"And you like it? . . . What're you laughing at?"
"Just . . . I don't know the last time anybody--I mean a boyfriend--asked me if I like my job. . . . Anyway, sure, serving's fun. Sometimes I pretend I'm not just serving. I pretend it's my party, with my friends and family."
Outside the window a hungry seagull hovered over a piling, then landed clumsily, looking for scraps. Pell had forgotten how big they were.
Jennie continued, "It's like when I bake a cake, say, a wedding cake. Sometimes I just think it's the little happinesses that're all we can count on. You bake the best cake you can and people enjoy it. Oh, not forever. But what on earth makes you happy forever?"
Good point. "I'll never eat anybody's cake but yours."
She gave a laugh. "Oh, sure you will, sweetie. But I'm happy you said that. Thank you."
These few words had made her sound mature. Which meant, in control. Pell felt defensive. He didn't like it. He changed the subject. "Well, I hope you like your sand dabs. I love them. You want another iced tea?"
"No, I'm fine for now. Just sit close to me. That's what I want."
"Let's look over the maps."
She opened her bag and took them out. She unfolded one and Pell examined it, noticing how the layout of the Peninsula had changed in the past eight years. Then he paused, aware of a curious feeling within him. He couldn't quite figure out the sensation. Except that it was real nice.
Then he realized: he was free.
His confinement, eight years of being under someone else's control, was over, and he could now start his life over again. After finishing up his missions here, he'd leave for good and start another Family. Pell glanced around him, at the other patrons in the restaurant, noting several of them in particular: the teenage girl, two tables away, her silent parents hunched over their food, as if actually having a conversation would be torture. The girl, a bit plump, could be easily seduced away from home when she was alone in an arcade or Starbucks. It would take him two days, tops, to convince her it was safe to get into the van with him.
And at the counter, the young man of about twenty (he'd been denied a beer when he'd "forgotten" his ID). He was inked--silly tattoos, which he probably regretted--and wore shabby clothes, which, along with his meal of soup, suggested money problems. His eyes zipped around the restaurant, settling on every female older than sixteen or so. Pell knew exactly what it would take to sign the boy up in a matter of hours.
Pell noted too the young mother, single, if the naked ring finger told the truth. She sat slouching in a funk--man problems, of course. She was hardly aware of her baby in a stroller by her side. She never once looked down at the child, and good luck if it started crying; she'd lose patience fast. There was a story behind her defeated posture and resentful eyes, though Pell didn't care what it might be. The only message of interest to him was that her connection to the child was fragile. Pell knew that if he could lure the woman to join them, it wouldn't take much work to separate mother and child, and Pell would become an instant father.
He thought of the story his aunt Barbara had read him when he'd stayed with her in Bakersfield: the Pied Piper of Hamelin, the man who spirited away the children of a medieval German town, dancing as
they followed, when the citizens refused to pay him for eliminating a rat infestation. The story had made a huge impression on Pell and stayed with him. As an adult he read more about the incident. The real facts were different from the Brothers Grimm and popular versions. There were probably no rats involved, no unpaid bills; a number of children simply disappeared from Hamelin and were never found again. The disappearance--and the parents' reportedly apathetic response--remained a mystery.
One explanation was that the children, infected with plague or a disease that induced dancelike spasms, were led out of town to die because the adults feared contagion. Another was that the Pied Piper organized a religious pilgrimage for children, who died on the road in some natural disaster or when they were caught in a military conflict.
There was another theory, though, which Pell preferred. That the children left their parents willingly and followed the Pied Piper to Eastern Europe, then being colonized, where they created settlements of their own, with him as their absolute leader. Pell loved the idea that someone had the talent to lure away dozens of--some said more than a hundred--youngsters from their families and become their substitute parent. What sorts of skills had the Piper been born with, or perfected?
He was lulled from his daydreams by the waitress, who brought their food. His eyes strayed to her breasts, then down to the food.
"Looks scrumptious, sweetie," Jennie said, staring at her plate.
Pell handed her a bottle. "Here's the malt vinegar. You put that on them. Just sprinkle it on."
"Okay."
He took one more look around the restaurant: the sullen girl, the edgy boy, the distant mother . . . He wouldn't pursue any of them now, of course. He was simply ecstatic to see that so many opportunities beckoned. After life was settled, in a month or so, he'd begin hunting again--the arcades, the Starbucks, the parks, the schoolyards and campuses, McDonald's.
The Pied Piper of California . . .
Daniel Pell's attention turned to his lunch and he began to eat.
*
The cars sped north on Highway 1.
Michael O'Neil was behind the wheel of his unmarked MCSO Ford, Dance beside him. TJ was in a CBI pool Taurus right behind them, and two Monterey Police cruisers were tailing them. The Highway Patrol was sending several cars to the party too, and the nearest town, Watsonville, was sending a squad car south.
O'Neil was doing close to eighty. They could've gone faster but traffic was heavy. Portions of the road were only two lanes. And they used only lights, no sirens.
They were presently en route to where they believed Daniel Pell and his blond accomplice were, against all odds, eating a leisurely lunch.