by Ken Douglas
“Hmmmm.” It was Gay, humming through the tape to get Maggie’s attention.
“Oh, sorry.” Maggie picked up the knife again, cut Gay loose. But she let Gay pull off the tape wrapped around her neck and mouth.
“Christ,” Gay said, once she had it off. “That really sucked.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said.
“You have to hurry, one of them’s gonna be coming back,” Ma said.
“Are you okay?” Gay said.
“I’m old, I’m blind, I’m an epileptic with cancer. No, I’m not okay. What are you, stupid?”
“Why did you do this?” Maggie said. “You know, cut us free after we broke into your house?”
“He thought I was out like a dumb light bulb, my boy Horace. He was wrong. Used to be when one of them fits was over, I’d be out for two-three hours after.” Her words were slow, labored. “But I learned I recover quicker if I just go with it when I feel one coming on.” Her breathing seemed to be getting better as she spoke. “I feel like an old whore left to die in the snow.” She laughed at her joke. “But I ain’t no whore. I know when right’s right and wrong’s wrong.” She was serious now. “I heard what he said, my boy. All this time I thought he was working for the district attorney, doing good, and he was doing the Devil’s work.”
Outside, they heard a car pull up in the driveway.
“It’s not one I recognize,” Ma said. “So it must be that man coming back. You should go out the back way. Shimmy over the fence. He won’t know which way you went, the neighbors on either side or the ones behind.”
“We’re not gonna leave you to him.” Maggie remembered the man’s leer. “We’ll surprise him when he comes in the front door.”
“No!” Ma said. “I can handle it. You go. Now!”
Maggie heard a car door opening. “But-”
“No buts, get on outta here.” Ma stamped her foot. Her jaw was firm.
“She’s right,” Gay said. “We can’t leave you here.”
“No one’s gonna hurt me. My boy will see to that. But I wouldn’t give a tinker’s damn for your chances if you don’t get out of here right now!”
Maggie heard footsteps coming up the porch and all of a sudden she remembered what Ponytail had said about the children. They were going to kill them all. Gordon, Jonas, Jasmine and Sonya.
“We’re going!” Maggie grabbed Gay’s arm and started toward the back door.
“What?” Gay said.
The front door started to open.
“Now!” Maggie jerked on Gay’s arm, propelled her toward the back door.
“I’ll hold him off.” Ma started toward the living room.
Maggie heard a crash behind her as she followed Gay through the service porch. They were moving fast, fueled by fear. Gay got the door open, then they were in the yard, running toward the back fence.
They were at it when a gunshot tore through the night. They stopped, turned back toward the house.
“Ma,” Maggie said.
“Shit,” Gay said.
“He killed her,” Maggie said.
“We can’t do anything.” Gay gasped out the words as she sucked air. “We gotta go.”
“He’s coming!”
Ponytail was in the service porch now, backlit by the kitchen light behind and framed by the doorway. He had a pistol in his hand and he was pointing it at them. He was going to shoot.
“Come on!” Gay was halfway over the fence when a gunshot rang out. Rocky fragments blasted into Maggie’s arm as she scurried over the wall. He’d shot into the fence, missing her by inches.
“Dog!” Maggie screamed as a back porch light came on. A dark German Shepherd was charging toward them. Maggie dropped to a crouch, blocked her neck with her left arm as the animal leapt. Teeth sank in, pain blasted up her shoulder, down her side, stinging her to the bone.
“Release!” Gay reared back, kicked the dog in the head. It let go of Maggie’s arm, but not because it obeyed the command.
“Next house!” Gay charged toward another brick fence, was over it as someone came out onto the back porch.
“Get back inside!” Maggie shimmied over the fence as the man on the porch slammed his door shut, leaving his whimpering dog to greet the man with a gun coming over his back fence.
Another shot. The dog screamed, almost human like. Then it was silent.
“Come on, come on!” Gay charged through the next backyard, Maggie right behind. Another fence. Gay was in the air and over it.
Maggie’s arm screamed. She was a runner, but her lungs felt like they were going to explode. Her heart thudded. Sweat ran through her hair, down her neck, but the thought of the girls and what those men might to do them was like a shot of speed. She leapt at the fence, pulled herself to the top, rolled over the side.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Ponytail hadn’t been too discreet, shooting his gun of like that. People were up. Cops were on the way.
“No time to catch your breath. He’ll be coming.” And as if to add truth to Gay’s words, they heard someone rooting around in the yard they’d just come out of. “Checking the bushes,” she whispered. “To see if we’re hiding.”
Without further talk they jogged across the yard, attacked another fence. They slipped over it and two collie dogs went wild, barking up a storm.
“Shit.” Maggie ran across the yard toward still another fence, this time ahead of Gay. The barking dogs loped alongside, alerting any around that there were intruders here, but they made no attempt to attack or hinder.
Maggie was over the fence first this time. She hit the ground running toward still another fence. Their pursuer would have heard the dogs and he’d be on their trail.
Gay caught up to Maggie, grabbed her shoulder, pointed left. Maggie nodded. The yards were back to back, fences between them as they were between every house on the block. Right now they were jumping the fences and running through the yards on the street behind the Nighthyde house. But each yard gave them two choices, run ahead to the next fence, or hop over the back fence and go through the yards on Nighthyde’s street.
Maggie and Gay went over the fence and landed in a thicket of bushes. Maggie poked her head through the hedge-like growth. It ringed the yard, almost as high as the five foot fence. Several fruit trees, a cactus and two palm trees grew in the yard. Whoever lived there had the greenest of thumbs. Mr. Greenthumb was probably retired, probably spent hours in his yard, shaded by his trees.
Maggie stood, started through the bushes. Gay grabbed her shoulder, softly squeezed. Maggie stopped.
“What?”
“I have to catch my wind.” Gay pulled Maggie down to her knees. It was pitch dark, but their eyes were inches apart. Maggie tasted Gay’s breath.
“Okay.” Maggie took Gay’s hand, led her crawling along the fence, between it and the hedge bushes. They went fast, squirming along like Brer Rabbit in his briar patch, stiff branches scraped their arms as they struggled to get away from the spot where they expected Ponytail to come over the fence.
The collies they’d encountered in the backyard diagonal to Greenthumb’s went berserk. One was howling. Ponytail was getting close. They heard him grunt as he went over the fence. Now he was in the yard behind. Either he’d keep going, in which case Maggie and Gay could exit through Greenthumb’s gate and be out on Nighthyde’s street, but then they’d still have to get to the car, or he’d come over the back fence. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Maggie thought he’d come over the fence.
And he did, thudding and cursing as he crashed into the bushes. He bullied his way through them, an elephant in a nursery, was halfway through the yard, stopped in the center, under one of the palm trees. It was as if he knew the women were close. He moved to the tree, seeking cover. In his right hand he held a pistol. It looked like a revolver. Didn’t they hold six shots, like in the old cowboy movies? He’d fired three, so he had three left, at least.
The back porch light came on. Mr. Greenthumb, alerted by the collies who
were still barking to beat the band. Ponytail dashed from the palm to the base of a plum tree, stepped behind its trunk.
Greenthumb came out onto the back porch. An old man, Maggie saw him clearly through the bushes. He appeared confused. He put a hand to his forehead, as if he were shielding his eyes from the sun. The gesture wouldn’t help him see into the dark, it was just a reflex, Maggie thought. For a second he seemed to be staring right at her, then his gaze turned to the palm trees, then to the plum that hid Ponytail.
And it started to rain. Not a passing cloud, but a quick shower. Greenthumb stood, feet at parade rest and looked up into the night sky. Water fell around him, but he didn’t seem to mind. He turned back toward the door, but the collies started barking even louder. Greenthumb ran a hand through his hair, turned away from the door, took a step down from the porch. The dogs had helped him make up his mind. He was going to check out his garden, despite the rain.
Now the sirens vied with the dogs for attention. They weren’t off in the distance any more. They were close and getting closer, loud. The collies continued their wailing, but apparently Greenthumb decided it was the sirens and not intruders that had set them off, because he turned, climbed the porch and went back into the house. He eased the door closed after himself. The light went out.
The bushes were keeping Maggie and Gay dry, but wouldn’t for much longer. One siren screamed louder. A police cruiser had turned the corner on Nighthyde’s street, was fast approaching Greenthumb’s. Maggie reached out, squeezed Gay’s elbow, then started along the fence toward the garage as the cruiser roared by out front, it’s siren covering their noise.
The bushes stopped at an area behind the garage. There was about a three foot space between it and the fence running behind it. Maggie peered into the dark, a long tunnel like affair. Greenthumb had extended the garage roof, so that it covered the area.
Maggie slipped out from the hedge bushes, moved behind the garage. Gay followed. It was dark as a cave, but it was dry, whereas Ponytail wouldn’t be. Maybe the rain would drive him away. Maggie hoped so. It started to fall harder now, beating a metallic tattoo on the overhang above. Tin, Maggie guessed. It sounded like African drums, war drums.
She put a hand out, felt the back of the garage. It was dark, she was blind as Ma now. The thought of Ma gave her pause. That bastard out there killed the old woman, was trying to kill her and Gay. All of a sudden Maggie knew he wouldn’t leave. He was like a bird dog and he had their scent. The others were going after the children. He was coming after her and Gay. Maggie clenched her fist. She’d been running so much lately. No more.
She put a hand on the wall, moved along it, back into the dark tunnel. She was looking for something, anything she could use against the man in the yard. She found it. A wooden handled thing leaning up against the garage. Like a broom. She felt down the handle. Not a broom. A rake. The kind with curved metal spikes to gather up dead grass and leaves. She picked it up. It was heavy.
She scraped it against the garage wall.
“What are you doing?” Gay whispered, urgent, fear in her voice.
“Get back!” Maggie said. “I need room to swing this.”
“What?”
“Hurry, you’ll be in the way.”
Gay moved back into the tunnel. Maggie backed up a little too. Her heart thumped in her chest, matching the tattoo of the rain.
Then, suddenly as it started, the rain stopped, but it wasn’t quiet. The collies were both howling now. And they were close, only a few feet away. The dogs hadn’t attacked them before, but they might now. Maggie and Gay were at the back corner of Greenthumb’s yard, the collies at the back corner of theirs. The only thing between the dogs and them was the fence. Maggie wondered if they could jump it.
She moved back to where Gay was, put her mouth to her friend’s ear. “Get down, in case he shoots into the dark.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“He might,” Maggie said.
Gay crouched on her hands and knees.
Maggie moved against the back of the garage, willed herself to be invisible, hoping Ponytail would be as blind, staring into the tunnel behind the garage, as she’d been. She raised the rake above her head. She had to choke up about halfway on the handle or the rake would hit the tin roof.
But he didn’t come. Maybe the dogs were drowning out the sound of the rake scraping against the garage. She scratched it against the wall again, a little harder.
And then he was there, at the entrance to the tunnel, looking in. He stood, legs together, relaxed, arms at his side, gun still in his right hand. In her mind, Maggie knew he couldn’t see through the dark, but the way he seemed to be looking right at her chilled her more than the cold night or wet rain ever could.
“Come on,” she mouthed. For an instant, she thought she’d said it aloud, but it was only her lips moving in the dark. “Come on in, just a little.”
He took a tentative step forward, then stopped, as if waiting for his eyes to get used to the dark. Could they do that? Maggie wondered. Maybe they could. After all, she could see him. But that was because what little light there was from the night was behind him.
“Come on,” she mouthed again.
And as if he’d heard, he took another step forward, arms still at his side, gun still pointed toward the dirt. But he stopped again, turned his head to the side, cocking it like a frightened deer listening for the wolf.
Maggie held her breath, tightened her grip on the rake. “Come on, get closer. Just a couple more steps.” Sweat trickled her face, caught on her lip. She licked it away.
And Ponytail took another cautious step into the dark. He stopped again, brought the gun up, pointed it ahead of himself, moved it back and forth. If Maggie wasn’t afraid to breathe, she’d have sighed. He couldn’t see. But he knew they were back there. Felt it. He was a hunter.
But he wasn’t a very good one, Maggie thought, because he pointed the gun toward the back of the tunnel. If he fired, the round would go well over Gay’s head and it wouldn’t even be close to Maggie.
“Come on,” she silently said. “One more step.”
And he took it. Gun hand in front of himself, finger on the trigger.
Maggie brought the rake down with everything she had, hitting him square on the head. He slumped to the ground without a sound. The gun went flying and, for a second, Maggie thought it might go off, but it didn’t.
“Shit,” Gay said as the smell of human excrement filled the enclosed space.
“Exactly,” Maggie whispered. Ponytail’s bowels had cut loose. The body jerked for a few seconds, then stopped. Maggie crouched, felt for a carotid, sought a pulse, found nothing. “He’s dead.”
“We gotta go,” Gay said.
“Just a second.” Maggie ran her hands around the ground, found Ponytail’s gun. It was a revolver. She shoved it between pants and back as she got up. “Okay, let’s get the F out of here.”
She stepped over the body.
Another siren ripped up the night.
“The streets must be crawling with cops,” Gay said.
“We’ll go over the fences till we get to the end of the block where we left Jonas’ car. There can’t be that many more.”
“Okay.” Gay gave Maggie’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about him. You did good here. Better than I could’ve. Now, let’s move.”
Maggie sprinted across the yard, Gay on her heels, the collies howling in the background. When she reached the fence, she climbed over, then she was up and running to still another, then another, then another.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Miserable is how I feel.” Horace closed the door after himself, stepped into Sadie’s small apartment. “Rain’s coming down like it was the Everglades.”
“You gonna leave the car in front? I like it in back, it’s not such a good neighborhood.” Sadie toked on a joint, held it out to Horace.
“I don’t do that stuff.” Horace waved it away. He wanted to take off his wet j
acket, stay awhile, but he still had work to do.
“Might make you feel better.”
“I gotta go back out. I just wanted to check, make sure you were alright.”
“I’m okay, babe. Why wouldn’t I be?” She took another hit. It bothered Horace. He didn’t hold with drugs. He’d have to talk to her about that, but not now. Not tonight.
“I didn’t want you worrying about the car, so I brought it back. I can use the van for the rest of what I gotta do.”
“You sure you have ta go?” She draped arms over his shoulders, pulled him in for a languid kiss.
“I got someone in the car. He’s the impatient type, Japanese. I’ll take care of business and get back quick as I can.”
“You do that.” She reached between his legs, grabbed his crotch and squeezed. Pleasure rippled through him. “Sure you don’t want a toke?”
“What the hell.” He took the joint, sucked in deep. It had been years, but he still knew how. He took a second toke as she lowered herself to her knees and pulled down his zipper and a third as she took him into her mouth. He held the joint in one hand, with the other on her head for balance. He sucked in deep, held his breath and let go, shaking on quivering legs as she swallowed.
“That’s a reminder, so you come back quick.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The look in her eyes told of a thousand more delights.
“I’ll be as quick as I can.” He zipped up, glad he’d insisted on taking his car and not the Jap’s. And doubly glad he’d made the asshole wait outside while he came inside to swap keys. The fucker didn’t want to come by Sadie’s. He wanted to go straight to the Shore and get the faggot, but Horace had put his foot down. He’d wanted his van. It was souped up and built for speed. Besides, you had to show his kind who was boss or you never got any respect.
“I parked your van ’round back. You can drive mine around and park next to it.” Sadie was still on her knees, hadn’t bothered to get up.
“Thanks, Sadie,” Horace said, then he was out the door.
Maggie came over the fence after Gay to the sound of automatic gunfire drowning out the yapping dogs four yards back. Whoever lived in this house-the corner house and the last yard the women had to cross-was playing some kind of war movie through a mega sound system with the volume cranked up loud.