The Devils Teardrop

SBORN AND O SBORN , Q UESTION D OCUMENT P ROBLEMS

20
    The capital of the free world.
    The heart of the last superpower on earth.
    And Cage nearly shattered an axle once again as his government-issue Crown Victoria crashed into another pothole.
    “Goddamn city,” he muttered.
    “Careful,” Parker ordered, nodding toward the glass sheets wrapped carefully and sitting on his lap like a newborn baby. He’d looked briefly at the yellow sheets. But they were badly damaged and he couldn’t see any reference to the third and fourth targets. He’d have to analyze them in the lab.
    Over crumbling pavement, under streetlights burnt out months ago and never replaced, past the empty poles that once held directional signs, which had long ago been stolen or blown down.
    More potholes.
    “I don’t know why I live here.” Cage shrugged.
    Accompanied by Parker and Dr. John Evans, theagent was speeding back to headquarters through the dark streets of the District of Columbia.
    “And it snows, we’re fucked,” he added.
    Snow removal wasn’t one of the District’s strong suits either and a blizzard could hamper Jerry Baker’s tactical efforts if they found the Digger’s hidey-hole or the site of the next attack.
    Evans was on his cell phone, apparently talking to his family. His voice was singsong, as if he were talking to a child but from the snatches of the conversation it seemed that his wife was on the other end of the line. Parker thought it was odd that a psychologist would talk to another adult this way. But who was he to talk about relationships? When Joan was drunk or moody Parker often found himself dealing with her the way he would a ten-year-old.
    Cage juggled his own phone and called the hospital. He asked about Geller’s condition.
    When he hung up he said to Parker, “Lucky man. Smoke inhalation and a sprained toe from jumping out the window. Nothing worse than that. They’re going to keep him in overnight. But it’s just a precaution.”
    “Should get a commendation,” Parker suggested.
    “Oh, he will. Don’t you worry.”
    Parker was coughing some himself. The pungent taste of the smoke was sickening.
    They continued on for another half-dozen blocks before Cage gave Parker a telling “So.”
    “So,” Parker echoed. Then: “What does that mean?”
    “Wooee, we having a good time yet?” the agent said and slapped the steering wheel.
    Parker ignored him and tucked a tiny scrap of burnt paper back under the glass protecting the unsub’s notes.
    Cage sped around a slow-moving car. After a few moments he asked, “How’s your love life these days? You seeing anybody?”
    “Not right now.”
    It had been nine months, he reflected, since he’d been going with someone regularly. He missed Lynne. She was ten years younger than he, pretty, athletic. They’d had a lot of fun together—jogging, dinners, day trips to Middleburg. He missed her vivacity, her sense of humor (the first time she’d been over to his house she’d glanced at a signature of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and, with perfect deadpan delivery, said, “Oh, I’ve heard of him. He’s the guy started the Franklin Mint. I’ve got the thimble collection”). But the maternal side of her hadn’t blossomed even though she was nearly thirty. When it came to his children, she had fun going to the museums and the cineplex but Parker could see that any more of a commitment to the Whos—and to him—would soon become a burden to her. Love, like humor, Parker believed, is all in the timing. In the end they drifted apart with the agreement that in a few years, when she was ready for children, they might reconsider something more permanent. (Both knowing, of course, that, as lovers, they were saying goodbye for good.)
    Cage now said, “Uh-huh. So you’re just sitting at home?”
    “Yeah,” Parker said. “With my head in the sand like Ozzie the Ostrich.”
    “Who?”
    “It’s a kids’ book.”
    “Don’t you get the feeling there’s stuff going on around you and you’re missing it?”
    “No, Cage, I don’t. I get the feeling that my kids’re growing up and I’m not missing it.”
    “That’s important. Uh-huh. I can see where that would be kind of important.”
    “ Very important.”
    Evans, still on the phone, was telling his wife he loved her. Parker tuned the words out. They depressed him.
    “Whatta you think about Lukas?” Cage finally asked.
    “What do I think? She’s good. She’ll go places. Maybe to the top.