HEADING BACK TO THE HOUSE, I said, “A couple of years back, when I came to your house unexpectedly one night, in a bit of a pickle, you sent me to a neighbor when I needed a gun.”
“I remember,” Trixie said.
“But I’m guessing you already had one.”
“Yeah. And if you’d used it, and if they ever matched the bullets you fired to the ones that killed those three in Canborough, by now one of us would have already served a year or two in jail for that.”
“Well, thanks for that, then.”
Katie was on the porch, cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting, “Dinner!”
Trixie smiled. “Coming!”
“It’s chicken!”
“Okay!”
Katie ran back into the house.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“Yeah. I might be able to take some of the credit for her looks, but it’s Claire and Don who are raising her. And they’re doing a hell of a job. She’s in kindergarten now, smart as a whip.”
We were taking our time walking back, allowing ourselves more time to talk things out. But I didn’t know what to say. I was feeling a little shell-shocked.
“So, now what?” Trixie asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You still think I should go to the police, tell them everything?”
“I don’t know.” I paused. “But you can’t keep running. You can’t live this way. Maybe, I don’t know, you’ve got something to trade? What do you know about the drug trade, that other biker gang in Canborough? Maybe, you tell the cops everything you know, help them clear some cases, you can cut some sort of deal.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll have to give that some sort of thought. Regardless, I have to move on. I stay here one more night, and I’m gone.”
“Trixie,” I said, stopping and taking her elbow, looking her in the eye. “Face up to it. Do what you have to do, try to start over.”
She pulled away from me, gently. Katie burst out the door, jumped off the porch, and ran toward her mom, shouting, “Chicken chicken chicken chicken!”
Trixie scooped her up into her arms, rubbing noses with her daughter, and the two of them disappeared into the house, the screen door slamming behind them. I stood outside a moment, alone, wondering how this would all play out.
I took the couch.
Trixie had a double bed in the third bedroom upstairs, and she’d whispered to me that if I wanted to share it with her, she’d be a perfect lady if I could be a perfect gentleman.
I thanked her for the offer, but told Claire the couch would be fine. She got out some sheets, even though I told her not to bother, tucked them into the sofa cushions and found me a cushy pillow. I was upstairs, coming out of the bathroom, when I heard Trixie in Katie’s bedroom. The door was open an inch, and the room was dark but for a bedside lamp, and Trixie was sitting on the edge of the bed, up close to Katie, who was under the covers, her head pressed into the pillow, her eyes wide.
“Tell me more about the princess,” Katie said.
“Well,” said Trixie, “once upon a time, there was a princess, with very curly hair, who was only five years old, and she could do anything she wanted.”
“Even stay up late to watch TV?”
“Not that sort of anything. Anything that was hard, that took a lot of work, anything that the other princes and princesses thought would be too much trouble, that was the sort of anything she could do. Like, if she wanted to be a scientist, she could do that. Or if she wanted to be a doctor, or a painter, or a dancer, whatever she wanted to be, she could do it.”
“Was she magic?” Katie asked.
“Some people thought so, but mostly, she was just special. And she was special because so many people loved her.”
“How many people?”
Trixie thought a moment. “Seventeen,” she said.
“That’s a lot,” said Katie. “So what did the princess decide she wanted to be?”
“What do you think she decided to be?”
Katie mulled this one over. “I think she decided to be a dog doctor.”
“Really?” said Trixie. “A dog doctor. You mean, she wanted to be a dog, who becomes a doctor, or she wanted to be someone who took care of sick dogs?”
“She wanted to be someone who wanted to take care of sick dogs.”
“That makes sense,” said Trixie. “I think that’s a good choice.”
“I like dogs,” said Katie. “But I don’t like dragons. If a dragon got sick, I wouldn’t try to make it better.”
“Dragons are scary,” Trixie agreed.
“I don’t want there to be any dragons,” Katie said.
“Neither do I,” Trixie said, and leaned over to give Katie a kiss goodnight.
I slipped away down the stairs.
“Zack.”
When I opened my eyes, it took me a couple of seconds to realize where I was. On the couch, in the living room of the Bennet house. Trixie, in a robe, the sash knotted in front of her, was kneeling over me in the darkness. I could smell her hair as it hung down her face toward me.
“Zack,” she said again, whispering.
“Yeah, Trixie, it’s the middle of the night.” Instantly, I wondered what her intentions were. Here we were, alone, Trixie in a robe, me mostly undressed, in a darkened room.
“Shhh,” she said.
“What is it?”
“I think there’s someone out there.”
I blinked hard, several times, getting the sleep out of my eyes and getting them adjusted to the dark. “Out where?”
“Outside. Around the house.”
“What? How, what, you probably just heard something. An animal or something.” I’d swung my legs out from under the covers and was in a sitting position, in socks, boxers, and a T-shirt.
“I came down to the kitchen,” Trixie whispered, “for a glass of water, and I thought-” She stopped abruptly, put her index finger to her lip. Neither of us breathed.
I thought I heard a board creak. On the porch, at the front of the house.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
I nodded. Merker, I thought. Somehow, I’d fucked up, led him here. But how was that possible? How could Merker have followed me through the countryside without my noticing? Even an amateur detective like myself would have picked up a tail.
“Have you woken up the others?” I asked. Trixie shook her head. “Get them up, get Katie.”
Trixie didn’t have to be told twice. She disappeared, padding back up the stairs on bare feet. I stood and moved silently to the front door. The door window was curtained, but there was enough of a slit to peer outside. Out on County Road 9, a van with high beams on drove past. I couldn’t make out anything between the house and the road, no people, no unfamiliar vehicles, no-
Someone moved past the window, momentarily blocking my view.
My heart nearly burst out of my chest, but I managed to stay very still. I moved away from the door, pressed myself up against the wall. I inched my way toward the stairs and mounted them as noiselessly as possible.
A dark figure met me at the top.
“Zack?”
It was Don. No one, wisely, had turned on any lights.
“Yeah,” I said. “There’s at least one. I just saw him move past the front door.”
Claire and Trixie were behind them. “Stay with Katie,” he told them, and they both slipped into the girl’s room. “Who is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But he was going around the south side of the house.”
“I’ve got a rifle, but it’s in the back of my pickup,” Don said. “Shit.”
I thought of the small garden shovel by the front door, the one Claire had swung at me, but we’d have to go outside to get it, too.
“There’s an old baseball bat in the basement,” Don said. “If I can see to get down there.”
We both went back down to the first floor. I tapped Don’s arm, pointed to the front door. The shadow was moving the other way, past the door and then the living room window. Then it crouched down, disappeared below the frame.
“Call the police,” I whispered.
“But if they, if they come and find Miran…”
“Don.”
“Jesus, I know.” I followed as he crept into the kitchen, took hold of the receiver from its wall mount, and put it to his ear. “Oh God,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s nothing. No dial tone.”
I took the receiver from him, put it to my own ear, then hit the receiver button a couple of times. I hung the phone back up.
“My cell,” I said. I tiptoed back into the living room, found my jacket draped over the back of a chair, fumbled around in the pocket until I had my cell phone out. I flipped it open, but because I’d left it on for so long, and had neglected to hook it up to a charger on the drive up here, it was dead.
“Are you kidding me?” Don whispered.
“Do you have a cell phone?” I whispered. Don shook his head. “Okay, go find your bat. I’ll stay up here, you see what you can find.” I trained my sights on the living room window and saw part of a head rise into view. Then another shadow moved across the window in the door.
“Oh no,” I said to myself.
I could hear Don bumping into things in the dark basement. Then footsteps coming back up. I could make out what appeared to be a bat in one hand, and a length of two-by-four in the other.
He handed me the bat.
“There’s at least two,” I said. “One by the window, one by the door. He must have brought Leo with him.”
“We get on either side of the door, when they come in, wham,” Don said.
It was as good a plan as any.
We got into position. Standing perfectly still, we could hear the board creak under the two men-it sounded like they were both out there-as they shifted their weight from one leg to another.
Four men, all within a few inches of each other, two on one side of the wall and two on the other, doing their best not to make a sound. All poised, waiting to strike.
Don stood across from me, holding the four-foot section of lumber over his shoulder. I had the bat at the ready.
And then, a good thirty feet away from us, the back door burst open.
My mouth dropped. Don’s probably did too, but I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at the four men storming into the living room by way of the kitchen, arms raised, weapons pointed, handheld lights blazing.
And then the front door burst open, and three more men came barreling in, similarly armed.
They were all screaming: “Police! Freeze!”
Just like in the movies.
Lights got flicked on. Don and I were pushed to the floor by two cops while others ran upstairs. I heard Claire and Trixie scream. Katie crying.
I tried to crane my head around to see what was happening, but a boot came down on my head and held it to the carpet.
I lay that way for a while, listening to the crackle of police radios, and then someone was told to let me up. I got to my knees, and standing there, waiting for me to get up, was Detective Flint.
“Mr. Walker,” he said, smiling and taking off his fedora.
And then it hit me. Why he’d let me keep Trixie’s car. Its built-in GPS system not only helped a driver figure out how to get around.
It could be used to track a missing car.
They’d let me lead them to Trixie.
Nice one, Zack.