15
More to Fear
It seemed only seconds later that the group reached the backyard. The men formed a circle around Sister and the girls. Sergeant Wills agreed that the church, with its stone facade and big basement, was the best place within running distance. They were crossing a backyard on the next street when the whistle accompanying the next mortar round was heard loud and clear. Fritz yelled for everybody to hit the ground, grabbing Lily. Cricket did the same with Lee Ann, dropping into the deep snow. The blast happened farther down the street, but without the walls of the house for minimum protection and sound suppression, the massive blast made the girls cry in terror.
“No one move,” Cricket said, pressing even more of her body onto Lee Ann’s. The girl wanted to talk to alleviate some of her fear, but her communication was a series of painful exhalations. Cricket cursed under her breath at the monsters behind the attack.
Raising her head, Cricket saw panicked neighbors in bathrobes, poorly dressed, frightened, running through the yards in different directions. Some even ran toward the blasts.
The third blast took out a home two doors down from theirs. Diesel through it all circled the group as well, running back to Cricket for more info on this incomprehensible affair. Every blast provoked the dog’s cries, but he kept to his protective nature, circling everyone, herding all to safety.
“We’ve got to move,” Fritz called out, and everyone was on their feet. “We keep running until we get to the church. You girls ready?”
Cricket only eyed her husband in the affirmative. The bombs were too close. They needed to take their chances and run. Holding on to Lee Ann, she had to pull the girl to get her in motion.
“C’mon, sweetie. Not far to go.”
Fritz held on to Lily, whose feet started to work too quickly and she fell. Both Sister and Fritz helped the girl up, and Sergeant Wills kept everyone ahead of himself in case a ground attack followed the bombs.
A long ten minutes passed before they reached the church. No more explosions. “Three’s the charm,” Fritz sadly wisecracked.
Two-way radio pressed to his head, Sergeant Wills radioed his men. They were two miles away and proceeding back to the neighborhood of the attack with paramedics to help the wounded. Predator said he was returning as well.
The parish priest escorted the new arrivals into the basement, where sandwiches and water were being passed around. The church’s big, dry basement had the decorations for all the major holy days. Cricket noticed the life-size Nativity set up in the basement.
“Father, why isn’t it outside?”
“City officials came by a few weeks ago and said its presence would be upsetting.”
“To whom?”
“Those who don’t believe.”
She shook her head, looking at the sergeant and her husband, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible.
“I need to get back out there,” Cricket said.
“Sorry, my dear, it’s my turn,” Fritz said. “You, PJ, and Sister are well-armed. These folks need protection. I’m going with Wills.”
16
Basement Bargains
Cricket knew Fritz was right. It drove her crazy, being holed up in a basement, not flying into the action, but she needed to stay put. The girls followed Cricket, shadowing her about the church basement. Cricket read their horror: they had lost their parents, and now Christmas was being ripped away. Their temporary home with simple presents and decorations was less than a dream. Diesel stood alongside Lily, looking to Cricket like he needed an explanation as well for losing his happy home.
“I don’t know how Boots is going to stay safe,” Lee Ann said. “She only has herself.”
Cricket looked to Sister, who said, “She’ll find a safe place to have her cubs.”
A man started shouting, and the girls clung to the women. Diesel lowered his head, assessing the new danger.
A group of men circled the shouting man, who pointed at a quiet, young man, sitting against the wall.
“He’s a Coyote.” The excited man jabbed his finger at the grinning man’s face. Two men put a hand on either shoulder, trying to talk the man down from his rage. “He bit my friend to death. I saw him. He ran away—blood everywhere, on his mouth! The bastard!”
The man lunged at the younger man. Those trying to hold on to him shouted as he slipped from their grasp and started swinging at the other. Cricket kept her hand on the Colt and drew it from its holster as she saw a knife flash and blood spurt. Screams came from the dozens of people in the basement as an unholy drama began. The carotid artery of the man who had been swinging bled, and he gripped his neck in disbelief.
Cricket turned to see Sister hugging the girls and Diesel remaining steadfast. Other shocked folks ran to the corner of the basement alongside painted icons on individual easels, including one of the risen Christ.
The dying man lay on the floor surrounded by those who knew him, for they called his name and prayed aloud that he wouldn’t die. The killer was hustled away and remained passive, trying to assess the man’s condition with a smile of interest. People opened a basement door that led to steps and dragged the man outside.
Other people moved away from the bloody floor and huddled in groups. The parish priest tried to comfort an old woman who shook and cried and hung on to the priest’s robe.
Cricket hurried over to Sister and the girls just as a woman approached them with a fistful of candy bars. “I’ve been holding on to these for some time,” the frizzy-haired lady said. “You lovely girls deserve them.” Cricket grimly nodded her okay to Sister.
“Girls, I need to go outside and see if we can get out of here.”
“Is the man dead?” Lily asked, arm around her younger sister, who slowly peeled off the wrapper.
“Yes, he is. I’m sorry you had to be here,” Cricket said.
“I’m sorry he had to die,” Lee Ann said. “Can I give my candy bar to the boy kneeling alongside the man with other adults and children?”
“I’ll take it,” Cricket said.
“I think I should go.”
Cricket and Sister looked to each other and agreed.
“I’ll go too,” Lily said. “Lee Ann, you can have half of my bar.”
Reaching the small group of mourners, Lee Ann tapped a boy of her age on the shoulder. He raised his tear-stained face.
“I want you to have this,” Lee Ann said. “Chocolate makes things a little better. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Walking back to Sister, the girls shared and finished their chocolate bar. Sister Marie sat on a carpet piece, her back against the wall, her rosary in her right hand, deftly moving from Hail Mary to Hail Mary. The girls sat down with her, and Diesel put his head in Sister’s lap.
“I won’t be gone long,” Cricket said to the group, and headed out the door they had taken the killer through.
17
Judgment
Cricket ran up the darkened steps into sunlight and light snow. The killer rested on his back, lying still, eyes to the heavens. A man lifted him by his shirt, said something, and then battered his face with two fierce punches before dropping him back into the bloody snow.
“Wait!” Cricket yelled. “Did you find out anything?”
“Yeah, this,” the man said, holding out his bare forearm, blood flowing from a gash. “Asshole bit me.”
She leaned over the man on the ground, who grinned blood and broken teeth. “Who sent you? You’re selecting people,” she shouted in his face. “It’s not random.”
The man’s eyes sparkled with devilry.
Two of the men argued over what to do next. The bitten man feared a disease now polluting his blood and aimed his revolver at the biter’s face. The man closest yelled for him to back off, talking rapidly, placing a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, pleading, “We don’t do this kind of thing.”
Eyes still heavenward, the biter laughed. “It’s me who’ll get some disease from this Christian fool.”
“You already have the disease,” Cricket said.
“That’s a mighty big gun you’re holding.” The man motioned for her to come closer, his bloody smile growing. “Kill me.”
“Don’t think so,” she said, straightening herself. “You’re not going to die here. Death by cop or citizen, that’s not your fate. You’re headed to jail. And jails aren’t the same anymore. No TV, good food, working out, unless it’s fighting. But you seem to enjoy new experiences. You’ll find plenty in your own little cell, and you can nibble on your own body parts.”
The man finally dropped the grin.
She turned to the men. “Officer Wills will be back soon. This biter has an exciting future as a caged animal. Don’t hit him anymore. He may provide info that we all need. He’ll be examined, and in the meantime get to a hospital. Keep a clear head.”
The biter on the ground found the strength to swear in a loud voice at Cricket, who had turned her back on him and was headed for the basement when her sky-blue Plymouth Barracuda pulled into the church parking lot.
18
Invitation
In the car, Predator explained to his riders that they couldn’t go back to their house to collect any belongings and that Fritz, Wills, and a group of neighbors had discovered the launch site of the mortar attack. “Surprise, no one stuck around to explain themselves. The house you called home for a week is gone, blown up. We weren’t far away when it was hit. Luckily, no one got hurt. That was the last shelling.”
The girls in the backseat snuggled close to Sister Marie. They drove close to the river. The skies were clear, and the sun aimed for the horizon. A feast of warm colors reflected across the snowy landscape.
Cricket asked, “Where are we going?”
“Mayor’s place,” Predator said. “Invitation from Angel. He showed up an hour later with a heavily armed entourage and saved a baby that none of us had noticed in a house two doors down from yours. Found the child in the rubble, still smoking. The mother and grandparents were dead. Angel is a hero in my book.”
Cricket remembered her dream of Angel protecting the Christ Child from Boots. She didn’t want Angel to be the hero, but men like Predator, her husband, and Lawrence Davies, who had been heroes over and over again.
“Where’s the baby?” Lee Ann stuck her head over the front seat.
“Right now, missy, in an east-side hospital.” Predator turned to smile at the girl.
“Can someone hurt us at our new place?” Lily asked.
“Lily, no one’s going to hurt us no matter where we stay,” Cricket answered, and Sister reached over the seat and touched Cricket’s shoulder, a show of solidarity and love.
19
Superstitious Folks
They were getting ready for a tour of the basement when the doorbell rang. A priest stood outside: tall, handsome, slight smile.
“Ah, Becca, good, I caught you at home,” the priest said.
“Father Muslovsky, this is a surprise,” Becca replied with her formal, mayoral voice, digging through her purse. “Did you bring me what I requested?”
“Of course not. I’m here to explain my position and that of the church. I’ll throw in a civics lesson if you need it.”
Cricket wished Sister Marie were present. Did she know of this visit? There was a secondhand clothing shop nearby that she and Elaine had taken the girls to.
The priest still smiled on the doorstep but was battle-ready. Becca stood in front of him as if she had already heard enough of his pious salesmanship. No introductions had been made, and Cricket expected Becca to slam the door on the priest.
Cricket squeezed past Becca. “Father, I’m Emily Cricket Hastings. Please come inside. Get out of the cold.”
“Thanks. You’re staying with the mayor and her family?” Father ignored Becca, who pulled a piece of paper from her purse.
“‘The mayor and her family’ is just me and my mom,” Becca said. “Not much of a family.”
“Becca, size hardly matters, although Emily seems to be part of an extended family.”
“I prefer ‘Cricket,’ Father.”
“If Cricket and her family are making their home here on Mount Adams, I’d say you have a helluva family dynamic.”
Becca read the note, crumpled it, and dropped it back into her purse. Cricket watched her with amusement.
“Father Muslovsky, my husband is Fritz Holaday, captain with the Air Force out of Wright-Patterson, plus there are two lovely girls you really need to meet and my lifelong friend Sister Marie Boulding from the Augustinian order in Cleveland.”
“Great to hear. Are you related to Becca and her mom?”
“Father, the small talk is over,” Becca said. “I found the note that dated our agreement and the start date. That date’s Sunday, and you don’t have the homily. So please, return when you do. Oh yeah, nobody’s related to anybody else here.”
“Why would he bring Sunday’s sermon?” Cricket asked, giving Becca the evil eye.
Father said, “Becca and the city council decided two weeks ago—”
“We issued our request a month ago,” Becca said, pulling the crumpled-up paper from her purse, a giant spitball.
“As you can see, it wasn’t my top priority.” Father Muslovsky smiled. “My homilies are graded by my parishioners, and not before Sunday.”
Dumbfounded, Cricket said, “You expected to read his homily before Mass and what, give it your approval?”
“Exactly.” Becca’s sigh was a signpost along the journey warning the traveler to watch out for falling rocks and long stretches of boredom for the next hundred miles. “Why in such times of emergency am I having to deal with hayseeds of every stripe and hue? Really, it took you this long to figure out what we were talking about?”
“Oh, I think Cricket knew immediately but was holding her fire,” Father said.
“This is creepy stuff, Becca.” Cricket got nose-to-nose with her host. “You’re not religious. What the hell do you care about the Mass and what gets said?”
“You are slow,” Becca said.
Father stepped in. “Becca believes that smart folks like herself need to keep an eye on the superstitious folks, the great unwashed, like us. You never know when we’ll incite the next rebellion or brainwash the unwashed to hate recycling.”
“Recycling’s more important than ever,” Becca scolded the priest, who was starting to take off his jacket. “What are you doing?” she fumed.
Father said, “I’m going to convince you to come to church Sunday, listen to the sermon, and then I was going to make you and your friends dinner afterwards, and we could discuss my homily, and then you’d attack and I’d defend over pasta and sauce.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Have your next sermon by Thursday, or I’ll shut down Saint Peter in Chains.”
“Becca!” Cricket stood face-to-face with her host. “Father Muslovsky and men and women like him are needed desperately now.”
“C’mon. Both of you should be happy that I’m finally freeing Saint Peter of his chains.”
20
Basement Blues
Father had little to say except that he would never abide by the authoritarian decree. He left strong and determined, but no longer smiling. Predator arrived and said he had seen the women and the girls on the street having a grand old time. “You’d never know we live in such a dark, primitive world watching them.”
A few hours later, sunset was shortened by a heavy cloud cover, and the world quickly went from gray to black. Exhausted from meetings with the Guardsmen on security over the winter and with the mechanics, who worried about getting fuel for the P-51, Fritz came home and said he was taking a nap. Sister and the girls went from the adventure of clothes shopping to following Elaine as she assigned each girl a beautiful bedroom.
Becca thought it was a good time for her guests to see the rest of the house, and she led Predator and Cricket down the wide steps to the basement. After Becca’s display of poor mann
ers with Father Muslovsky, Cricket was tempted to kick Becca down the steps and lock her in the basement.
“Please keep the girls out of the basement,” Becca said, like a caring den mother. “I’d rather not have the girls wander into this part of the house.” She held a small lantern. “There’s the boiler room, a workshop, sharp tools, that kind of thing.”
“Thanks for thinking of them,” Cricket replied.
“I’m being practical here. Accidents are time-consuming, and I’m not going to lose an entire day of work because a kid cut himself or fell. Look, they’re well-behaved kids, but believe me, I don’t have a maternal bone in my entire body.”
Predator laughed, and Cricket said, “I know.”
The lantern cast an irregular circle of light ten feet around the visitors, exposing the mansion’s lowest level, which was a single cavernous room. Stored furniture was covered in white sheets, a leg or the end of a glossy table peeking out. Cricket glanced at the ceiling; it was high, maybe fifteen feet. They passed the workshop area, orderly and clean, with a row of shears, hand scythes, clippers.
Becca said, “Everything gets sharpened down here—garden tools and the knife we cut the roast beast with. Beware the Grinch.”
“The Grinch’s heart does grow nicely by the end of the story,” Predator said, winking at Cricket, who didn’t smile back. She’d sit down with all the adults and inform them of the witch in the mansion “casting spells” on the Catholic Church. The ghosts of Doctor Claubauf the Christian slayer and the pagan Brazilian were speaking through Becca Givens.
American Blackout (Book 3): Gangster Town Page 6