‘That’s the spirit!’ Harmon said, turning to smile at Carolyn in the back seat.
They pulled into the cul-de-sac and up to the Potters’ driveway. ‘The ladies are all inside. Why don’t you join them while we search the woods?’ Bobby said.
‘Hell, no!’ Carolyn said. ‘I’m not sitting this one out! My boy’s out there and I intend to find him. With or without you guys!’
‘Definitely with,’ Harmon said.
They all piled out of the Suburban and looked toward the woods. ‘Like you said, Harmon,’ Bobby glanced at him, ‘ain’t nothing to it but to do it.’
The dog was walking next to Johnny Mac and the two kept up a steady stream of conversation.
Johnny Mac: ‘If we make it outta here, I’m gonna get you a big ol’ steak.’
Dog: ‘Woof.’
Johnny Mac: ‘You like steak?’
Dog: ‘Woof!’
Johnny Mac: ‘I like steak too. A lot. One time my mama tried to trick me and fixed steaks for her and Daddy and fixed me this hamburger thing. I mean, I was only, like, five, but hell, I knew that wasn’t any steak! And I said so! I said, “Where’s my steak?” and my daddy laughed his butt off.’
Dog: ‘Woof!’
Johnny Mac: ‘So, you got an owner, or something? Don’t see any tags or anything.’
Dog: ‘Woof.’
Johnny Mac: ‘I bet whoever it is must be missing you.’
Dog: ‘Woof.’
Johnny Mac: ‘It wasn’t that boy that was dragging you in here, was it?’
Dog: ‘Woof.’
‘Hey, shit for brains!’
Johnny Mac stopped in his tracks, looking around, shining his flashlight hither and yon. Finally he saw his friend Matt limp out from behind some still-standing trees. Johnny Mac dropped the litter, ran to his friend and hugged him.
‘All right already!’ Matt said, laughing. ‘Boys don’t hug!’
‘Sure they do!’ Johnny Mac said, and slapped his hand on Matt’s back. ‘Like that.’
‘Ow!’ Matt said.
Johnny Mac backed away. ‘Are you hurt?’
Matt shook his head. ‘Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious. Who’s that?’ he asked, pointing at the litter. ‘Is that Cody?’
‘Yeah. He broke his leg and there’s a bone sticking out and everything. I wrapped it in my shirt but he passed out from the pain. Well, that and the dog jumping on him.’
‘Woof!’ said the dog.
‘Hey, is that the dog we came in here looking for?’
‘Yeah, that’s what Cody said.’
Matt leaned in and rubbed the golden retriever/Shetland’s head. ‘Jeez, he’s a big ’un.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it. I had to pull him off Cody and believe me, it wasn’t easy,’ Johnny Mac said. ‘You know which way is out?’
Matt shook his head. ‘I dunno. I’m so turned around I don’t know which way is up.’
Johnny Mac grinned and pointed at what little could be seen of the sky. ‘That’s the only direction I’m sure of.’
‘It’s darker than crap in here. If I hadn’t seen your flashlight and heard this beast bark,’ he said, again rubbing the head of the very satisfied dog, ‘we never would have found each other.’
‘So, if we can find each other I don’t see why we can’t find our way out!’ Johnny Mac said with determination.
Matt held out his hand and Johnny Mac shook it. ‘Let’s do it!’ Matt said.
The one thing that kept Jean from totally losing it was the knowledge that her son was safe at his aunt’s house in Bishop. He knew nothing about Jean’s predicament and, if all went well, never would. After being alone for forty-some odd years, finding Milt and getting pregnant had been a godsend. It had taken some adjustment to come to terms with someone in her bed, someone else suckling her breast, and both of them needing her for this or that. John, at first, for everything; Milt for as many reasons as she needed him.
She worried about what would happen to Milt if she were to die up here. She knew he’d finally found true happiness with her and John, and with one of them gone how would he cope? She knew he’d continue to be a good father – that was just in his nature. But would he grieve too much? Maybe she should just say ‘fuck you’ to the old bitch and pick up the phone and call him. Tell him it’s OK to marry again, as long as he’s sure that she really loves John. But it’s OK for Milt to find happiness. Not just OK – necessary.
She felt Holly’s hand squeeze her own, and didn’t notice until then the tears streaming down her face. Jean used her other hand to wipe them away and turned her head to smile weakly at Holly. ‘I’m OK,’ she told the girl.
Holly laughed slightly. ‘Yeah, aren’t we all?’
I was pacing. Nine minutes until the old biddy started shooting. I just couldn’t sit still any longer. Something had to give. We needed a plan but nobody seemed to be coming up with one. Finally I turned to the group of law enforcement personnel standing there with their thumbs up their butts – just like yours truly.
‘I’m going upstairs—’ I started.
‘Come on, Milt,’ Emmett said, standing up from the table.
‘Jeez, Kovak, what do you think that will accomplish?’ Charlie Smith asked, also standing up from the table.
‘I’ll go with you, Milt!’ Dalton said. He was already standing, having not sat down once since the onset of this business. I was a mite worried that if the boy did sit down he might just die of a broken heart.
‘No, thank you, Dalton, but I think it’s best if only one of us goes. I’m going to trade myself for the hostages. I need some of y’all standing by in the hall to grab the hostages as they slip out, or start shooting if the old bitch starts shooting.’ I shrugged. ‘It could go either way.’
‘It’s not just you she’s gonna be shooting, Sheriff!’ Emmett said. He never called me Sheriff – always Milt. I figured he was pissed. ‘Some if not all of the hostages will be dropping like flies!’
‘Well, what the fuck do you propose I do, Deputy?’ I yelled. I emphasized the ‘deputy’ because I was pissed he’d called me ‘Sheriff,’ and also because he just shot holes (excuse the pun) in my grand – if somewhat faulty – scheme.
‘OK, everybody,’ Charlie Smith said, walking toward me and putting his arm around my shoulders. ‘Let’s all calm down. We don’t need to be at each other’s throats.’
I pulled away from Charlie’s embrace. I didn’t need him being all condescending to me. I wanted a plan! Any plan! I looked at my watch. Seven minutes. Seven minutes until the old bitch shot my wife.
The two Longbranch police officers, along with the Longbranch volunteer firefighters, had just pulled the rescue van onto High Grove Lane, where the former home of Cody McIntosh and his family used to be, when the ruptured gas lines finally blew. It only took the first one to set off all the others, and in seconds the whole street was an inferno.
The blasts sent cracks through the windshield of the rescue van, but there were no injuries. The four firefighters jumped out, grabbed the one hose the rescue van carried and affixed it to the fire hydrant stationed at the corner of the street.
One of the police officers got on the walkie-talkie and called in to the mayor. ‘We got a major fire on High Grove Lane. The whole street’s gone up. I’m guessing ruptured gas lines. Got any fire engines around? Over.’
‘We got a couple on the way. I’ll send them up there. Just try to keep it from spreading, OK? Over.’
‘That’s what we’re doing,’ the police officer said, then followed up with, ‘Out,’ and stuck the walkie-talkie in his back pocket.
‘You think Cody’s gonna be all right?’ Matt asked as they pulled the litter along the debris-strewn floor of the woods.
Johnny Mac shrugged. ‘Hope so. But that bone sticking out – man.’ He shook his head. ‘That didn’t look good at all. And now he’s all, you know, out of it. I just hope he’s not dead.’
Matt stopped pulling the litter, which made Johnny
Mac stop since if he just pulled his side he and his cargo would be going around in circles.
Matt walked back to where Cody lay and shone the flashlight in his face. Nary a muscle moved. ‘He’s dead,’ Matt announced. ‘Shit, are we gonna be in trouble, or what?’
Johnny Mac joined him and looked down at Cody’s face, still illuminated by the flashlight. He bent down, lifted Cody’s wrist and felt for a pulse. ‘Naw, he’s not dead. But his pulse is weaker than it was a while ago. We really need to get him out of here.’
‘Yeah, no kidding. But which way is out?’
Both boys looked around, wishing they had a clue – but one was provided at that very moment.
‘Why’d you start bawlin’ back there?’ Jasper Thorne, EMT, asked his partner, Drew Gleeson.
Drew hedged for a minute, then said, ‘The whole situation just got to me, I guess. And,’ he said, thinking fast, ‘I was in a bad tornado when I was a kid. It killed my grandpa.’
‘Ah, hell, man, I didn’t know,’ Jasper said. He slugged Drew on the arm. ‘Ain’t no shame in tears, man. Ain’t no shame.’
Drew nodded and looked off into space. They were essentially sitting in the Bishop town square, waiting for a call to pick up the injured to transport them back to Longbranch. They’d been there for ten minutes and no calls yet. Surely there were injured people out there? Drew needed there to be injured people. He needed to jump in the ambulance and rush off, administer emergency care and get people the hell back to Longbranch, sirens blazing, going as fast as the old bus would let him.
And he needed all this, of course, so he could stop thinking about Joynell. Shot dead by that no-good asshole husband of hers, the sweetest woman he’d ever known. Kind, caring and tender, and all those good things you want a woman to be. And still as sexy as hell. He’d never felt like that before. Never in his whole life. Joynell was his one true love, and that goddam Blanton asshole had taken her away from him! Just like his love for Joynell was a new experience in his life, the hatred he’d felt for her husband when he’d looked at him in his cell was something he’d never experienced before either.
Drew could feel the tears welling up again and, despite what his partner had just said, he opted not to get caught blubbering yet again. There might not be no shame, Drew thought, but it was as embarrassing as hell.
My cell phone rang and I dug it out of my pocket and said, ‘Kovak.’
The new coroner identified himself.
‘Hey,’ I greeted him. ‘You got any results?’
‘Nary a one. Figure it must be like poison or something ’cause he didn’t have a mark on him anywhere. So I gotta send him to the state lab. They got all the stuff to do a real autopsy, know what I mean?’
‘The two former MEs were able to do a “real autopsy,”’ I said, putting some emphasis on the ‘real autopsy’ comment.
‘Well, Milt, they were doctors. I’m a mortician. The county knew what they were getting when they voted me in! They wanna pay me less than a real MD, then they’re gonna get somebody who ain’t a real MD! Know what I mean?’
I sighed. ‘Just send the body to the state guys then—’
‘Already done. Sent him out half an hour ago. But I gotta tell you, Milt, the lady that answered the phone said they were backlogged and it could be a couple of days,’ the new coroner said.
‘Wonderful,’ I said. ‘Just fucking wonderful.’ I hung up the phone.
I went out the front door of the Longbranch Inn and glanced at the sky in all directions, thinking, well, if that tornado was heading here, it was taking its own sweet time. There’d been some rain, and a little lightning and thunder that I could see and hear from the restaurant of the Longbranch Inn, but the rain had stopped and the clouds were dispersing. I put my hands in my pockets and started walking around the inn, thinking.
Fact: Darrell Blanton was dead.
Fact: Eunice Blanton held my wife and seven other – make that eight, or would it be nine by now? – people hostage.
Fact: One of those people was an undercover policeman.
Fact: We had no reinforcements coming – because of my own stupidity.
Fact: Dalton Pettigrew was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Fact: Emmett Hopkins was probably thinking about running against me come election time.
Fact: I had not one good idea.
Not one. And my wife, the love of my life, was upstairs in that hell hole with so many loves of so many other lives, and I couldn’t get her out. I couldn’t tell Eunice Blanton the truth about her boy. She’d go ape-shit. Or would she? I thought it would be really nice to talk this over with Jean. Her being a psychiatrist and all, maybe she could get a handle on this. But I really couldn’t tell the old bat that her son was dead! Or could I? I looked at my watch. Four minutes.
Bobby Potter, Matt’s father, was a civil engineer who had to inspect sites and buildings and what have you. Therefore, the back of his Suburban was loaded with the tools of his trade. There was a box of flashlights in varying sizes – everything from a huge hand-held searchlight to a tiny mag light and everything in between. He handed out the flashlights and then began handing out tools.
‘I’ll take the sledge hammer, as I’m the biggest,’ Bobby said. ‘Here, Carolyn, take this pick ax; Harmon, you bring the first aid kit,’ he said, hauling out the biggest first aid kit any of them had ever seen.
And they headed to the end of the cul-de-sac, to the path that led around the last house, across the greenbelt and into the woods, their lights shining brightly on the devastation in front of them.
‘Oh my God,’ Carolyn breathed. ‘Our boys are in here somewhere?’
Harmon Monk patted her shoulder. ‘They’re OK, Carolyn. I can feel it. They’re OK.’
‘From your mouth to God’s ear,’ Carolyn said as they trudged deeper into the woods.
They took turns shouting out the names of their missing children, the lights sweeping the trees and debris. It didn’t take long before they literally tripped over a bike. Actually, it was Bobby, in the lead, who did the tripping.
‘Well mother-fu—’ he started. Then said, ‘Excuse me, Carolyn.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, shining her light on the object that had tripped Bobby.
‘It’s a bike!’ Bobby said. ‘My daughter’s bike.’
‘Your daughter?’ Harmon said. ‘But she wasn’t home when this came down. She’s at your house now.’
‘So what if Matt and Johnny Mac decided to go do something stupid – like come in here,’ Bobby said, flashing his light around, ‘and they needed bikes. But Johnny Mac doesn’t have one at your house, right?’
‘Right,’ Harmon answered. ‘So he’d borrow Miranda’s and follow Matt in here.’
‘Hey, now!’ Bobby said. ‘We don’t know who followed who!’
‘Sorry,’ Harmon said. ‘They’re in here, all three of ’em, and that’s a fact. And we found one girl’s bike—’
‘And a pair of Nikes,’ Carolyn said, coming back from a slight detour and carrying the shoes. ‘Anybody recognize these?’
Both men shook their heads. ‘They could have come from anywhere,’ Harmon said, ‘and just got dropped in here when the twister came over.’
‘Yeah, but hold on to ’em,’ Bobby advised. ‘We might run into a barefooted boy.’
Carolyn stuck the child-sized shoes in the back pockets of her jeans and followed the men further into the woods.
Eunice Blanton was still staring out the window at the county courthouse across the street. She thought she’d like to sit down, but figured she’d better not. Don’t let ’em think they got you down, girl, she told herself. But truth be known, Eunice was tired. She was going to be seventy years old next week – not that her children noticed – and what with the sugar diabetes, things weren’t exactly looking up. No matter how many times she poked herself and smeared her blood in that little doohickey the doctor gave her, the numbers still came out real high – like in the two-hundred range
. One thing she did know was that it was supposed to be from eighty to one hundred and twenty. So she wasn’t doing so hot. But if she went to the doctor about it he’d probably make her take them damn insulin shots. Lord knew, poking her fingers four times a day was bad enough, but shooting herself with a needle? Uh uh. Wasn’t gonna happen.
She missed her boy. She missed Darrell. Darrell always made her laugh. Earl just made her want to hit him most times. Marge? Eunice mentally shrugged. Marge wasn’t such a much. She shoulda been a boy. Three boys woulda been great. But the first baby, right out of the chute, ended up a girl. Seemed like everybody in Blantonville was whispering about that. Her having a girl. What was she thinking of? Of course, weren’t nothing she coulda done about it. It was in God’s hands.
Marge moved in with Eunice when Marge’s own husband died, saying she wanted to take care of her mama, but Eunice knew it was really because that worthless husband of hers didn’t leave her a pot to piss in. And then Eunice ends up practically raising Chandra all on her lonesome. Marge didn’t even work. But with Eunice’s social security, and the social security disability Marge got from her dead husband, they did OK. ’Course, half the time Earl stayed with them, whenever he lost a job and missed his rent and got kicked out on his butt, and of course he never offered a dime. Sometimes he’d bring home a rabbit or a squirrel or, on rare occasions, a deer, but other than that he didn’t do much for his keep.
But her Darrell! Now there was a real man! He worked hard to bring home the bacon to his family, had his own double-wide on twenty acres of prime real estate his daddy had left him and took good care of his family. Well, except for accidentally shooting his wife, of course. And Eunice knew in her heart that Joynell had somehow been asking for it. She’d never liked Joynell. She thought she was all hot stuff ’cause her family didn’t marry their relatives. But she was just a hairnet working at the elementary school outside Blantonville when Darrell found her. Not like she was such a much, either.
Shit, Eunice thought, when it came to daughters and daughters-in-law she wasn’t exactly batting a thousand. And then the little missy, her granddaughter Chandra, goes and gets herself pregnant, and dollars to donuts it wasn’t a Blanton who’d done the deed. Now she thinks she’s all high and mighty carrying a child, who, rightfully, shouldn’t have the Blanton name.
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