“I crawled out here through glass, you motherfucker! You stand up when I tell you or I will crawl over there and hold you up for her!” Lyn clapped a hand over her mouth, as shocked that she’d stood up to Beau as she was by the language she used to do it.
“It’s a good idea,” the man agreed. If she really is trying to punish you, Beau, you’re our best bet. At least if this works, I can move around and help take a look at the woman behind the counter and at Lyn’s cuts.”
“And what do you think you’re going to do when you ‘take a look’?”
“I’m a doctor; I can help. But not while we’re being shot at.”
“The blinds’ll drop if we cut ‘em quick,” Lyn said.
“Except you don’t have a knife. Unless there’s one I can’t see hidden in that apron.”
“I don’t have one.” Lyn said. “I haven’t gotten that far.”
The man twisted around, contorting so he could reach up between the booth seat and the edge of the table without exposing himself. “Got it!” He sat down with a steak knife in his hand. “Feeling pretty lucky I ordered the steak and eggs,” he said, smiling. He wiped the grease off on his pants and lightly tossed the knife toward Lyn, handle first. It clattered to a stop in the glass a few feet in front of her. She stretched as far as she could and teased it over with the tips of her fingers.
“Sorry about the toss.”
“S’okay.” She knelt there, staring at her blurry reflection in the greasy knife.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t think I can do it.”
“Did you think you could crawl through glass?” he asked.
“No.”
“But there you are.” The man smiled at her. Not a forced smile, but a real one, like he saw something in Lyn that impressed him. Whether she wanted to or not, she was doing what needed to be done. No wishing or shitting. She used her hands to make something happen.
“Now Beau,” he called out. “I want you to get onto your feet, but stay crouched down. Don’t stand up yet! Stay squatting. I’m going to count to three. On three––like this, one, two, GO! On three, you’re going to pop up like whackamole.” He turned to Lyn. “You––what’s your name?”
“L-Lyn.”
“All right, Lyn. I’m Neil. Neil Tate. And this is my son, Hunter. We’re pleased to meet you.”
“Okay. Me too, I guess.” She was actually very relieved to meet them. When they’d first come in the restaurant she had tried to serve them as quickly as she could and get them on their way, afraid that one of the locals bigots might cause trouble for a pair of black guys. Now, she felt ashamed for not treating them more politely. That was life in Post-Racial America.
“When Beau creates the diversion, we’re going to jump up and go for those cords.” He pointed his knife at the lines. “Beau! Wave your arms or something while you’re up, okay? Draw her attention. But don’t linger!”
“Go to Hell!”
“Okay.” Lyn sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. She needed clear vision to avoid tripping over the booth bench and landing in a pile of glass.
“When the blinds come down, Lyn, you head for that brick wall by the door. Sound like a plan?”
It sounded like a better plan than the one she had come up with. At least she was sharing the risk now. “I suppose,” she agreed. Lyn didn’t think she’d ordinarily bet her life against who someone hated more, her or Beau, but it was too late to argue. She was stuck in the middle of a field of glass, and she’d much rather return to the lunch counter on her feet than on her knees.
“Now get up but stay low.”
“Dad?”
“Hunter, we don’t have time. If Lyn’s legs cramp, she won’t be able to jump up and then we’ll lose our chance.”
“But Dad.”
“Stop it.” The man looked sternly at his son. “This is who we are. What do we do when we are able?”
“We help people,” the teen said in a resigned tone that sounded it had been a mantra of theirs for years.
“And are we in a position to help these people?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” The boy withdrew his hand from his father’s. He knew what had to be done.
“Well, ‘maybe’ is good enough for me. We won’t know until we try. Now, if this doesn’t work, I want you to wait here for the police. Don’t move.”
“But you said…”
“If this doesn’t work then your first answer was the right one,” Neil said. “Are you ready, Lyn?”
“Yes sir,” she said.
“One.” Neil shifted under the table into a position ready to scuttle out. Hunter tried to make himself small, crunching up and wrapping his arms around his legs.
“Dad.”
“Two.”
“Be careful.”
Lyn held her breath waiting for Neil Tate to say ‘three.’ She wasn’t sure it was in her to sprint toward the windows like he said; it had taken everything in her to crawl to where she was, and her hands and legs hurt so badly. You just have to. You don’t have any choice. Neil’s going to jump up on ‘three’ and if you don’t do the same Joanie’s going to murder him and it’ll be like you murdered him because you were too chickenshit to go.
“THREE!”
Lyn sprang up and, as Neil feared, her leg cramped and she almost fell over. Nevertheless, she staggered as quickly as she could into the booth and started sawing away at the cords with her slippery steak knife. She heard the first shot and felt the bullet streak by her face at the same time, the hot breeze along her cheekbone making her lurch back involuntarily. The curtains dropped and she threw herself toward the door, clutching at the stinging line on the side of her face. She heard the other curtains drop and a second shot followed by a howl of pain from Neil and the sound of his heavy body hitting the floor.
“DAD!”
“Stay put!” Neil shouted. He clutched his thigh as he writhed on the killing floor. Another shot ripped through the blinds and the coffee pot on the warmer behind the counter exploded.
“Are you okay?” Lyn shouted.
“Yeah. It’s okay, it’s okay.” The groan of pain that escaped in between sentences said otherwise. “It’s my thigh. And I fell in the fucking glass!”
“Dad.”
“It’s okay, Hunter. Stay put. We’ve almost got it.” Two more shots pierced through the rattan blinds sending little shafts of light peeking through, but didn’t tear them down.
“I can come get you,” Lyn shouted.
“Stay where you are! She’s already missed you once. But I think your theory about her liking you has been disproved.”
“Dad!”
“Hunter, what?”
“That guy never got up.”
Chapter Three: Everybody Pays
14 July 2013 –– 1527 hrs
The pickup truck rumbled up the highway, its Hemi engine roaring as Andy Johnston gave it more gas to get up the steep grade. The truck was his baby. A gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday, he poured every cent he had into making it his dream ride. His first investment had been a rear window decal of an angry-looking eagle with stars and stripes wings. Since then, he’d added lifts, a roll bar with KC lights along the top, a chrome grille guard, and a net replacement for the tailgate to reduce wind drag. As soon as his summer job ended, he intended to spend the money he’d saved installing a new chrome exhaust system. He was close to his goal, but not quite there yet since he always set aside a little of his earnings for weed.
“Why do we have to come all the way out here, Andy? That dude who lives on Third is always holding. We could go see him.” Andy shot his friend, Daniel, a look that said, thanks for playing. Still, he took the opportunity to explain himself for the benefit of the girls in the back of the extended cab.
“I don’t care what Bryan’s got. His shit is always weak, dude. I called Leonard last night and he said he’s got the real sticky icky, but it’s selling out fast. If we want to cop, we have to
do it today.”
“All I’m saying, man, is that an hour and a half drive for weed is––” Andy punched Bryan in the shoulder a little harder than a simple good-natured poke.
“Who said you were going to get any, anyway? This score is for me and the ladies, am I right?” Andy held up his hand for the girls to slap. His girlfriend, Paula, obliged, but Raylynne kept staring out the window. “Aw, don’t pout, Rayray. If you’re good I’ll take your boyfriend to get his vagina waxed after we spark up.” Andy laughed too hard to notice that no one else thought the joke was funny.
“Why does Leonard sell all the way out here? Doesn’t he, like… live in town?” Raylynne asked.
“Yeah, but it’s like drive through service. And since they’re outside of town, he doesn’t have to worry about the cops jacking his shit up at home.” Andy actually didn’t enjoy making the long drive, but Leonard had the best dope in the panhandle. He also played up their friendship. Leonard usually only said one or two words to him when he copped: price and thanks. But Andy wanted the others to think that he had a personal relationship with the guy. He thought it added to his “cred.”
Andy craned his head over his shoulder as they passed a blur that, for a second, looked like a set of prize antlers moving through the woods. Probably just branches blowing in the wind. He wished he had seen them through the scope on his thirty-aught, though.
Daniel rubbed his sore shoulder. “It’s still a far way to go for a dime. Just sayin’.”
“Wait ‘til to you get a taste.” Andy pulled around the bend and the neon sign advertising Your Mountain Home Kitchen came into view in the distance. At the same time, another car appeared in the rear view mirror. “Fuck! Shit!”
“What’s the problem, Andy?”
“Cop.”
#
1527 hrs
Neil sat on the dining room chair with his bandaged leg extended straight out. It hurt like hell, but the bullet had passed straight through. While it was far from the worst that could have happened to him, he was wasn’t walking it off. The wound bled badly, but the makeshift tourniquet was slowing the flow, slowing the blood loss to a trickle. A very serious trickle that would have a definite effect on his ability to function, or even survive, if it was left too long.
Lyn sat in front of him on another dining chair as he finished picking pieces of glass out of her knees. He dabbed her wounds with alcohol-soaked Q-tips taken from the restaurant’s first aid kit as she gritted her teeth. She stared straight at him with glassy blue eyes, trying not to look at his work. The two inch line of burned flesh below her left eye, where the bullet had grazed her face, would likely scar.
She didn’t seem it when he’d first seen her behind the hostess counter, but the girl was tough.
The glass embedded in his own back was killing him, but he needed to get her fixed up first. She was clearly the only certain ally he and his son had if they wanted to get out of the restaurant alive. Beau stood, watching him work, not offering help. Although Neil figured that Beau was likely shell-shocked from the assault, and could hardly be blamed for his cowardice, he intended to blame him fully when they were free and clear of the restaurant.
“There. That’s it.” He dropped the last piece of glass onto the plate that Hunter held out. Blossoms and trails of thin pink blood coated the dish like a raspberry drizzle over dessert. “You’re lucky. No debilitating damage that I can see from eyeballing it and you’ve got full range of motion. You keep these clean and cared for and…” He meant to say, “and you’ll be fine.” The fact that they probably wouldn’t be fine if the shooter found another way to come at them gave him pause. “And they won’t get infected,” he finished instead.
“Thank you,” she said.
He grimaced as he straightened up and accidentally bumped against the back of the chair. Trying to hide the pain, he gingerly wiped Lyn’s blood off of his hands onto his jeans. He looked at the redhead still sitting with her back to the counter cradling her friend’s head in her lap. She ran her hands over the other woman’s short hair, smoothing it one way and then another while she rocked back and forth, singing softly. After he’d stabilized his bleeding and made sure his son was all right, he’d gone to see if there was anything he could do to help the woman. There wasn’t. The assassin’s bullet had killed her instantly. The redhead’s emotional wounds, by the same token, were far beyond his skills. She stared back at him and he felt the sting of his impotence.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Carol,” she said.
“What’s hers?”
The woman stared into her lap and whispered, “Sylvia.”
“I’m sorry.” Feeling helpless and angry at his inability to bring back the dead or soothe the trauma of watching her lover die, he left her to her grief.
Neil stripped the field dressing off of the wound to his thigh. Both his jeans and the belt he’d wrapped around the holes in his leg were saturated with blood. The bullet penetrated the vastus lateralis muscle to the outside of his femur before exiting through the biceps femoris in the back. Through and through. He was lucky. If the shot had penetrated on the other side of the bone and severed his femoral artery, he might have bled out in minutes. If it had shattered the bone, he’d be worse than useless––unable to stand or crawl or even cope with the pain without opiates. Still, the first aid kit wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to get to a hospital before he got an infection. Even if he didn’t bleed out, he could still die from septicemia. Sucking in a long breath through his teeth in anticipation of the pain, he unbuttoned his jeans so he could get a closer look at the hole in his leg.
“Hey there. You just wait a minute,” Beau said, finally breaking his silence.
“You have something to say to me, boy?” Pain, frustration, and fear had robbed Neil of whatever Zen calm he might have otherwise possessed. He stared hard at the man in the ridiculous western shirt. Despite wearing boots with extra high heels, Beau was still only about five nine. Neil didn’t exactly tower over him (certainly not stuck in a chair), but the manager clearly wasn’t used to people standing up to him. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to bark back. Instead, he stood glaring at Neil. “I didn’t think so.” Neil stood on his good leg, leaning on Lyn for support and pulled his pants to his knees. “I’ll have plenty to say to you as soon as I’m done here. Until then, you’re better off sitting where you were.”
“I don’t like being spoken to like that.”
“Get used to it. I don’t like counting on someone to have my back and being let down. Believe that we’re going to have that out, too. But not until we all get out of here. Before then, we’re working together. You feel me?”
Beau watched Neil clean his wounds. He didn’t sit and he certainly didn’t throw his hand into the circle and swear to follow Neil’s lead. Neil was sure that any action he suggested would have to be couched in a what’s-in-it-for-Beau rationale.
“Yo, man, what do you expect?” the busboy weighed in. “You think he’s going to jump up and catch a bullet when you say? Look what happened to you.” Luis took a step forward, gesticulating like a singer in a music video. Neil was used to being the physician in charge in his Emergency Department. If anyone had a question about an order he gave, they were welcome to bring it up at the review meeting. Not before. He felt like he was losing whatever semblance of that control he’d taken by standing there with his pants down, but there was no other way to properly assess the wound.
“No one’s talking to you, son. Not yet.”
“I ain’t your son.” Luis stepped forward again and made a gesture as though he were going to push Neil. Hunter slid in between them, spun Luis around and wrapped his arms around the busboy’s throat in a hold called a rear naked choke. He locked one hand into the crook of his elbow and applied pressure with the fist of his other hand, pressing it into the crook of the other elbow. Luis’ eyes bugged out as he tried to catch an impossible breath.
“Hunter?”
“Let him down.” Hunter did as he was told, dropping Luis gracelessly to his knees. The busboy held his throat, gasping for air. “You’re dead,” he threatened. “Both of you, faggots.”
“We’re all dead we if don’t work together,” Lyn said.
“He suckered me from behind like a little puss––”
“He’ll be happy to give you another shot head-on when we’re out of this shit. But until then, Lyn’s right. We’re on the same team whether we like it or not. Fighting each other is just giving that woman out there what she needs to take us all down.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” Luis said.
“Time to get around our expert defenses,” Neil said, pointing toward the blinds. “I understand none of us is at our best right now. But we’ve got to get ourselves together tout suite. That means setting aside differences and grudges. Are we all on the same page?”
Luis stepped away and gave Hunter one last hard stare. “Whatever, man.”
Lyn tried to put a reassuring hand on Luis’ shoulder, saying, “It’ll be okay.” The busboy batted her arm away and sat behind the counter. He began pulling at his fingers, popping each knuckle in turn.
Neil did his best to clean the wound using a med kit designed for treating kitchen grease burns and steak knife cuts. Lyn returned to his side and handed him a sterile gauze pad without being asked. She helped him tape it to his leg while he held it in place. She was a little clumsy, due to her bandaged hands, but did a good job nonetheless. He pulled his pants up and used the Swiss Army knife to hack the sleeve off Hunter’s hoodie jacket. He tied the make-shift tourniquet above the wounds and cinched it with a butter knife he could twist to periodically loosen and retighten it. Pain lanced up and down from his hip to his ankle and he felt faint.
Mountain Home Page 6
