Excerpt of City of the Sun by David Levien
(Page 8 of 11)
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Carol realizes how young the teacher is and that she is
shattered, too. She feels she should try to comfort the woman, but how? "Can I
get those things out of his locker?"
The teacher nods.
What passes for lawn in front of the seedy house is purple
gray with Thursday-morning frost. Tad sits behind the wheel of a van, an aging
Econoline with covered rear windows, listening to wacky morning radio. He's been
keeping his distance from Rooster, who's up on the porch walking back and forth
and smoking a cigarette.
An immaculate black Cutlass Supreme with smoked windows and
custom t-top rolls up to the house. Out steps a stout man in a slightly shiny,
several-hundred-dollar suit. He wears gold and sunglasses and has a bald head.
He's Oscar Riggi. He's the man.
Rooster stops pacing.
Tad jumps out of the van and crosses through a cloud of
Econoline exhaust. "Mr. Riggi, how you doin'?"
Tad kisses ass, but Rooster doesn't go for that. He knows
he's not so easily replaced.
"Rooster. Tad. How are things? How's our package?"
"Everything's all fine and loaded, sir," Tad answers, looking
involuntarily at the van and thinking instinctively of the carpet-lined cut in
the floor. He pats the van's side.
Riggi looks through Tad as if
he's an exhaust cloud. "Things went well, I trust, huh, Rooster?"
"Yeah, you can trust, Captain." Rooster flicks his cigarette
butt in Tad's direction. Not at him, but in his direction. It's just far enough
off so that Tad can't say anything.
Riggi climbs the few steps up to the porch and flips Rooster a
fairly thick roll of small and medium bills rubberbanded together. Rooster
thumbs it nonchalantly and tucks it away. Riggi cuffs him behind the head, not
without affection.
"Hey, I can count on you, huh?"
"That's right, Oscar."
Tad comes up to join them, much larger than both men, yet
feeble and intimidated in their presence. Without taking his eyes off Rooster,
Riggi reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a packet of papers that he
hands to Tad.
"There's the address of the other pickup. Instructions on
what roads to take. Your destination is in there, too. Memorize it, write it in
code, whatever, then destroy it. There's travel money in there also."
Tad stays with it, endeavors to look keen, on top of things.
"Okay, okay."
"Call me every eight hours regardless of where you are. Got
it? I want my phone ringing every eight hours."
"Got it."
"Where you gonna call me?"
"Wherever I'm at, eight hours."
Riggi gives a pinched smile, like he's tasting bad jelly.
"You get the rest of your money when you're back."
"Yes, sir."
Riggi nods and turns to him. "You're still here?"
Tad hustles into the van and drives off. Riggi turns back to
Rooster. "You have breakfast yet?"
THREE
Fourteen Months Later
PAUL GABRIEL POURS a second bowl of cereal. He reaches in and
fishes out the prize. It's a rubber astronaut that dropped in water grows to
eight and a half times its original size. He puts it with the rest of the prizes
he's been saving for his son. There are more than a dozen now. Paul rubs a
circle at his temple with his fingertips. He's graying there. He's pale. Tired
looking, too.
Paul lowers his spoon. "Carol? Carol? Are you ready? We
should get going." A moment later she enters the kitchen. Her outfit doesn't do
much for her. No makeup; dark circles under her eyes. She crosses the kitchen,
which is looking shabby. She pushes a sponge around the countertop and tosses it
into a sink full of dishes. Carol stands next to Paul as he changes his mind
about the cereal and pours it in the garbage. He has the sensation that he sees
the two of them there, as if from above. They look shitty together, the house
looks shitty, everything is shitty.
Published by Doubleday. Copyright © 2008 by Levien Works, Inc.
All Rights Reserved.
