Night Shift
Page 39

“What does that mean?” he asked, and to Fiji’s chagrin, he looked suspicious and wounded.
She stood and came around the counter, and to her own astonishment, she put her arms around him. After a second, he hugged her back, and it was a moment both of great contentment and great regret.
“I haven’t been living up to my potential,” Fiji said against his chest. “It’s time to become what I was supposed to be.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Finally Bobo said, “I hope whatever you become, you will remember . . .” And then he couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, and Fiji was left to wonder how it would have ended.
“I’ll see you later,” Bobo said quietly. “You know I’m there.”
And with that, he was gone.
 
 
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In the kitchen of the diner, Teacher said to Madonna, “She almost caught me going through her drawers. If I hadn’t taken off my shoes . . .”
Madonna was staring at him, and her expression wasn’t happy. “You took a foolish chance,” she said. “What did you hope to find, searching her house? Fiji is as sweet as candy and harmless as a mouse.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. He didn’t often say that to his wife, but when he did, she listened. “I know you don’t believe in half the stuff that goes on in this town, but that Fiji can do some serious shit. You didn’t see that private eye after Fiji got mad at her.”
“You’re right,” Madonna said, glaring at him. “I don’t believe half you tell me. This is a crazy place, and the sooner we get out of here, the better. I can’t believe we haven’t gotten a million questions. These people aren’t dumb.”
“You like the café. You told me so. You like the work.”
“Yeah, I do. But we’re not moving forward.” Forward momentum was key to Madonna, whose father had been a garbage truck driver in Dallas. “We can’t stay here. As soon as the job is over, we have to get out of here. Sooner or later, they’re going to cotton to who and what we are.”
“You really believe they don’t already suspect?” Teacher looked incredulous.
“They don’t,” she said, as if it were chiseled in stone.
“But honey . . . These aren’t normal people with normal resources.”
His wife gave a scornful snort. “Yeah, like I believe that some magic person casting some spell is gonna make us look normal to the natives.”
Madonna went back to work serving dinner. Grady was occupied with smearing his mashed potatoes all over the counter and occasionally putting a piece of carrot in his mouth.
Teacher said, “I’m going to file a report.”
“Fix that drawer in the kitchen that keeps sticking,” Madonna said.
“Okay.”
“There’s plenty of leftover roast beef for a sandwich,” she reminded him.
“Thanks, babe,” he said, and went out the back door.
When Madonna closed the restaurant that night a little after eight o’clock, she scooped up Grady and stepped out the same door. She locked it, having to fumble because she couldn’t see. “Huh,” she muttered. Madonna turned to find that the trailer was dark. This was so unusual that she froze in place for a moment. Grady said, “Mama?” and gripped her a little more tightly.
The door to the trailer was unlocked, so Teacher had made it across the few intervening yards. Cautiously, Madonna reached a hand in to flip the light switch by the door. “Teacher?” she called. A groan answered her.
Teacher was curled in a ball on the living room floor, gasping with pain.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God. Grady, Mama’s putting you in your room while I take care of Daddy, okay?”
Grady protested, shrieking, but Madonna detached him from her neck and put him in his crib, shutting the door behind her to muffle his high-decibel yells.
Back in the living room, she threw herself on her knees by Teacher. He knew she was there. He reached toward her.
“What’s wrong?” Madonna asked, crouching on the floor by her husband. “Teach, what’s wrong?”
“Pain,” he whispered. “Pain.”
“I’m calling 911,” Madonna said. “Get you an ambulance.”
He shook his head. “Noooo,” he whispered.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Payback,” he said, after gathering himself.
“What you mean?”
He whimpered. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it until she winced.
“You mean Fiji is doing this to you?”
He managed to nod.
“I’m gonna kill that bitch,” Madonna said, reaching for her purse, where she always carried a gun.
Again, he shook his head vehemently. And he drew a long, shuddering breath. He was able to take Madonna’s hand.
“Why not?”
Teacher’s body eased. “She caught me, and she’s warning me,” he said. “Fair and square.” He took another deep breath, relaxed a bit more. “It’s going away. It’s over.”
When Teacher could stand, Madonna helped him into bed. He told her three times that he’d be fine after a full night’s sleep. “This has to stop now,” he warned her, before he closed his eyes. “No dosing her food or giving her the stink-eye.”
“But—”
“But nothing. She’s not our target. I took a stupid risk and I got caught. I showed her my hand and got nothing in return.”
Madonna looked down at him. “What kind of thing did you think you might find?”
“Some kind of clue why all the suicides are happening,” Teacher said. “Some kind of reason. You can’t tell me that isn’t some kind of mystical shit. And Fiji is the witch, so I figured the two things must be tied together.”
“She can’t be causing them,” Madonna said. “That’s just not her.”
“Well, I would have said the same thing right up until an hour ago,” Teacher said, wincing as he eased into a more comfortable position.
Madonna cocked her head. From the silence, Grady had cried himself to sleep. She would skip his bath and his toothbrush tonight in favor of letting him stay that way. She raised a finger to her husband and slipped into the toddler’s room to pull a blanket over him. She tiptoed out without waking him, to her relief.