Where Serpents Lie (Revised March 2013) Read Online Free

Frances sitting in their car, just beyond the cinder-block wall that ended the backyard. I pictured Louis in the black antmobile, dressed in his exterminator’s costume with his automatic in the big radio holster. I pictured Lauren sitting on her bed, watching videos, drinking milk and bourbon to dull her nerves against the things to come.
    Marlon drained his fifth or sixth highball. He finished grilling me about stock market ideas and asked if the Brandywine Fund is really all it’s cracked up to be. He paused, then laughed overloud when I told him it was a good fund, but too much of it could impair his ability to drive or operate machinery. His face was covered in a light brown beard that matched his hair, and the whole thing kind of crinkled in on itself when he laughed. His eyes were nervous again when he stopped.
    “What do you do, Marlon?”
    “Caryn, can I build another one of these?”
    She looked at him and told him to build away, and another one for her, too—rum and Coke, mostly rum. I watched him lumber to the drink table. When he reached out for a bottle I saw his shirt catch on something at his hip.
    “I’m a supervisor at the school district,” he said. “Got about thirty janitors under me.”
    “Sounds like good work.”
    “Pays the bills.”
    This talk is nearly all lies, and we all know it, but that is how things are done. The names are false, the occupations invented, the interests faked. It’s partly for security—in case any one of them is popped or propositioned by law enforcement; it’s partly the logical stance from men who, on one level, are deeply ashamed of what they do. Occasionally, you’ll find a deviant who feels no shame at all, no remorse for his acts. Danny, whom we flipped quite easily, is not one of those. My guess is that Marlon is not, either, and that the handgun under his shirt is just another compensation for his profound and thorough inadequacies. I didn’t make him for the kind of guy who would have the nuts to use it, but I’ve been wrong before. Chet is the real catch here, the sociopath, the only one cold enough inside to turn a profit on perversion, with his daughter as the product. Caryn is driven by greed, low intelligence and by hatred of the girl her husband prefers over her. Like most people who do this kind of thing, both Chet and Caryn were probably used sexually as youngsters themselves, came from measurably terrible childhoods that they will never outgrow. They’re passing down the legacy to Lauren now, and, in the spirit of free enterprise, making it pay.
    Danny kept to himself and no one said much to him. He seemed to feel superior to us all, but from the non-reaction of the others I gathered it was his usual way. My little Judas, counting down the minutes, guzzling down the gin. I had assured him that if he failed me even in some small way, his leniency deal would be shot and I’d personally see to it that they threw the book at him and plastered his picture all over the newspapers and TV. This guy’s got a wife and two grown kids, and a tenured position. I’d never dealt with a more agreeable subject. All he had to do now was wait. He looked distressed, though. Maybe he just wanted to be in Lauren’s room one more time in his life.
    Chet reclined, gulped his drink and watched us. He smiled slyly at me a couple of times, a can-you-believe-this smile, trying to welcome me to the club. Caryn waited on him, bringing him his dinner on a real plate—the rest of us had paper and plastic. She moved mechanically, like her responsibilities could quickly overwhelm her if she didn’t stay in control. I tried to guess how many times they’d done this. And I sensed it was time to make my move.
    I rose and slid my chaise next to Chet’s. He gave me a not-in-the-program look. I wanted to get the heart of this transaction for the tape for the DA. I sat on the edge and leaned toward him confidentially.
    “I’m afraid Lauren won’t like me,” I