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.For the last twelveyears of her life she d been in andout of spin-dry facilities.Accordingto an acquaintance (she seemedto have no friends), she had triedAA and decided it wasn t for her.Too much holy-rolling.She hadbeen arrested for DUI half a dozentimes.She had lost her licenseafter each of the last two, but inboth cases it had been restored,the second time by specialpetition.She needed her licenseto get to her job at the fertilizerfactory in Bainbridge, she toldJudge Wallenby.What she didn ttell him was that she had lost thejob six months previous& andnobody checked.Candy Rymerwas a booze-bomb waiting to gooff, and the explosion was nowvery close.The story hadn t mentionedher home address in Montgomery,but it didn t need to.In whatWesley considered a ratherbrilliant piece of investigativejournalism (especially for theEcho), the reporter had retracedCandy s final binge, from The PotO Gold in Central City to TheBroken Windmill in Eddyville toBanty s Bar in Hopson.There thebartender was going to try to takeher keys.Unsuccessfully.Candywas going to give him the fingerand leave, shouting  I m donegiving my business to this dive!back over her shoulder.That wasa t seven o clock.The reportertheorized that Candy must havepulled over somewhere for a shortnap, possibly on Route 124,before cutting across to Route 80.A little further down 80, she wouldmake her final stop.A fiery one.Once Robbie put thethought in his head, Wesley keptexpecting his always-trustworthyChevrolet to die and coast to astop at the side of the two-laneblacktop, a victim of either a badbattery or the Paradox Laws.Candy Rymer s taillights woulddisappear from view and theywould spend the following hoursmaking frantic but useless calls(always assuming their phoneswould even work out here in thewilliwags) and cursing themselvesfor not disabling her vehicle backin Eddyville, while they still had achance.But the Malibu cruised aseffortlessly as always, without asingle gurgle or glitch.He stayedabout half a mile behind Candy sExplorer. Man, she s all over theroad, Robbie said. Maybe she llditch the damn thing before shegets to the next bar.Save us thetrouble of slashing her tires. According to the Echo,that doesn t happen. Yeah, but we know thefuture s not cast in stone, don twe? Maybe this is another Ur, orsomething.Wesley didn t think itworked that way with UR LOCAL,but he kept his mouth shut.Eitherway, it was too late now.Candy Rymer made it toBanty s without going in the ditchor hitting any oncoming traffic,although she could have doneeither; God knew she had enoughclose calls.When one of the carsthat swerved out of her waypassed Wesley s Malibu, Robbiesaid:  That s a family.Mom, Pop,three little kids goofin around inthe back.That was when Wesleystopped feeling sorry for Rymerand started feeling angry at her.Itwas a clean, hot emotion thatmade his pique at Ellen feel paltryby comparison. That bitch, he said.Hisknuckles were white on thesteering wheel. That drunkenwho-gives-a-shit bitch.I ll kill her ifthat s the only way I can stop her. I ll help, Robbie said, thenclamped his mouth so tightly shuthis lips nearly disappeared.They didn t have to kill her,and the Paradox Laws stoppedthem no more than the lawsagainst drinking and driving hadstopped Candy Rymer on her tourof southern Kentucky s moredesperate watering holes.The parking lot of Banty sBar was paved, but the bucklingconcrete looked like somethingleft over from an Israeli bombingraid in Gaza.Overhead, a fizzingneon rooster flashed on and off.Hooked in one set of its talonswas a moonshine jug with XXXprinted on the side.The Rymer woman sExplorer was parked almostdirectly beneath this fabulous bird,and by its stuttering orange-redglow, Wesley slashed open theelderly SUV s front tires with thebutcher knife they had brought forthat express purpose.As thewhoosh of escaping air hit him, hewas struck by a wave of relief sogreat that at first he couldn t get upbut only hunker on his knees like aman praying. My turn, Robbie said, anda moment later the Explorersettled further as the kid puncturedthe rear tires.Then came anotherhiss.He had put a hole in thespare for good measure.By thenWesley had gotten to his feet. Let s park around to theside, Robbie said. I think webetter keep an eye on her. I m going to do a lot morethan that, Wesley said. Easy, big fella.What areyou planning on? I m not planning.I mbeyond that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]