said. “I just emailed you updated instructions. Did you get it?”
“Sure,” Al said. “Just came in.”
“Great. You can delete the earlier one.” It had been several months since Al had watched the herd, so Vinnie unfurled his own pen to go over the major sections of the document: “Water and Lights”; “Veterinarian”; “Pasture Schedule”; “Food Supplements.” He apologized for not having time to write up notes on the new stock. “Sometimes the herd rejects the new calves,” Vinnie said. “If you see some of them wandering off by themselves, put them in the back forty.”
“That’s…”
“The bedroom with no furniture,” Vinnie said.
“Got it,” Al said. He shifted his weight to his biological leg. Raised his eyebrows significantly.
“Oh!” Vinnie said. He handed over the envelope that contained the cash. “I wrote the apartment guest code on the envelope. It’s a new number. Also, I won’t be reachable while I’m traveling, but if you call my home number and leave a message, I should be able to check voicemail at some point.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Al said.
Vinnie went back to his apartment. He didn’t feel great about leaving Al in charge, but he did know a cure for that feeling. He opened the freezer, pulled out the box of Commander Calhoun Fishstix, and retrieved the bottle of Evanimex that was hidden inside. The pills were provided by the employer as part of his compensation, and arrived at regular intervals by FedEx.
Vinnie preferred to ramp up slowly, taking one pill every two hours, but time was short. He swallowed four. They slid down his throat like lumps of ice, each one (he imagined) ushering his tender heart one step closer into cryogenic storage. For safekeeping.
He stepped over the kitchen fence and walked back to his bedroom via the narrow boardwalk. The wooden structure stood a foot off the ground, and its struts were spaced far enough apart that the bison could migrate without impediment. It also allowed Vinnie to cross the rooms without trampling grass, squashing livestock, or smearing cow patties on his flip-flops.
There was a trick to becoming the Vincent that went beyond chemicals, a ritual that helped realign his headspace. He stripped off his clothes and turned the shower to hot. Afterward he shaved, even though he had shaved just that morning. He unwrapped one of the charcoal suits, as well as a blue shirt and matching tie, and dressed. Then he took down the black Caran d’Ache briefcase and placed in it a second blue shirt, a pair of underwear, and a pair of socks.
Last, as always, the hat. He opened the box and lifted it out, a black 800x Seratelli with a Vaquero brim, one of the finest Western hats ever made. He lightly gripped the crown in three fingers and set it on his head.
That’s the ticket. He could feel the Vincent coming on now. Not a different identity, exactly, but a different way of thinking of himself. An alternate approach to the world. The knot of tension he carried in his chest—his worries for the herd, his agoraphobia, his certainty that he was an evil person—began to unwind and fall away.
His plane departed in ninety minutes. By the time it landed in Toronto, he would be at Full Vincent, ready and able to stalk and torture a Canadian.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hootan’s car was a tiny biodiesel Honda tricked out with fins and whitewall tires. The kid pressed the remote, and the engine roared like a fighter jet. “Real Engine Sound,” he shouted proudly. The recording was ridiculously mismatched for the car. “I can also do Mustang GT and a Ford 150!”
Dr. G and I crawled into the back, with Luke all knees and elbows in the passenger seat. Luke told Hootan the address, and the Afghan kid slipped on a pair of sunglasses and swung into traffic. The speakers under the floor settled into a highway thrum.
“Tell me about this holo church,” I said. “Pastor Whatsisface, everything.”
Luke twisted to face me,
“Sure,” Al said. “Just came in.”
“Great. You can delete the earlier one.” It had been several months since Al had watched the herd, so Vinnie unfurled his own pen to go over the major sections of the document: “Water and Lights”; “Veterinarian”; “Pasture Schedule”; “Food Supplements.” He apologized for not having time to write up notes on the new stock. “Sometimes the herd rejects the new calves,” Vinnie said. “If you see some of them wandering off by themselves, put them in the back forty.”
“That’s…”
“The bedroom with no furniture,” Vinnie said.
“Got it,” Al said. He shifted his weight to his biological leg. Raised his eyebrows significantly.
“Oh!” Vinnie said. He handed over the envelope that contained the cash. “I wrote the apartment guest code on the envelope. It’s a new number. Also, I won’t be reachable while I’m traveling, but if you call my home number and leave a message, I should be able to check voicemail at some point.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Al said.
Vinnie went back to his apartment. He didn’t feel great about leaving Al in charge, but he did know a cure for that feeling. He opened the freezer, pulled out the box of Commander Calhoun Fishstix, and retrieved the bottle of Evanimex that was hidden inside. The pills were provided by the employer as part of his compensation, and arrived at regular intervals by FedEx.
Vinnie preferred to ramp up slowly, taking one pill every two hours, but time was short. He swallowed four. They slid down his throat like lumps of ice, each one (he imagined) ushering his tender heart one step closer into cryogenic storage. For safekeeping.
He stepped over the kitchen fence and walked back to his bedroom via the narrow boardwalk. The wooden structure stood a foot off the ground, and its struts were spaced far enough apart that the bison could migrate without impediment. It also allowed Vinnie to cross the rooms without trampling grass, squashing livestock, or smearing cow patties on his flip-flops.
There was a trick to becoming the Vincent that went beyond chemicals, a ritual that helped realign his headspace. He stripped off his clothes and turned the shower to hot. Afterward he shaved, even though he had shaved just that morning. He unwrapped one of the charcoal suits, as well as a blue shirt and matching tie, and dressed. Then he took down the black Caran d’Ache briefcase and placed in it a second blue shirt, a pair of underwear, and a pair of socks.
Last, as always, the hat. He opened the box and lifted it out, a black 800x Seratelli with a Vaquero brim, one of the finest Western hats ever made. He lightly gripped the crown in three fingers and set it on his head.
That’s the ticket. He could feel the Vincent coming on now. Not a different identity, exactly, but a different way of thinking of himself. An alternate approach to the world. The knot of tension he carried in his chest—his worries for the herd, his agoraphobia, his certainty that he was an evil person—began to unwind and fall away.
His plane departed in ninety minutes. By the time it landed in Toronto, he would be at Full Vincent, ready and able to stalk and torture a Canadian.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hootan’s car was a tiny biodiesel Honda tricked out with fins and whitewall tires. The kid pressed the remote, and the engine roared like a fighter jet. “Real Engine Sound,” he shouted proudly. The recording was ridiculously mismatched for the car. “I can also do Mustang GT and a Ford 150!”
Dr. G and I crawled into the back, with Luke all knees and elbows in the passenger seat. Luke told Hootan the address, and the Afghan kid slipped on a pair of sunglasses and swung into traffic. The speakers under the floor settled into a highway thrum.
“Tell me about this holo church,” I said. “Pastor Whatsisface, everything.”
Luke twisted to face me,
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