Endless Night (15 page)

In the car on the way home, she and Andy in the back seat, Dad behind the wheel, she’d asked, “Hey, what’s Green Bay?”

“A city in Wisconsin. 1 suppose it’s on Lake Michigan.”

“The nurse said I should wear pads when I go there. Or something like that.”

At that, Dad had looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Back in olden times, when I was just a kid, the Green Bay Packers under Vince Lombardi was the best football team in the world. I believe the nurse was making a joke about the vast extent of your injuries.”

“Doesn’t he
know
what happened to me?”

“He knows you were fleeing assailants. That’s all we gave out about either one of you.”

“Did you have the guy that looks like Mr. Rogers?” Andy had asked her.

“Yeah. He was nice, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Then, as if the simple idea of someone being nice was too much for him to bear, Andy’s face had crumpled. Jody had put her arms around him and embraced him while he cried.

He’d been asleep by the time they’d reached home. Instead of waking him, Dad had come around to the car’s back door and lifted Andy out and carried him into the house.

Jody hadn’t planned to take a nap, herself. She’d been very tired, but what she’d really wanted was to change into normal clothes, then go to her father and be with him. Sit with him and maybe have some breakfast, and talk, and look at him, and just be close to him where it was safe.

She must’ve stretched out on her bed, though, and shut her eyes.

And then she must’ve slept for hours and hours.

No wonder, she thought. I sure didn’t get much sleep last night.

Last night. The hallway. Her glimpse into the master bedroom. All those men. All that blood. The upside-down head...

She sprang up and hurried across her bedroom, grimacing, gritting her teeth. The bottoms of her feet felt raw, but the padding of bandages and socks helped. Her good Reebok running shoes would cushion her feet even more.

In her closet, searching for them, she remembered that she had worn them to Evelyn’s house.

They’d been brand new. Bright white with pink laces, so soft and squishy and cozy inside, and it had been wonderful how they made each step feel springy.

Gone. Burned.

She felt the loss as a tight lump in her throat.

Silly, she told herself. They’re just shoes.

She slipped her feet into her moccasins, instead. As she left her room and walked down the hallway, she realized she had also lost her Eeyore socks.

My Eeyore socks.

Losing them hurt. Her eyes stung. She knew it was silly to cry over lost socks, but they’d been a gift picked for her specially by Dad and they’d been Eeyore, Pooh’s poor, melancholy friend who always, always seemed to be the victim of life’s unfairness. You had to feel sorry for him. You wanted to comfort and protect him.

If only she’d worn her Tigger socks to Evelyn’s yesterday. She wouldn’t have minded—not much, anyhow—Tigger getting burned. But poor Eeyore ...

She stopped thinking about her socks when she found Andy asleep on the living room sofa. He was covered to the shoulders with a blanket. All she could see of him was the shape of his body curled under the blanket, and the light brown hair on the back of his head.

He looked very small.

He looked very alone.

He’s got me, Jody told herself.

I saved him. All by myself, I saved him. He’s only alive today because of me.

She realized he wasn’t just Andy, Evelyn’s pesky little brother, anymore. Because she had saved him, he was now a lot more than that.

Like my own brother.

That’s what she thought for a moment as she stared at him. She had no brother, so she didn’t know how she might feel toward one. But the notion that he was now like her own brother seemed off. Somehow wrong.

Not like he’s my brother, like he’s my child.

The idea seemed outlandish. But somehow right. This was probably nothing at all like being a real mother, but she was the
cause
of Andy being alive just as surely as if she
had
given birth to him.

Whatever might happen to him from now on, whether good or bad, would only occur because she had led him out of the house last night.

How weird.

Weird, but nice.

Jody went to him. She bent over him and looked down at him sleeping. His breath made quiet sounds. Gently, she stroked his hair.

“You and me, kid,” she whispered.

“Careful you don’t wake him,” came a whisper from behind her.

The voice in the silence startled her, but it was a good and comfortable voice. She looked around and saw her father under the arched entryway to the dining room. A comer of his mouth was stretched sideways. His usual smirk, but not really a smirk. Not a reflection of his attitude, at all, but the permanent effect of his encounter with a .22 caliber bullet that had penetrated his skull. The bullet had done remarkably little damage. Its scars were hidden under his hair. On its way through his brain, however, the little slug had rewired the right side of his face. When he was serious, he seemed to be smirking. When he was happy, his face wore a big, lopsided grin that made him look quite goofy.

To Jody’s way of thinking, the bullet had improved her father’s appearance.

According to a book she had read, everyone in the world looks like either a pig or a weasel. One or the other. But her father didn’t fit the pattern. The animal he resembled was a gorilla.

Before the shooting, he’d looked less like a cop than like a creep you might see on the television show,
America’s
Most
Wanted.

Which had never seemed fair at all.

Though he’d looked downright thuggish, he was more sensitive and compassionate and gentle and sweet than any man Jody had ever known. So the bullet had come like an artist from God to correct a mistake, to give his mouth a cheery upward turn.

Some people seemed to think that the constant smile made him look eerie. Not Jody, though. She considered it a major improvement.

The street lizards had dubbed him “Smiley.” His nickname among the boys at the station was “Kong.”

He was standing under the archway with a can of Bud in one big hand.

He wore baggy, tan shorts, white crew socks, and blue Nike running shoes. His T-shirt was neatly tucked in beneath the waistband of his shorts.

Yosemite Sam, emblazoned on the T-shirt, had both sixguns drawn and blazing. Parts of the
hombre
were hidden from sight, however, by the leather straps of a shoulder holster. The holster, flat against the left side of his ribcage, held his 9 mm Browning.

The sight of the Browning gave Jody a hot, squirmy feeling.

Normally, she felt comfortable about firearms. They were part of her father’s job. No big deal. She even had her own .22, and loved to go out shooting with it.

But Dad didn’t normally carry while having a beer in the late afternoon in his T-shirt and shorts in his own home.

That
was eerie.

She reached down to pat Andy’s hair again, then thought better of it. Let him sleep. The more he slept, the better.

She turned away from him and walked slowly toward her father. She tried not to hobble. She tried not to wince. Dad couldn’t stand pain—not when it belonged to Jody.

“We can talk in the kitchen,” he whispered.

She walked behind him through the dining room and into the kitchen. She walked; he swaggered. The swagger, like his smirk, had nothing to do with a macho attitude. The swagger had a lot to do with a high-speed chase that had ended in a collision. Though he’d regained full use of his legs, the nature of their stride had been changed forever.

“Get yourself a Pepsi,” he said.

She opened the refrigerator door. “Want another beer?”

“Sure, why not?”

She pulled out a cold Pepsi for herself, a Bud for him. She carried them to the table, where Dad had already seated himself with his back to the wall.

He
always
sat with his back to a wall.

In college, he used to sit with his back to the wall. Jody’s mother had often told about it. The first time she’d seen him, he’d been sitting with his back to a wall in the student union, drinking a Pepsi and reading an 87th Precinct novel by Ed McBain. Here was a guy who looked like a grouchy ape, and was therefore no doubt a mindless jock, reading a book. Not a textbook, either. A mystery. Reading it, seemingly, for the joy of reading. Intrigued by the shocking contradiction between his appearance and behavior, she’d gone to his table, sat down, and introduced herself.

Kate Monroe.

Jack Fargo.

Jack Fargo. Who had, among other things, two lists of heroes. Fictional heroes and real life heroes. At the top of his fiction list was Steve Carella. His real life list was headed by James Butler Hickok.

Hickok, who always sat with his back to the wall.

Except once. Once in Deadwood, while playing poker, while holding aces and eights, he’d violated his rule. Jack McCall had plugged him from behind and killed him.

According to Mom, Dad had actually said, “If Wild Bill had followed his own rules and kept a wall to his back, he’d be alive today.”

“But he might be too old to know the difference,” Mom had quipped, and they’d both suddenly cracked up laughing. By the time the laughter had stopped, according to both of them, they knew they were in love.

The “back to the wall” principle had been so much a part of Jody’s life that she’d gotten into the habit, herself. Except when Dad was around. Then, he got the wall seat. And that was fine. Jody never felt the need to have her back protected when he was nearby.

She sat down, slid the Bud across the table to him, and snapped open the top of her Pepsi.

“Did you sleep all right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“How’s it going?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You got banged up pretty good.”

“I’ll say.”

“The doctor says you’ll be fine, though.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Anyway, we still need to keep an eye on things. You’ve got to let me know if anything’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like if you get dizzy spells, blurred vision, headaches, any sort of unusual pains or bleeding. Just don’t keep something like that to yourself.”

“Okay.” She took a drink of the Pepsi. It was cold and sweet, and tasted great.

“And if you remember anything else about last night, tell me right away. I know we gave you a pretty good grilling, but sometimes people remember little details later on.”

“They haven’t caught anyone yet, have they?” She knew it was a stupid question. If suspects had been taken into custody, Dad would’ve told her so immediately.

“I’m afraid not, honey.”

“Anything?”

“Not yet. So far, about all we’ve got is what you and Andy told us.”

“Is his uncle still coming?”

“He’s on his way.”

Jody tried not to let the hurt show. From the look on her father’s face, however, she did a lousy job of it.

“I know you went through a lot with him, honey.”

“I don’t want him to go away.”

“You want him to be safe, don’t you?”

“Sure. But why does he have to go to Phoenix? It’s so far.”

“He’ll be a lot safer there. And he’ll be with family.”

“What if they’re not nice to him?”

“The guy sounded fine on the phone.”

“He might be a child-beater, or something.”

“I’ll check him out.”

“Check him out how? You mean look him over?”

“That, too. But I’ll put in a call to the Phoenix PD and see if they’ve got anything on him. Just to be sure, all right?”

“Okay.”

Dad took a swig of beer. He stared into Jody’s eyes. “It sounds like you saved Andy’s butt, honey.”

“Yeah, sort of. But we sort of helped each other, too.”

“Your mother would sure be proud of you.” As he said that, his eyes filled. “So am I,” he added, then quickly turned his head away. “Why don’t you go and get Andy up? Maybe he oughta take a shower or something. And we oughta eat. I don’t know. Go on.”

Chapter Fifteen

In the living room, Jody gave Andy’s shoulder a gentle shake. He rolled onto his back. He yawned and blinked up at her, looking groggy and peaceful. Then, he remembered. Jody saw him remember, saw his eyes change.

She almost told him, “It’s all right.” But that would be a lie, so instead she crouched down beside him and kissed him under the eye.

“Why don’t you get up now.” she whispered. “Dad thought you might want a chance to take a shower before your uncle gets here.”

“The nurse said to leave the bandages on for a day or two. Didn’t he tell you that?”

“Yeah, guess he did.”

“They’d get all soggy if I took a shower.”

“Well, do you want to wash up? You can wash around the bandages.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Jody eased the blanket away, and he sat up slowly. He was bare to the waist of his jeans. He had bandages on one shoulder, both arms, his chest, his belly, his sides and back. Where there were no bandages, he had plenty of bruises and scrapes. Still, he looked only about half as damaged as Jody. She supposed his knee made up for that, though. X-rays at the emergency room had shown no fractures, but the twist to his knee was a lot more severe than any injury Jody had sustained last night.

She helped him up, and hung on to him. He stood on one leg. Carefully, he lowered his other foot to the floor. He put some weight on it. “Oooo.”

“Bad?”

“Not real good.”

“Maybe we should’ve got you some crutches.”

He reached up behind Jody’s back and clamped a hand on her shoulder. “You’re better than some old crutch.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Side by side, they made their way across the living room and down the hallway to the bathroom. She lowered him onto the toilet seat. Stepping back, she said, “Just a second.” She left him there, took a washcloth and towel from the hall closet, and returned. “Can you get around well enough to ... take care of stuff?”

He looked up at her and blushed. She felt her own skin go hot. “Gosh,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”