Mr. Murder

deal with the kids first, we'll have a problem with Stillwater and his wife."
        "How so?"
        "Either Clocker or I can cover the parents while the other one takes the kids into a different room. But stripping the girls, wiring their hands and ankles-it'll take ten, fifteen minutes to do right, like in Maryland. Even with one of us covering Stillwater and his wife with a gun, they aren't going to sit still for that. They'll both rush me or Clocker, whoever's guarding them, and together they might get the upper hand."
        "I doubt it," Spicer said.
        "How can you be sure?"
        "People are gutless these days."
        "Stillwater fought off Alfie."
        "True," Spicer admitted.
        "When she was sixteen, the wife found her father and mother dead. The old man killed the mother, then himself-" Spicer smiled. "Nice tie-in with our scenario."
        Oslett hadn't thought about that. "Good point. Might also explain why Stillwater couldn't write the novel based on the case in Maryland.
        Anyway, three months later she petitioned the court to free her from her guardian and declare her a legal adult."
        "Tough bitch."
        "The court agreed. It granted her petition."
        "So blow away the parents first," Spicer advised, shifting in the armchair as if his butt had begun to go numb.
        "That's what we'll do," Oslett agreed.
        Spicer said, "This is fucking crazy."
        For a moment Oslett thought Spicer was commenting on their plans for the Stillwaters. But he was referring to the television program, to which his attention drifted again.
        On the talk show, the host with big hair had ushered off the cross-dressers and introduced a new group of guests. There were four angry-looking women seated on the stage. All of them were wearing strange hats.
        As Oslett left the room, he saw Clocker out of the corner of his eye.
        The Trekker was still at the table by the window, riveted by the book, but Oslett refused to let the big man spoil his mood.
        In the bedroom he sat on the bed again, amidst his toys, took off his sunglasses, and happily enacted and re-enacted the homicides in his mind, planning for every contingency.
        Outside, the wind picked up. It sounded like wolves.
        He stops at a service station to ask directions to the address he remembers from the Rolodex card. The young attendant is able to help him.
        By 2,10 he enters the neighborhood in which he was evidently raised.
        The lots are large with numerous winter-bare birches and a wide variety of evergreens.
        His mom and dad's house is in the middle of the block. It's a modest, two-story, white clapboard structure with forest-green shutters. The deep front porch has heavy white balusters, a green hand rail, and decoratively scalloped fasciae along the eaves.
        The place looks warm and welcoming. It is like a house in an old movie.
        Jimmy Stewart might live here. You know at a glance that a loving family resides within, decent people with much to share, much to give.
        He cannot remember anything in the block, least of all the house in which he apparently spent his childhood and adolescence. It might as well be the residence of utter strangers in a town which he has never seen until this very day.
        He is infuriated by the extent to which he has been brainwashed and relieved of precious memories. The lost years haunt him. The total separation from those he loves is so cruel and devastating that he finds himself on the verge of tears.
        However, he suppresses his anger and grief. He cannot afford to be emotional while his situation remains precarious.
        The only thing he does recognize in the neighborhood is a van parked across the street from his parents' house. He has never seen…. this particular van, but he knows the type. The sight of it alarms him.
        It is a recreational vehicle. Candy-apple red. An extended wheel base provides a roomier interior. Oval camper dome on the roof.
        . Large mud flaps with chrome letters, FUN TRUCK. The rear bumper is papered with overlapping rectangular, round, and triangular stickers memorializing visits to Yosemite National Park, Yellowstone, the an nul Calgary Rodeo, Las Vegas, Boulder Dam, and other tourist attractions.
        Decorative, parallel green and black stripes undulate along the side, interrupted by a pair of mirrored view