by J. Thorn
I made it down the front entranceway to Aamod. He was trying to roll over on his side, groaning the whole way. Before leaning down to help him, I checked around the corner where Jerry had disappeared. The room was a small dining room that led into an equally small kitchen. Jerry was in neither.
“Are you okay?”
The left side of Aamod’s head looked a little swollen, but nothing that a little rest wouldn’t heal. He seemed to be more concerned with his ribs, where Jerry had kicked a series of field goals.
“I am fine.”
“What the hell happened?”
From somewhere beyond the kitchen came a scream.
Help!
It was a female voice; one Aamod instantly recognized. He tried to get up, but I pushed him back down.
“Stop,” he growled.
“I’ll go check. You stay here.”
“No. She is my daughter,” he said. “Give me the damn gun. I will take care of him.”
“You had your chance,” I said, standing back up. “Now it’s my turn.”
I left Aamod in the entryway and hustled through the dining room and kitchen. The kitchen led into a narrow hallway with three doors, all on the left side.
The first room was an old couple’s bedroom. I could tell because of all the fake potted plants, wicker baskets, matching plaid bedspread and drapes, pictures of family and friends proudly displayed on every inch of wood and wall, and of course, the two old people lying in the bed facing the ceiling, resting their eyes. Jerry’s parents. His mom’s wheelchair was in the corner. She’d never have to sit in it again. This was where she would die, in bed, next to her husband. Just where her son had posed them.
The second door led to a bathroom. Nothing special. Toilet. Bathtub. Towels on the tile floor. A dozen empty toilet paper rolls nestled amongst them. The usual.
Naima screamed for help a second time, pulling me from the bathroom onward to door number three. Jerry also made his presence known. I could hear him tell her to shut up or he’d slit her throat. He tried to say it quietly, but it carried out into the hall.
I stopped outside the last door and took a deep breath. I checked to make sure Sally was ready to fire. Round in the chamber. Safety off. My hands were shaking more than Shakira’s hips.
While it may not sound like good news, the fact that Jerry threatened to slit her throat instead of shoot her was good for me. Jerry may have come to a gun fight armed with a knife. One more deep breath, then it was time to find out.
I turned the knob and shoved open the bedroom door.
Jerry stood behind Naima on the opposite side of the room, clutching her with his right arm, using her as a shield. He had tied her arms and legs with some kind of twine. In his left hand was a knife. He held it up to her face, his hand shaking more than mine.
I pointed the gun at him, wondering if I had the skill to pull off the same shot as Liam Neeson in Taken. Fuck it, who am I kidding? I knew I didn’t. I’d have to wrestle him away with words.
“Jerry … why are you doing this?”
“Put the gun down, or I’ll cut her face off,” he shouted. “I swear I will.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Naima said.
“Shut up,” Jerry said, pulling her tighter.
“I’ll put down the gun when you put down the knife.”
“No way.”
“I just want to talk. No reason anybody has to get hurt.”
“You’ve got five seconds to put down the gun. I’m serious.”
“How do you think this is going to end, Jerry?”
“The way I want it to end,” he replied, pressing the blade against her cheek. “Now put down the gun. Five. Four. Three. Two…”
“Fine, you win,” I said, surrendering my hands. “I’m putting down the gun.”
“No,” Aamod yelled, interrupting us. He had come up behind me in the doorway, hunched over holding his side. “Give me the gun.”
“Daddy,” Naima said. “You’re alive. I thought you were—”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up,” Jerry snarled.
Aamod snarled back. “Let go of my daughter.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands,” Jerry said.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Nobody needs to die,” I said. I slowly stood back up but kept the gun lowered. “We can settle this peacefully. Somehow.”
Aamod shook his head. “There will be peace when he’s dead.”
“You always have to be in the way,” Jerry said. “You couldn’t let Naima make her own decisions.”
“Is that what you’re doing right now Jerry?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Give me the gun,” Aamod said again.
“No, you could accidently shoot her.”
“Better listen to him, old man,” Jerry said.
Aamod looked at me and said, “I’m not going to shoot her. And I’m not going to shoot him.” Then he looked back at Jerry hiding behind Naima. “I’m going to shoot his parents.”
“What?” I said, shocked Aamod had gone to such a dark place, though I couldn’t really blame him. He had just learned this morning his wife was infected, and now a maniac was holding his daughter hostage, threatening her life. He would sacrifice anything and everything to save her, even if it meant throwing his morals into the abyss.
“The hell you will,” Jerry said.
“Watch me. Give me the gun.”
“No. For the last time, I’m not giving you the gun,” I said. “This is getting out of control.”
“Fine. I don’t need a gun to do it,” Aamod replied, and took off down the hall.
“Where is he going? Tell him to come back.”
“You brought this upon yourself,” I said.
“Tell him to come back here now!” Jerry yelled. He took the knife off Naima’s face and was now waving it at me as if it were some magical wand that could make me do things. Turns out, it was the moment Naima had been waiting for.
She bowed her head and then quickly threw it back in Jerry’s face. I couldn’t remember seeing a more perfect reverse head butt. It didn’t break his nose or even split open a lip, but it gave her some room to wiggle out of his grasp. He stumbled backward against the wall, rubbed a small amount of blood away from his nose. It wasn’t anything like the time I was hit with the soccer ball, the gusher from seventh grade, but it still had to suck.
Naima fell to the floor in front of him and tried to crawl away, made difficult by the rope on her hands and feet.
Jerry shook the cobwebs out of his head and wiped the blood off his free hand onto the curtain behind him. The other hand still held the knife.
I pointed the gun at Jerry and yelled, “Drop the knife!”
I felt like I was on COPS, barking orders at some poor white trash, only no one was here filming it.
Jerry didn’t listen. He didn’t think I’d shoot. I didn’t think so either.
Then he made a move toward Naima, and I pulled the trigger.
At first, I didn’t know if I hit anything; all I could think about was the intense ringing in my ears. I had never shot Sally before without ear protection, and never in such a cramped space. I’d be lucky if I didn’t have permanent damage to my hearing. But I was still glad I pulled the trigger. Naima crawled up next to me, out of harm because of my swift action. She looked up at me and said something, but all I heard was ringing. Aamod came up behind us and began untying Naima’s hands and feet. Jerry, on the other hand, fell onto his side, dropped the knife, and with both hands applied pressure to his right leg. That’s right, I shot the bastard in the leg. I kept the gun on him just in case he wanted to make a second go at it. He curled up against the wall and whined in pain.
After being freed from the twine, Naima ran out of the room. Aamod stood beside me watching Jerry unsuccessfully try to stop the blood from exiting his thigh. Finally, Aamod said, “Finish him.”
Finish him?
&nbs
p; What was this Mortal Kombat?
“Get out of here,” I said. “Go get your daughter.”
“Not until you—”
“Go. I’ll finish it.”
Aamod left. Once I was sure he was out of the house, I slowly bent down and picked up the knife off the floor. I set it down on Jerry’s messy twin bed. It looked like he hadn’t washed the sheets in many months.
Jerry looked up at me and said, “Are you gonna kill me now?”
“I probably should.”
But I’d already made up my mind. I grabbed one of the pillows, placed the muzzle of the gun into it, and fired a shot through the bed. The pillow muffled some of the sound, but not as much as I had hoped. Again, my ears cursed and complained.
I looked back at Jerry. He had a confused look on his face.
“That was for Aamod,” I said. “I’m not a killer.”
“Thank you.”
I shrugged. Then I turned and began walking away.
“Wait, aren’t you gonna help me?”
“I just did,” I replied, not looking back.
“Please. You can’t just leave me here,” Jerry pleaded.
As I reached the doorway, I finally looked back at Jerry lying bloodied and defeated in the corner. The look in his eyes was one of mounting desperation. I pitied him.
“There’s a hospital just down the road,” I said. “Maybe you can find help there.”
Then I left the house.
That was the last I saw of Jerry.
Chapter 20
Outside, I saw no sign of Aamod or Naima, so I jogged back down the street to where I’d left my grandma’s car. Dark rainclouds hovered high above, small webs of lightning flashed among them.
Peaches and Olivia were in the driver’s seat when I arrived back at the Buick. I opened up the passenger door and got inside.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I shot him.”
“So he had her?”
“No, I just felt like shooting him,” I said sarcastically. I placed Sally back between the seat and the center console.
“Well, is she okay?”
“Yeah, I think. She’s been reunited with her father.”
“Thank God.”
“How’s Olivia?”
“She missed you.”
I smirked. “Sure she did. She’s probably been asleep the whole time.”
“I can be sarcastic too, ya know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me hold her.” Peaches carefully handed Olivia over to me. She stirred a bit then quickly fell back asleep against my shoulder. “Drive us back to Naima’s.”
When we got back to the house, Peaches took Olivia and followed me up to the front door. While we waited for someone to answer, I kept my eyes glued on Jerry’s house across the street. I had left the gun in the car, but I wouldn’t let the car out of my sight. Just in case.
Aamod answered moments later. “Did you take care of it?”
I nodded.
He nodded back his approval.
“How is Naima?” Peaches asked.
“She will be fine. She is resting.”
“Is there anything else we can do?”
“No, I can take care of her. Thank you.”
“What are your plans?”
“I don’t know.”
“Same as ours,” I said. “Same. As. Ours.”
We left Aamod to tend to his family and headed back to the bookstore. I doubted that I’d ever see either of them again.
I took back the Buick’s reins and steered us through the traffic like a pro. Still not a scratch on grandma’s car. Halfway home, a light rain began to fall. By the time we pulled up in front of the bookstore, the light rain had turned to heavy rain, and the thunder and lightning was just getting warmed up. We sat in the car waiting for it to die down, mostly for Olivia’s sake.
“What did Aamod mean when he asked you if you took care of it?”
“He wanted to know if I killed Jerry.”
“And you did? You shot him, right?”
“Yeah, I shot him in the leg.”
“That doesn’t sound too convincing.”
“It was all I could do.”
Ten minutes later, the rain finally began to slow down. I stuffed Sally back in my pants and left the car. Peaches waited until I had the door unlocked and then brought baby Olivia inside. Then we headed upstairs to check on my grandma.
Climbing the stairs, a strange feeling grew inside my gut, and it wasn’t just because I was hungry. It was the same feeling that had come on suddenly earlier in the morning, the one that had told me not to leave Peaches behind. It had come back. When we opened the door to grandma’s room, I understood why.
Bad Moses sat in a chair next to the bed. He had a gun in his right hand pointed at my grandma’s head as she slept.
I was struck speechless. Peaches, however, screamed so loud it woke the baby. Olivia immediately began crying.
“Surprised to see me,” Moses said. “You shouldn’t leave the window open. You never know when a bad man might want to come inside.”
“What are you doing here?” Peaches asked.
Moses smiled. “Speaking of coming inside. How you been, darlin’?”
“I ain’t your darling.”
“But I came back here for you.”
“Too bad I don’t need you anymore.”
“I think you should reconsider,” he said, slurring the last word. “You think this little pipsqueak is gonna be able to take care of you?”
“He could do no worse than you,” Peaches said.
“That’s not nice. Where’d you get the baby?”
Olivia had begun to settle down and stop crying.
“None of your damn business.”
“Now, now, no need to get angry,” said Moses.
“What do you expect?” I said.
“Well, look who finally decided to speak up. What do you think of my gun? Pretty nice, huh?” He pressed the end of the muzzle into my grandma’s temple. “Yours ain’t so bad either. Now go ahead and hand it over nice and slow.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself,” Peaches said.
“Shut your mouth, whore. I wasn’t talking to you.”
I don’t think I ever wanted anything in my life as much as I wanted to take Sally out of my waistband and empty the rest of her magazine into his ugly redneck face.
“You deaf, boy? I said hand it over to me.”
I still felt a little deaf after firing those two shots an hour or so earlier, but I had heard him just fine. I quickly pulled my gun out and pointed it at him. “How’s this?”
He looked at me with so much surprise I thought his head might explode. He was the schoolyard bully who wasn’t used to someone standing up to him. I had surprised myself, too.
“You’re something else,” Moses said. “Think you’re some … he—ro … but you ain’t.” He had begun to breathe harder. Words and sentences became more and more difficult for him to spit out.
“Are you drunk?” Peaches asked.
Moses didn’t answer, but his eyes momentarily rolled back into his head.
“Not drunk,” I said. “Infected.”
“I think you’re right,” Peaches said.
Moses began to lose the grip on his gun when there was a loud banging noise coming from downstairs that spurred him back awake. “What was that?”
Peaches looked at me. “Jimmy?”
“Someone is knocking on the door,” I said.
“Who could it be?”
“Maybe one of his friends,” I said, nodding at Moses.
Then we heard a voice. I could just barely make it out over the slight ringing still present in my ears. “Hello, is anybody home?” The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“You called the … police,” Moses said. He was now having trouble keeping his head up. “Didn’t … you?”
“There is no police,” Peaches said. “Don’t you know what’s happened?�
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“I don’t think he does, nor will it matter soon. But I think there might be at least one cop left in this wasteland.”
Officer Robbie Robinson, one of the cops who had come the night Moses wrecked the place. I figured it out. That’s the voice. That’s who was downstairs banging on the door. The black cop who looked like Carl Winslow. He had come to return my call in person, and had impeccable timing.
“Go get the door, Peaches,” I said.
“No … you won’t,” said Moses. “Don’t … you … move.”
“Don’t listen to him. Go,” I said.
Peaches hurried out of the room.
“You made … a mis—take.”
“No, I think you made the mis—take.” I could see his eyes begin to roll back again—the gun slowly slipping from his grasp. “What kind of man would point a gun at a little old lady?”
“I should have … should … have…”
He was fading fast.
“You should have what?”
“Killed you … before.”
“Too late now.”
I was sure he didn’t have the strength to pull the trigger, even if he wanted to.
I was wrong.
In one last flurry of energy, he swung the gun away from my grandma and fired it in my direction. Instantly, his limp wrist folded open at the recoil and the gun fell out of his hand. I had no idea where the bullet went, but it didn’t hit me.
He began mumbling incoherently as I picked up his gun off the floor.
“Is it safe?” Officer Robinson yelled from the hall.
“Yes.”
Officer Robinson came into the room. He held a gun out in front of him, pointed at Moses. “Is he dead? Did you shoot him?”
“No, he tried to shoot me.” I held out the attempted murder weapon. “Here’s his gun.”
Officer Robinson took the gun and removed the magazine.
Peaches now came into the room. “I put Olivia on your bed. Don’t worry, I closed and locked the window.”
“Okay, good.”
I walked over and stood beside Officer Robinson examining Moses. “He’s infected. What are we going to do with him? He can’t stay here.”
