Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Night
River dumped the car at the BNSF service lot a half-mile from his place and walked west through the pitch-black silhouettes of boxcars and gondolas. The gun was in his left hand, cold and wet. January followed two steps behind, saying nothing, hunkered against the rain.
The storm was dangerously wicked.
Wild arcs of lightning flashed low and mean.
His heart raced.
Someone was positioned to kill him.
Someone was waiting silently in a black recess with one thing and one thing only on his mind.
River could feel him.
He slowed from a brisk walk to a timid one, then stopped altogether and put his arms around January.
“Stay here,” he said.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He kissed her hard and headed into the darkness without looking back. The gun was slippery in his hand. His aim-if he got a chance to have one-might well be off, in fact would probably be.
Shoot again.
Fast.
A hundred yards away, that’s how far he was now. Where are you hiding, you little bastard? His blood raced. You’re watching for my headlights, aren’t you? You’re going to shoot me in the back while I’m walking to the door.
Yeah.
That was it.
That was definitely it.
That’s how River would do it.
You’re positioned but not all the way in. You won’t crawl all the way into your little crack until you see the headlights. That little mistake is going to cost you. It’s going to cost you big-time.
River got to the end boxcar, took a position under it on his stomach with the gun pointed outward and waited for an explosion of lightning. It didn’t take long. A wild electric jolt punched the nightscape.
Shapes lit up.
Tracks.
Cars.
No killer.
River turned his eyes slightly to the right and waited for the next jolt.
Come on.
Show yourself.
Storm lights exploded in the distant skies, this way and that, but not close enough to cut through the mess and light the immediate area.
Thunder roller over Denver.
Come on.
Get closer.
A chill worked its way into River’s bones. He was getting stiff. That wasn’t good. He needed to be limber. He rolled over to get the circulation flowing. Just as he got back to his stomach, the world shook with a violent explosion and lit up brighter than daylight.
No human shapes appeared.
River saw nothing he shouldn’t.
Maybe tonight wasn’t the night.
Or maybe it was the night but the attack was something different than River thought. Could the guy have anticipated River coming in on foot?
January.
January.
January.
River crawled out from under the boxcar. The storm pounded him with a wild force but he paid no attention. Every fiber of his being was focused on getting to January. He needed to know she was all right. He needed to know he hadn’t been outsmarted.
Ten steps into the open, lightning exploded.
The yard lit up.
Every inch of River’s face and body lit up.
He dove.
Gravel cut into his face.
The gun flew out of his hand.