When Steve returned, Shari found that the batteries were dead. “That figures,” she said. “I’ll see if I can find some fresh ones after we eat.”
Shari opened the refrigerator and she pulled out a bag of deli ham and a variety pack of sliced cheeses. They were still cool to the touch. She then set out condiments and three bags of chips. She took some paper plates down from the cupboard and told everyone to help themselves. There was no more wine in the refrigerator, so she walked into the pantry and grabbed three bottles of the Lambrusco from the case that Tom had bought. She had never tried the red wine and when she did, she was pleasantly surprised. The rest of the group was pleased, as well. It seemed that the wine was popular on Tom’s side of the family. Lumpy and Steve added ice cubes to their red plastic cups and soon, everyone else was doing the same.
They ate their sandwiches and chips and washed it down with the Italian wine. Eventually, they began to loosen up as they relived their experience. Doris and Marie took turns telling their side of the story, while Lumpy and Steve rolled with laughter. Slowly, Shari began to let her guard down. She started to see why Doris and Marie wanted so desperately to see what was inside her parent’s house. They had never known wealth, and more than anything, they were just curious to see how the other half lived. She saw that Steve and Lumpy were harmless. They were just a couple of lazy young men without direction, which she didn’t think made them bad people. Like it or not, she was now tied to these people. They were now family and something about that realization made Shari happy.
Her immediate family was dead and buried and her extended family had never been close. They were scattered across two continents and she only heard from them when someone died or got married. They were self-absorbed and aloof, rich, snobbish people, whom Shari could only stomach for short periods of time. The group in front of her didn’t have a dime between them, but as poor as they were, they were rich in a way that money could never buy.
The storytelling continued as Shari opened yet another bottle of wine. Both Marie and Doris started treating Shari with respect. Marie scolded Steve for not taking his shoes off after going outside for a smoke, while Doris warned Lumpy not to touch anything. “Show some respect,” she had said, giving Shari a sly wink.
Eventually, the storytelling turned to gossip and Shari felt herself being drawn into it. And while she didn’t really know any of the people they were talking about, they were all Calizzi’s and Picacello’s, which made them family and the gossip so much more interesting. Shari had never heard people gossip about their family members, not like they were doing, and she felt sad that she had missed out on something so strangely wonderful. The gossip was punctuated with background, who was married to whom, how they were related, where they lived and what they did for a living. Shari found that she couldn’t wait to meet some of these characters.
When she caught Lumpy and Steve staring out at the Chris Craft, Shari looked at her watch. It was only 8:00 and there was still plenty of light. “Come on,” she said, “who wants to go for a boat ride?”
Ten minutes later, the five of them were cruising across the bay in Shari’s boat. The three women rode in the front on the big bench seat, while Steve and Lumpy rode behind them, cracking comments in their best Ivy League accents. Shari putted around the bay, pointing out some of the other houses as they passed. As she did so, she found that she didn’t much care for the people who lived in those houses. She also began to notice that no one was outside. She took the group for a wide turn around the bay, the old wooden boat gleaming in the setting sun. She had always loved her father’s 1959 Chris Craft, and while there were much bigger boats on the lake, few could match it in beauty. Like her father had done before her, Shari had the boat refinished each season before it was stored away, indoors, in a heated stall.
She pulled the boat up onto the lift and Steve and Lumpy cranked the wheel until the Chris Craft was completely out of the water. They then helped their aunts up out of the boat and Shari climbed up onto the dock. “I can’t believe we were the only boat on the water,” she said. “I’ve got to find some batteries for that radio.”
Doris was staring up at the open garage door. “I wish Tommy would get home,” she said. “I’m getting worried about him.”
“He’s probably waiting for you at the house,” said Steve.
“Shut up,” grunted Lumpy. “You’re not supposed to talk about that.”
“Talk about what?” asked Marie.
“Yeah, talk about what?” asked Doris.
Shari sighed, knowing that she could keep the secret no longer. Tom would have to get over it. “Tom had your house rebuilt,” she said. “We were going to surprise you.”
“He did what?”
“Your house, it’s finished and ready for you to move in.”
“Yeah,” said Steve, “but that’s the understatement of the year. You should see that place; it must be twice as big as your old house.”
Doris turned to face Shari. There were tears welling up in her eyes. “But I thought that I’d stay out here. I don’t want to move back to Northeast.”
“How big did you say her new house was?” asked Marie. “I hate living in that stupid apartment.”
Doris turned and covered her face. “I should have known that you two wouldn’t want me around.”
Shari stared at her mother in-law in disbelief. She hadn’t even seen her new house and already she didn’t like it. Doris began to sob and Marie stepped over to comfort her. “Doris,” she whispered, “pull yourself together. You don’t see anyone building a house for me, do you? Tommy rebuilt your house because he loves you. How was he supposed to know that you would become so attached to this beautiful lake?”
“Oh, I suppose you’re right. I never thought of it that way.”
“I’m sure Tommy won’t make you move.”
“I sure hope not. I really do love it out here.”
Lumpy slapped Steve on the back of the head. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“I’m sorry, it just slipped out.”
“You big dummy, Fat Tommy is going to be pissed.”
“It was an accident, okay?”
“Please,” said Shari, “don’t call him Fat Tommy when I’m around. I just find it disrespectful.”
“Hey, we’ll try, but we can’t make any promises. He’s been Fat Tommy to me for my whole life.”
“Me too,” said Steve. “Everyone calls me Crazy Steve and to tell you the truth, I kind of like it.”
“You’re not going to throw me out into the street?” asked Doris. “I promise to behave.”
Marie nodded. “We both do. We won’t touch anything we’re not supposed to. You can take that to the bank. And I know we said it already, but we’re really, really sorry.”
“Yes,” sniveled Doris, “we are.”
With the sun setting behind them, Shari led the group up to the house. The cat was out of the bag, but it was still clawing at anything that moved. She wondered what Tom would say to his mother. She was also getting worried about him. Why hadn’t he returned home to pick them up? She remembered the radio and she charged inside to find some batteries. She found them hiding on the top shelf of the pantry, behind a can of lima beans. She tore open the package and she stuffed them into the back of the radio. The silence was broken by a loud fuzzy squelch. Shari turned the dial to a news station.
And they all sat in stunned silence as their darkest fears were realized.
Chapter 16
From their rooftop vantage point, Tom and Louie sat in the twilight and watched as the city slowly disappeared into the shadows. Without power or traffic, Tom thought Minneapolis looked like a giant ghost town. As dusk gave way to darkness, he began to wonder if the jihad had been postponed or cancelled. An eerie calm had spread across the city and he commented about it to Louie. “This is the calm before the storm,” Louie replied.
Above them, stars twinkled in the moonless sky. Tom stared up at them in wonder, wis
hing he had studied the constellations. Louie handed Tom an energy drink and they both drank. Tom had never cared much for them, but he had slept little the night before and he had no idea when he would be able to sleep again. Before he had even finished the little can, Tom could feel his heart shift into second gear. From faraway, a siren began to wail. The smell of smoke drifted into his nostrils. Tom held tight to the old Colt he had been given. The handgrip of the .38 was cool and damp with perspiration.
Slowly, orange light began to dance on the buildings behind the convenience store. Then, like a bag of microwave popcorn, came the popping sound of gunshots. Tom swallowed down his fear and fought to keep his hands steady. They had to defend the building against the arsonists, their lives depended upon it. They began patrolling the perimeter, stopping here and there to peer over the ledge, but below them was only blackness. Tom found himself clinging to the false hope that their building would be spared. That hope was soon dashed by the sound of voices coming from the parking lot. Tom followed Louie over to the ledge and they looked down. Two shadowy figures stood at the front of the store, one held a small flashlight while the other dug inside a satchel. There were rifles slung over their shoulders. From out of the satchel, the man pulled out what looked like a wine bottle. There was a flicker of firelight.
The shotgun blast nearly gave Tom a heart attack. Like ragdolls, the men in the parking lot were thrown to the ground. Flaming, the Molotov cocktail pin-wheeled in the air, then it dropped next to the satchel and shattered. The parking lot was bathed in flaming orange light and Tom could see terror in the eyes of the wounded men, just before the satchel exploded. Flames licked up the side of the building and Tom and Louie dropped to their knees. From down below came the sound of agonized screams. “Stay down!” ordered Louie.
Tom’s ears were still ringing, but he had no trouble understanding his new friend. He had no intention of standing up and exposing himself in the firelight. The screaming turned into tortured wails, but two quick gunshots stopped them cold. A moment later, Tom heard something that could only be a fire extinguisher. Louie gave him a confused look. “Is your dad down there?” he asked.
“God, I hope not,” said Louie. Slowly, he poked his head up over the ledge. He quickly motioned Tom to get to his feet. “Mr. Chincoski,” he called down to the parking lot. “Thank you!”
“You just be careful with that shotgun,” replied the voice.
Tom stood up and he saw two men in the dying firelight. One held a large fire extinguisher while the other covered him with what looked like an assault rifle. “How many of you are down there?” asked Louie.
“I’m not sure,” replied the man. “But more are showing up all the time and we’re spreading out. If those bastards want a war, we’ll sure as hell give it to ‘em.”
“Do you want us down there?” asked Louie.
“No, just stay where you are. Just be careful. You don’t want to shoot the wrong people.”
There was another blast from the fire extinguisher, extinguishing what remained of the satchel fire. There were two smaller fires burning and Tom realized they were the bodies of the two arsonists. Mr. Chincoski and his friend left them to burn. Tom watched as they quickly disappeared into the shadows. Tom and Louie crouched back down behind the ledge. “Did you see that?” Louie asked.
“Yeah,” said Tom. “I see you have friends.”
Louie laughed at that. “Are you kidding me? That man and my father hate each other. Chincoski used to own a store in the neighborhood. He blames my dad for running him out of business, which is absolute bullshit. He priced himself out of business.”
“Hey,” snapped a voice from below, “I can hear you guys up there.”
Louie’s eyes grew large. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chincoski.”
Tom dropped his head and stifled a laugh. They sat in silence as the bodies sizzled below them. Helicopters drifted over the city and the smell of cooking meat hung in the air. Once again, Louie began to patrol the perimeter. Tom could see at least a dozen fires burning from where he was perched. That was bad, but from what Louie had said, he had expected far worse. The faint glow from the fires provided just enough light for them to see. The silence was broken by occasional bursts of gunfire and the shouts of men. On Louie’s second trip around the perimeter, Tom watched as Louie ducked for cover and pressed his back against the ledge. Slowly, Tom crawled across the roof to join him. “What did you see?” he whispered.
“The lot is crawling with them. Get ready to shoot. I want you to cover me.”
Tom had been holding the .38 for so long that he had nearly forgotten about it. He stared at the Colt and felt his pulse quicken. He nodded. Louie sprang to his feet and began firing the pump shotgun. Tom stood and he also began to shoot, but from this distance he could only guess where his bullets were striking. Louie had been right, the shadowy figures were everywhere. Automatic gunfire raked the ledge and Tom and Louie dropped to their knees.
“I think we pissed them off,” said Louie.
“Did you get any of them?”
Louie nodded. “I hit at least two, maybe three; how about you?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”
Another round of gunfire erupted and Tom could hear bullets slamming into steel. He and Louie quickly reloaded as the firefight continued. They stood up and unloaded their weapons at a group of men who had taken cover behind his Mercedes. Some fell, while others trained their weapons on them and returned fire. They squatted down, just as a hail of gunfire pinged off of the brick building, ricocheting into the night. A loud explosion sent them sprawling on their bellies. Orange flames licked up the side of the building and they danced ten feet in the air. Even as this happened, Tom and Louie were busy reloading their weapons.
“Get ‘em, boys!” cried a man’s voice. Tom thought the voice belonged to Mr. Chincoski, but he wasn’t sure. Gunshots seemed to be coming from everywhere around them. Louie stood up and let loose another volley with his shotgun, the barrel spitting flames. Down below, men began screaming in pain, but their voices were quickly drowned out by thunderous gunshots. As Louie dropped back behind the ledge, Tom poked his head up over the ledge and dared a look down. The men behind his Mercedes were sprawled out awkwardly on the asphalt, their guns lying by their sides. The flames were now confined to the first story, but Tom could feel his face burning from the heat.
“I’ve got to get down there with a fire extinguisher,” said Louie, handing Tom the shotgun. “You wait here and cover me.”
Tom traded the .38 for the twelve gauge and nodded his head. He handed Louie a box of cartridges as Louie dumped shotgun shells from his pocket. The exchange made, Tom watched as Louie sprinted for the door. After the door had closed, Tom tried to estimate how long it would take his friend to reach the fire. Another round of gunshots exploded beneath him. Tom counted to thirty and then he stood up. There was a bearded man in a robe below him. The man was firing a semi-automatic rifle, but he seemed to catch the movement from above him and he quickly swung the barrel up. Tom racked a round into the firing chamber and pulled the trigger. The head of the bearded man seemed to evaporate. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Tom searched for another target, but saw none. Bullets slammed against the brick ledge, peppering his face with chips of stone. Tom barely noticed them. Louie appeared next to the dead man and he began spraying the flames with a fire extinguisher. His father ran outside and stripped the dead man of his weapon. After a quick examination of the sleek black rifle, Bing began firing into the shadows.
Louie emptied the contents of his fire extinguisher into the flames, which were now barely sputtering. From somewhere behind the store, a man was screaming for help. Tom watched as Bing pulled his weapon to his chest and began to run toward the voice. The old man moved fast and he quickly disappeared. Louie dropped the fire extinguisher and he pulled the .38 from his belt. He then charged after his father. Tom darted to that side of the building, but when he looked
down over the edge, all he could see was blackness. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled.
Gunfire exploded from below and Tom fell to his knees. That gunfire was answered by another volley from down the alley. Tom felt helpless and he cursed the night. Tom heard the sound of muffled voices and running feet, but he had no idea who they belonged to. His heart slamming in his chest, Tom tried to catch his breath. Sweat poured from his body. He propped the shotgun against the wall and rubbed his greasy hands against the legs of his blue jeans.
The gunfire continued, but it sounded like it was now several blocks away. Tom hefted the shotgun and made his way back to the front of the store. He peered over the ledge and saw that the fire was out. Once again, the parking lot was dark and lifeless. He had survived another siege, but he wondered how long his luck would hold out. Tom counted twenty-two separate fires burning in the neighborhood. He shook his head as he realized there wasn’t a single emergency vehicle at any of them. Louie was right, this was war. The thought of it made his stomach flop over.
The door across from Tom opened. “Don’t shoot,” called Louie, “it’s only me.”
“I heard ya,” replied Tom. “I won’t shoot.”
Louie ran across the roof and joined Tom at the ledge. “Did you see that?” he asked.
“Did I see what?”
“Me and my dad, we rescued Mr. Chincoski. He was out of ammo and pinned down behind the store. He caught a bullet to the leg, but it’s just a crease. My old man is downstairs patching him up. You should hear them. They’re talking like old friends.”
They both laughed at that. “That was very brave of you guys to do that,” said Tom. “I’m sure he appreciates what you did for him.”
“He was only out there because he was protecting our store.”
“It sounds like the feud is over.”
“You can say that again. My old man has already offered Mr. Chincoski a job. And guess what? He accepted it.”
Tom smiled and nodded his head. It felt good to smile after all they had been through. He thought about the man he had killed and found that there was no sorrow in his heart. The man would have killed him if Tom hadn’t been quicker on the draw.
The Minnesota Candidate Page 16
