The Minnesota Candidate (21 page)

She pulled the boat up onto the lift and Steve
and Lumpy cranked the wheel until the Chris Craft was completely
out of the water. They then helped their aunts up out of the boat
and Shari climbed up onto the dock. “I can’t believe we were the
only boat on the water,” she said. “I’ve got to find some batteries
for that radio.”

Doris was staring up at the open garage door. “I
wish Tommy would get home,” she said. “I’m getting worried about
him.”

“He’s probably waiting for you at the house,”
said Steve.

“Shut up,” grunted Lumpy. “You’re not supposed
to talk about that.”

“Talk about what?” asked Marie.

“Yeah, talk about what?” asked Doris.

Shari sighed, knowing that she could keep the
secret no longer. Tom would have to get over it. “Tom had your
house rebuilt,” she said. “We were going to surprise you.”

“He did what?”

“Your house, it’s finished and ready for you to
move in.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, “but that’s the
understatement of the year. You should see that place; it must be
twice as big as your old house.”

Doris turned to face Shari. There were tears
welling up in her eyes. “But I thought that I’d stay out here. I
don’t want to move back to Northeast.”

“How big did you say her new house was?” asked
Marie. “I hate living in that stupid apartment.”

Doris turned and covered her face. “I should
have known that you two wouldn’t want me around.”

Shari stared at her mother in-law in disbelief.
She hadn’t even seen her new house and already she didn’t like it.
Doris began to sob and Marie stepped over to comfort her. “Doris,”
she whispered, “pull yourself together. You don’t see anyone
building a house for me, do you? Tommy rebuilt your house because
he loves you. How was he supposed to know that you would become so
attached to this beautiful lake?”

“Oh, I suppose you’re right. I never thought of
it that way.”

“I’m sure Tommy won’t make you move.”

“I sure hope not. I really do love it out
here.”

Lumpy slapped Steve on the back of the head.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out.”

“You big dummy, Fat Tommy is going to be
pissed.”

“It was an accident, okay?”

“Please,” said Shari, “don’t call him Fat Tommy
when I’m around. I just find it disrespectful.”

“Hey, we’ll try, but we can’t make any promises.
He’s been Fat Tommy to me for my whole life.”

“Me too,” said Steve. “Everyone calls me Crazy
Steve and to tell you the truth, I kind of like it.”

“You’re not going to throw me out into the
street?” asked Doris. “I promise to behave.”

Marie nodded. “We both do. We won’t touch
anything we’re not supposed to. You can take that to the bank. And
I know we said it already, but we’re really, really sorry.”

“Yes,” sniveled Doris, “we are.”

With the sun setting behind them, Shari led the
group up to the house. The cat was out of the bag, but it was still
clawing at anything that moved. She wondered what Tom would say to
his mother. She was also getting worried about him. Why hadn’t he
returned home to pick them up? She remembered the radio and she
charged inside to find some batteries. She found them hiding on the
top shelf of the pantry, behind a can of lima beans. She tore open
the package and she stuffed them into the back of the radio. The
silence was broken by a loud fuzzy squelch. Shari turned the dial
to a news station.

And they all sat in stunned silence as their
darkest fears were realized.

Chapter 16

From their rooftop vantage point, Tom and Louie
sat in the twilight and watched as the city slowly disappeared into
the shadows. Without power or traffic, Tom thought Minneapolis
looked like a giant ghost town. As dusk gave way to darkness, he
began to wonder if the jihad had been postponed or cancelled. An
eerie calm had spread across the city and he commented about it to
Louie. “This is the calm before the storm,” Louie replied.

Above them, stars twinkled in the moonless sky.
Tom stared up at them in wonder, wishing he had studied the
constellations. Louie handed Tom an energy drink and they both
drank. Tom had never cared much for them, but he had slept little
the night before and he had no idea when he would be able to sleep
again. Before he had even finished the little can, Tom could feel
his heart shift into second gear. From faraway, a siren began to
wail. The smell of smoke drifted into his nostrils. Tom held tight
to the old Colt he had been given. The handgrip of the .38 was cool
and damp with perspiration.

Slowly, orange light began to dance on the
buildings behind the convenience store. Then, like a bag of
microwave popcorn, came the popping sound of gunshots. Tom
swallowed down his fear and fought to keep his hands steady. They
had to defend the building against the arsonists, their lives
depended upon it. They began patrolling the perimeter, stopping
here and there to peer over the ledge, but below them was only
blackness. Tom found himself clinging to the false hope that their
building would be spared. That hope was soon dashed by the sound of
voices coming from the parking lot. Tom followed Louie over to the
ledge and they looked down. Two shadowy figures stood at the front
of the store, one held a small flashlight while the other dug
inside a satchel. There were rifles slung over their shoulders.
From out of the satchel, the man pulled out what looked like a wine
bottle. There was a flicker of firelight.

The shotgun blast nearly gave Tom a heart
attack. Like ragdolls, the men in the parking lot were thrown to
the ground. Flaming, the Molotov cocktail pin-wheeled in the air,
then it dropped next to the satchel and shattered. The parking lot
was bathed in flaming orange light and Tom could see terror in the
eyes of the wounded men, just before the satchel exploded. Flames
licked up the side of the building and Tom and Louie dropped to
their knees. From down below came the sound of agonized screams.
“Stay down!” ordered Louie.

Tom’s ears were still ringing, but he had no
trouble understanding his new friend. He had no intention of
standing up and exposing himself in the firelight. The screaming
turned into tortured wails, but two quick gunshots stopped them
cold. A moment later, Tom heard something that could only be a fire
extinguisher. Louie gave him a confused look. “Is your dad down
there?” he asked.

“God, I hope not,” said Louie. Slowly, he poked
his head up over the ledge. He quickly motioned Tom to get to his
feet. “Mr. Chincoski,” he called down to the parking lot. “Thank
you!”

“You just be careful with that shotgun,” replied
the voice.

Tom stood up and he saw two men in the dying
firelight. One held a large fire extinguisher while the other
covered him with what looked like an assault rifle. “How many of
you are down there?” asked Louie.

“I’m not sure,” replied the man. “But more are
showing up all the time and we’re spreading out. If those bastards
want a war, we’ll sure as hell give it to ‘em.”

“Do you want us down there?” asked Louie.

“No, just stay where you are. Just be careful.
You don’t want to shoot the wrong people.”

There was another blast from the fire
extinguisher, extinguishing what remained of the satchel fire.
There were two smaller fires burning and Tom realized they were the
bodies of the two arsonists. Mr. Chincoski and his friend left them
to burn. Tom watched as they quickly disappeared into the shadows.
Tom and Louie crouched back down behind the ledge. “Did you see
that?” Louie asked.

“Yeah,” said Tom. “I see you have friends.”

Louie laughed at that. “Are you kidding me? That
man and my father hate each other. Chincoski used to own a store in
the neighborhood. He blames my dad for running him out of business,
which is absolute bullshit. He priced himself out of business.”

“Hey,” snapped a voice from below, “I can hear
you guys up there.”

Louie’s eyes grew large. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Chincoski.”

Tom dropped his head and stifled a laugh. They
sat in silence as the bodies sizzled below them. Helicopters
drifted over the city and the smell of cooking meat hung in the
air. Once again, Louie began to patrol the perimeter. Tom could see
at least a dozen fires burning from where he was perched. That was
bad, but from what Louie had said, he had expected far worse. The
faint glow from the fires provided just enough light for them to
see. The silence was broken by occasional bursts of gunfire and the
shouts of men. On Louie’s second trip around the perimeter, Tom
watched as Louie ducked for cover and pressed his back against the
ledge. Slowly, Tom crawled across the roof to join him. “What did
you see?” he whispered.

“The lot is crawling with them. Get ready to
shoot. I want you to cover me.”

Tom had been holding the .38 for so long that he
had nearly forgotten about it. He stared at the Colt and felt his
pulse quicken. He nodded. Louie sprang to his feet and began firing
the pump shotgun. Tom stood and he also began to shoot, but from
this distance he could only guess where his bullets were striking.
Louie had been right, the shadowy figures were everywhere.
Automatic gunfire raked the ledge and Tom and Louie dropped to
their knees.

“I think we pissed them off,” said Louie.

“Did you get any of them?”

Louie nodded. “I hit at least two, maybe three;
how about you?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”

Another round of gunfire erupted and Tom could
hear bullets slamming into steel. He and Louie quickly reloaded as
the firefight continued. They stood up and unloaded their weapons
at a group of men who had taken cover behind his Mercedes. Some
fell, while others trained their weapons on them and returned fire.
They squatted down, just as a hail of gunfire pinged off of the
brick building, ricocheting into the night. A loud explosion sent
them sprawling on their bellies. Orange flames licked up the side
of the building and they danced ten feet in the air. Even as this
happened, Tom and Louie were busy reloading their weapons.

“Get ‘em, boys!” cried a man’s voice. Tom
thought the voice belonged to Mr. Chincoski, but he wasn’t sure.
Gunshots seemed to be coming from everywhere around them. Louie
stood up and let loose another volley with his shotgun, the barrel
spitting flames. Down below, men began screaming in pain, but their
voices were quickly drowned out by thunderous gunshots. As Louie
dropped back behind the ledge, Tom poked his head up over the ledge
and dared a look down. The men behind his Mercedes were sprawled
out awkwardly on the asphalt, their guns lying by their sides. The
flames were now confined to the first story, but Tom could feel his
face burning from the heat.

“I’ve got to get down there with a fire
extinguisher,” said Louie, handing Tom the shotgun. “You wait here
and cover me.”

Tom traded the .38 for the twelve gauge and
nodded his head. He handed Louie a box of cartridges as Louie
dumped shotgun shells from his pocket. The exchange made, Tom
watched as Louie sprinted for the door. After the door had closed,
Tom tried to estimate how long it would take his friend to reach
the fire. Another round of gunshots exploded beneath him. Tom
counted to thirty and then he stood up. There was a bearded man in
a robe below him. The man was firing a semi-automatic rifle, but he
seemed to catch the movement from above him and he quickly swung
the barrel up. Tom racked a round into the firing chamber and
pulled the trigger. The head of the bearded man seemed to
evaporate. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Tom searched for another target, but saw none.
Bullets slammed against the brick ledge, peppering his face with
chips of stone. Tom barely noticed them. Louie appeared next to the
dead man and he began spraying the flames with a fire extinguisher.
His father ran outside and stripped the dead man of his weapon.
After a quick examination of the sleek black rifle, Bing began
firing into the shadows.

Louie emptied the contents of his fire
extinguisher into the flames, which were now barely sputtering.
From somewhere behind the store, a man was screaming for help. Tom
watched as Bing pulled his weapon to his chest and began to run
toward the voice. The old man moved fast and he quickly
disappeared. Louie dropped the fire extinguisher and he pulled the
.38 from his belt. He then charged after his father. Tom darted to
that side of the building, but when he looked down over the edge,
all he could see was blackness. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.

Gunfire exploded from below and Tom fell to his
knees. That gunfire was answered by another volley from down the
alley. Tom felt helpless and he cursed the night. Tom heard the
sound of muffled voices and running feet, but he had no idea who
they belonged to. His heart slamming in his chest, Tom tried to
catch his breath. Sweat poured from his body. He propped the
shotgun against the wall and rubbed his greasy hands against the
legs of his blue jeans.

The gunfire continued, but it sounded like it
was now several blocks away. Tom hefted the shotgun and made his
way back to the front of the store. He peered over the ledge and
saw that the fire was out. Once again, the parking lot was dark and
lifeless. He had survived another siege, but he wondered how long
his luck would hold out. Tom counted twenty-two separate fires
burning in the neighborhood. He shook his head as he realized there
wasn’t a single emergency vehicle at any of them. Louie was right,
this was war. The thought of it made his stomach flop over.

The door across from Tom opened. “Don’t shoot,”
called Louie, “it’s only me.”

“I heard ya,” replied Tom. “I won’t shoot.”

Louie ran across the roof and joined Tom at the
ledge. “Did you see that?” he asked.