Page 40 of Never Flinch

Even if the Rev hasn’t told anyone that Trig is coming for a counseling session, they have been in meetings together. Mostly out of the city, but still. If Trig leaves a juror’s name in Mike’s hand, someone might connect the two of them. It’s extremely unlikely, because Trig doesn’t ever give his own first name at meetings, but unlikely isn’t impossible.

Better to make it look like a robbery. It means killing an extra, but Trig has made his peace with that.

Killing really does get easier, it seems.

4

The Rev meets Trig at the door and asks an unexpected question. “Where’s your car?”

Trig fumbles, then recovers. “Oh. Right. I left it at the Rec. Didn’t want to clog up your driveway.”

“Shouldn’t have bothered, mine’s in the garage, plenty of room. Come in, come in.”

The Rev leads Trig into a cozy little living room. Framed on one wall is “How It Works,” from the Big Book. On another there’s a photo of AA’s founders, Bill W. and Dr. Bob, with their arms around each other.

“Would you like a drink?” the Rev asks.

“Martini, very dry.”

The Rev bursts out laughing. It reminds Trig of the way the Talking Donkey laughs in those insurance ads: hee-haw, hee-haw. The Rev even has the Talking Donkey’s big teeth.

“I’d take a Coke, if you have one.”

Reminding himself to keep track of everything he touches because of fingerprints. So far: nothing.

“No Coke, but I have ginger ale.”

“Perfect. Could I use your bathroom?”

“Right down the hall. Is your problem about this friend of yours who died in prison?”

“That’s the one,” Trig says, thinking that if the nosy son-of-a-buck’s fate wasn’t already sealed, that would do the job. “Excuse me.”

Although the Rev is a lifelong bachelor, the bathroom is a girly pink. Trig couldn’t pee if his life depended on it—his bladder is high and tight—but he flushes the toilet, then pulls a hand towel (pink) from the rod and wipes the flush lever. He takes the .38 from his jacket pocket and wraps the towel around it, the way Vito Corleone did inGodfather 2, when he shot Don Fanucci. Will that muffle the report in real life? Trig can only hope so, even though the .38 is a bigger gun than his Taurus .22.

At least there’s no house next door.

With a prayer to the God of his understanding, Trig steps out of the bathroom and goes down the short hall to the living room. The Rev is coming in from the kitchen with two glasses of ginger ale on a tin tray. He gives Trig a smile and says, “You forgot to leave the tow—”

Trig shoots him. The shot is muffled but still loud. In the movie, the towel caught on fire, but this is real life and it doesn’t. The Rev stops, looking comically amazed, and at first Trig thinks he’s missed because there’s no blood. Thinks it hit the wall or something. Then, very slowly, the tray tilts. The glasses of ginger ale slide off and hit the living room carpet. One of them breaks. The other doesn’t. Rev drops the tray. He’s still staring at Trig with amazement.

“You shot me!”

Oh God I’ll have to shoot him again. Like the woman and the wino.

The Rev turns around, and now Trig can see blood. It’s coming from a hole in the middle of the Rev’s plaid shirt. “Shotme!”

Trig re-wraps the towel (not much of a silencer but better than nothing) and raises the gun again. Before he can fire, the Rev collapses to his knees, then falls on his face in the doorway to the kitchen. Oneof his feet spasms and kicks the unbroken glass. It rolls a foot or so, still dribbling ginger ale, then stops.

Trig goes to the Rev and feels for a pulse on the big man’s neck. He can’t find one and thinks the man is dead. Then the one eye Trig can see slips open. “Shot me,” the Rev whispers, and blood trickles from his mouth. “Why?”

Trig doesn’t want to shoot again and decides he doesn’t have to. There are two pillows at either end of the small couch. Embroidered on one is TAKE IT EASY. On the other, LET GO AND LET GOD. Trig takes LET GO AND LET GOD and puts it over the Rev’s face. Holds it down for a minute or maybe a little longer. His Daddy-voice says,This would be a bad time for someone to show up.

When he takes the pillow away, the Rev’s one visible eye is open but glazing. Trig darts a finger at it. There’s no reflexive blink. He’s gone.

“Sorry, Rev,” Trig says.

He rummages in the Rev’s rear pocket, extracts the man’s wallet, and looks inside. Thirty bucks and a Visa card. He puts the wallet in his own pocket. He strips off the Rev’s Shinola wristwatch and pockets that as well. He goes into the Rev’s bedroom. He uses the towel to open the closet slider, pulling it hard enough to knock it off its rails. He knocks the clothes—mostly jeans and cheap shirts—to the floor in a jangle of coat hangers. He uses the towel to open the bedside table. Inside it he finds a Bible, a Big Book,Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, a heap of AA sobriety medallions, forty dollars, a pair of what look like drugstore eyeglasses, and a photograph of the Rev sucking a young man’s penis. Trig thinks he’s seen the young man at meetings. He’s maybe named Troy. Trig takes the money, and after a moment’s thought, takes the picture. He wouldn’t want the police to find it. The young man could get in trouble.

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