The Killing Vision - By Will Overby Page 0,2

an excuse to not climb during the next tower maintenance.

* * *

When Joel pulled the cable truck into Wade’s driveway, Wade was standing on the front porch, grabbing one last cigarette since they were not allowed to smoke in the company trucks. He flicked the butt out into the yard and motioned for Joel to get out.

Joel glanced at his watch as he slid out and slammed the door behind him. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Got something to show you,” Wade said. He stepped off the porch and headed up the drive toward the old barn at the back of the house.

Joel followed hesitantly. “You didn’t kill another copperhead did you?”

Wade glanced at him and grinned; he knew Joel was deathly afraid of snakes. Once when Joel was twelve and Wade was sixteen, they had found an old snakeskin out in the woods. Wade hid it in a box in the closet, and they both forgot about it. Wade found it some time later and decided to have some fun with it. Joel awoke one morning to find the skin draped over his pillow. By the time he realized it was just the old skin, he had already wet the bed in fright.

Wade pulled back the heavy weathered door and light spilled onto a shapeless mass hiding beneath a rust-stained tarp. “Got a great deal on this from a guy over in Russellville. He and his brother even drove it over here.” He whipped off the tarp, and Joel sucked in his breath.

Sitting in the shadows of the barn was a red Ford Mustang convertible, its tattered top folded back. There were a couple of rust spots on the front fenders, the bumpers were tarnished, and it was missing the chrome “R” from “FORD” on the hood, but it was a Mustang just the same. Everything from the scowl of the nose to the pony emblem on the gas cap signified power. The car seemed to be in motion even though it was standing still. Joel reached out to stroke the dusty surface with his fingertips—guiltily, as if he were touching a naked woman. “What year?” he asked.

“’Sixty-five.”

“How much you pay?”

“Twenty-five hundred.”

Joel whistled softly, peering down the side of the car for any telltale ripples. “Needs a lotta work.”

“I know.” Wade was still grinning with pride. He caressed the black vinyl of the driver’s seat like a lover. “You’ll help me, won’tcha?”

“Sure,” Joel said. He couldn’t help but finger the pony emblem on the grill, tracing the galloping legs and flowing mane.

“Dad?” Wade’s son was peering around the door, his dark hair sticking up in tufts.

Joel jerked his hand back reflexively, as if he had been caught doing something obscene.

Derek padded into the barn, his feet slapping against the packed bare ground. He was wearing only a pair of jeans, and his chest already had that beefy hard look that ran in the Roberts family. The kid was sixteen but big as he was he could easily pass for twenty. “When are we gonna start working on the car?”

Wade reached up to scratch underneath his cap. “Probably this weekend. Joel’s gonna help.”

Derek looked at Joel and smiled. “Cool.”

“Derek!” came a voice from the side door of the house.

Derek blew out a breath. “Guess I’d better go.”

Before he could hit the open door, Wade’s wife appeared in the driveway. Marla’s soft blonde hair was loose and flying about her head. Even so, Joel still thought she was beautiful. He always had. It was her eyes. They were dark and haunted, as though she had endured a great amount of tragedy. But if she had, it had not touched her loveliness. It was almost as if the more she had been tortured, the more beautiful she had become, as if God were overcompensating for her pain. Joel had never touched her, so he wasn’t sure if what he believed was true, but he had never failed to be awed in her presence.

This morning, however, anger flashed in her eyes. “Derek!”

Derek slunk out of the barn toward her. “I’m coming. Jesus.”

“You don’t even have your shirt and shoes on. You’re gonna be late for work!” Derek was working in town this summer at Dairy Queen, and Joel wondered if the boy was as lazy at work as he seemed to be at home. Marla glanced at Joel and nodded in greeting.

“Morning, Marla,” he said as she slipped out of sight.

“Marla, lay off the boy for five minutes,” Wade called after her. “Goddammit.”

Joel looked at