Parsons launches another kick, which again connects with its mark. Marcus still seems clearheaded, but I’m not sure I could tell if he weren’t, and I’m getting worried.
“Laurie, shoot the son of a bitch!” I scream, my only contribution to this entire episode. But Laurie ignores me, still pointing the gun but not pulling the trigger.
Parsons comes at Marcus again with still another kick to the head, but this time Marcus just reaches his hand up and seems to pluck his ankle out of the air. Parsons screams in pain as Marcus raises his arm, his hand locked around the ankle.
Parsons’s head and shoulders hit the floor with a sickening thud, but his leg is still up in the air, with Marcus’s hand around it in a death vise. I can see Marcus’s fingers tighten even more, and through the sounds of Parsons’s screams I can hear his ankle bones cracking.
Laurie and the other servant rush to pull Marcus off him, but I don’t join in. It flashes through my mind what this man has done.
“He killed Calvin, Marcus. He broke his neck with his bare hands. And he killed those kids.”
I can see this register on Marcus’s face, and he increases the pressure on Parsons’s ankle, which by now has the consistency of overcooked capellini. I should be embarrassed to admit that the man’s agony is music to my ears, but I’m not.
Calvin, this one’s for you.
Laurie is screaming in Marcus’s ear: “Marcus, that’s enough! That’s enough!” She yells it over and over, until finally he lets go.
Wallace is leaning over the servant who was shot, and with Laurie pointing a gun at the writhing Parsons, I rush outside and scream to the people in the street that we need an ambulance.
It seems that within moments the room is filled with medical personnel, as well as Findlay and state police. Both Parsons and the wounded servant are taken off, with Parsons wearing handcuffs as he lies on the stretcher. Laurie checks and tells me that the servant took the bullet in his right shoulder and should recover.
It’s maybe an hour later that the room starts to clear out, and Laurie and I walk to the door. I take a final look back at the wheel.
It was right.
We prevailed.
• • • • •
TARA IS WAITING in the car when I get there. I know that she’s pissed to be treated like a dog, and she’ll never buy the story that I locked her in for her own sake. I give her a couple of biscuits as a peace offering, and though she takes them, I doubt I’ve heard the last of this.
I drive to Laurie’s house, let myself in, and wait for her to finish the myriad of interviews and paperwork that will follow today’s chaos. We’ve both agreed that after what we’ve been through, we deserve at least one more night with each other.
I am emotionally exhausted and fall asleep on the couch within minutes. Laurie’s entering the house wakes me, and a check of my watch indicates that I’ve been sleeping for three and a half hours.
Clearly exhausted herself, Laurie comes over and lies down next to me on the couch. I wouldn’t describe it as a hug exactly, it’s more that we just hold on to each other.
After a while we both fall asleep in that position. Laurie wakes me up at about two-thirty in the morning, takes my hand, and leads me into the bedroom. We make love, then sleep until eight in the morning. The entire time she’s been home, I don’t think we’ve said ten words between us.
It’s not until we’re having breakfast that we talk at all about yesterday’s events. Neither of us really wants to relive it, so there isn’t that much to say.
Laurie has concluded that Calvin was most likely not trying to reach her when he called the station on the night he died. She thinks he was calling Parsons, who was in the process of setting him up to be killed.
“How did you know it was Parsons that was behind it all?” she asks.
“The pieces all fit, but it wasn’t until I got your message that I tried to fit them. After listening to how Drummond and everyone else in that town talked and felt about Wallace, I just didn’t believe that Wallace was a crook.”
“Richard Davidson was instrumental in my getting this job instead of Parsons,” she says. “I wonder if that played into all this.”
“It certainly could have. Who has jurisdiction over the investigation now?”
“The FBI is coming in, because the smuggling was from Canada,” she says. “They’re going to turn Center City upside down to find everyone involved. The people living there don’t know what they’re in for.”
“They’ll survive it, and in the long run nothing will change. They believe what they believe.”
She nods. “I know. Madeline’s ready to go back to live with her mother.”
“Where’s Marcus?” I ask.
“He just left. Had you told him to stay and watch over me?”
I shake my head. “No, and that’s not what he was doing. He was still watching out for me, and when I came back, so did he.” I raise my glass of orange juice in a toast. “To Marcus.”
“To Marcus,” she agrees, and we drink the toast.
“Actually, it’s lucky he was here,” I say. “If not, I might have killed Parsons with my bare hands.”
She smiles. “Andy, coming back like you did was incredibly brave. And incredibly loving.”
“Oh, pshaw,” I say. My ability to receive compliments hasn’t shown much improvement, probably because I haven’t had that many opportunities to work on it.
We’re silent for a few moments, since we both realize that another wrenching moment is approaching. “I think we’re about to break the indoor record for painful good-byes,” she says.
“I know,” I say, but then I shake my head. At this particular moment my mind has no idea what’s coming next; it’s like my mouth is on its own. “No, I don’t want to say good-bye again. Been there, done that.”
“Andy…”
“No,” I interrupt. “Hear me out. I’m going back, and you’re staying here, but you can spend your vacations back East, we can meet for a hell of a lot of weekends, and I’m going to come here whenever I have time. It’s not like I have a lot of clients.”
“That’s true,” she says.
I continue, since I feel like I’m on something of a roll. “So we try it. We do more than try it… we make it work. And it keeps us at least somewhat together.”
She nods. “And being with you part-time beats the hell out of being with you no-time.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“This will not be easy, Andy.”
I nod and wait for her to continue.
“But it will be worth it,” she says.
“Good. Now we just have to work out the details. What about seeing other people?” I ask, sounding a little like a high school freshman in the process.
She shakes her head. “No way. It’s you and me, buddy boy. Rita Gordon will just have to deal with that.”