The Face

of lending a hand with dinner, but he didn’t want to appear to be needy, nerdy, geeky.
        If he actually might run away and join the Marine Corps someday, instead of hiding out in Goose Crotch, Montana, he ought to start thinking like a Marine and behaving like one, sooner rather than later. A Marine wouldn’t be spooked by the darkness beyond a window. A Marine would sneer at that darkness and boldly piss on it. He’d open the window first, of course, so as not to mess up the glass.
        [490] Fric wasn’t up to that level of Marine confidence just yet. Instead, he sat at the table, wishing the minutes would speed past.
        He withdrew the photograph from a back pocket, unfolded it, and stared at the pretty lady with the special smile, distracting himself from the watching night. His make-believe mom.
        As yet he had not done as Mysterious Caller had suggested, had not asked anyone if they knew who this woman might be.
        For one thing, he hadn’t been able to concoct a convincing story to explain either the origin of her photo or why he was so interested in knowing her identity. He was a lousy liar.
        Besides, the longer he didn’t ask anyone about her, the longer she would be his, and his alone. As soon as he found out who she was, she could no longer be his make-believe mom.
        Something rapped against a window.
        Fric sprang from the chair, dropping the photo.
        The face at the window was hooded and hideous, but the hood was rain gear, and the face belonged to one of the security guards, Mr. Roma. Because he had a long upper lip and a small nose, Mr. Roma could pull his lip over his nose, and it would stay that way, so his face looked deformed and his teeth appeared to be huge. Held at his chin and aimed upward, the beam of a flashlight enhanced this effect.
        “Ooga-ooga,” said Mr. Roma, because without the use of his upper lip, he couldn’t pronounce the b in booga.
        When Fric went to the window, Mr. Roma allowed his face to pop back into shape. The guard said, “How you doin’, Fric?”
        “I’m fine now,” Fric replied, raising his voice to be heard through the glass. “For a second there, I thought you were Ming.”
        “Ming’s in Florida with your dad.”
        “He came back early,” Fric said. “He’s out there walking in the rain somewhere.”
        Mr. Roma’s smile froze.
        “He wanted me to walk with him,” Fric said, “so he could teach me all about how rain washes the planet’s spirit or something.”
        [491] The frozen smile cracked, crumbled. Mr. Roma lowered the light from his face and turned his back to Fric, sweeping the night with the beam.
        “You’ll probably run into him,” Fric said.
        Realizing that the flashlight pinpointed his position, Mr. Roma switched it off. “See you, Fric,” he said, and dashed away into the foggy gloom.
        Although Fric was a lousy liar and had not sounded convincing even to himself, Mr. Roma didn’t dare call his bluff if there was a one in a thousand chance that Ming, in a talkative mood and in full guru mode, might be in the vicinity.

CHAPTER 76
        
        IN THE CAR, OUT OF THE RAIN, SHIVERING IN the warm blast from the heater, still sought by the dead Hector X, Hazard listened to the ring, ring, ring until he wanted to roll down the window and throw the cell phone into the street.
        The ringing stopped just as he noticed activity at the Laputa residence. A man came out of the house, paused to lock the front door, and descended the porch steps.
        Even in the rain and steadily clotting fog, Hazard recognized the guy who had earlier entered the house by way of the garage. All but certainly, this was Vladimir Laputa.
        At the junction of private walkway and public sidewalk, Laputa turned right and retraced the route by which he had arrived. He still swaggered, but he didn’t seem to be either talking to himself or singing.
        He had changed into an entirely black outfit that appeared to be weatherproof, as if he would soon be driving north to Mammoth or to some other ski resort in the Sierras.
        Like a premonition of snow, white masses of fog drifted around him, nearly obscuring him, before he turned right at the corner and moved out of sight.
        [493] Having already released the hand brake and put the car in gear, Hazard switched on the headlights and drove to the corner, where traffic