In the darkness Carrie Lanier took a deep breath and said: “I hope that’s you.”
“It’s me,” Joe Winder said.
“Was that a gun I saw?”
“I’m afraid so. My situation has taken a turn for the worse.”
Carrie said, “That’s why I came.”
Winder led her back to the living room, where they sat between two large cardboard boxes. The only light was the amber glow from the stereo receiver; Carrie Lanier could barely hear the music from the speakers.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” she asked.
“Moved out.”
“I’m sorry.” She paused; then, peering at him: “Is that a beret?”
“Panties,” Joe Winder said. “Can you believe it—that’s all she left me. Cheap ones, too. The mail-order crap she sold over the phone.” He pulled the underwear off his head to show her the shoddy stitching.
“You’ve had a rough time,” said Carrie Lanier. “I didn’t know she’d moved out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m doing just fine. Adjusting beautifully to the single life. Sitting here in a dark apartment with a gun in my lap and underpants on my head.”
Carrie squeezed his arm. “Joe, are you on drugs?”
“Nope,” he said. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
“I think you should come home with me.”
“Why?”
“Because bad things will happen if you stay here.”
“Ah.” Winder scooped the bullets off the windowsill and fed them into the gun clip. “You must be talking about Pedro Luz.”
“It’s all over the Magic Kingdom,” Carrie said, “about the reasons you were fired.”
“Mr. X doesn’t kill his former employees, does he?”
She leaned closer. “It’s no joke. The word is, you’re number one on Pedro’s list.”
“So that’s the word.”
“Joe, I get around. Spend the day in a raccoon suit, people forget there’s a real person inside. I might as well be invisible—the stuff I pick up, you wouldn’t believe.”
The spy wore a tail! “And now you hear Pedro’s irritated.”
“I got it from two of the other guards on lunch break. They were doing blow behind the Magic Mansion.”
Winder was struck by how wonderful Carrie looked, her eyes all serious in the amber light. Impulsively he kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “You can go home.”
“You aren’t listening.”
“Yes, I—”
“No, you aren’t.” Her tone was one of motherly disapproval. “I warned you about this before. About sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“You did, yes.”
“Last time you were lucky. You truly were.”