Firefly Lane (22 page)

When they parked, Tully collected their money, then got out of the van and headed for the brightly lit mini-mart.

"None of that New Coke for me," Johnny said into her earpiece.

She pulled the walkie-talkie off her belt, switched it on, and said, "You say that to me every time. I'm not an idiot."

Inside the brightly lit store, she looked around for the cooler case, found it, and walked down the medicine aisle.

"Hey, look," she said, talking into the walkie-talkie, "they have Geritol. You need some, Johnny?"

"Smartass," he answered in her earpiece.

Laughing, she reached for the cooler case's handle when she noticed a shadow move across the glass. Turning, she saw a man in a gray ski mask point a gun at the cashier.

"Oh, my God."

"Are you talking about me?" Johnny said. "Because it's about time—"

She fumbled for the volume on the walkie-talkie and switched it off before the robber heard something. She clipped it to her belt and pulled her jacket over it, hiding her battery pack at the same time.

At the register, the robber swung to face her.

"You! Get on the floor." The masked man pointed his gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger to make his point.

"Tully? What the
hell
is going on?" came Johnny's voice through the earpiece.

Tully fumbled with the earpiece cord, trying to conceal it under her jacket. Then she turned up the volume on the walkie-talkie's outgoing message, hoping like hell Johnny would be able to pick up some sound. "Someone's robbing the store," she whispered as loudly as she dared, depressing the outgoing button.

In her earpiece, she heard Johnny say, "Holy shit. Mutt, call 911 and then start shooting. Tully, keep calm and get the hell to the floor. We can go live with this. Turn on your mic. I'm getting hold of the station. They're on air now. Stan, can you hear me?"

A few seconds later, Johnny said, "Okay, Tully. We're putting this through to Mike. He's on air now with the ten o'clock news. Your audio is going on live. You won't be able to hear him, but he'll hear you."

Tully turned on her mic, whispered into it, "I don't know, Johnny. How do—"

"Your mic is hot, Tully," he said urgently. "You're on live. Go."

The masked man must have heard something; he suddenly swung toward her again, pointing his gun at her. "I told you to get down, damn it."

She just had time to process "I've had enough o' this shit" when he pulled the trigger.

There was a loud crack of sound. Tully barely had time to scream before the bullet hit her in the shoulder and knocked her off her feet. She crashed into the shelves beside her, was vaguely aware of colored boxes crumbling and falling around her. Her head hit the linoleum floor hard.

For a moment, she lay there, gasping, staring up at a wiggling snake of fluorescent lighting.

"Tully?"

It was Johnny's voice, in her ear. She eased slowly—slowly—onto her side. Her shoulder throbbed with pain, but she gritted her teeth and kept moving. Keeping low, she crawled to the end of the aisle, ripped open a box of Kotex, and shoved a pad over her wound, holding it in place. The pressure hurt like hell and made her dizzy.

"Tully? What happened? Talk to me. Are you okay?"

"I'm here," she said. "I just put . . . a dressing on my wound. I think I'm fine."

"Thank God," Johnny said. "You want to turn off your mic?"

"No way."

"Okay. You're live, remember? Keep talking. They can't hear me, but they can hear you. This is your big break, kiddo, and I'm right here to help you. Can you describe the scene?"

She got to a crouch, wincing at the pain, and moved forward slowly, trying to gauge when she could actually look up. "Moments ago, a masked man came into this mini-mart on Beacon Hill, wielding a handgun and demanding money from the clerk. He fired once into the air to make his point and once into me." Her voice was as loud a whisper as she dared.

She heard a noise; it sounded like crying. Keeping low, she came around the corner and found a little boy, huddled against the neon candy aisle.

"Hey," she said, holding out her hand. He took it greedily, squeezing so tightly she couldn't pull away. "Who are you?"

"Gabe. I'm here with my grandpa. Did you see that guy shoot his gun?"

"I did. I'm going to go find your grandpa to make sure he's okay. You stay here. What's your last name, Gabe, and how old are you?"

"Linklater. I'm gonna be seven in July."

"Okay, Gabe Linklater. You stay low and keep quiet. No more crying, okay? Be a big boy."

"I'll try."

She tucked her chin toward her chest and talked quietly into the mic. She wasn't sure what the station could hear, but she just kept talking. "I found seven-year-old Gabe Linklater in the candy aisle. He came in with his grandfather, who I'm looking for now. I can hear the gunman over at the register, threatening the cashier. Tell the police there's only one robber." She turned the corner.

There she found an old man, sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a box of Purina Dog Chow. "Are you Gabe's grandfather?" she whispered.

"Is he okay?"

"A little scared, but fine. He's in the candy aisle. What did you see?"

"The robber drove up in a blue car. I saw him through the window." He looked at her shoulder. "Maybe you should—"

"I'm going to move in closer." She compressed the pad against her wound again, winced at the pain, and waited for the nausea to pass. This time, her hand came away bloody. Ignoring it, she reported in again to the anchor she couldn't hear. "Apparently, Mike, the lone gunman arrived in a blue car, which should be parked outside in front of one of the windows. I'm happy to say that Gabe's grandfather is also alive and unharmed. Now I'm working my way toward the register. I can hear the gunman yelling that there has to be more money and the cashier saying that he can't open the safe. I can see the flash of lights outside. So the police have arrived. They're shining the lights into the store, telling him to come out with his hands up." She scuttled out in the open for just a second and then crouched behind a life-sized standee of Mary Lou Retton eating Wheaties. "Tell the police he's taken off his mask, Mike. He's blond-haired, with a snake tattoo that wraps around his neck. The gunman is extremely agitated. He's screaming obscenities and waving his gun around. I think—"

Another gunshot rang out. Glass shattered. Seconds later a SWAT team stormed through the glass doors.

"Tully!" It was Johnny, calling out for her.

"I'm okay." She stood up slowly, feeling a wave of pain and nausea at the movement. She saw the live truck through the broken window. Mutt was there with the camera, shooting all of it, but she couldn't see Johnny. "Seattle SWAT has just shot the glass out of the window and come in. They have the robber on the ground. I'll see if I can get close enough to ask them some questions."

She eased around the standee and moved slowly forward. She was near the cereal aisle now, and for a split second she thought about Saturday morning breakfasts at the Mularkeys'. Mrs. M. used to let her have Quisp. Only on the weekends, though.

That was her last conscious thought before she passed out.

The drive to the hospital seemed to last forever. All the way there, through the stop-and-go city traffic, Kate sat in the backseat of the smelly cab and prayed that Tully would be okay. Finally, at just past eleven o'clock, they pulled up out front. She paid the driver and ran into the brightly lit lobby.

Johnny and Mutt were already there, slumped in uncomfortable plastic chairs, looking haggard. At her entrance, Johnny stood.

She ran to him. "I saw the news. What happened?"

"A man shot her in the shoulder and she kept on broadcasting. You should have seen her, Mularkey, she was brilliant. Fearless."

Kate heard the admiration in his voice, saw it in his eyes. Any other time it might have wounded her, that obvious pride; now it pissed her off. "That's why you're in love with her, isn't it? Because she has the guts you don't. So you put her in harm's way and get her shot and you're proud of her
passion
." Her shaking voice drew the last word out like a piece of poisoned taffy. "Screw the heroics. I wasn't talking about the news. I was asking about her life. Have you even asked how she is?"

He looked startled by her outburst. "She's in surgery. She—"

"Katie!"

She heard Chad call out her name and she turned, seeing him run into the lobby. They came together as naturally as wind and rain, clinging to each other.

"How is she?" he whispered against her ear, his voice as fragile as she felt.

She drew back. "In surgery. That's all I know. But she'll be fine. Bullets can't stop a storm."

"She's not as tough as she pretends to be. We both know that, don't we, Kate?"

She swallowed, nodded. In an awkward silence they stood together, bound by the invisible threads of their mutual concern. She saw it in his eyes, as clear as day; he
did
love Tully, and he was scared. "I better go call my mom and dad. They'll want to be here."

She waited for him to respond, but he just remained there, glassy-eyed, his hands flexing into fists at his sides like a gunslinger who might soon have to draw his weapon. With a tired smile, she walked away. As she passed Johnny, she couldn't help but say, "That's how real people help each other through hard times."

At the bank of pay phones, she put in four quarters and dialed home. When her dad answered—thank God it wasn't her mother; Kate would have lost it then—she gave him the news and hung up.

She turned around and Johnny was there, waiting for her. "I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"One of the things about this business, Katie, is that you learn to compartmentalize, to put the story first. It's a hazard of the trade."

"It's always about the story with people like you and Tully." She left him standing there and went to the sofa, where she sat down. Bowing her head, she prayed again.

After a moment she felt him come up beside her. When he didn't say anything, she looked up.

He didn't move, didn't even blink, but she could see how tense he was. He seemed to be holding on to his composure by a rapidly fraying thread. "You're tougher than you look, Mularkey."

"Sometimes." She wanted to say that love gave her strength, especially during a time like this, but she was afraid to even say the word while she was looking at him.

He sat down slowly beside her. "When did you get to know me so well?"

"It's a small office."

"That's not it. No one else knows me like you do." He sighed and leaned back. "I did put her in danger."

"She wouldn't have it any other way," she conceded. "We both know that."

"I know, but . . ."

When he let his sentence trail off, she looked at him. "Do you love her?"

He didn't respond at all, just sat there, leaning back, with his eyes closed.

She couldn't stand it. Now that she'd finally dared to ask the question, she wanted it answered. "Johnny?"

He reached over for her, put an arm around her shoulder, and drew her to him. She sank into the comfort he offered. It felt as natural as breathing being beside him like this, though she knew how dangerous that feeling was.

There, saying nothing more, they sat together through the long, empty hours of the night. Waiting.

Tully came awake slowly, taking stock of her surroundings: white acoustic-tile ceiling, bars of fluorescent lighting, silver rails on her bed, and a tray beside her.

Memories trickled into her consciousness: Beacon Hill. The mini-mart. She remembered the gun being pointed at her. And the pain.

"You'll do anything to get attention, won't you?" Kate stood by the door, wearing a pair of baggy UW sweatpants and an old Greek Week T-shirt. As she approached the bed, tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away impatiently. "Damn. I swore I wouldn't cry."

"Thank God you're here." Tully hit the button on her bed control until she was sitting up

"Of course I'm here, you idiot. Everyone is here. Chad, Mutt, Mom, Dad. Johnny. He and my dad have been playing cards for hours and talking about the news. Mom has made at least two new afghans. We've been so worried."

"Was I good?"

Kate laughed at that even as tears spilled down her cheeks. "That would be your first question. Johnny said you kicked Jessica Savitch's ass."

"I wonder if
60 Minutes
will want to interview me."

Kate closed the distance between them. "Don't scare me like that again, okay?"

"I'll try not to."

Before Kate could say anything, the door opened and Chad stood in the doorway, holding a pair of Styrofoam coffee cups. "She's awake," he said quietly, putting the cups down on the table beside him.

"She just opened her eyes. Of course, she's more interested in her chances of winning an Emmy than in her recovery." Kate looked down at her friend. "I'll leave you two alone for a minute."

"You won't leave, though?" Tully said.

"I'll come back later, when everyone else has gone home."

"Good," Tully said. "'Cause I need you."

As soon as Kate was gone, Chad moved closer. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm fine," she said impatiently. "Did you see the broadcast? What do you think?"

"I think you're not fine, Tully," he said softly. "You're farther from fine than anyone I know, but I love you. And all night I've been thinking about what my life would be without you and I don't like what I see."

"Why would you lose me? I'm right here."

"Marry me, Tully."

She almost laughed, thinking it was a joke; then she saw the fear in his eyes. He really was afraid of losing her. "You mean it," she said, frowning.

"I got offered a job at Vanderbilt in Tennessee. I want you to come with me. You love me, Tully, even if you don't know it. And you need me."

"Of course I need you. Is Tennessee a top forty market?"

His rough face crumpled at that; his smile faded. "I love you," he said again, softly this time and without the kiss to seal the words and give them weight.