It was a somewhat sad and lonely young man who mounted his motorbike and rode away from the Donahue home. There had been, for him, a short-lived thrill in his sadistic treatment of Marcy and a certain satisfaction in his domination of the boy whom he had once considered a friend; however, now as he pulled away from the curb, it was the complete feeling of aloneness that swept over him. If anything were to be done, he had to do it… alone, and if necessary, assume the consequences himself. It was a risky and dangerous undertaking! He had to have some money, fast!
Then, he thought about how stupid his grandstand play had been, back there with Ray and Marcy: fifty bucks for the gun… and twenty… just to be able to tell Marcy off! Damn! That's playing it pretty stupid!
He had to find exactly the right place… the right setup… one that would enable him to make his hit, fast, and would give him a clean getaway, afterward.
Riding up and down the streets of Redfern, he checked out several possibilities: a couple of liquor stores and two or three all-night service stations. It came to him, then; he was thinking of pulling a robbery right in his own home-town where there were too many possibilities of recognition. Why pull something else stupid, now? There are a hell of a lot more places over in San Bernardino!
Decisively, he headed for the larger city; his plan, now, to hit a late-closing liquor store, head toward Los Angeles, to throw off any possible pursuit, then work his way back to Redfern on the back roads. He reexamined his ideas and felt satisfied his plan was workable.
Idling along the streets of San Bernardino, he spotted what he was looking for, a liquor store in a small shopping center. It was the only business establishment still open, and there was but a single clerk on duty within the brightly lit store with its overloaded shelves of bottle goods.
Don parked his bike and watched the place, from a distance. There were few customers. The parking lot was almost empty. As a patron's car pulled away from in front of the liquor store, Don decided it was time to make his move.
He left his bike, out of sight, some twenty-five yards from the entrance, the motor idling; then, pulling his stocking cap down low to his eyebrows and hastily covering his lower face with his handkerchief, he strode to the door, his snub-nosed pistol in his hand.
The night clerk, a broad-faced man with a definite paunch was taken completely by surprise. He sat on a stool behind the counter, his nose buried in a paper-back book with a lurid, sexy cover.
"Put the money in a paper sack… and be quick about it!" Don ordered.
With excruciating slowness, the clerk laid the book aside and focused on the young gunman. He arose and moved toward the cash register, carefully selecting a small sack from a pile of them under the counter, as Don moved closer to watch the man's every move.
The older man glanced once toward Don, saw his obvious nervousness and said, "Son… you sure you want to go through with this?"
"Hell, yes!" he barked. "Don't talk! I just want the money!"
"Just as you say! You've got the hardware!" He punched the cash register open and scooped bills into the sack, then put the sack on the counter. "There you are…"
Don made no move to pick it up. "All of it!" he snapped. "The big stuff… underneath the cash box!"
Obediently, the clerk lifted out the cash box, picked up more bills and put them in the sack. "That's it… you've cleaned us out!" he said.
"Now, come around the counter… keep your hands in sight!" Don commanded.
Again, the man obeyed, and when he had reached the end of the counter, Don ordered him to lie on the floor.
"Don't move from there for ten minutes… and you won't get hurt!" he warned, as he turned and sprinted for his motorcycle.
Galvanizing himself into instant action, the moment Don's running figure had cleared the door, the clerk moved fast for one of his girth. He dived behind the counter and came up with a long-barrelled.45 revolver. Guessing that the robber was working alone, he went through the door fast and flattened himself on the asphalt. He saw his target, the boy was just mounting the motorcycle. The big gun, in his hand roared out once.
Don's left leg suddenly collapsed under him, and searing pain caused him to cry out. Then, he was on the ground. His pistol was jerked out of his waistband, and he was conscious that someone was examining his wound.
Merciful unconsciousness blotted out the rest… until he woke up again in the prison ward of County Hospital. When he finally became aware of his surroundings, where he was… and the circumstances of his being there, he turned his head into his pillow and wept – not because of the pain – but for sheer frustration and worry about what would happen to his sister, Charity.
Christ! I've really messed up everything!
A white, starched nurse, fat and grandmotherly, bustled in, saw that he was awake and said, cheerily, "Time for your shot! Turn over on your side… please!"
Obediently, Don turned, aware now of the pain in his leg. It hurt more than he was willing to admit. Efficiently, the nurse jabbed the needle into his alcohol-swabbed backside. "There… that'll be better, now!" she clucked.
Tossing and turning, Charity spent a fitfully sleepless night. She awakened several times to check on whether Don had come home, each time finding his room empty. In the early dawn, when he had still not returned, she could not go back to sleep at all.
She unlocked the bathroom door and peeped in on her mother's husband, Gabe. He was still fast asleep. Relocking the door, she drew her bath, having decided that she would leave early for school, well before her stepfather would be awake. She knew that she would be safe at school, since Don would not be with her. Worry concerning him furrowed her brow. She couldn't understand why be had not returned home.
Oh, God… I hope he hasn't had an a-accident with his motorcycle… or something…
What that vague something was, she had no idea… but there was in her a feeling that something quite horrible had happened to Donnie. A feeling of frustrated helplessness swept over her. It seemed that life was crowding her, bearing down hard… and she didn't know what to do. Everything seemed so complicated… so difficult to find solutions.
She finished bathing, combed her hair, dressed carefully and applied a small amount of makeup to her face to hide the dark circles and the tiredness; then, she went quietly into the kitchen to get a bite of breakfast.
There was not much left in the kitchen cupboards. No one had done any shopping for food since their mother had left; however, she was able to improvise a meal, after ransacking all the cupboards for what they would yield.
She left for school, much earlier than necessary, walking slow, deep in her worry about Don. It was her hope that she would see him during the day… or at least, have some word from him.
A thought that flashed through her mind and stuck there was that he had left, too. He had spoken often of it; perhaps he had done it… not wanting her as a burden on him.
N-No… please don't let it be like that! Donnie's really all I have… now!
Her school classes were flat, dull; they held no interest for her… and she had had to accept an unexcused absence permit in order to attend classes.
It was right after her third period class had begun that an office runner brought a message requesting that she report to the administration unit. Reluctantly, the math teacher allowed her to go, reminding her that she now had two assignments to get caught up on, by tomorrow.
Her heart went wild. It must be something to do with Donnie! She hurried across the campus to the main office, and arrived there, breathless from the exertion.
As she approached the desk, she saw that Gabe Scott stood talking to the vice-principal. His back was to her, and she was flooded with a strong desire to run… turn around and leave, right then… anything but face him!
Mr. Graves, the vice-principal, looked up and saw her, "Ah, here she is, Mr. Scott…"
They both faced her; there was nothing she could do but walk up to them, where they stood. She was apprehensive… real fear began to build in her. Both men looked so grim and unsmiling. She ignored Gabe and concentrated her attention on Mr. Graves. He gave her a quick, reassuring smile.
"Charity… your father has asked that you go with him to see your brother, Donald. He… ah… has had an accident… and is in the County Hospital…"
"OOooh, no!" she gasped, quick tears springing to her eyes. "What h-happened to h-him…?"
"Your father will explain… as you drive along… right, Mr. Scott?"
"What…? Oh! Yes… of course… I'll tell her all about it… at least, what I know… so far…" Gabe said.
"Well… Charity, you go along with your dad, now. You're officially excused for the rest of the day…" Mr. Graves said. "… And, I do hope your son is not too seriously injured…" His serious face reflected real concern.
The vice-principal might as well have been a judge passing sentence upon her. There was no way she could escape having to leave, now, with Gabriel Scott… but it was the only way she would learn about what happened to Don… the only way she could get to see him.
Dimly, she was aware that Gabe was answering, then taking her by the arm and leading her from the building across the parking lot, to his ancient, dilapidated car.
Then, as he steered into the stream of traffic away from the high school, she asked, "Wh-What happened to Don?"
Gabe turned bleary eyes to her, and she saw that he needed a shave, as he grunted, "Some trigger-happy bastard shot him, last night… and he's accused of an armed robbery!"
"N-No!" she choked. "No! That's i-impossible! D-Don wouldn't d-do something l-like that!"
"Maybe not… but that's what the sheriff's deputy told me! He's in the security ward at County General…"
"I-Is he h-hurt… bad…?"
"They took a.45 slug out of his leg… we'll know how bad it is when we see him."
She lapsed into silence, hiding her worry and grief from him with a hand to her face, only half listening to his tirade on the younger generation… its long hair, weird clothing, mobility, drugs and lack of morals. In a way, she was glad that his attention was not focused on her, for a change.
At the hospital, they were told, they could see Don for only a few minutes, one at a time. Gabe went in first. He was inside for a very few minutes. When he came out, Charity knew that he was seething with anger.
"I can't get anything out of him!" he growled. "Anyway, he says he wants to see you!"
Shyly, Charity went in to see him, not knowing what to say. He was sitting up in the hospital bed, a forced grin on his face.
"Hi, Char… like come on in… and see the prize exhibit!"
Gabe Scott, waiting outside, lit a cigarette and reflected – not on his wounded son and the charge of armed robbery that was being lodged against him, but on Charity – on the startling thing he had been told, just before picking her up at school.
He had parked his car, walked across the parking lot toward the school administrative offices, when a musical female voice called out his name: "Gabe… wait up a second…!"
Turning, he saw Marcy Lunceford. His first impulse was to continue walking, but she came up beside him, smiled and asked, "What brings you to school?"
"Damn it, Marcy… I told you never to…"
"Yeah… I know what you said… but I've got something to say… and I'm going to say it!" she said, defiantly.
"You got nothing to say to me… in public, Marcy!"
"Listen good, Dad, I've got a debt to pay back to that no-good son of yours!" She was venomous.
"Don…? He's in the…" he began.
"Yeah, Don!" she went on, not listening. "That bastard pulled one too many dumb stunts with me! Last night, he practically raped me… then, h-he said I wasn't w-worth the twenty he threw at m-me…!"
"Don…? Y-You…?" He was taken by surprise.
"Yeah… but that's not the juicy part… listen to this!" she said, gloatingly. "He's been b-banging Charity…!"
Gabe looked at her in consternation. Her eyes were pure venom as he gazed at her. He knew it was the truth; her only motive was revenge.
"You m-mean…?"
"I mean he's been…" She looked around; there were no students within earshot. "… Fucking her… is that plain enough?!"
"Christ!"
"You want to hear more… Dad…?"
"N-No!"
"Listen anyway!"
"That's enough, Marcy!" He turned away.
She persisted, following him, "Yesterday, Don and… another boy both had her… at the same time!"
Gabe had had all he could stand. "You're sure as hell not one to be telling tales…" he glowered. "How do you know all this?"
"The other boy told me… and last night… Don threatened both of us. He h-had a gun… too!"
"Yeah… so I hear!" he said dryly; then, "who was the other one?"
Marcy hesitated, not knowing whether to mention Ray's name or not.
"Well…?" he prodded. "What's his name?"
"Ray…"
"Ray… who?"
"D-Donahue…"
She turned and walked away from him, rapidly, as the buzzer sounded for the beginning of the third period. He watched her go, her lithe walk reminding him of the supple strength in her beautiful, curving torso… and he felt the throb in his loins, as he remembered her, the last time… wanton, passionate, exploding under him in ecstatic orgasm.
Damn her! She's a mean one… when she gets crossed!… And, Don's had her, too? Her story about Don and Charity is damned hard to believe… but she must have been telling the truth… for only one reason… to get even with Don!
Thoughtfully, he walked toward the school office to ask for Charity's release from school. He knew the emergency warranted it… and after seeing Don in the hospital, there would be the rest of the day. He knew exactly how they would spend it. There was one thing that galled him: Don had had her first… But, hell… maybe I can use that little tale of Marcy's… That's it! Christ… its perfect!
Then, he was in the administrative unit asking to see Mr. Graves. Yes! This was going to be a very interesting day… after he had taken Charity with him to see Don.
"Wh-What happened… D-Don…?" Marcy asked, not wanting to break down.
"I flubbed it… trying to hit a liquor store… the guy shot me in the leg… but that's not important, Char… I was doing it, so I could get you away from here…"
"R-Robbery…? W-With a g-gun…"
"Yeah… it seemed like the only way to get some money, fast…"
"OOOoooh… D-Don…" she wailed. "I-I never w-wanted…"
"Like… come on, Sis… turn off the waterworks!" he choked. "The main thing is… it didn't work… so you'll have to split on your own…"
"I-I couldn't…"
"Damn it, Char you'll have to unless you want to stay and…" He offered, not finishing.
"Uuuugh! N-No…"
"Then split, now! Run like hell… hitchhike… try to make it to the communes in New Mexico! San Francisco's no place to go… stay away from there!" he went on, rapidly.
"Y-You mean r-right… n-now…?"
"Hell yes! Go out that door… and run… otherwise…"
"A-And leave y-you… here…?"
"Yes! Now, get going!" he snapped.
The determination on his face and the steeliness in his voice pushed her over the brink of decision. She knew she would have to do it. The alternatives, if she stayed, or hesitated were too much to contemplate. Suddenly, impulsively she leaned over and kissed him. "A-All right, D-Donnie… I'll g-go!"
"Split!"
His voice was like a starter's gun that galvanized her into action. She pushed through the door, and without a backward glance, walked rapidly down the corridor toward the main exit. Passing Gabe where he sat smoking, she increased her pace, knowing only that she had to gain the exit, the first door to her escape.
"Charity!" Gabe called. "Where're you going?"
Desperately, she broke into a run. Gabe jumped to his feet and pursued, catching her as she pushed through the big, plate glass door.
"Let m-me go!" she screamed, struggling to escape his grasp on her.
"You're not going anywhere!" he grated.
"OOOoooh!" Her wail was like that of a trapped animal.
The commotion brought several nurses to the scene.
"What seems to be wrong, Sir?" he was asked. Genuine concern was expressed.
"She's my daughter…" he panted. "Just been in to see… my son… all shot up in there! She just seemed to go to pieces completely hysterical…"
"Perhaps one of the doctors should see her?"
"No… she'll probably be all right… just needs to be calmed down…"
"A sedative would…"
That's it! Perfect! Christ… it's better than I'd hoped for! She just damned near ran out on me!
To the nurse, he said, "Yeah… maybe you're right… it'd calm her down…"
"N-NOOOoooo!" Charity screamed. "Y-You don't u-understand! I've got t-to get away…!"
"Yes… of course, my dear… just bring her this way, Sir… and I'll get one of the doctors to see her, right away!"
Then, she was half dragged into an examining room, her desperate struggles subdued and she sobbed to be taken to her brother. "I-I've got to s-see Donnie… you d-don't understand! Y-You don't u-understand…!"
A serious-faced young doctor diagnosed hysteria and ordered a sedative. Her hips was swabbed with alcohol, the needle pricked her… and she desperately wanted to tell someone – anyone – what a horrible mistake they were making, but who could she tell? Who would listen?
Dear God! There's nothing left… now! I'm… I'm t-trapped!
After a few minutes, she felt the euphoria of the drug working in her veins, relaxing her… making her drowsy… and she didn't want that! The feeling of absolute helplessness that swept over her left her feeling empty and alone. There was nothing she could do. The half-sleep drowsiness overtook her, vision and hearing were dimmed, but she was not asleep, yet. She wouldn't allow herself to go to sleep… not yet…not yet!
Gabe waited beside her, watching intently. There was plenty of time; he could wait. They would let him, the concerned father, take his daughter home, in an hour, perhaps. An hour would be a comparatively short time… compared to the weeks, months, years he had already waited. She must know that I found Dottie's letter… last night when I was blotto… and she and Don put me to bed! It was missing from my pocket…