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 All of you. I still don't know what you mean, I said.  There isn't that much of me.
Deborah slammed the palm of her hand on the steering wheel.
 Goddamn it, Dexter, the clever-ass shit doesn't work for me any more.
Have you ever noticed that every now and then you'll overhear an amazingly clear declarative
sentence when you're out in public, spoken with such force and purpose that you absolutely
yearn to know what it means, because it is just so forceful and crystalline? And you want to
follow along behind whoever just spoke, even though you don't know them, just to find out
what that sentence means and how it would affect the lives of the people involved?
I felt like that now: I had no idea at all what she was talking about, but I really wanted to
know.
Happily for me, she didn't keep me waiting.
 I don't know if I can do this any more, she said.
 Do what?
I am riding around in a car with a guy who has killed what, ten, fifteen, people?
It's never pleasant to be so grossly underestimated, but it didn't seem like the right time to
correct her.  All right I said.
 And I am supposed to catch people like you, and put them away for good, except you're my
brotherY she said, hitting the wheel with her hand to emphasize each syllable  which she
didn't really need to do, since I heard her very clearly. I finally understood what all her
recent churlishness had been about, although I still had no idea why it had taken until now
for her to blow up on the subject.
There was a great deal to what she said, of course, and if I had really been as smart as I think
I am I would have known that at some point we were going to have this conversation, and I
would have been ready for it. But I had foolishly assumed that there is nothing in the world
as powerful as the status quo, and she had caught me by surprise. Besides, as far as I could
see, there had been nothing in the recent past that would trigger this kind of confrontation;
where do these things come from?
 I'm sorry, Debs I said.  But, uh, what do you want me to do?
 I want you to stop it she said. I want you to be somebody else. She looked at me, and her
lips twitched, and then she looked away again, out the side window and away beyond US 1
and over the elevated People Mover rails. I want you ... to be the guy I always thought you
were.
I like to think I am more resourceful than most. But at the moment, I might as well have
been bound and gagged and tied to the railroad tracks.  Debs I said. Not much, but
apparently the only shot I had in the chamber.
 Goddamn it, Dex, she said, slapping the steering wheel so hard the whole car trembled. I
can't even talk about it, not even to Kyle.
And you ... She slapped the steering wheel again.  How do I even know you're telling the
truth, that Daddy set you up like this? It's probably not accurate to say my feelings were
hurt, since I'm pretty sure I don't have any. But the injustice of the remark did seem painful.
 I wouldn't lie to you I said.
 You lied to me every day of your life that you didn't tell me what you really are she said.
I am as familiar with New Age philosophy and Dr Phil as the next guy, but there comes a
point where reality absolutely has to intrude, and it seemed to me that we had reached it.
 All right, Debs I said.  And what would you have done if you knew who I really was?
I don't know she said. I still don't know.
 Well then I said.
 But I ought to do something.
 Why?
 Because you killed people, goddamn it! she said.
I shrugged. I can't help it. And they all really deserved it.
 It isn't right!
 It's what Dad wanted I said.
A group of college-aged kids walked past the car and stared at us. One of them said
something and they all laughed. Ha ha.
See the funny couple fighting. He will sleep on the couch tonight, ha ha.
Except that if I couldn't persuade Deborah that all was exactly as it should be, world
without end, I might very well sleep in a cell tonight.
 Debs I said.  Dad set it up this way. He knew what he was doing.
 Did he? she said.  Or are you making that up? And even if he did set it up, was he right to
do it that way? Or was he just another bitter, burned-out cop?
 He was Harry I said.  He was your father. Of course he was right.
I need more than that she said.
 What if there isn't any more? She turned away at last, and didn't beat on the steering
wheel, which was a relief. But she was silent for long enough that I began to wish she
would. I don't know, she said at last. I just don't know.
And there it was. I mean, I could see that it was a problem for her  what to do with the
homicidal adopted brother? After all, he was pleasant, remembered birthdays, and gave
really good presents; a productive member of society, a hard-working and sober guy  if he
slipped away and killed bad people now and then, was it really such a big deal?
On the other hand, she was in a profession that generally frowned on that kind of thing.
And technically, it was supposed to be her job to find people like me and escort them to a
reserved seat in Old Sparky. I could see that it might pose something of a professional
dilemma, especially when it was her brother who was forcing the issue.
Or was it?
 Debs I said. I know this is a problem for you.
 Problem she said. A tear rolled down one cheek, although she did not sob or otherwise
seem to be crying.
 I don't think he ever wanted you to know I said. I was never supposed to tell you. But ... I
thought about finding her taped to the table with my real genetic brother standing over her,
holding a knife for each of us, and realizing I could not kill her no matter how much I
needed to, no matter how close it would have brought me to him, my brother, the only
person in the world who really understood me and accepted me for what I am. And
somehow, I couldn't do it. Somehow, the voice of Harry had come back to me and kept me
on the Path.
 Fuck Deborah said.  What the fuck was Daddy thinking? I wondered that sometimes,
too. But I also wondered how people could possibly believe any of the things they said they
did, and why I couldn't fly, and this seemed to be in the same category.  We can't know
what he was thinking I said.  Just what he did.
 Fuck she said again.
 Maybe so I said.  What are you going to do about it? She still didn't look at me. I don't
know she said.  But I think I have to do something. We both sat there for a very long
moment with nothing left to say. Then she put the car in gear and we rolled back out onto
the highway.
ELEVE
There are really very few better conversation stoppers than telling your brother you're
considering arresting him for murder, and even my legendary wit was not equal to the task
of thinking of something to say that was worth the breath spent on it. So we rode in silence,
down US 1 to 95 North and then off the freeway and into the Design District, just past the
turnoff for the Julia Tuttle Causeway.
The silence made the trip seem a lot longer than it really was.
I glanced once or twice at Deborah, but she was apparently absorbed in thought  perhaps
considering whether to use her good cuffs on me or just the cheap extra pair in the glove
compartment. Whatever the case, she stared straight ahead, turning the wheel mechanically
and moving in and out of traffic without any real thought, and without any attention wasted
on me.
We found the address quickly enough, which was a relief, since the strain of not looking at
each other and not talking was getting to be a bit much. Deborah pulled up in front of a sort [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]