Mockingbird Read Online Free PDF Page B

barking. It's tempting to take off her damn boots and go barefoot, but this is Jersey. Who knows what she'll step on? Or in? Shudder.
      After a few hours, she sees a Wawa gas station and market ahead – glowing yellow and red in the Pinelands dark. Her stomach is growling. Her teeth and tongue itch for a cigarette. She's got some cash but not much, maybe not enough.
      She passes the pumps. Then she sees the truck parked off to the side. Engine off. Cab dark.
      And here he comes. Walking toward her.
      Louis has in his hands the biggest coffee cup Wawa makes. A sixty-four ounce thirst-aborter and sleep-destroyer. Under his other arm is a carton of cigarettes.
      He thrusts them out.
      "For me?" she says, faking demureness. It takes all her energy and it doesn't come across all that sincere but she does it just the same.
      "For you."
      "Maybe you know a little something about me."
      "Maybe just a little."
      "Thanks."
      "Can we get back in the truck? I have something I want to tell you."
      Her radar pings – not a tickle but a painful itch. Like an innocuous mole becoming suddenly cancerous. Just the same, she nods, takes her gifts, and they go back to the truck so she can hear what Louis has to tell her.

EIGHT
    Step Three: Profit
     
    Miriam's waiting for the axe to fall. She's always waiting for the axe to fall. Louis and she sit in the truck, still parked in the Wawa lot.
      He looks hesitant.
      She knows what's coming. Mentally, she's fine with it. He doesn't want to be with her. Why would he? Emotionally… well. Emotionally she's a garage full of cats on fire.
      Then he hands her a book. Thin, glossy cover. Portrait-sized. Like a mailer. It's even got the spot for the address on the back.
      She turns it over. "The… Caldecott School."
      She flips through it.
      Glossy photos. Trim text.
      Is your daughter achieving her academic potential?
      The Caldecott School offers your daughter a New Beginning.
      Girls in gray blazers. Navy skirts. High socks. A variety pack of ethnicities, all teens and pre-teens. Studying. Eating lunch. Gazing longingly into microscopes. Happy faces. Eager smiles. All bullshit. No kid is that slackjawed and zombie-eyed for learning.
      Miriam peeks over the edge of the book.
      "Are you… trying to send me back to school?" She ill-contains a snorty laugh. "Because I might be a bit too long in the pubes for that."
      "What? Oh, no. This is a job."
      Miriam swiftly rolls up the mailer and thwacks him on the knuckles. "What did I tell you about getting me jobs? Throwing my ass into a normal 9-to-5 thing is like vinegar and baking soda, sodium and water, like making a cobra and a mongoose live together in a studio apartment and then filming it and putting it on MTV."
      "It's not that kind of job."
      She makes a jerk-off motion with her hand. Then mimes a cheek-bulging blow-job. "Is it… that kind of job?" She salaciously licks the invisible cock.
      "I'm not your pimp. This is a…" He can't seem to find the words. "A psychic job." To clarify, he taps his head.
      "Psychic job."
      "Yeah. Yes."
      "I don't even know what that means. Can I telecommute?"
      It's then that Louis explains. He does charity work now and again, making deliveries for those who need them – in this case, donations of school supplies to a series of schools around the northeast. Boarding schools, charter schools, private institutions, small colleges.
      Schools including this one. The Caldecott School. For girls.
      "I know a teacher there," he says. "Katherine. Katey. Nice woman. Teaches English. Doesn't have any family, not anymore. Not married. She's convinced that she's dying."
      There it is. The stink of death crawling up Miriam's nose. The rustle of blackbird wings. The vulture's hiss before it plunges its head into the wound.
      "We're all dying," Miriam says.
      "That's dark."
      "Just biology, dude. Entropy bites us all