The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,15

such a good idea.

Joel stepped out of the truck and flicked away the butt of his cigarette. “’Morning.”

Wade looked up at him with red eyes. He was unshaven and his curly hair was matted against his head. “Hey.”

Joel walked over and slumped down beside him. “Looks like you had a rough night.” He barely got the words out before the smell hit him—a mixture of stale beer and sweat. And something else.

Wade gave him a crooked smile. “Up late last night.” He glanced at Joel’s shirt pocket. “Can I bum a smoke?”

Joel handed him the pack with the lighter stuffed inside the cellophane wrapper. “You okay?”

Wade nodded, lighting up and blowing out a plume of smoke. “I’m all right.”

“Where is everybody?”

Wade motioned toward the house. “Marla’s in there. Derek’s at work.”

Joel looked away, toward the highway. An old rusted pickup was passing by; the driver—someone he didn’t recognize—waved, and Joel threw up his hand. “I’m on my way into town. Thought if you needed anything I’d pick it up for you.”

“Nah.”

“Thought you might need something for the Mustang. Did you want to work on it today?”

Wade took a sip of his beer, staring at the ground between his feet. He blinked, then looked at Joel. “What?”

Joel studied him. Something wasn’t quite right. He thought briefly of touching him, just putting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of brotherly concern. He would be able to tell almost instantly. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The thought of seeing and how much it would drain him was too overwhelming. “I said, do you want to work on the Mustang today? I can pick up something for it while I’m in town if you need me to.”

Wade shook his head. “Nah. Not today.” He took another drag off the Marlboro.

“You sure you’re all right?” Joel said.

Wade looked away, toward the fields across the road. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Joel stood up and pretended to yawn and stretch, feigning indifference. He didn’t want to appear worried; that tended to piss Wade off, especially when he was half-lit. “Well,” he said, “I’m going on. Call me later if you change your mind.”

Wade nodded. “See ya.”

Joel was at the first stoplight in town when it finally hit him that the underlying smell he had noticed was pot. The son-of-a-bitch had been high.

It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen Wade stoned. Hell, in younger years the two of them had occasionally smoked some weed together. But Wade hadn’t just been stoned today, he’d been fucking loopy. Half out of his head. Joel wondered what else Wade had been on. He almost wished now he had touched him, just to know. He supposed it was possible Wade was into something else, something harder, and it gave him a spark of anger and concern. He’d never known Wade to do anything but an occasional joint, but that didn’t mean jack shit. People did all kinds of crazy things to fuck themselves up, and Wade was no exception.

Behind him, a horn bleeped impatiently, and Joel looked up to see the light had changed to green. He gave an apologetic wave to his rearview mirror and sped on through the intersection.

* * *

12:05 PM

Wade watched Joel roll out of the driveway. His vision swam; Joel’s Explorer was just a red blur moving out onto the highway. He rubbed his eyes, and the lids felt as though they were moving over sand.

He’d had a rough night, all right. After work he’d taken a quick shower and put on some fresh clothes, thinking that maybe he and Marla might ride into town to see a movie. But as soon as dinner was over and Derek was cloistered in his room with his computer, Marla started riding his ass. She flung a crumpled piece of paper at him, which turned out to be Missy’s phone number. “Who the hell is Missy?” she spat at him.

“Just a customer,” he told her. “I was doing an upgrade at Hidden Oaks Apartments. She saw me working and wanted to know some prices. I told her I’d have the office call her back. I forgot to give Rhonda the note.”

She watched him, her eyes narrowed. “Bullshit,” she said. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Why couldn’t she just make a call herself?”

He could feel the first flares of anger licking his cheeks. “How the hell should I know? I just told her I’d have somebody call her back.”

Marla’s lips had pursed so tightly they were almost invisible. “You’re