by Diane Kelly
I stopped first at the door of the sedan. The driver, an older lady with layered white hair, rolled her window down a couple of inches. “I don’t know what kind of story that little twit might tell you,” she snarled through the gap, “but she pulled out right in front of me.”
“You two have spoken, then?”
She jerked her head back as if slapped. “Are you crazy? I’m not getting out in this weather.”
But I had no choice but to get soaked, thanks to these two drivers, sitting in their toasty warm cars. Where was the fairness in that?
I left the grandma behind and scurried to the driver’s window of the sports car. The window came down an inch to reveal a woman at the wheel in a long-sleeved pink tee and yoga pants. Her caramel hair cascaded in waves from the crown of her head to her chin, her eye makeup generous yet impeccable, the look combining to make her appear like a human cocker spaniel. Despite her circumstances, her face was serene. She must have been on her way home from class when the accident took place.
She gave me a smile that made me think she was also about to offer a “Namaste.” God help her if she did. Given my current mood, which was as sour as I was drenched, I just might beat her to death with my baton.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” the woman said. “The road looked clear and then all of a sudden bam! That other car seemed to come out of nowhere.”
I went back to my cruiser, retrieved my accident report forms, then trekked back and forth between the two cars with each driver’s name and insurance information. This stupid storm had reduced me from tough-as-nails cop to wet-as-a-mermaid secretary.
Fortunately, neither car was damaged bad enough to render it undrivable. The women were on their way, dry as a bone, in minutes. As for me, my pants dripped so much once I was seated again in my cruiser that a puddle formed under my foot pedals. Blurgh. Some Valentine’s Day this was turning out to be.
Seth was on duty at the fire department, and his day was going as badly as mine. I received a text from him just after noon that said What part of STAY OFF THE ROADS do people not understand? A second text came in a moment later. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Hoping for that sleepover.:)
I was flattered, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest nearly as loud as the rain on the windshield. I only hoped the weather would let up by tonight. I didn’t want anything to spoil our plans to dine at Reata. And after nearly being drowned out in the rain, I was beginning to seriously consider that sleepover. An orgasm might do me some good.
I cruised down Rosedale to Main, went south a couple of miles, then swung by Haynes’s place again. Still no signs of life.
Eeert! Eeert!
I nearly came out of my seat when, halfway through Ira Glass’s This American Life show on NPR, the broadcast was interrupted by the sound of the emergency alert system. The sudden, ear-splitting noise was evidently designed not only to get your attention, but also to cause you to drop a brick in your pants.
A recorded message played. “The National Weather Service has activated the emergency alert system. A severe weather warning has been issued for Tarrant County and the surrounding areas.” The message went on to warn of possible flash flooding, hail, rotation in the clouds possibly producing tornadoes, everything short of locusts and frogs. Listeners were advised to take cover in an interior room of their house and to stay tuned for further information. With a final eeert, the warning ending.
Knowing the alerts would be repeated ad nauseum, and that my nerves could not take another such jolt, I turned the radio off.
The rain continued to pour down, the white noise accentuated here and there with thunderbolts, the lightning temporarily illuminating the sky and surroundings. I considered heeding the radio’s advice and pulling over to wait out the storm, but when Derek passed me in his cruiser going the opposite direction, I figured if the Big Dick was man enough to continue patrolling in this weather then so was I … figuratively speaking, of course.
The sky turned an odd gray-green as I reached Berry Street. It was lunchtime now, so I pulled into a Burger King and ordered a plain whopper for my partner, a veggie burger for me. “No mayonnaise, please.” 57 calories a tablespoon and 76% fat? No thanks.
Once we’d received our food, I pulled into a parking spot. I tore Brigit’s burger into bite-sized bits, dropped them one by one over the top of her enclosure, and sat back to enjoy my own meal. Not gourmet fare by any means, but I’d get that tonight at Reata.
As we pulled out of the restaurant a few minutes later, the clouds released a barrage of hail the size of dimes. The frozen balls pinged off my hood and roof, too small to do any real damage, but big enough to make a deafening racket. Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping! Ping-ping! Ping-ping-ping!
What do you know? Hell had frozen over. Maybe I would miss Dale Grigsby after all.
My eyes scanned the area, looking for something I could pull under until the hail passed. The pharmacy drive-thru at Walgreens was already occupied by a car, as were both lanes at a drive-thru bank. Every covered bay at the gas station was full, too. People in Fort Worth knew to take hail seriously. Twenty years ago, during the annual outdoor Mayfest event, the city had been hit with hail having a diameter of up to ten centimeters. Dozens of people had been injured, and thirteen people died in the storm. In addition to the personal injuries, the property damage was astronomical, the most costly hailstorm up to that point in history. More recently, a nineteen-year-old boy lost his life here when hit in the head with softball-sized hail. Pleasant thoughts, no?
The hail grew larger, quarter-sized now. The pings became pangs. Pang-pang-pang! Pang-pang-pang-pang-pang! Pang-pang!
Brigit cowered behind me, whimpering.
“I feel the same way, girl.” Mother Nature could be a vicious, scary bitch.
The wind picked up yet again, and the hail grew from quarter-sized to golf ball-sized. The sound of the hail hitting the car was like artillery fire. Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam! Bam-bam! Bam-bam-bam-bam!
I was a bit freaked out and figured a prayer couldn’t hurt. Given the frozen ice balls raining down, a Hail Mary seemed appropriate. “Hail Mary,” I began, my voice hardly audible over the sound of the storm. “Full of grace. The Lord is with thee.”
The Lord might be with her, but He certainly wasn’t with the citizens of Fort Worth at the moment.
“Blessed art thou amongst women…”
I passed a liquor store and doughnut shop and turned into the parking lot of a pizza place, pulling under a tree. The leafless limbs offered only a minimum of protection, the hail continuing to bombard my car. My hood was so dimpled now it appeared to suffer a vehicular form of cellulite. Brigit continued to whine, pacing back and forth on her platform as we waited for the storm to pass. It sure seemed to be taking its time.
“I don’t know what you’re whining about, dog,” I said, my tone soft and soothing even if my words were snide. “If this windshield breaks I’ll be in big trouble. You’ll still have your cage to protect you.”
Reeeeeeeeeeeeee!
My heart sputtered in my chest.
Holy shit.
The tornado sirens had been activated. First a corpse and now a tornado. Could this week get any worse?
I knew a car was the wrong place to be in a storm, but I couldn’t very well take cover in the pizza place. It would be equally dangerous to run through the hail, and I didn’t want to risk Brigit being injured. Besides, the poor dog was terrified enough already, pacing back and forth on her platform. Taking her out in this weather, even for a brief moment, would be unwise. Hell, she might panic and try to run away from me. I couldn’t take that risk.
Reeeeeeeeeeeeee!
“It’s okay, girl!” I called, my voice sounding as tight and tense as I felt. I turned back to my partner and stuck my fingers through the mesh to stroke her the best I could with my fingertips. “It’s okay!”
Like hell it was.
As we sat there, a piece of sheet me
tal flew by in front of the cruiser, probably the roof to someone’s backyard shed. A large plastic garbage can rolled down the middle of the street, bouncing up and over the curb, then being blown back into the street to continue its careening path. The storm drains clogged with globs of hail and the gutters overflowed with rainwater in mere minutes, turning the parking lot into a pond, hailstones floating like miniature icebergs.
And still the hail came down. Bam-bam-bam!
And still the tornado sirens wailed. Reeeeeeee!
Another text came through from Seth. Armageddon?
Despite my situation, the text brought a chuckle to my lips.
A new sound joined the cacophony now, a chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga that sounded like an oncoming freight train. I wasn’t far from the tracks, but the sound was louder than I’d expected. Would trains even be running in this weather? Something seemed off.
And then I saw it.
A dark, massive swirl of wind and rain and debris that spanned the entire five-lane span, churning its way up Berry Street as if coming straight for me.
“Oh, God!” I crossed myself, imploring God, Jesus, Mary, and St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, to protect me and Brigit. It couldn’t hurt to get the entire team on our side.
“Our Father!” I cried, figuring I’d bypass Mary and go straight to the Big Guy this time. The situation seemed to warrant escalation. “Who art in Heaven—”
Clouded by terror, my mind went blank, unable to produce the remaining words to the prayer I’d recited thousands of times during my life, often as penance for one sin or another.
Instinctively, I started the car, my fight or flight reflex telling me to try to outrun the twister. Weather forecasters advise against this, of course, but my mind wasn’t exactly functioning at maximum efficiency at the moment. All I felt was a primal compulsion to get the hell out of there.
Mother Nature had other plans for us, however. Before I could drive off, she sent forth a gust of wind shear that rocked my car like thugs in a riot. The car went momentarily airborne before jerking up and flipping over, landing on the driver’s side, the left part of my skull impacting the window with a solid smack. The glass cracked, weblike fissures reaching to the edges. It was a wonder the hit didn’t knock me unconscious. Given what followed, I almost wished it had.
Brigit was beyond panicked now, leaping up and down in her cockeyed cage enclosure, barking up her own storm.
Woof-woof-woof!
Reeeeeeeee!
Chugga-chugga-chugga!
The tornado was on us. With the car on its side, it created a larger plane for the wind. The twirling funnel of air sent the car spinning on the asphalt like a whirligig.
Round and round and round she goes, where she’ll stop nobody knows!
My seatbelt kept me glued to my seat, but the centrifugal force threw Brigit against the back of her enclosure and held her there. She was too terrified now to even bark.
Though the spinning motion disoriented me, I had a sense that the car was also moving toward the street.
Oh, God!
What will happen if the car slams into the tree?
The roof will be crushed and Brigit and I will be killed, that’s what.
Poor dog. She’d been partnered with an idiot who hadn’t had the sense to come in out of the rain. Brigit would suffer for my poor judgment. The guilt of that realization cut me to the core. Her life was in my hands and look what I’d done. Probably put an end to it.
A few seconds later the spinning wound down—thanks be to God!—but Mother Nature wasn’t done with us yet. She sent another burst of wind shear and sent the cruiser sliding forward in a straight line now, right toward a fire hydrant. I could see it through the now-cracked windshield, a bright red anvil rushing toward my face. At the last second, the car tipped up slightly.
BAM!
The cruiser shook with the impact, causing Brigit to emit a fresh whine. The reinforced bumper knocked the hydrant aside, while momentum carried the cruiser forward a few more feet. Finally, the car came to a rest on the spot where the hydrant had been. The chugga-chugga noise became fainter, then ceased completely as the tornado either moved on or dissipated. The reeeeeeee of the sirens continued, however, punctuated here and there by a light ping of residual hail.
I unbuckled myself and turned in my seat to look at Brigit, who stood on the mesh over the back driver’s-side window. Her whining reduced to a whimper.
“We’re okay, girl. We’re—”
SPLOOSH!
A geyser of water burst from the main where the hydrant had been, sending glass and water rocketing into the cruiser.
HOLY SHIT!
As I choked and sputtered and fought against the roaring tidal wave, the car began to fill with water.
OH!
MY!
GOD!
I had to do something or Brigit and I would drown in here! Maybe I deserved to die for my actions, but she didn’t.
Pinching my nose to prevent the gush of water from rushing up my nostrils, I used the force to my advantage, allowing it to push me to a stand. One of my feet was hooked inside the steering wheel for leverage, the other braced against the passenger door. Reaching up, I grabbed the hand strap mounted above the window and threw my torso against the passenger seat in an attempt to rock the car. As the water rose to my shins, then knees, I repeated the action over and over, again and again, until the car began to shift. With one final hurl of my body, the car fell back to earth, righting itself, the water flowing in another swoosh to the floorboards.
I was out the door in an instant, Brigit’s leash in my hand. I opened the back door and unfastened her enclosure, giving her the order to stay. Probably not necessary given the way she was cowering on her platform, drenched and shaking like a paint mixing machine.
I reached in and clipped the leash to her collar lest she change her mind and attempt to bolt. “I’m so sorry, girl. It’s okay now. We’re all right. We’re okay. We’re all right.”
I repeated the words like a mantra—we’re all right, we’re okay—stroking my hand down her back until both she and I calmed. Finally, I ventured a look around me. The rain and hail had let up, though the hydrant geyser continued to spew ten feet into the air next to the cruiser. The sky grew lighter, the clouds beginning to thin. The tornado siren stopped its wail, replaced by an eerie quiet.
As my eyes moved up to the sky my mouth fell open. “I’ll be damned.”
Off in the distance, over the downtown skyline, arced not one, but two, vivid rainbows, almost as if Mother Nature were issuing a colorful apology to the city of Fort Worth.
TWENTY
WHAT THE HAIL?
Brigit
Holy dog biscuits! What just happened?
All Brigit knew was that things had been too loud and too shaky and too wet and too scary. She’d even peed on her platform. Not that anyone would be able to tell. The water that had gushed up through the window while the car had been turned on its side washed the evidence away.
After clipping the leash onto Brigit’s collar, Megan coaxed the dog to the open door of her enclosure, lifting her up to carry her over some broken glass on the asphalt. After Megan put her down, Brigit gave herself a good shake, ridding herself of some of the water that had doused her. She nuzzled the pocket where Megan kept her liver treats. If ever she’d earned one, it was today.
Megan pulled out three liver treats and fed them to Brigit, telling her she’d been a “good girl.” If Brigit could communicate verbally with Megan, she’d tell her partner that Megan had most definitely not been a good girl. Megan had ignored all of Brigit’s warning whines and whimpers, continuing on their patrol despite the threatening weather. Dumbass.
Brigit’s sharp eyes scanned their surroundings. The world around them looked nothing like the world she was used to. This world lacked its usual order. This world was messy and haphazard and chaotic. She was reminded of the time her original owner had taken her with him t
o a makeshift barrio just this side of the Mexican border. He’d visited with a prostitute while Brigit played with the woman’s bug-eyed Chihuahua. Her owner brought some souvenir crabs back with him, necessitating a trip to the county medical clinic. Sure, he’d treat his pubic lice, but Brigit’s irritating flea infestation? Forget it. She’d scratched herself nearly bald in places and the dipshit didn’t give a damn.
The annoying and constant high-pitched warning siren had stopped, replaced now by multiple sirens on numerous emergency vehicles responding to calls nearby. Brigit could hear screams and cries coming from houses in the neighborhood behind the damaged businesses across the street. She knew the sounds meant people were either hurt or scared or both. She also knew the sounds meant she and Megan would be very busy for the rest of their workday.
TWENTY-ONE
CRIMES OF OPPORTUNITY
Dub
Sometimes opportunity knocks. Sometimes it knocks things down.
Once the storm passed and he crawled out of the closet where he’d taken shelter, Dub’s first thought was to try to call his mother at work, to see if she was all right. Her apartment had no landline, though. He no longer had a cell phone, either. He’d wanted to get a new cell. Hell, he’d wanted to get a second pair of underwear. But his mother had no cash until payday on Monday. All she had was a bus pass and a fridge full of burritos. Dub used to love the things, but after eating them three meals a day since he’d arrived, he’d be happy if he never saw another burrito again in his life.
His mother’s apartment complex had been spared the brunt of the storm and suffered no damage other than some trash being tossed about, but the sirens in the distance told Dub that the area just to their west had been hit hard. The electricity was out, so there was no point in trying the television for reports.
He slid into his Gainesville State Tornadoes hoodie. Seemed right, what with today’s weather. Besides, he had nothing else to wear other than the T-shirt he’d had on under it when he’d first come here, and that one was dripping dry in the bathroom. His mother didn’t even have enough change to wash a load of laundry, so he’d had to rinse the shirt out in the sink.