CHAPTER 2

As Tommy escorted Carrie from the limo, Eric and D. watched through field glasses. They were both students at Ewen, neither of them were going to the prom. "Ross and Carrie White," said Eric with an affected swagger. "Ross and Carrie White! Will you look at that stupid bitch! Why the fuck didn't she make herself look that good every day?"

"Because she's pathetic?" said D, as always with a scowl.

"She gets fuck-able for the first time in her life, and then dies in a school shooting a few hours later."

"Yeah, like one a' those uh . . . mayflies."

Eric lowered the field glasses and frowned. "I'm impressed. Very profound. You've been hittin' the books again, D? Like you're going to become a professor when you grow up?"

"Who needs a future? I pulled that one off the Discovery Channel."

Eric lifted the glasses again. "So, there's your car, D., right in front of the gym. I congratulate you for drivin' it here without blowin' it up. You win the skills competition. Here's first prize." Eric reached into his Ford Contour and took out a fifth of Jim Beam. He took a pull himself.

"Hey! That's my prize." D. grabbed for the bottle.

Eric held it away. "Take only one swig, captain. It's supposed to calm whatever nerves you're gettin'. You gotta be able to shoot straight when the time comes, or else you've got nothing to do but off yourself like a loser. And who wants to die without takin' someone more pathetic with'em?" He handed the bottle to D., who took a single swallow, coughed, then handed it back to Eric, who threw it back on the seat.

"Do Rick and Keith got things set up inside?" asked D.

"As long as you wired the bombs right."

"I followed the book. It's all code."

"Flash bombs are a bit different than your Daddy's dimmer switches."

"Hit the button on the remote, and the whole batch'll go off. Nobody in there's going to be able to see a thing."

"So, it's important we don't go in until I hit the button and give the signal. Don't fuck that up. You don't want be rockin' your Bushmaster blind. That's not really rock. That's, more like disco, man. Don't embarrass us. Rick and Keith will slip out when the king and queen votes are announced and everyone's lookin' at the stage. They'll 'quip up, should take only thirty seconds. I'll set off the flashes. Then we all go in firin'. On the second clip, throw the bombs to herd the rabbits and sheep out to the parking lot. Then, you hit the button and your car takes up the whole block."

"Man, Eric. Too bad you're not joining the army. You would have been a great general."

"Yeah, I'd rather have it like this. It's worth it to be able to choose my mode of exit. No pain in the ass surprises in store for me."

"I guess you're disappointed that Chris Hargensen won't be in there."

"The hell she won't! You think I'd leave this world without sendin' her to Hell first? Not after the way she frosted me out. No, she'll be here. Her and Nolan both."

"Really? But she's banned from the prom."

"Doesn't make a difference with Chris. I heard from Hank that she, Billy, Lou, Kenny and a few other brainless warm bodies broke into Overlook's Hog Farm and poached a few pigs. Now get this: they didn't take the pork. They took only the blood."

D. made a grimace.

"Anti-kosher, isn't it?" said Eric.

"I don't get it. How does that mean Chris and Billy are going to be here tonight?"

"Because poor Chris had her panties in a wedgie over missing the prom. She's a mean bitch, part of what I like about her, and a prankster. She doesn't take anythin' from the world's idiots. And Nolan would do anything to impress her."

"So, what's she gonna do?"

"Hell if I know, D. Something with pigs' blood. Point is, she'll be here. Meanwhile, we don't chain the doors until Chris and her fireplug Nolan show up."

"I wonder what you can do with pigs' blood at a prom?"

Eric laughed. "We can make that a game while we wait. One thing, let's be symbolic and start it with overthrowing the monarchy. You aim for the prom king, whoever he is, I'll aim for the queen. I want to see some gorgeous bitch's brains splatter across the George Chizmar's artistic stage backdrop. It'd give it a post-modern favor."