Tribe

by R. D. Zimmerman

  Carrying the pistol carefully in her right hand, she left her father's bedroom, crossed the hall, and returned to her own room. With the lights still off she went up to the window. Her father was still out there, bent over that big white Cadillac and poking around at the engine. She cracked the window and lifted the gun up to the slender opening. So He had a plan for her, but what about her father? Crouching down, she took aim as best she could, for the only gun she'd ever fired was the BB gun at the county fair, the one and only county fair her father had allowed her to go to several years ago. She considered spinning the barrel yet again, then thought otherwise, for she'd already spun it three times and certainly the fate of this household had already been decided.

  Just aim and squeeze. Right. That's how you're supposed to do it. She squinted, trained the barrel on her daddy. And gently, gently pulled. To her surprise, once again nothing happened, only a sharp click. So He had a plan for him too.

  With a shrug, Suzanne closed the window and returned the gun to her father's bedside table.

  12

  Cradling Ribka in her arms as she sat on the couch, Janice was just starting to doze off when she heard an odd noise, a thunk of sorts from somewhere within the house. At once her eyes popped open, and she glanced toward the entry hall, half-expecting to see Todd returning. Had he gotten stuck? Had the storm proved too much for his four-wheel-drive vehicle?

  But no, there was no one, and the silence hung in the house like an invisible fog.

  Must have been the snow, she thought, glancing out the large front windows. Must have been a sheet of snow sliding off the roof and onto the bushes. Or an icicle must have crashed down.

  When Ribka started to squirm in her arms, Janice said, “Sweetheart, I think you're hungry, aren't you?”

  As if she understood, the baby smiled back up, her mouth opening in a big, toothless grin.

  “Oh, yes, you're so pretty. And so funny, aren't you?” Janice lifted one teeny hand to her lips and kissed it loudly. “Wouldn't you like a bit more to eat? Would that help you sleep a little better?”

  Dear God, thought Janice, staring down into this little bundle. She'd never known such pure happiness. She'd never imagined she could be, well, so gaga over a baby. If the guys at the law office could only see her now!

  Scooting to the edge of the couch, she held the baby in her left arm, grabbed a clean white cloth, then pushed herself to her feet. She didn't ever want to put her down, to lose her. Never. Baby Ribka. Janice started for the kitchen, cooing and rocking the child. Whispering. Who knew how or why or, for that matter, how long. But the baby was here and Janice was going to cherish every instant.

  “Yes, you're here and you're all mine,” she whispered, kissing the infant yet again. “You're mine, mine, mine.”

  It definitely seemed a miracle that this baby had found her way into Janice's arms. Janice just prayed to God it didn't portend a tragedy. How many days now—five?—and not a word from Zeb. When she wasn't thinking about the baby's health, when she wasn't filled with unspeakable joy at the sight of her very own granddaughter, then Janice's heart was aching with worry. And she had every right to worry. Sure, Zeb had an entire life that she didn't know about, including, of course, parents and aunts and uncles, but damn it all, he'd come into Janice's life and left this child on deposit. So what was going on with him? Dear God, it certainly sounded like drugs. Or had he borrowed a bunch of money from some gang or whatever and then gambled it all away at one of the casinos? In her law practice she'd seen every kind of tragedy, and she knew all too well it could be something like that. Why else would he fear for the child's safety and hide her at Janice's house?

  Not to mention the baby's mother.

  Janice didn't even know if Zeb was married or how to find Ribka's own mother. Worried about that one, in the middle of the night Janice had rolled over, fearful that Zeb had done something like kidnapping Ribka.

  Hugging the baby and admiring her dark curls, Janice passed from the living room and toward the kitchen. As she was moving through the entry hall her eye was caught by a blinking red light on the panel of her security system. Broken again. That was all she needed. A couple of months ago she'd had some painters in and something had happened. The stupid alarm was going off every twelve hours, its digitized voice calling out morning and night, “Sensor Five dysfunction, warning. Sensor Five dysfunction, warning.” So what had happened now? Had Jeff been playing with the alarm or had someone broken into her garage, which was also wired? Janice punched in her security code, then the off button.

  The digital voice called, “Security system off.”

  Yet the red trouble light was still blinking. Wondering if the front door wasn't shut securely, she opened it and then closed it, twisting the bolt shut as was her custom. Still the light flashed. Rolling her eyes, Janice walked away, not knowing what the hell it meant but certain of only one thing: get the baby some food. Ribka was starting to squirm and grow cranky. Janice would deal with the security system later.

  Her kitchen was a big, bright space, the cabinets a pure white, the countertops a deep forest green. About three years ago she'd gutted the old kitchen, combining a back hall and opening up the whole thing. Expensive, but worth it. Now, just past the door to the basement she had an eating area in one corner, a small color TV on a bookshelf, and even a couple of stools at a counter. As she crossed into the space she rocked the baby and easily imagined the room filled with bright toys, balls, and one of those jumping things hanging from a door frame. She had tons of space here, more than she could ever use. When Zeb surfaced again maybe she could convince him to move in.

  From the refrigerator Janice took a prepared bottle of formula, unscrewed the lid, and added three drops from the small vial Zeb had given her. She was about to place the bottle in the microwave when she thought she heard something from the front of the house.

  “Todd, is that you? We're in the kitchen!”

  She waited a moment, and when there was no response Janice stepped to the edge of the kitchen, the baby cradled in one arm, the bottle clutched in one hand. She peered down the dark hallway toward the front door, saw no one.

  The anxiety clear in her voice, she called out, “Todd?”

  Wait a minute, that couldn't be him. The front door—hadn't she just locked it? Of course. And seeing that the entry was completely deserted and the front door shut tight, a flutter of worry began to stir in her stomach. Had the blinking light of her security system been trying to tell her something after all?

  She saw that the hall closet door was ajar. Oh God, she thought. Three or four times over the last year the neighbor's cat had snuck into her house and started spraying, and she was going to have a fit if it was Max in the closet ruining her boots and coats. Without hesitation, Janice hurried forward and yanked open the door. Something shot out at her, and Janice dropped the baby bottle, clutched Ribka in both arms, and screamed as she was struck on the shoulder.

  A broom.

  Oh, shit. Janice caught her breath, glanced down, and realized what a nerve case she really was. Just a broom, which now lay on the floor next to a creamy white puddle of formula. A few feet away Janice spotted the lid to the baby bottle and was about to bend over and reach for it when Ribka's mouth opened in a terrified shriek.

  “It's okay,” soothed Janice. “I'm sorry, Ribka. I scared you, didn't I? It's okay. Everything's fine.”

  She held her tightly, kissed her on her smooth, round cheek, and turned toward the kitchen. She'd mop up the mess later, for now she just had to fix Ribka another bottle. And quick. Hurrying back into the bright white space, however, she stopped immediately. The basement door was wide open.

  “Todd? Jeff?” Her heart started charging. “Hey, you guys, don't fool around like this.”

  Before she could ponder another thought, a complete stranger stepped out from behind one of the cabinets, and Janice jumped a second time.

  Trying to make her voice as strong as possible, she demanded, “Wh
o the hell are you and…and what are you doing in my house?”

  “I've come to save the baby,” said the mustached man.

  “Are you crazy? Get out of here! Get out of here right this minute!”

  It flashed through her mind: Rush to the phone, call 911. Run to the security system, hit the panic button. Before she could even flinch, however, the man raised his right arm and trained a pistol directly on her. In response Janice Gray clutched her granddaughter tightly against her chest.

  Her voice tougher and deeper than it had ever been, she threatened, “You're going to have to kill me first.”

  13

  “You know, it's been nice getting to know you these past few months,” said Jeff as they approached his house.

  “Thanks,” replied Todd.

  “No, I mean it. I never understood why Michael cared so much for you. I just didn't get it. I mean, you seemed so uptight about being a homo.”

  “Trust me, I was. Michael was very patient.”

  “Michael was a saint.”

  Todd pressed on the brake, began to pull over in the snow, and said, “Yeah, I really miss him.”

  “And Rawlins is a doll too,” Jeff continued. “Or, mon Dieu, maybe you call him Tiger?”

  “Maybe.”

  “He's a bit more complicated than Michael, but he's still fab.” Batting his eyes and queening it up, Jeff said, “Oh, I just love a man in uniform, don't you?”

  “He may be a cop, but I haven't seen him in a uniform yet. I think most detectives wear street clothes.”

  “Oh, I'm sure he's got a nice blue police outfit hanging somewhere. You should just get down on your knees and be-e-e-g.”

  “Okay, Jeff, I get the idea,” replied Todd, rolling his eyes.

  “Can you believe it, I've known him since he had his very first uniform. He was a Cub Scout. And then a Boy Scout too.” Jeff shook his head. “He was such a little firecracker. Who would've guessed all three of us would turn out queer, Michael, Rawlins, me. Well, I guess I was the obvious one; French poodles like me always were. And I use the past tense because I no longer have the hair to poof up!” he said with another laugh as he ran his hand over his balding scalp.

  “Life's certainly turned out to be different than Father Knows Best, hasn't it?”

  “No kidding. Did I ever tell you that I'm pretty sure my dad was gay? He was a sweetheart…and very unhappy. I guess he really didn't have much of an option back then, but instead of coming out he drank himself into the grave. I mean literally—he got real drunk one night and drove sixty miles per hour right into an oak tree.”

  “It's a long road.”

  “Lordy, ain't that the truth.”

  Todd pulled up to Jeff's small house just off 46th and Lyndale, a quaint one-story bungalow with a large chimney right at the front and a steep roof now getting buried under a mantle of snow. His former home, a huge Victorian in an unsavory part of town, having burned nearly to the ground, Jeff had moved here about a month ago.

  “How are you settling in?” asked Todd.

  “The best thing about getting burned out is you don't have any boxes to move,” he said and then started cackling. “And I kind of like this new place. It's tiny in comparison to the old house, but it's mine. No family ghosts. Besides, I get to buy all new furniture with the insurance money. I've been at Dayton's looking at couches on almost all of my lunch breaks.”

  While Jeff and he had certainly become friends since Michael's death, they hadn't ever talked much beyond the superficial. So was this to be the time? Could Janice wait?

  As if he were reading Todd's mind, Jeff said, “I always invite my taxi drivers in for a drink. Care for a quick one? Janice is so wrapped up in that baby I'm sure she won't miss you.”

  Todd looked at the car clock. He thought about the take-out food waiting to be eaten. He recalled Janice's downcast mood. What was with her anyway?

  “You know, thanks anyway, but I've got to get back.”

  “Whatsamatta, big boy, ain't I your kinda guy?” pressed Jeff, batting his lashes.

  “That's not the point, Jeff.”

  There'd been a time, however, when a queen like Jeff would have been too threatening for Todd, when his swishy hips and fey wrist would have twisted Todd's insides with the homophobic question: If I'm gay, do I have to act like that? And only once Todd had realized that he himself didn't have to wear high heels did the full rainbow of sexuality come into focus.

  “Oh, okay. Good night, gorgeous,” said Jeff, leaning over with pursed lips.

  Todd felt a big smack of a kiss on his cheek, which he returned with a large hug. He then waited as Jeff trudged through the snow and up to his front door. Only when Jeff stepped halfway in and turned and blew Todd a kiss did Todd put his car in gear and start off.

  He pulled a U-turn, plowing through the ever-deepening snow. There seemed to be fewer and fewer cars on the road; glancing down a side street he saw a couple of people skiing down the middle of the street. He didn't know how long he and Janice would end up talking, but perhaps he'd wind up spending the night at her place, which could be kind of fun. In fact, he should probably just plan on it. After all, Janice most likely wouldn't be able to get around in her car tomorrow, so she'd probably want him to get some supplies—formula, diapers, whatever. And again came the gnawing question: Whose kid was it anyway and what had Janice gotten herself involved in?

  Just up ahead he saw a young woman pushing the rear of a car as the driver tried to steer out of a parking space. Todd slowed, watched as the car rocked back and forth but failed to make it onto the main part of the street. Following Minnesota winter etiquette, Todd stopped and climbed out.

  “You want an extra hand?”

  “Oh, that'd be great. The tires are just stuck in a rut,” said the girl who was pushing. “If you can believe it, my friend and I are trying to make it down to First Avenue to hear a band.”

  “Do you think you can make it?”

  “Yeah, well, if we do we're going to park in one of the city ramps and leave the car there overnight. We'll take a cab back.” She brushed aside a long strand of red hair. “Say, aren't you that TV guy?”

  “I was.”

  “Wow, that was really terrible, what happened to you and everything. Sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  The driver gave the car a long, gentle thrust of gas, the tires spun, and Todd and the girl leaned into the rear of the car and pushed. At first it seemed as if the car wouldn't budge, but then it began to inch forward. In a quick blip the tires popped out of the rut and the car surged forward and into the street.

  “Keep going, don't stop!” shouted the young woman who'd been pushing. She ran after the car, then turned back to Todd and shouted, “Thanks!”

  “You bet,” called Todd.

  He got back in his Cherokee, watched as the other car fish-tailed down the street, and wondered if they were even going to make it to the next block. When he pressed on the gas and plowed into a snowdrift, he wondered about himself as well. Driving slowly, though, he headed toward Minnehaha Creek and made it back to Janice's in about ten minutes. He pulled in behind Jeff's car, shut off the engine, then bounded through the deepening snow up to the front door of the large Spanish-style house.

  When he found the front door locked, he knocked and called, “Hi, it's me. I'm back. Oh, June!”

  But there was no reply, no movement of any kind from within. Presuming Janice had taken the baby up to bed, he wondered why she hadn't left the door open. Glancing around at the thick flakes that were falling as steady as ever, he knew he couldn't stay out here forever.

  He pushed the doorbell. “Janice?”

  Still nothing, no reply. Shit. How long was she going to be tied up with the kid? Or perhaps she was down in the basement, throwing in a load of laundry or something like that.

  Todd pressed the bell again. Knocked too. If worse came to worst, he supposed, he could go next door and phone her from there. Perhaps she was upstairs an
d simply couldn't hear. He waited what seemed like forever, and just when it looked as if he would have to go to the neighbors', he heard some rustling. Then the lock.

  “Hurry up, Janice, I'm freezing to death!” he called.

  The door slowly eased back several inches. Todd dusted the snow from his shoulders, his head, then peered into the house and saw no one inside. He stomped his feet and started to step in.

  “Janice?”

  Todd pushed on the front door, which swung half open. And there she was, pressed flat against the wall of the entry hall, the baby in her arms, but her face looking tortured, a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks.

  “What is it? What's the matter?” Todd demanded.

  She glanced to her left, looked behind the door. Todd pressed on the front door, swung it completely open.

  “Jesus!” he shouted.

  A large man holding a gun emerged. Holy shit, it flashed through Todd's mind that someone had broken in, Janice was being ripped off, this was a robbery. At the sight of the pistol aimed at his chest, Todd flinched, took a half step back. Immediately the gun was raised higher, and Todd froze.

  “What the hell's going on?” demanded Todd.

  Her voice quivering, Janice said, “I…I don't know.”

  From his work on the CrimeEye team at Channel 7, Todd knew you weren't supposed to fight these things, that if you were held up you were supposed to just cave in and give them all your valuables. Yet when he quickly appraised the situation everything changed, all the stories he'd heard vanished. This wasn't about stereos or jewelry or cash. No, this guy was too well-dressed, too professional-looking. Todd glanced at him, then at Janice, and noted the way she was clutching the mysterious child. Oh, shit, thought Todd. That's what this is about, isn't it?