Lexicon

are you the owner of a pink Mini, registration jay cee ex one four zero?”
    “No.”
    “You don’t know that vehicle?”
    “No, officer.” The wind blew. He looked at the end of the bridge but still no Eliot.
    “Where are you headed tonight, sir?”
    “I’m just crossing the bridge.”
    “I can see that. Where are you headed?”
    He checked for Eliot again.
    “Am I keeping you from something?”
    “No, officer. I’m just cold.”
    “Put your hands on the hood, sir.”
    “Um,” said Wil.
    “Put your hands on the hood.”
    He placed his hands on the car.
    “Legs apart, please.”
    “I’m just out walking.”
    “Legs apart.”
    He obeyed.
    “I’m going to pat you down now. Do you understand what that means?”
    “Okay, I was in the Mini. If there’s a fine—”
    “Do not turn around!”
    “I wasn’t turning around,” he said. The cop grabbed him by the neck of his jacket and spread him across the hood. It was a slab of ice. He could stick to this car. The cop’s hands probed legs and hips, delving into his pockets. He felt a loosening around his buttocks and realized the cop had taken his wallet.
    “Wil Parke? That’s you?”
    “Look—”
    “Stay on the car! You stay there until I tell you otherwise, understand? If you move again, we’re going to have a problem.”
    His cheek pressed against the hood, he saw a figure approaching through the snow mist. Eliot? He couldn’t tell.
    “Dispatch, four-one-three,” the cop said.
    He felt alarm. A cop reporting that he’d picked up Wil Parke, that could be bad. He raised himself from the hood, keeping his hands up so the cop wouldn’t overreact, but a nightstick leaped into his throat anyway and he found himself bending backward over the hood, the cop shouting in his face. “Wait,” Wil said, but the cop wasn’t interested in what he had to say. He caught a glimpse of Eliot’s familiar coat, approaching in brisk strides. The cop’s grip on him slackened. His expression changed. As if the guy were watching TV, Wil thought. Seeing something interesting but far away. The cop unhitched his radio. “Dispatch,” he said, and there were two flat bangs and the cop pinwheeled backward. Eliot walked up to him and fired twice more.
    “Fuck!” said Wil. His voice was thin and breathless. “What? What?”
    “Quiet.” The air was beginning to glow: an approaching car. Eliot walked onto the road.
    Wil looked at the cop. His eyes were glassy. Blood congealed around his body, staining the road salt. “What about the word voodoo?” Eliot didn’t answer. “Why didn’t you
persuade
him?”
    A pickup crested the bridge. Eliot waved his arms and the pickup stopped and the driver leaned out the window. A young guy with sandy hair. Eliot was going to kill this guy—him and anyone else in the car, and then whoever passed by. Wil started to run, slipped on the ice, and banged his knee on the blacktop. By the time he reached them, Eliot had his gun pointed at the driver. “Fifty,” the guy said. “I don’t know what you want—”
    Eliot said, “Do you love your family?”
    “
Eliot!
”
    “Of course I do, man, please don’t kill me, I have two girls and I love them so much—”
    “I won’t kill you if you tell me this,” said Eliot. He was becoming brighter, almost glowing. Another car approaching, Wil realized. “Why did you do it?”
    “Eliot.” He put his hand on Eliot’s arm and tried to steer the gun down. “Please don’t shoot this guy.”
    “Is this about . . . ?” said the driver. “Oh, Jesus, forgive me, I did it because I had to.” Eliot lowered the gun. The truck driver’s breath came out in a rush. “Thank you, thank you—”
    “
Geetyre massilick croton avary
,” Eliot said. “Take this. Shoot cars. Run away from cops.”
    The driver took Eliot’s gun. Eliot opened the pickup’s door and the driver stepped out. He looked up and began to walk toward Wil.
    “What . . .” Wil said. The guy raised the gun. Wil had time to plug his fingers into his ears. The guy fired, and Wil turned to see a car behind him, a dark wagon. It braked and began to reverse, its beams swinging crazily from side to side. The guy broke into a run, following.
    Eliot seized his arm. “Walk.”
    He walked. “Why?” Wil said. “Why?”
    “Shut up,” Eliot said. There was a flatness in his voice. Wil shut up.
    • • •
    Once they were clear of Grand Forks, the road was empty. After about half an hour, three police cars blew