WE pulled into gas and grocery, closed at this late hour. A musty pine scent hung in the air.
“Just because we see him here during the day doesn’t mean he-” Angel just kind of appeared, out of the dark, walking up to the truck and resting his elbows on the driver’s door with its open window.
“My friends.”
“Angel, I’ve got some good news.” James smiled.
“The man wasn’t killed.”
“How did you know that?”
“Because I shot him in the shoulder. I was fairly certain his friend would take care of him. I may have done some serious damage, but I never believed he was dead.”
James sputtered for a few seconds. “Well, then why did you let us believe that he was-”
“People will believe what they want to believe. I have strong feelings for people with belief. But the final proof is in the beholding.”
I leaned over. “Who’s quote is that?”
“Mine.”
“They tried to kill James and me tonight on the highway.”
He surveyed the truck in the dim light. “They don’t appear to have been successful.”
James stared mournfully at the truck. “We just wanted you to know.”
Angel nodded. “Leave the truck with me.”
“With you?” James stepped back.
“With me. If they come to your apartment and the truck is there, they know you’re home. They may try to finish the job. If it’s not there, they assume you’re somewhere else.”
I looked at James and he shrugged his shoulders. “Do you think they’ll come after us tonight?”
“I’d like to think they’re somewhere licking their wounds,” James said.
“But they may be looking for us.”
“True. What the hell.”
It made sense. At twelve thirty in the morning, it made sense. Angel drove us back to the apartment, past the rows of faded concrete block houses and sparse brown, postage stamp-sized lawns, and we tumbled into bed. I slept a dreamless sleep, but woke with a sense of dread.