Frankenstorm: Chaos Theory Read Free Page B

with the garbage bag full of contraband on the floor by his feet. “Marcus, you know where to put that. But take off that raincoat first.”
    There was more pounding on the door as Mia hurried two young boys into the living room and sat them on the couch, then turned on the TV. Once there were animated spaceships on the screen, Mia sat down on the couch with the boys.
    “Latrice,” Giff said. “Sit down and watch TV.”
    She crossed the room and sat down in the recliner. The package she’d delivered, which she’d last seen on the floor beside the recliner, was nowhere in sight. It felt good to sit. She was aching all over and she was beginning to feel cold. Feverish. Sick. She wished she were at home on her couch, legs tucked up, her elbow propped on a couple of pillows, safe and warm and well, the kids playing in the front yard, their laughter drifting in through the screen door while Latrice laughed with Mama at Ellen DeGeneres.
    Giff whispered, “Everybody just try to follow my lead. Whatever the hell that is.” He turned with a sigh, his face wet with perspiration, eyes heavy-lidded with sudden weariness, and went to the front door. He leaned against it as he opened it so it wouldn’t be slammed in by the powerful wind. The sounds of the storm rushed into the house.
    Latrice heard voices but couldn’t understand their words. The door was closed a moment later and the house became a little quieter. She leaned forward slightly in the chair and turned toward the entrance, trying not to be too obvious.
    “Hey, Giff!” a cheerful, booming voice said. “It’s been a while. How you doing?”
    Giff backed slowly into the living room with his left hand on his hip and the other scratching the top of his head.
    “Hey, deputy . . . is it von Pohle?” he said.
    “Right the first time!”
    “Yeah, it has been a while.” There was a smile on his face, but his voice was chilly and nervous.
    The deputy came into the living room with a kind of strut, like a rooster. His big leather belt crackled softly under the pressure of his belly as he walked. A few steps behind him were a man and a young boy, both of whom looked very uncomfortable, even apologetic. All three of them were quite wet from the rain. The deputy wore a menacing grin as he watched Giff closely with cold eyes. He took off his plastic-wrapped cap and dropped it into a chair.
    “Far as I know,” Giff said, “I haven’t got any warrants. Neither does anybody else here.”
    “That’s not why I’m here. No. Somebody called.”
    “Called you? From here ?” He chuckled. “No, I don’t think so.” He turned to the others in the living room and said, “Anybody been doin’ any butt-dialing?” He laughed.
    “No, it wasn’t butt-dialing,” the deputy said. “Somebody called about a shooting and some crazy old man? And you know, I couldn’t help noticing you got an SUV out there that’s slammed into the corner of your house and what looks like a dead man on the ground, shot right in the head. Did that have anything to do with the old man?”
    “I don’t know what that was. That happened about, uh”—he turned to the others—“when did that car crash into the house? Half hour ago? Forty-five minutes?”
    “Something like that,” Miguel said. “Scared the hell out of me. I thought one of the trees had fallen.”
    “Sounded like a bomb,” Marcus added as he came into the room and sat down on the broad armrest at the end of the couch.
    “Then you don’t know anything about the dead body, Giff?” von Pohle said.
    “Body?”
    “In your front yard.”
    “You were serious? There’s a body?”
    The deputy’s grin got a little bigger as he firmly shook his head and wagged a rigid forefinger back and forth in the air, saying, “Ah-ah-ah, I never joke about dead bodies. Not on duty, anyway. You’re also gonna tell me you don’t know anything about the bullet holes in your front door, I suppose.”
    “Bullet holes?” Giff said.
    As he