Endless Night (19 page)

“It’s my fault. It’s because I went nuts.”

He smoothed her hair. “You’re gonna have to watch that temper.”

“I know.”

“And that language.”

“But he made me so mad. It’s like he doesn’t have any
feelings,
you know? How could he not let Andy have a cone? He’s supposed to be Andy’s
uncle,
you know?”

“The world’s got a lot of jerks in it, honey.”

“That’s for sure.”

“When one happens to be a guest in our house, though, you should try to be reasonably polite.”

“I know. Jeez. He only left because of me.”

“He would’ve left anyway. Your behavior just speeded him along some.”

“I didn’t even get to tell Andy goodbye.”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. But look, you can call him tomorrow and tell him goodbye then. Goodbye and hello. Talk to him as long as you want. Remind him he left his jeans here.”

Jody gasped. “He did! I forgot all about his jeans!”

“Maybe you can hold them for an exchange of hostage clothes.” After a pause, he added, “That was one of my favorite outfits you gave him, by the way.”

“The shorts don’t even fit me anymore.”

“I know. You’ve gotten so big. You used to be so cute.”

“Dad!”

He whopped her on the bottom, then headed for the kitchen. “Come on,
we’ll
have some of that ice cream.”

They both decided on Heath Bar Crunch. Jody scooped it into bowls. They ate at the kitchen table, and were almost finished when the ringing phone made Jody jump.

Dad picked up. “Yelll-oh.” He listened. His face showed no expression except for the usual, one-sided smirk. “Real good,” he finally said. “Thanks.” He hung up. “So far, so good. We’ve got a couple of units keeping tabs on Willy’s car. It doesn’t look like he’s being tailed by anyone but the good guys.”

“You’ve got their
car
under surveillance?”

“Sure. What do you think we are, a bunch of chimps?”

“No, but ... That’s pretty cool. So, it’s like Andy and his creepy uncle have bodyguards.”

“For the time being.”

“But not the whole way?”

“Only as far as the county line. That should be far enough, though. If they haven’t picked up a tail by then, we can be pretty sure they’re clean.”

“What if they do pick up a tail?”

“Then we’re in luck. We’ll pounce. We’ll grab ‘em. We’ll convince ’em to cooperate, and next thing you know, we’ll have the whole gang.”

“That’d be great,” Jody said.

“It’d be great, but it won’t happen. The way these guys acted last night, they don’t look like your typical, dumb criminal types. They might not be geniuses, but they aren’t morons, either. They know what they’re doing. They’re careful. They’re gonna be hard to catch.”

Jody curled her upper lip. “They aren’t good enough to get us, are they?”

“Nobody’s that good, honey.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” He tried to look offended.

“Do I look like a chimp?”

He nodded. “Daughter of Kong.”

“Thank God I got my looks from Mom.”

He laughed and shook his head.

Jody took their ice cream bowls and spoons to the sink. “Why don’t you go relax or something?” she said. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“Nope. What we’ll do right now is slap together about a dozen or so hamburger patties. I’ll take ‘em out and grill ’em, then hand the things around to our team of vigilant protectors. They’ll love us for it. After that, they’ll defend us with their very lives.”

He removed extra packages of ground beef from the refrigerator, then worked at the counter with Jody. When six patties were shaped, he said, “Might as well get these started,” and took them outside. Jody pulled off more chunks of meat, made them into balls and mashed them flat.

She was glad her father had thought of this. Preparing hamburgers for the cops seemed like a nice thing to do. Also, though, it kept her mind off the killers, off Andy, and off Uncle Willy.

Soon, she had six more patties ready for the fire.

Dad hadn’t come back inside, yet. She supposed he was probably standing over the barbecue, spatula in hand, keeping his eye on the burgers. “You know how a watched pot doesn’t boil?” he’d asked her—more than once. “Well, an unwatched barbecue bums your burgers.” Burgers, or chicken, or steaks, or whatever he happened to be preparing at the time he was imparting his wisdom.

But Jody knew him. He didn’t stand watch on the fire to save the food from burning. That was just his excuse. In fact, he did it because he liked to be outside in the early evening, liked the scent of the smoke, liked hearing the meat sizzle and spit, liked to watch the flames leap. He’d never admitted any such thing, but she could see it in the way he behaved. She supposed maybe it took him back to his Boy Scout days, or to his backpacking trips into the mountains with Mom when they were young. Or maybe cooking his meat over a real fire, outside, had an appeal that went beyond nostalgia—maybe it was more basic and primitive, had something to do with “man the hunter.”

Jody loaded the raw patties onto a plate and headed for the back door.

She remembered how Dad used to stand over the grill with a squirt gun of clear yellow plastic. That was when she’d been very young. He used the gun to shoot down flames. Sometimes, he squirted Jody. That usually made Mom yell at him.

Sometimes, Jody used to take drinks out of the squirt gun. The water would shoot out of a hole no bigger than the tip of a needle. It would make a hissing sound. Sometimes you shot it at the roof of your mouth, and that tickled. Sometimes, you sucked the water straight from the muzzle. You could always get more water by sucking than by shooting. The water always tasted funny. Like rubber or plastic.

She stepped outside, and the screen door banged shut.

Dad’s head snapped around. “Jody! I told you to stay in the...”

First, the bullet hit.

The noise of the shot came a few moments later.

Chapter Eighteen

The bullet smacked the concrete patio far enough in front of Jody so that the platter didn’t block her view. She saw a quick spout of chips and white dust, heard a
whing,
felt a tug on her shorts and a sting.

Then came the crash of the shot.

Jody realized she had forgotten to stay inside.

Flinging the platter of burgers, she whirled around and reached for the door handle. She tugged. The screen door started to swing toward her.

A bullet slammed it shut.

She saw the hole in its aluminum frame—a hole the size of a dime. The slug must’ve passed within an inch of her shoulder.

“Down!” Dad yelled. “Hit the deck!”

Ducking, she twisted around and looked back.

He was charging at her, gun still holstered, spatula dropping from his hand.

Off beyond him and over to the left, someone with a rifle was standing on the roof of their garage.

How’d they get so close? There were supposed to be cops!

That is a cop!

He was facing the hillside, rifle shouldered, eye to the huge scope of his rifle.

The third bullet slammed a bar of hot wind against the side of Jody’s head, the top of her ear.

Then her father’s body blocked her view of everything. He clutched her, lifted her, swung her. A strange growling sound came from him. Then a grunt as he crashed through the screen door.

Inside the kitchen, he didn’t stop, but dashed with Jody through the dining room and into the hallway as if his goal was to get her into the very center of the house where there would be the maximum number of walls between her and the world outside.

There, he pushed her away from him and lifted her up in front of him. Checking her back? Then he lowered her to the floor. He eased her down on her back, and knelt beside her.

They were both making gaspy, whimpery noises.

Jody couldn’t catch her breath.

What if I’m dying?

She knew she’d been hit at least once. High on the leg. The wound hurt, burned. But maybe she’d been hit worse, and just didn’t know it yet because it was a very
bad
hit, so bad it was numb. So bad it would kill her.

She pushed her elbows against the carpet and raised her head. Just as she did that, Dad yanked her shorts down.

She saw no blood on the front of her blouse.

But her right leg, now minus shorts, was a bloody mess a few inches below the crotch of her panties.

“Oh, my God,” she said.

“It’s all right,” Dad muttered. He folded her shorts to make a pad, and pressed the pad to the side of her thigh. After holding it there for a moment, he lifted it away and bent lower. He let out a soft whistle.

“How bad?”

He shook his head. “It damn near missed you.”

“It didn’t miss me, Dad! Look at all the blood!”

From somewhere out of sight beyond Jody’s head came sounds of quick, heavy footfalls. Dad dropped the shorts, snatched the Browning out of his shoulder holster and leveled it down the hallway.

“Sergeant Fargo?” A woman’s voice. It sounded forceful, but calm. “I’m Officer Miles. Was she hit?”

“Nicked by a ricochet.”

“How about you!”

“Nothing touched me.”

“We’ve got units going up to look for the shooter.”

Miles sank to a crouch. Her hand went directly to Jody’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “How you doing there, champ?”

“Not great.” Miles was younger than Jody had expected from the sound of her voice, and prettier.

“You don’t
look
too bad for a young lady who’s just been shot up.”

She winced as Dad mopped the wound.

“It’s not much more than a scratch,” he said.

Miles looked, and nodded. She turned her eyes to Jody’s face. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Almost everywhere.”

Miles curled up a comer of her mouth in a way that reminded her of Dad’s usual smirk. “I’m mostly interested in tonight’s installment on your injuries.”

Braced up on her elbows, Jody inspected herself. Blood from the wound on her thigh had dribbled down the side of her leg, painted red streaks on the backs of a few small bandages, and soaked the top of her sock. Her other leg looked fine except for its assortment of scrapes, bruises, scratches and bandages.

Above the waistband of her panties, her blouse hung open almost to her chest. She supposed the buttons must’ve come undone when Dad grabbed her and hauled her into the house. The open area of the blouse showed more bandages than skin.

For a moment, her gaze stayed on the patch of gauze between her navel and the top of her panties. That was where the spear had poked her last night. The spear that had gone through Evelyn first.

She grimaced.

It’s not over. Still not over. Maybe it won’t be over till they get me. Me and Andy. Not till we’re as dead as Evelyn.

“What is it?” Dad asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about Evelyn.”

Dad shook his head. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s tough.”

“Just the single wound?” Miles asked, then added, “For tonight ?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Miles cocked her head slightly. Her light brown hair was even shorter than Jody’s, probably shorter than the hair of half the men on the force. She had a small, puffy scar under her chin. “What do you say, Sergeant? Should we bring in an ambulance?”

Jody grimaced. “It’d take me back to the emergency room, wouldn’t it?”

From the look on her father’s face, she knew the answer.

“I don’t want to go. Please. I’m not hurt that bad. You said it’s only a scratch. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here.”

To Miles, Dad said, “I’m sure she’s at least got a mild case of shock. Hell, so have I, and I wasn’t shot.”

“It’s just a
scratch,
remember? Don’t make me go. Please.”

He looked at Miles.

“It’s your call,” she said.

“Please, Dad.”

He seemed to be thinking about it.

“Besides,” Jody pointed out, “I’m safer here. What if there’s another sniper outside? Maybe there’s one in front of the house, too.”

Dad shook his head. “One in front would’ve tried for Andy.”

“Maybe. Unless he wasn’t ready yet. Anyway, I’m safer here than someplace else like an ambulance or the emergency room, don’t you think so?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “Okay, you win.”

Miles gave her shoulder a squeeze. “If you want to check on the situation outside, Sergeant, I’ll take care of Jody ... patch her up.”

“Would that be all right with you, honey?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

“Hold this right where I’ve got it,” he told her.

He moved his hand away, and Jody took over pressing the pad of shorts against her wound.

Then Dad helped Miles carry her into the bathroom. They sat her on the edge of the tub, her feet on the floor.

“I’ll be back pretty soon,” he said, and left.

“Let’s have a look there.” Miles bent over Jody and lifted the pad.

They both studied the wound.

It didn’t seem to be bleeding much anymore.

Now that Jody could get a good look at it, the injury
did
seem pretty minor. The side of her thigh looked as if it had been scraped by the tip of a knife—a dull tip that had opened a furrow and hadn’t gone in very deep.

“I’d say you’re very lucky,” Miles told her.

“Yeah.”

“Let me see if these are salvageable.” She took the shorts to the sink, unfolded them, rinsed out a lot of blood, wrung them out, and shook them open. She whistled softly.

“What?”

She turned around and held up the shorts for Jody to see.

The bullet hole wasn’t much more than an inch below the bottom of the zipper. It looked larger than the hole she had seen in the door frame. And rough around the edges, not perfectly round.

“Came out here,” Miles said, and showed her the rear of the shorts. This hole was higher than the one in front. “Awfully close.”

“It was close, all right. It hit me.”

“It could’ve been a whole lot worse.” She turned to the sink, dropped in the shorts, let water run onto them, and said, “We can let ’em soak. You might at least want to keep them as a souvenir.”