Page 51 of Delusional

Kimmy sniffled and pointed at the TV with a damp paper towel.

Owens looked back at the TV, where the interview with the husband of the dead woman was still going on. That must’ve been what was making Kimmy so upset, but he couldn’t understand it. When the newscast moved on to the weather, Owens looked down at the notebook containing details about the explosive device he was making for their next mission.

Ellis came trotting down the stairs, his penny loafers echoing on the hardwood surface. Owens envied Ellis’s casual but elegant style. Most of the time, it didn’t seem like he put any effort into it either. Now he was dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt with some kind of splashy brand-name sweater.

Still thinking about the media coverage, Owens said, “When are we gonna write our statement about the bombing in Manhattan? We’re not just doing this for fun. People have to be forced to pay attention to climate change. They need to realize what Big Tech companies are doing to us. You’re better at putting words to those kind of ideas than I am.”

Ellis kept his calm demeanor and sat in a comfortable chair across from the couch. “I’m working on it now. I’ll leave it up to you how we get it into the public without it being traced back to us personally.”

Owens nodded. That sounded like a reasonable plan.

Ellis tapped the notebook on the coffee table that Owens had just been writing in, and looked inquisitive. Owens was quick to put his hand on the notebook so Ellis wouldn’t pick it up. “It’s my idea for our next project.”

The tall man leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re on board with us. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve been looking at the Con Edison station in Queens. Not only does it provide power; they also intend to use it in the future to harness power from Canada. That’s not the way to improve the environment. It still depends on fossil fuels for virtually all of the power in the city.”

“I thought that was something we were going to do later.”

“We rise and fall with public attention,” Owens said.

“We also rise and fall with cash. We need to have an infusion of capital. I think hitting a bank sends a good message, and we can also profit from it. You’re not a communist, are you?”

Owens didn’t respond.

Ellis said, “I’m looking at the long view. We need to be prepared to operate as a group well into the future.”

“No one cares about banks.”

“I care about banks. That’s why we’re going to target one next.” Ellis’s voice had risen in volume during the conversation. Now he stood up.

Owens tried to match him by standing up as well. It was a mistake. The difference in their heights alone made him feel inferior. “I’m going to work on the Con Edison device.”

Ellis reached out and grabbed Owens by the shirt, pulling him close and growling, “I’m in charge. We’re going to hit a bank, make a statement, and get some capital. Is there anything you don’t understand about that?”

Owens felt utterly helpless. It was infuriating. He was back to questioning his decision to join these guys. He wondered if he could kick Ellis in the groin hard enough to escape. He tried to work up the courage.

Ellis looked at him like he knew what Owens was thinking. Then he released his grip and shot Owens a last, threatening glance before stomping back up the stairs.

Owens didn’t understand how things had turned bad so quickly.

CHAPTER 63

I FELT COMPLETELY drained after our fight at the bar and confrontation with Arnold Marks. But there was no time to rest. Or recover.

Every time I tried to think about the situation here, the bombing case popped into my head. When I tried to concentrate on the bombing case, Arnold Marks started swimming through my brain. It was a classic case of indecision. I knew the best way out would be to talk to someone who understood.

Gary Trilling had gone over to talk to his mother and grandfather next door. I grabbed my partner and told him I wanted us to go for a walk together.

“A walk? You know it’s even colder now than it was after the funeral,” Rob Trilling pointed out.

“I’ll confess I didn’t factor that into my request. But I’m prepared to brave the weather.” As usual, Trilling didn’t object. Instead of saying anything, he opened Gary’s hall closet and grabbed two heavy coats with fur-lined hoods. After we each put one on, we headed out the back door.

Trilling said, “If we stay on the side of the house with the hills to the left, the wind shouldn’t be too brutal.” I was happy to follow along. That turned out to be the same side with Fido’s pen. As we walked there, I understood why it was wedged in on this side of the house—it was protected from the wind on one side by the hills and on another by the house. Amazingly, without the wind hitting you in the face, the temperature was almost comfortable. At least Fido seemed to appreciate it.

The llama was eating from a trough inside his shelter when Trilling and I stepped up to the fence that made up the perimeter of his pen. Fido immediately stopped eating, turned, and made a hissing sound as he spat at me. Again? What the hell did I ever do to this thing?

Trilling pointed out some wolf scat.