The Nearness of You

by Dorothy Garlock

  But for now, she still had Hooper’s Crossing.

  Standing on the corner in front of the grocery store, she wondered how Boone and Clive were doing. Turning around, she got her answer. A ghost was walking toward her. Lily smiled brightly. She hurried to him and threw her arms around his waist, squeezing tight. “I’m so glad I met you, Boone.”

  There was a pause, then, “Wrong name, but I agree on the meetin’ part.”

  Lily quickly stepped back, more than a little embarrassed at the mistake she’d made. There were a dozen sheet-wearing ghosts walking around and she had been foolish enough to assume that the one in front of her was her favorite photographer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “That’s fine by me, Lily,” the man answered, stunning her by using her name. “You can put your hands on me anytime you want.”

  Peering at the holes cut into his sheet, Lily searched the stranger’s eyes, looking for a hint of recognition, something that would give away his identity. Even his voice sounded strangely familiar, but try as she might, Lily couldn’t place it. Her face must have reflected her confusion because the man tugged away the sheet, pulling it off his head and revealing his face. Lily gasped.

  It was the man who had made her so uncomfortable in front of the bank, the same man who’d later robbed Boone and Clive.

  “Surprise!” he said with a grin that was more menacing than friendly, the sheet over his shoulder, neither completely on nor off.

  “It’s…It’s you…” she managed, backing a step away.

  “Good-time Randall, in the flesh,” he said, following her.

  “Randall?” Lily asked, utterly confused. “You said your name was Mike.”

  Almost imperceptibly, the man shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe the stupidity of his own mistake. “Whatever,” he told her. “Happy to see me?”

  “You…you robbed Boone’s room…you hurt Clive…” she kept on, unable to stop herself from saying aloud the things he’d done. “You and another man…”

  Randall’s smiled faltered. He looked at her curiously. “How do you know about that?” he asked, not a denial but an admission.

  “Because of the picture…the one of you and me…”

  Now all of Randall’s good cheer vanished, replaced by an ugly frown. As Lily started to move farther away, he closed the distance between them and grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard. “I stole that picture,” he hissed. “How do you know about it?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he shook her, demanding an answer.

  “There was a negative…” she told him. “We gave it to the police.”

  Lily had hoped that might scare Randall enough to let her go, but his expression grew even darker. “That was a mistake,” he said. “And here I was hopin’ we could have us some fun, but things have changed.” He looked around, his attention focusing on an alley twenty feet away. “You’re comin’ with me,” Randall growled. “Don’t try anything stupid, not unless you wanna get hurt.” To further make his point, he raised his shirt and showed her the gun tucked into his waistband.

  Fear flooded Lily’s chest. Even though there were a hundred people around, none of them had noticed what was happening to her. While everyone was celebrating, she was in danger. Lily knew that if she went along with Randall, if she allowed him to take her somewhere no one could see them, she’d be hurt, badly. That left her with only one choice, so she took it.

  Lily started screaming.

  Boone raised his camera to his eye, thankful he’d removed his sheet. He was just about to take the picture of the contest winners, a young girl dressed as a farmer, her little brother decked out like a pig, curly tail, snout, and all, when a woman’s scream split the night. Instantly, deep down in his gut, Boone knew that it was Lily.

  “Clive!” he shouted; the writer was jotting notes as he interviewed the kids’ mother about their Halloween costumes. “Come on!”

  Without waiting to see if his partner was following, Boone took off like a shot, running as fast as he could. Half a block later, he realized that he wasn’t carrying his camera; he had no idea if he’d dropped it or handed it to someone, but he couldn’t have cared less.

  The only thing that mattered was Lily.

  Boone weaved in and out of the crowd as more screams rose, echoing off the buildings, making his heart pound. He dodged a family then squeezed between a mailbox and a fire hydrant and suddenly there she was. A man had her by the wrist, looking panicked as Lily continued to shout. Sneering, he roughly pushed her to the ground then took off running for a nearby alley, a white sheet momentarily trailing along behind him before it fell to the pavement.

  The crowd seemed frozen, stunned by what they were seeing. But not Boone. He raced forward, wanting to go after the man, but he reined in his anger.

  Lily first, that son of a bitch second!

  Damn it, damn it, damn it!

  Randall shoved Lily the second he saw the photographer, as angry at her as he was at himself, and ran for the alley. Her screams had taken him by surprise. To be honest, he hadn’t thought she had it in her; she’d struck him as the type who wouldn’t fight back. Hearing that the police had a picture of him had been unnerving, but Randall had thought forcing Lily away from the crowd would give him some time to figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, the bitch had had other plans.

  So now he ran.

  He sprinted into the alley’s mouth, his footsteps loud between the buildings as he headed for the bank. Randall’s mind raced faster than his legs. Even as he clung to the hope that the robbery could go on as planned, deep down he knew that it was too late. Leo was going to be furious. All that planning, planning, and more planning had gone up in flames, all because Randall couldn’t resist getting close to a girl who’d caught his fancy.

  “Shit!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Running fast through the dark, Randall glanced back over his shoulder, half expecting Boone to be right behind him, but no one was there. He touched his waistband, reassured by the gun. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. All he had to do was get to Leo and then they could—

  A figure suddenly appeared before him, as if they’d come out of nowhere, forcing Randall to skid to a stop. His first thought was that it was just another festivalgoer, but he was quickly proven wrong.

  “Freeze! This is the police!”

  When Randall shoved Lily to the ground, she hadn’t been angry or frightened but happy to be free of him. Screaming had been risky, but she’d convinced herself that he wouldn’t harm her, not in front of so many people. Fortunately, her bet had paid off. Even as she landed on the pavement, skinning her elbow and hurting her backside, Lily was flooded with relief.

  That feeling grew when Boone knelt beside her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his expression and tone full of concern. “Who was that? Did he hurt you?”

  Lily shook her head, her heart pounding. “It was Mike, I mean Randall!” she shouted. “One of the men who robbed your room! The one in the picture!”

  Boone’s head shot up, looking toward the alley. His eyes narrowed. “Then I’m going after him,” he declared as he started to rise to his feet.

  “No!” Lily shouted, grabbing Boone’s hand and holding him tight.

  “Why not?”

  “He has a gun,” she said, remembering the fearsome look of the dark weapon and thinking of all the pain it could cause.

  At that moment, Clive finally arrived, completely out of breath. He put his hands on his knees and began to suck in huge gulps of air. Parts of his costume had either fallen off or been torn away. “What…what happened…?” he wheezed.

  “Watch Lily,” Boone told his friend, determinedly pulling his hand from hers, then looked her in the eyes. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  Before Lily could respond, the photographer was off, running toward the same alley that had swallowed Randall and was soon lost from sight.

 
“Who…who…is he after…?” Clive asked, late to all of the excitement and lacking in details.

  But Lily wasn’t listening. She was already up off the ground, not bothering to wipe off her costume, and moving away. She was vaguely aware of the writer calling to her, telling her to wait for him, but she wasn’t listening.

  She wouldn’t be left behind. Not now.

  Not if Boone’s life was in danger.

  When Garrett left the police station, he headed straight for the bank with the detective from Buffalo’s words echoing in his head. He’d hoped he might run into another officer on the way, someone who could back him up, but they must have all been busy elsewhere. He was on his own.

  When he arrived at the bank, nothing seemed amiss. There were a handful of people nearby in costume, but most of the celebration seemed to be closer to the park. Garrett tried the front door, but it was locked. He peered in a window but saw no one moving, no flashlight beams illuminating the safe, nothing.

  What’s going on? Was the other cop wrong? Am I?

  He was checking out the side of the building, peering into the shadows, when he heard footsteps coming quickly toward him from down an alley. The hairs on the back of Garret’s neck stood up, his instincts telling him that this was trouble. Seconds later, a man came into view. He didn’t have on a costume. Taking a deep breath, Garrett pulled his weapon from its holster and stepped into the alley.

  “Freeze!” he shouted. “This is the police!”

  Caught off-guard, the man struggled to do as he’d been told, skidding to a stop, his hands above his shoulders. “Whoa there, pal!” he exclaimed. “No need for any of that! I’m just runnin’ to meet up with a friend of mine! I’m late so I figured I’d come ’round the back to make up some time, that’s all.”

  At first glance, the man’s reply was believable enough. After all, Garrett was taking a stab in the dark assuming he was up to no good. The lawman was about to lower his gun when something caught his eye; every few seconds, the stranger looked back over his shoulder, as if he was nervous someone else might arrive. No, something was wrong here, he was sure of it.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Garrett ordered.

  In the dark of the night, especially in the gloomy alley, it was hard to get a good look at the man. Was it Randall Kane?

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  There was a short pause. “Jake,” he answered. “Jake Taylor.”

  Garrett’s grip on his gun tightened. The man was lying. “Walk toward me, slowly,” he said forcefully. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “No need to be like that, Officer,” the stranger replied, his tone friendly enough. He came forward but he did so reluctantly. “I’m just enjoyin’ the festival like everybody else. Why don’t you—”

  The night was suddenly broken by the roar of a gun. In the split second after, Garrett was filled with confusion. He hadn’t pulled his trigger and the stranger’s arms were still raised. And that was when the bullet ripped into the meat of his shoulder, spinning him sideways, corkscrewing him to the ground.

  He’d been shot.

  As he’d waited for Randall, Leo had grown more frustrated with every passing second. He was right where he was supposed to be, exactly as they’d planned, just as his partner had assured him he understood. So where the hell was Randall?

  Leo kept to the shadows, moving around a bit, watching, always keeping the bank in sight, never getting too close to any festivalgoer who wandered past.

  And that was when the cop showed up.

  Goddamn it…

  Leo’s instincts told him to slip away, to go to the designated meeting spot and hope that Randall showed. But the policeman was too near; Leo worried that if he moved, he’d be seen. He was glad the cop didn’t have a flashlight.

  Then the pounding of footsteps rang out down the alley. A man appeared, stopping when the policeman told him to. From where he was hidden, Leo could tell that it was Randall, even if he’d ditched the bedsheet. The dumb bastard had waltzed right into the cop’s arms. It seemed a foregone conclusion that the younger thief was going to find himself locked inside a jail cell. If he did get caught, it would be only a matter of time before he broke. Once Randall spilled his guts, Leo would spend the rest of his life on the run. He’d never know peace.

  But maybe there was a way out.

  Leo could be violent when he needed to be. Sometimes, life didn’t leave him much of a choice. He pulled the gun from its holster, careful not to make a sound, and aimed it at the cop’s head. One bullet, no witnesses. With the lawman dead, he and Randall could escape in the confusion. And maybe later, down some quiet country road in the middle of nowhere, his partner would get a bullet of his own.

  Squinting through the darkness, he felt confident he could make the shot. But just before Leo pulled the trigger, he heard something off to his side and a heavy weight suddenly slammed into him, driving the air from his lungs. The gun fired and then flew out of his hand.

  Pursuing Randall, it didn’t take Boone long to become disoriented in the dark. He reached a fork in the road, guessed, and went right. But no matter how fast Boone ran, no one appeared in front of him. He’d stopped, trying to get his bearings, when he heard a voice shout nearby; it sounded like Garrett. He cautiously made his way toward the sound, uncertain of what he would find.

  When he came out near the bank, Boone saw Garrett talking to someone in the alley. His gun was drawn. Boone was pretty sure it was pointed at Randall. He was about to walk over and offer his help in taking the bastard in when he saw something out of the corner of his eye that stopped him cold.

  There was another man lurking in the shadows, watching.

  With a gun of his own.

  Without thinking about the danger of what he was doing, Boone ran, putting himself on a collision course with the armed man. In those first few steps, he realized that this was probably Randall’s partner in the robbery. He also understood that the bastard meant to shoot Garrett; while Boone had his share of problems with Lily’s old friend, the hell if he was going to let him get shot.

  If I can only get there in time…

  Boone lowered his shoulder and bowled into the man’s side. The gun fired, the muzzle inches from Boone’s face, the sound deafening, but he ignored it. Instead, he hit the ground swinging, throwing punches with bad intentions. His right hand thudded into his opponent’s surely already-damaged ribs, a left hit the hard bone of an elbow, and another blow struck its target’s nose, resulting in the crunch of cartilage.

  But even as Boone rained down punches, Boone hazarded a glance at Garrett. The policeman was lying on his side and didn’t appear to be moving. Had the bullet found him? Had Boone’s mad rush to save him been for nothing?

  Boone knew that the other gunman would be closing the distance between them. He had to end this fight, fast. Rising to his knees, he threw a wicked punch with every ounce of his strength that connected with his foe’s chin. His head snapped to the side and his hands fell limp to the ground. He was out, unconscious.

  One down, one to go.

  Knowing that he didn’t have much time, Boone shot to his feet and spun around, determined. But he was too late.

  “Ah, ah, ah, there, champ,” the man said, his gun leveled at Boone’s belly. He stepped forward, which allowed enough light from a nearby streetlight to illuminate his face. It was Randall, all right. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Boone was stuck and he knew it. Every option he considered ended with him catching a bullet. Maybe if he could bide his time, something, some miracle might present itself.

  “I have to admit, I’m surprised,” Randall said.

  “About what?” Boone asked, hoping to keep the robber talking.

  “I’d have thought that Lily would have been more interested in a real man,” he said, meaning himself, “rather than some magazine photographer.”

  There was a time, not that long ago, when Boone would have told the cree
p that Lily had already shared his bed and liked it just fine. But he no longer felt the need to be that brash and cocky. What he and Lily had found together was much more than physical, something that a man like Randall couldn’t begin to understand. Boone loved Lily. That was all that mattered.

  “Better than some common crook,” he said.

  Randall chuckled. “I wonder if she’ll cry at your funeral.”

  Then he raised the gun higher.

  Lily hurried down the alley, hoping that Boone and Garrett were safe even as she worried what Randall might do to them. At first, she’d heard Clive huffing along as he tried to keep up with her, but he had long since disappeared somewhere behind. A sudden, sharp bang, like a firecracker, rose in the distance, making her flinch, but Lily fought down her fear and pressed forward. She eventually came out of the alley near the bank.

  What she saw made her gasp.

  A man lay on the ground, his back to her, not moving. Looking closely, Lily was sure that it was Garrett. Had what she’d heard been a gunshot? Was he hurt? Was he dead? A moment later, she noticed Boone. He was in the deeper shadows, his hands raised, his face a mask of determination. Randall stood before him, the gun he’d shown her now pointed at the man she loved.

  And so once again, Lily screamed.

  Both men’s heads turned to the shrill sound. Randall’s gun lowered, if only a little. “Lily?” he asked, as if it could be anyone else.

  Boone didn’t say a word. Instead, he used the distraction she’d provided to close the gap between him and the criminal, ten feet gone in an instant. At the last moment, Randall must have heard him coming because he looked back. But he wasn’t fast enough and caught a vicious punch to his jaw. The blow staggered Randall, but somehow he didn’t go down. As if by instinct, he whipped his gun hand around and clipped Boone with the pistol. The hard steel opened a deep gash on the photographer’s cheek, sending him to one knee in the grass.