Quake (9 page)

    Stan, realize we barely know each other, but it could ever get it into your head that…' Her eyes, fixing him with a narrow glare, widened a bit.

    'What?' he asked. He saw fear in her eyes. She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn't 'If you didn't want my help, you should've just said, all right. Hell, I've got plenty of stuff to do around here without butting in on your little rescue effort. So go on ahead.' Still trying to smile, she began to step away. 'You can bring her over later on if you want. If you need anything, you can call me.'

    He dropped the saw and water jug. Before they had hit the driveway's pavement, he sprang and grabbed the front of Judy's shirt. She started to yell as he jerked her toward him. He pumped his knee into her belly. The blow picked her up. She landed on her knees. Hugging her belly, she leaned her forehead against the pavement. Stanley went to her side. He bent over and swept her shirt up, baring the lower portion of her back. She wore no belt. The waistband of the cut-offs bulged upward slightly. He peeked into the gap and glimpsed shadowy skin, the cleft of her buttocks, the white of her panties.

    He shoved his hand in. Clutched the denim. Hefted Judy off the pavement and swung her around, then hauled her to the back door of her house.

***

    Heather gasped. 'Can't… gotta stop.' She'd done fine for a while, but her running had finally deteriorated to a stagger. Panting and hunched over, she held her stomach and grimaced. Barbara, at her side, wondered if the girl was faking it. They hadn't run all that far since leaving Earl unconscious on the sidewalk. Though they'd taken off at a very quick pace, they'd slowed down after turning the first corner. From then on, they'd merely jogged. Only a few moments before Heather's first 'I can't,' they'd entered an alley that stretched westward behind house fences, garages, carports and garbage bins. Nearly every flat surface had been spray painted with gang signs. The alley ahead looked clear, though. No traffic, no major piles of rubble, no lurking strangers.

    'Keep going,' Barbara urged the girl.

    'Can't.'

    'Just to the next street.'

    'I… I'll try.'

    Heather's agony almost had to be an act.

    Barbara might've been able to understand the huffing, moaning and stumbling if it came from a fat slob. But Heather was thin, almost skinny except for her chest. For such a small person, she had awfully big breasts. Maybe being so top-heavy made it hard to run. Maybe that's what wiped her out. Could be, Barbara thought. But also her legs aren't as long as ours. And she just isn't in very good shape. Heather's strides shortened, slowed. 'Keep it up. Come on. Just a little farther.' Shaking her head, Heather halted. She bent over her knees and panted for air.

    'Pete!' Barbara shouted. 'Hold up!'

    Pete jogged in a tight circle and came toward them. He didn't seem to be out of breath, but he was red and sweating from the heat. He stopped in front of them. 'How you doing?' he asked Heather. She shook her head and kept on panting.

    'We did pretty good,' Barbara said. 'We might as well take it easy now.'

    'I don't know.' Pete lifted the front of his shirt and wiped the sweat off his face. He was smooth and tanned above his belt. His gray trousers looked heavy, hot. 'Think we managed ditch him?'

    'I've been keeping an eye out. He isn't on our tail, Not that could see, anyhow. That doesn't mean he won't find us, but we'd better quit running. Heather's pooped. And it's too hot.'

    'Hot, all right.'

    'You must be dying in those pants.'

    'Yeah.' He smiled. 'Want to trade?'

    Surprised, Barbara laughed. 'No, that's all right. I'll keep my shorts.'

    'They wouldn't look as good on me, anyhow.'

    When he said that, Heather let go of her knees an straightened up. She glanced from Barbara to Pete. 'We going to stand around, or what?'

    'Are you ready to go?' Barbara asked her.

    'I've been ready. I'm not a weakling, you know. Just because you happen to be some sort of Amazon…'

    'You've got the wrong Banner. The Amazon's my mom.' Pete started walking. Heather hurried and caught up to him. Barbara hung back. Let Heather fall all over him…

    Pete looked over his shoulder, then stopped and waited.

    'Are you coming?'

    'Yes. Sure.'

    'Your mom's not really an Amazon, is she?' Pete asked Barbara came up next to him. He studied her eyes. And she studied his. They were pale blue. They seemed intelligent, earnest.

    'She isn't from the Amazon, if that's what you mean. She doesn't throw spears.'

    Pete smiled. 'Does she file her teeth into points?'

    'Nope. And she hasn't cut off…' In mid-sentence, Barbara found herself reluctant to finish. 'She's just large, that's all. Large and strong. A bodybuilder.'

    Pete looked impressed. 'You mother pumps iron?'

    'So do I. Not like her, though. Compared to her, I'm sort of a pipsqueak.'

    'You're not any pipsqueak,' Pete said. 'How tall are you?' Can't you tell? she wondered, looking straight forward into his eyes. She decided not to answer his question. So she shrugged.

    'I'm five-eleven,' he said, 'and you're almost as tall as me.'

    She grinned, almost, huh? 'Mom's six-one,' she said. 'Man, that is big.'

    'If you ask me,' Heather said, 'it sounds pretty freakish? Barbara leaned forward and scowled at her. 'Watch it okay? You don't even know my mom. How would you like it if called your mom a freak?'

    'My mom's dead.' The remark worked. It hurt. A lot.

    It felt like the time last year when an elbow had rammed Barbara in the solar plexus during a basketball game. Not only had the jab knocked her wind out, but it had sent a cold ache radiating through her whole body. The pain had numbed her, driven her to her knees. Later, the coach had explained that the solar plexus was a nerve center, so sensitive that a blow to it would drop just about anyone. Later still, in the locker room, her friend Lynn had informed her that it was exactly like getting kicked in the balls.

    Stunned now with pain from Heather's words, Barbara thought, It's just like catching that elbow. And then she thought, What the hell did Lynn know about getting kicked in the balls?

    She muttered, 'I'm sorry.'

    'I hope you're happy.'

    'I'm not happy. told you, I'm sorry.'

    'Yeah, sure.' Heather returned to Pete's side and took hold of his hand.

    He glanced at Barbara. He looked uncomfortable, downright squirmy. After the glance, he faced forward. She stayed next to him, but kept her hands to herself. Nobody said anything.

    Beyond the end of the alley, the street appeared to be solid with traffic. Barbara saw no people inside. Some were milling about, others relaxing on their hoods or trunks.

    'How did you lose your mother?' Pete asked.

    I don 't want to hear this! 'I didn't lose her. She killed herself.'

    Barbara winced.

    'She committed suicide?' Pete asked. He sounded appalled, but impressed. As if he'd never heard of anything quite so astonishing.

    Don't ask how she did it, Pete. Please.

    'How…? mean, maybe you don't want to talk about it.' Maybe we don't want to hear about it.

    'No, it's all right.' Heather leaned forward to see past Pete.

    'I bet you want to hear all about it.'

    'Not really,' Barbara said.

    'She jumped out a window, that's how. She checked into a motel, but there was only just one vacancy for that night and it was on the third floor. The third floor, right?' Heather laughed. The laugh was harsh, off-key. Barbara saw tears in her eyes.

    Why is she telling us this? 'Mom went on ahead and jumped anyway, though. The thing was, three stories up wasn't really high enough. She landed flat on her back on the sidewalk, and it like split her open all over, but it didn't kill her. She was still conscious. And screaming. Her brains were oozing out, and blood was coming out her ears and eyes and everywhere.' They had all stopped walking. Pete and Barbara both gaped at the girl.

    She was grinning and weeping as she talked.

    Why is she telling us this? What the hell is going on? 'So you know what Mom did? She couldn't move, she was too busted apart, so she wiggled across the like a worm and dragged herself down into the street. A car ran over her head and popped it like a grape.'

    With a look of frantic glee on her face, Heather stopped and wiped her nose.

    Whacko, Barbara thought. The girl's gone whacko.

    Pete didn't seem to share that opinion. 'That's… that's horrible,' he said. 'That's the worst thing ever heard.'

    Heather suddenly flung herself against him. She put her face to his chest, hugged him, and wept. With one hand Pete patted her back. With the other, he stroked her hair. Method in her madness.

    She probably made up the whole thing.

    At least Pete didn't seem to be enjoying it, as soon as Heather quit weeping, he eased her away. 'Are okay?'

    She blinked up at him and sniffed.

    'Can we go now?' Barbara asked. She didn't wait for at answer. She walked to the end of the alley. The other two were following, but farther away than expected. 'Maybe we oughta make another turn,' she 'Just to make things tougher for Earl.'

    'I don't know,' Pete said. 'Do you think we need to bother'

    'If he finds us, it won't be pretty.'

    'Well, which way do… Watch out!'

    Barbara glimpsed a quick motion to her left. Jerked her head toward it. Saw a bicycle speeding toward her, a kid hunched over its handlebars. He looked no older than twelve. He had a big grin. 'Beep beep, babe!' he called. She leaped backward, yelling, 'Hey!' The bike missed her.

    As it shot by, out darted the kid's arm. He caught a handful of her blouse just below her right shoulder. Her blouse and the denim strap of her purse. She felt a quick tug. Buttons popped open. The right side of her blouse was tugged sideways and down off her shoulder before she could grab the kid's wrist. She kept the grip for just an instant, then lost it.

    The kid raced away, Barbara's purse swinging at his side.

    'You bastard!' she shouted. She swept her blouse shut and dashed after him. The kid was moving off fast, butt up, head low, the bike wagging from side to side as he pumped its pedals. Barbara sprinted after him.

    A guy sitting on the hood of a car off to the side clapped and shouted, 'All right!' After him, a small group of people standing beside a long white car watched her run by. They made comments among themselves, a woman pointing at her, a man staring, another man letting out a hoot. Then two landscape workers drinking beer in the bed of a pickup truck whistled as she rushed by. 'Yo, baby!' one called. 'Marry me!' called the other. 'I make you smile all over'

    Creeps, she thought. So they can see my bra. Big deal. Big men. Don't see any of them trying to stop Bike Boy. Though Barbara ran at full speed, she didn't seem to be gaining on the kid. The sidewalk made a perfect getaway route for him: level and straight, unlittered by any debris from quake.

    Never catch him.

    She kept on chasing him, anyway.

    She tried to remember what she had in her purse - she would lose: six or seven dollars; her house key and, yeah, the keys to the school car they'd left a long time somewhere in the middle of Pico Boulevard; her learner's permit; her library card, brush and comb, lipstick, tissues, some bubble gum, and a few photos wallet.

    Nothing really major.

    Except maybe the pictures. Mom and Dad, and what they've both been…?

    Those snapshots might be all ever have of them again. 'Damn it, you bastard! Stop!'

    He glanced over his shoulder and showed Barbara a big, white-toothed grin.

    'Give me my purse!'

    He swung an arm out behind him and hoisted his middle finger.

    I'll never get him. It's useless.

    She staggered to a halt. Gasping for breath, she started to fasten a button. The skin showing between the edges of her blouse was so sweaty it looked oiled. Her bra felt soaked. She glanced back. Pete was coming toward her. He had Heather by the hand. He appeared to be towing her, trying to hurry but being held back. Obviously, Heather was in no rush. Barbara took another look at the thief. He was almost to the end of the block, still pedaling like mad, the purse swinging from his shoulder. And suddenly a man dressed like a banker leaped at him from behind a tree. The kid tried to swerve away. The man clubbed him in the face with a slim dark rod - a crowbar, maybe a tire tool. The kid's head jerked back. He flung his arms out wide. Then he tumbled backward off his seat and fell. He smacked the sidewalk behind his bike. Barbara saw his head snap down against the concrete. His bike kept going. Riderless, it veered toward a lawn.

    The man in the gray suit chased the bike. The moment it fell, he ducked and grabbed the handlebars. He dragged the bike to the sidewalk, tilted it upright, ran with it for a few strides, then mounted and pedaled away. Nobody yelled. Nobody rushed from a house or from the street or from any of the waiting cars to stop him. Maybe I'm the only one who saw it.

    Hardly. They just don't care. Or they're scared. The kid still lay sprawled on the sidewalk. At his side was Barbara's purse.

    The man sped around the corner at the end of the block and vanished. Barbara looked back at Pete and Heather. They weren't much closer than before. She couldn't wait for them. She ran to the kid and her purse. The kid had a puddle of blood under his head. The blow had crushed a deep, leaky ditch above his left eyebrow. His eyes were open. One stared straight up and the other cast its gaze off low to the side as if nervous about something crawling toward his knee. He wore tan trousers. They were wet in front. Just like Earl's jeans. He was sprawled out on the pavement like Earl. He was a creep like Earl, a thief like Earl, and he'd been bashed in head and he'd peed his pants like Earl. But he was younger than Earl and he was dead.

    Barbara felt cold and numb and trembly inside. Crouching, she lifted the strap not to touch the kid as she slid the strap off his out from under his ann. She stood up. She looped the bag over her head so that it crossed her chest like a bandolier blue denim purse at her hip.

    She stepped aside for Pete. He stopped and looked at body. 'Jeez,' he said.

    Heather, holding Pete's arm, said, 'Wow.'

    'Did you see it?' Barbara asked. 'Did you see how guy got him?'

    'I wasn't looking,' Pete said.

    'You were in the way, anyhow,' Heather explained. 'A guy just jumped out and smacked him in the face. It was so weird. The guy didn't look like someone who'd…, kill a little kid.'

    'Maybe he saw the kid snatch your purse,' Pete said. 'No. That wasn't it. He wanted the bike.' Her voice far away as she spoke. 'That's all. He just wanted the bike.

    His car…, it's probably stuck in the traffic somewhere.'

    'You could really make time if you had a bike,' Pete 'Killed for a bike.'

    Heather sighed. 'Let's not go feeling too sorry. He was nothing but a purse snatcher.'

    'He…' Barbara started.

    'I know, know. He didn't deserve to die for it. Well he didn't - he died because some other jerk wanted his bike.'