Two for Flinching (18 page)

“What?”

“You sat in Hannah Merriweather’s chair.
That’s why you’re wearing that stupid hat.”

“It’s Hannah Strange now. And she’s a highly
respected hair dresser.”

“Who said she wasn’t? Tonya goes to her every
two weeks. But you…” He waved a finger at me. “You should have
known better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She hates your guts. With good reason.”

“Hey—“

“All Stella had to do was flash you that
smile, bat those eyelashes, show a little leg and you dropped
Hannah like a hot rock.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Biggest mistake of your life, little
brother. Dumping an angel like Hannah for a ho like Stella.”

Here we go again.
“I did get Sarah out
of it.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “I can tell she
didn’t use a straight razor for those little hairs on the back of
your neck.”

My hand instinctively went back there. The
skin felt smooth. “How can you tell that?”

“Because you still have both your ears,” he
explained. “You’re a true idiot, Beason.”

“Why does everybody keep calling me
that?”

Gus gave me his dumbfounded look. “Because
it’s true.”

***

The wind had picked up, cutting through my
bomber jacket. Low clouds raced across the sky, rain in the
forecast. Another cold front on the way. I almost went to the
office, but failed to find anything else I could do in the search
for Amber. Or Stella. I had already been to the gym for a full
workout, elliptical machine, weights, and the heavy bag. I had even
lingered on the court, hopelessly throwing basketballs at the goal.
I knew I was delaying the inevitable. That was the whole point of
stopping by Gus’s office, maybe hoping he would talk me out of it.
He hadn’t.

I pulled the coat tighter, still unwilling to
zip it up in case I needed to get to my gun in a hurry, and crossed
the half empty parking lot. If the battery was dead, that would
take some time and something might come up. The Jeep fired right
up. I drove (slowly) across town and it took fifteen minutes to
reach my destination.

The Shady Grove Retirement Home was a single
story complex, a flat U with two wings. The front part was the
reception/office/community room. The living quarters occupied the
two L’s. The right wing was home to retired men and women who
didn’t need much care, able to get up and around, but no longer
able to care of the family home. The left wing was for clients who
needed more attention. Technically, it wasn’t a nursing home.
Medicaid would pay for a nursing home, but the quality wasn’t the
same. This place must be costing dad a fortune.

The receptionist looked up from her desk as I
came in. She was in her mid-forties, wearing pink scrubs. She had
an air of patience about her. “Can I help you?”

She would know Gus by sight, maybe by name.
Dad wouldn’t need the tag to ask how her kids were. “Deloris Camp.
She’s my mother.”

“Oh. Do you know how to get to her room?”

“Yes ma’am.” I walked through the community
room. A half dozen people were sitting on couches watching the game
show on the flat screen television. I continued to the left, down
the hall. A few of the doors were open and I could see into the
rooms, people lying listlessly on their beds. The right wing had
always been more lively, people walking up and down the halls,
visiting with one another. This was only my second visit to the
left wing.

I tapped on the half-open door and pushed in.
She was on her bed, in a pink nightgown, the television over the
bureau dark.

“Who are you?”

The sight took my breath away. She had always
been thin, a long and lean body type, had always taken great care
to keep her hair colored. Now she was so thin as to be emaciated,
her body twisted on the bed. Her once long hair was shorn short in
an institutional cut, completely white. “It’s me, mom. Beason.”

She shook her head. “Beason,” she snorted.
“That boy of yours is gonna cause nothing but trouble.”

“I’m Beason, momma.”

“Winston, you’re gonna have to do something
with him before he ends up in prison.”

I gave up and sat in the overstuffed recliner
next to her bed. “How you doing, mom?”

A flash of her former self. “Can’t complain.”
Deloris Camp could never complain, not even to her husband of over
forty years. “You finish that job at the community center?”

“It’s all done.”

“I hope they don’t wait too long to pay us.
You know how slow the city is.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She gave me a confused look before shaking it
off. “Gus get his homework done before he went to play ball?”

“As far as I know.”

“I guess Lisa must be spreading her legs for
that Braum boy.”

I laughed. My mother had always been polite,
kind, sweet, and gentle. Right up until you crossed her. “That boy
might turn out to be a rocket scientist.”

“And I’m going to be Miss America.”

“You’ve got the looks for it.”

She grinned, the right side of her face
barely moving. “Oh, Winston. You’re just trying to get into
my
pants.”

“Is it working?”

She playfully slapped at my hand. “Beason
kick anybody in the head at school?”

“Not today.”

“Praise God. You sure it’s a good idea to
take him to all those karate classes?”

“He’s going to get into fights anyway,” I
said, “he might as well win.”

Her hand rested on top of mine. “You think we
can go to the boardwalk tomorrow?”

The boardwalk had been torn down twenty years
ago in favor of a riverfront development. “I don’t see why
not.”

“We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“No.”

“That will always be our place.”

“Yes,” I said. “Our place.”

Her eyes focused on a long ago memory. “You
were so scared to ask me out on that first date—I thought you had a
speech impediment. You borrowed your uncle’s car, washed it and
everything. Took me to the drive-in and I thought you were going to
get fresh.”

I have to admit, it weirded me out talking to
my mother as her husband. Her lover. But you do what you have to do
and for whatever reason, she needed this. This escape. “You
wish.”

Another lopsided grin. “Maybe. Then when we
got to the boardwalk, you were too afraid to hold my hand.”

“You always intimidated me.”
That much was
true.

“I’ll never forget that night. Our
place.”

I am a selfish person. I will admit that. The
reason, though, why I didn’t visit my mother wasn’t because I
didn’t love her, didn’t miss her. Nor was it because the last time
I came she accused me of being one of the boys who kept rolling her
yard and cursed me. It was because I did love her and wanted to
remember her the way she was before the stroke took her mind and
ravaged her body. I was afraid seeing her would push out the
memories I had of her as a child, playing baseball with us, cooking
Thanksgiving dinner, cheering at my tournaments and ball games, and
leave me with the only picture of her on this bed.

Her eyes were closed. I sat silent as she
slept.

I was wrong.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Jeremiah is crossing the Rubicon.”

“How many?”

“Three. They will be there in ten. I will be
there in fifteen.”

***

My feet swung from the bed to the floor. I
reached back and shook the sleeping form. “Wake up.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Your niece isn’t home,
remember?”

“Wake up.”

She rolled over, away from me. “I told you I
would leave before Sarah got up.”

I yanked the covers from her. Even in the
current circumstances, I admired her bare back. Nice ass, too.
“Madison, three men are on their way to kill me. Get up and meet me
downstairs.”

I pulled on my jeans, stuffed my feet into
the sneakers, and pulled a sweatshirt over my head. Madison
struggled from her sleep. “What? Huh? The hell is going on?”

“Move. Downstairs.” I grabbed the .45,
shoving it into my waistband and ran silently down the hall.

Sarah slept with about a dozen blankets, most
of them shoved to the side. I wrapped her in three, cradled her in
my arms and padded down the stairs. Sarah did not stir.

Madison was waiting for us in the foyer.
Blondie, too, examining us in that cockeyed way of hers. Madison
was visibly in that land between sleep and alert, not sure if this
was some kind of bad dream. “Grab that leash and put it on the
dog.”

Madison stumbled for the leash. Blondie’s
tail began thumping. “I still don’t understand.”

“Later. You got your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Call Steven and tell him to open his front
door. Right fucking now.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“No. By the time they get here, this will all
be over. Call Steven.”

The rain had eased. We ran across my yard and
into the Noble’s. I kicked the door with my foot. Blondie started
barking. I knew it was pointless to attempt to quiet her. The door
swung open, Steven in his boxers rubbing sleep from his eyes. “The
fuck is going on, Camp.”

“You gotta bedroom I can put my daughter
in?”

“You should know.”

I bit my tongue. I had been in Amber’s home
exactly once—and then only to wait for her to shower. Violating a
man’s wife was one thing—his home another. “Where is it?”

“First door on the left.”

It was a guest room, a daybed full of throw
pillows. I threw them aside and gently laid Sarah on the bed.
Blondie circled the floor twice before laying down next to it.
“Good girl. You take care of her.”

Blondie didn’t reply.

“Beason, you can’t walk in here like you own
the place—“

“Steven, some bad people are coming for me. I
don’t have time to explain right now. All I ask is shelter for my
little girl for a while.”

“Shouldn’t we call the cops?”

“No. We don’t have time. I’ll take care of
it.”

“Well.” Steven looked uncertainly at his
sister-in-law. “What are you doing here?”

“Long story.”

***

I slipped out the door, the Colt now in my
right hand. I didn’t have much time. I didn’t need it. The Ranger
in me had long ago assessed the security of my home. The front was
out. Illuminated by the streetlight at the corner, it offered
little in the way of cover. That left the back. I went around the
side of Steven’s house and jumped the common fence. The lot behind
mine was empty, another victim of the housing bubble, nothing aside
from high weeds, a few trees and garbage.

I settled beneath the towering oak.
How
long had it been since the call?
I didn’t have my watch, was
unwilling to pull out the cell. I went with seven minutes. That
seemed reasonable. I had been moving fast, but it still took time
to move two women from one location to another. That left three
minutes.

How accurate was the estimate to begin
with?
People said ten minutes, they meant more than five and
less than fifteen. I wasn’t faulting the source. I knew it was an
estimate. Two minutes.
How accurate was the information he had
been given?
It didn’t matter. I was in position. Even if I had
more time, the only thing I would have done different was grab
another clip. The rain began again, a few drops followed by a
steady downpour. Check that, I would also have grabbed my coat.

They came at nine and a half minutes. I saw
headlights flash and then die a block over. Three of them creeping
across the vacant lot, stepping uncertainly through the mud and
weeds. They reached the fence and clumsily climbed over. The moon
was hidden behind the clouds. The yard would have been the perfect
place to take them, but they spread out as they crossed it. I made
out Trey, a hulking shadow in the middle, flanked by the other guy
from the gas station. Quentin? The last guy must have been the
driver. Trey and Q were carrying long guns, Trey’s had the
signature curve of an AK-47 or a knockoff. I was betting
knockoff.

They crept through my back lawn, whispering
to one another.

This the right house?

Yeah.

Sure?

Yeah.

What if he ain’t home?

Shut the fuck up.

I let them pass, completely unaware of my
presence. I waited until they bunched up at the back deck. The
Ranger double tap was not an option. Six shots, too much noise.
Plus that would leave only one more round. I had never enjoyed
shooting another man in the back, but in war, that was often what
you did. What you had to do. I had learned long ago that there was
no such thing as a fair fight. Someone was always the stronger. Or
the faster. Or the smarter. Or had greater numbers. Or superior
firepower. I believed in dying with honor, but in the end, what
difference did it make? You die suddenly or you go out guns
blazing—you still go out. Your life shouldn’t be defined by your
last moment. I knew it often did.

Or I could step out and yell,
Freeze!
Police!
It wouldn’t work. Three cornered men, already hyped up
on adrenaline and who knew what else, the natural reaction would be
to fight. Maybe if I wasn’t alone, if I could blind them with a
flash/bang grenade, they would surrender.
Then what?
A
couple days in jail and we would be right back in this place. I had
tried once to be a soldier
and
a cop. It didn’t fit, they
couldn’t go together. You had to choose.

The driver was in front as they climbed the
steps, Trey behind him with the AK. I raised my arms in a two
handed grip, slowing my breathing. It was far from an easy shot.
The night, the rain, the distance. I had made much tougher shots, a
lifetime ago on the other side of the planet. I squeezed the
trigger.