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That was where Harold's operation tiptoed somewhat afoul of the law。
Harold Leonard was a middleman in every sense of the word： middle…aged； middle…class； pickle in the middle。 His stature in the business munity manded a respect that he rarely achieved in his personal life。 Liver…lipped； beak…nosed and weasel…eyed； he was the last guy you'd have picked for your team in school： the fat kid who always got two for flinching。
He was flinching now； that much was for certain。 The phone's receiver was slick in his porcine hand。 〃Don't do anything stupid；〃 he heard himself whine。 〃We'll work this out。〃
〃You're goddam right we'll work this out；〃 spat the voice from the other end。 〃I wanna know what you're gonna do about my boys。〃
Harold didn't know what to say。 The hospital was out； for obvious reasons。 His brain flailed in search of contingency plans that didn't exist。 〃Look；〃 he began。 〃I've got to talk to some people。 You haven't told anyone else yet； have you？〃
〃What； are you stupid？〃
He silently thanked God； and in that moment； his brain began to work。 Perhaps it was the power of prayer。 〃Okay； listen up；〃 he said。 〃First； I want you to call the cops。〃
〃Yeah； right！ FUCK you！〃
〃Will you listen to me！〃 Harold pressed； more forcefully。 He was in his element now： weaseling in real time； thinking on his feet。 〃Tell 'em that you just got in； and the truck was stolen。 Probably last night。〃
The moron to whom he was speaking made a colorful noise of prehension。 Redeemed in his own eyes； Harold pressed on。 〃That'll cover you if they find it； and buy us some time to work this mess out。〃
〃Okay。 I like that 。。。 〃
〃And for Christ's sake； keep your big mouth shut。 Don't say anything to anybody until I get back to you。〃
Leonard slammed the phone down； ending their chat on a power note。 Then he stood there； just shaking for one long； dreadful minute； trying mightily to quell his panic。 His ulcer bubbled like a gastric Jacuzzi； his heart slammed in his temples。
〃Everything's gonna be fine；〃 he told himself； wanting hard to believe it。 〃I'll just have to tell Blake。 He'll know what to do 。。。 〃
Outside； Marge or one of the kids tapped out 〃Shave and a Haircut〃 on the horn。 It shook him out of his stupor； made him long for their warmth and panionship。 I'm not a bad guy； he told himself。
Wanting hard to believe it。
I'm not 。。。
Then Harold Leonard donned his coat and hat； locked the door of his cozy little house in Haines Acres； walked through the yard of his snug little hunk of suburban Paradise。
And went to join his loving family in worship。
At the church of his choice。
Six
By a quarter after ten； on a Sunday morning； the legions of God's faithful were off and running。
Whatever else one might say about the people of Paradise County； Deitz noted； they were awfully big on Sunday services。 And with eighty…seven houses of worship within the city limits alone…representing twenty…eight Christian denominations…there was certainly no shortage of God…anointed service stations。 While the wicked slept in； the righteous deployed； flocking en masse to their respective personal savior pit stops。
From the Mennonite farms at the county's edge to the African Episcopal Church downtown； the children of God made their holy presence known。 Between the hours of nine and noon； they virtually owned the roads： station wagons； packed to the gills with Baptists； Brethren； and Bible Fellows； drive…thru windows； dispensing Sausage and Egg McMuffins by the truckload to Methodists and Mormons alike； gas stations； meeting the motoring needs of Catholics； Christian Scientists； Seventh…Day Adventists； and Assemblymen of God。
Austin Deitz stood at the back of the Mt。 Rose Amoco Shop 'N' Go； where Route 24 crossed Mt。 Rose Avenue at the mouth of the eastern valley。 He was perusing the Yummy Potato Chip snack rack while he waited for Jennie to return。
She'd disappeared behind the Employees Only door ten minutes ago。 As store manager； she'd been torn from her bed and called in to troubleshoot the latest crisis： some loser named Ozzie who'd called in sick at the very last minute with tickets for the Eagles game。
That Ozzie now ranked among the unemployed was no consolation at all。 Only Ozzie's ability to deep…six their Sunday plans held even the remotest level of interest for him。 It was； after all； a very special occasion。
Their fourth…count 'em； fourth…anniversary。
Four solid weeks together； Deitz mused； smiling。 My God。 That's practically a whole month！ Somebody alert the media！
Almost an entire month where you could virtually call me happy。
Austin Deitz was a month shy of forty； a tall gangly man with knobby calloused hands and a face like a young Abe Lincoln's。 He had the same intense dark eyes and severe； gaunt hollows to his cheeks； the same shock of cowlicked hair and horsey overbite。 The only things he lacked were the beard and the bullet hole； and he was in no great hurry to acquire either one。
He was not exactly what he'd consider a love machine； but Jennie didn't seem to mind。 In fact； ever since their eyes met over the barbecue chicken pit at the Stoverstown Fire pany's Fall Festival； she'd changed his mind about a lot of things。
Jennie Quirez was slight and slender； with a broad yet delicate face framed by warm mahogany hair and offset by the clearest； finest deep brown eyes he'd ever seen。 She was either late twenties or early thirties…Deitz hadn't gotten around to asking yet； though he didn't think she'd mind…far enough along； anyway； for her rich tan plexion to take on the supple； slightly leathery etch of time。
She smiled a lot and didn't take an ounce of shit from anyone； a bination that Deitz found irresistible。 She was also； as if that wasn't enough； a pulsive reader of science fiction； whose childhood dream was to be an astronaut one day。 For a kid who grew up thinking that Heinlein and Bradbury were gods； there could not have been a more perfect wish…fulfillment fantasy than a girl who knew what to grok in fullness really meant； or who could savor both the strange peace and melancholic beauty of a book like The Martian Chronicles and the icy； hardwired edginess of Gibson's Neuromancer。
But the sf she loved most was fundamentally optimistic； like herself。 She liked to believe that there really were other species out there somewhere…intelligent； kind； benevolent species…and that one day we'd actually evolve enough to join them in the stars。
Moreover； she liked to encourage those qualities in people here on Earth； for what she felt were pretty obvious reasons： a） to help us evolve just a little bit faster； b） because； quite simply； life was better when you treated people right； and c） because the odds were good that； given her current career trajectory； she'd never actually make it into space。
She'll find someone to work； he told himself。 Just have a little faith。 You've got the Baltimore Aquarium and the Inner Harbor waiting； then dinner at Dobson's and a room at the Hunt Valley Inn。 Which is to say： you cannot fail。
Keep playing your cards right。 And pray for a miracle。