by Thomas Perry
His head and shoulders dipped forward and he swooped downward. As he did, he changed more, and when his swoop arced upward again she could see her father was a crow. He circled once and looked back at Jane with his black, shiny crow eyes—so much like his own bright obsidian eyes—and she felt the deep, painful love he was sending to her, all of it now because there would never be another time. When the circle was complete he began to fly straight across the open canyon to the other side.
Waking from that dream each time was like learning that he had died again. Years later, after Jane’s mother died, she became part of the feeling Jane had that her parents and her childhood were inextricable from the old ways. It was mainly the celebrations that brought her mother back—the women all bringing big bowls of soup and hot casserole dishes and setting them out on the long tables for everyone to share. They were like Jane’s mother—like the woman she had chosen to become out of love. And later, there were the dances. There were the drums and the rising voices of the singers, sometimes making her imagine she heard her father’s voice among them. Jane’s mother had been a graceful, effortless dancer. She had worn her hair long, and for these occasions she put on a traditional outfit, a long black dress with embroidered flowers, an untucked blouse, and an embroidered shawl. When she danced with the other women, she didn’t look different in any important way. There were women old enough to have white hair, which was a shade lighter than her blond hair. She was tall and thin, but there were others taller, and some just as thin. They were all beautiful together.
Their food arrived and Jimmy and Jane ate happily. Jane could feel the way the food renewed their energy and restored their spirits. When the waitress returned with the check, Jane paid with cash. Before the waitress left, Jane asked, “Do you know where the bus station is?”
“Erie. It’s on Erie, which is right down that way, south from here. I forget the number, but it must be in the eight hundreds or so.”
When they were alone outside, Jimmy said, “Bus station, huh? I hope I can get on a bus without being spotted.”
“I’ll check the place out before you go in, and make sure there aren’t police watching for you.” She paused. “Or you could turn yourself in right here in Syracuse. We’re in New York State again. I’m pretty sure they would give you a ride to Buffalo.”
Jimmy thought for a moment. “If I turn myself in to the cops where I’m wanted, won’t it seem better for me?”
“I think it might,” she said. “But if we get caught on the way, you’ll look like you’re still running away.”
“Let’s head for Buffalo.” He began to walk.
Jane hurried to keep up. “That’s fine. But if we get into a situation where it makes more sense not to try to go on, I hope you won’t be stubborn. As long as you go in voluntarily, it will help.”
“Fine,” he said.
As they walked, they moved out of the area where there were lights and restaurants and businesses into a stretch that was darker and consisted of larger buildings that were all shut down during the hours of darkness—office buildings, parking lots, and other structures that seemed to be deserted. Between them there were dark alleys and driveways for deliveries.
Jane caught a quick motion in the corner of her right eye, but as she turned her head she was already hearing the sound of the two-by-four against the back of Jimmy’s skull. As Jimmy fell forward, Jane could see the man completing his swing, holding the two-by-four in both hands like a bat. The two-by-four was about five feet long and heavy, so its momentum brought his arms all the way around, leaving his face unguarded.
Jane jabbed, hitting his nose with the heel of her right hand. The man staggered backward, his nose gushing blood, and brought his hands to his nose while the two-by-four fell to the pavement. As the second man bent over to pick it up, Jane took a step and pushed his head downward while she brought her knee up to meet his face.
The third man retained some vague conviction that the only real threat must be Jimmy, the big, muscular man who lay on the pavement. The man stepped to Jimmy’s side and kicked him in the ribs, then brought his right leg backward to prepare to deliver a kick to Jimmy’s head. Jane saw he had shifted all his weight to his left leg, so she ran at him and delivered a hard stomp kick to the side of his left knee. She felt his knee give and heard the pop as she dislocated it. He went down as though he’d been shot and clutched at his knee and rocked back and forth, yelling.
Jane had always been aware that it was stupid to try to fight a man for the space between them, and even worse to let him grapple with her. Men were much bigger and stronger than she was, and most of them had been fighting since they were toddlers. If she was cornered, her strategy was to take advantage of the man’s assumption that she was helpless, use any means to hurt him as badly as she could, and run. This time she had to stand her ground to keep the men from killing Jimmy while he was unconscious.
She danced back and forth over him for a moment, and used an instant to glance down at him. It crossed her mind that he could already be dead, but she had no time to think because the first two attackers were recovering. Jane snatched up the two-by-four and held it like a staff. As the first man lunged toward her, she left the lower end of the two-by-four planted on the pavement and pushed the upper end forward so it hit his sternum hard, rocking him back, then lifted the two-by-four straight up so the upper end of it came up to hit his chin, and brought it down hard in the middle of his left instep. As he lifted his injured foot in pain, she brought the end of the two-by-four down on his other instep.
The man’s howls were not as loud as those of the man with the dislocated knee, but they were loud enough to confirm her hope that she had broken some of the small, narrow bones in his feet. He staggered stiffly on his heels, as though his legs were made of wood.
Jane raised the two-by-four with both hands, clutching it like a harpoon, but instead of jabbing the man again, she pivoted and aimed her stab at the chest of his partner. The man’s attempt to duck her attack by crouching brought the butt of the two-by-four to the level of his collarbone. It hit the bone hard and slipped upward into his trachea. He grasped his throat with both hands and bent over, trying to protect it and breathe at the same time. Jane swung the two-by-four down hard on his head and he collapsed forward onto the pavement, dazed but conscious.
The three men were badly hurt, and as she swept her eyes to survey them, they began to edge away from her. She took out her lock-blade knife and flicked open the blade with her right thumb. She said, “In ten seconds I start cutting.”
The two men who could walk began to hobble away down the alley they had come from. The man with the broken leg shouted, “Wait! Help me. Please!”
The man bent over holding his trachea kept going, but the one with the injured feet and the broken, bloody nose relented. He stopped and limped back, pulled his friend up so he could stand on his one good leg, and took his arm over his shoulder to help him hop off along the alley.
Jane was left with Jimmy’s prone and unmoving body. She set the two-by-four beside him and knelt to feel his pulse. It was strong and steady. She patted his cheek, and then patted it harder. “Wake up, Jimmy,” she whispered. “We’ve got to get out of here before their friends show up.” She looked closely at the wound where the two-by-four had hit his head. The blood was already beginning to glue his hair in hard tufts, but his skull was not misshapen. The wound had bled a lot at first, but appeared to have nearly stopped. Jane kept raising her eyes to look farther into the alley, then to see if anyone was coming on the street. “Come on, Jimmy,” she whispered. “You’re going to be okay. You’ve got to be.” She saw her pack lying on the ground, pulled it to her, and searched for the half bottle of water she’d saved. She took a kerchief, made it wet, and dabbed at his wound. She poured some of the water on it, and he began to stir.
“It’s me, Jimmy,” she
said. “Wake up.”
After another try, he opened his eyes. His hand went to his head.
“It’s probably better not to touch it,” she said.
“Wha—wow,” he moaned. “I know somebody hit me.”
“That’s right,” she said. “You could have a concussion. Just lie there for a minute and get your bearings, if you can.”
“What happened?”
“You got knocked on the head.” It sounded worse to her, because that was the way the old Senecas used to refer to death in battle—getting knocked on the head. “Don’t worry, though. They were trying to rob us, but they didn’t.”
Jimmy felt for his wallet, and confirmed that it was still there. The movement seemed to bring him more awareness. “I feel awful.” He sat up.
“Take it slow. Just sit for a few minutes.” She wanted to say exactly the opposite, but moving too soon might be a mistake.
Jimmy stood up and leaned against the wall of the building on that side of the alley. Now that he was standing, he saw the pavement, the two-by-four, the wall on the opposite side. “Lots of blood.” He looked down the alley and saw the three men, still trying to hop or hobble away. One of them turned, and Jimmy could see the blood covering the front of him.
“It’s mostly nosebleeds,” she said. “Let’s try walking.” She helped him out of the alley to the street. He was still wearing his pack, and she reached into it. “Here, let me put this knitted cap on you. It’ll help stop the bleeding, or anyway, hide it.”
They walked on, and before long they reached Erie Street. There were many cars, businesses with lights on, and pedestrians. When they were a block away from the station, she stopped him under a streetlamp. “Look into my eyes.”
He did. “How do I look?”
“Your pupils aren’t dilated. That’s a very good sign.”
“I’ll take anything that’s not a very bad sign.”
“Good policy. Can you just hang around here by yourself for about five minutes? I’ll go see when the next bus leaves, and if we can get tickets, I’ll buy some.”
“Okay.”
In a few minutes she came trotting back, smiling. “We’re in luck. There’s a bus that came in from Albany a few minutes ago, and it leaves for Buffalo in about five minutes.” She held up two tickets. “I also looked everywhere, and there’s not a cop in sight.”
They began to walk toward the station. “I’ve been thinking,” Jimmy said. “What are you, really?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You tell me you’re just this doctor’s wife, but after those guys coldcocked me, you beat the shit out of them. Three men, and they all looked half dead.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jane said. “How could I do that?”
“I don’t know. How?”
“Sh. You’re disoriented and confused. Just keep as quiet as you can, and once we’re on the bus I’ll make you comfortable so you can rest.”
7
Jane took another look at Jimmy’s head wound after the bus was on the thruway moving west. They sat at the back, where they had some privacy. The light was dim, but she could see Jimmy well enough. She had some alcohol-based hand sanitizer in her pack, and she used it to sterilize Jimmy’s wound. In her first aid kit she had Band-Aids and a large gauze pad, which she stuck over the wound. His knitted wool cap was soaked with blood so she put hers over his head to cover the bandages, and then went into the bathroom to wash his with the antibacterial soap in the dispenser over the little sink. She wrung out the cap and hooked it over the window latch so the moving air would dry it.
Jimmy fell asleep, and Jane watched him for a while. It was about two and a half hours from the East Syracuse station to Buffalo—about 150 miles of thruway. The flat, straight highway was monotonous in the dark, and Jane’s exertion in the fight made her welcome the sleep that finally took her.
She woke as the bus slowed a bit to drift through the tollbooth at exit 50. The lights of the little outpost shone through the windshield and the window beside her, and then she sat up. She studied Jimmy’s face as the bus passed through the dim light. He looked calm, relaxed, and untroubled. A terrible thought occurred to her, so she wetted her index finger and held it beneath his nostrils for a second to feel his breath. He was okay, just in a peaceful sleep. She looked at the highway signs. Even at almost midnight, the bus might take a while to get to the station, so she let him sleep. As she surveyed the bus, she and the driver seemed to be the only ones awake.
Riding with the sleeping Jimmy gave Jane a chance to consider what to do. There could be a cop or two in the Buffalo bus station. Sometimes police departments placed cops in airports and stations to watch for people who interested them—organized crime figures, parole violators, or fugitives. They were usually old-timers because experienced cops had long memories. She would have to watch for them. Where should he turn himself in? The trip to Akron or Batavia was too long and complicated to be practical unless they could find a taxi at the station.
There were several police stations in downtown Buffalo, and at least one sheriff’s station. They would probably put Jimmy in the Erie County Holding Center at the foot of Delaware Avenue, or if there was no room, put him in a station holding cell overnight and then take him to the Erie County Correctional Facility in Alden. Any police station would transport him where he needed to go. The one near the lower end of Franklin might be the closest, and that would matter if she and Jimmy were on foot.
One of the things that had been bothering Jane for the past few days was that she always felt a step behind. She had spent years learning to do something risky and difficult, and what she knew should have made this easier than it was. Now she was about to do something she knew was wrong—walk her friend into a bus station, one of the most common places to find people who were running away from something. And instead of doing it during the day, when Jimmy would have been surrounded by hundreds of respectable travelers, she was going to take him in at midnight, when there would be no more than the dozen hollow-eyed, weary people who were on this bus, and maybe a few others waiting for the next one. And she was going in with both of them wearing clothes they’d worn to jump a train and fight off muggers in an alley.
Jane had survived so many trips with runners by keeping the odds in her favor. She’d taught them to look like everybody else, to change anything that was distinctive, to travel without being noticed. She’d told them to avoid confrontations, controversy, and even speech, if possible.
The bus turned onto Ellicott Street. She took a deep breath, let it out, and shook Jimmy gently. “We’re in Buffalo.”
He sat up straight, stretched, and looked around him. There were still some passengers asleep nearby, but others sat in the dark interior of the bus, their eyes now open and unblinking so they looked like wary night creatures.
Through the windshield Jane could see the low, lighted building, the roof beside it to shelter passengers from weather, and the buses in a row. Just beyond the station was an office building like a box with rows of lighted windows. The bus pulled into the entrance to the lot, came around the building, and slid into a space in front.
Jane waited for the first few passengers to file out the door at the front, then stood and picked up her backpack. She glanced out the window from her new, higher angle, and saw a sight that made her freeze where she stood.
Through the bus window she saw an elderly female figure wearing a light raincoat over a flowered dress, and high-heeled shoes. The woman stood, unmoving, with both hands in front of her holding the strap of her purse. She was facing Jane’s window, and her eyes seemed to bore into Jane, to demand her attention. A casual observer who saw the woman would have passed on to more interesting sights, but Jane recognized the woman. She was Alma Rivers, clan mother of the Snipe clan, Jane’s father’s clan. Alma’s
expression was solemn and her gaze grew more intense. As Jane stood and looked down at her through the window, her head moved, slightly but perceptibly, from side to side: No.
Jane whispered to Jimmy, “Get down and stay on the bus.” He nodded and slumped down across the seat.
Jane moved to the open door of the bus, went down the steps, and watched Alma’s eyes as she walked toward the station. Alma moved her gaze toward the interior of the station.
As Jane walked to the station entrance, she could see through the glass what Alma had been trying to warn her about. Sitting in a row in the blue plastic molded seats were three men in their thirties, watching the line of people waiting beside the bus to retrieve their luggage from the compartment in the bus’s side.
Jane veered and moved along behind their row to avoid giving them an easy look at her, while giving herself a chance to study them. One was light blond with a fleshy face, and the other two were darker and leaner. None of them had baggage of any kind, none of them had the edges of tickets visible in any pockets, and none had anything in either hand. All of them were wearing thin, loose jackets that might have been chosen to hide weapons.
Jane reached the ticket window. “When does the bus out there leave for Erie?”
“About five more minutes.”
“Two tickets, please.” She handed him two fifty-dollar bills, and looked up at the glass over the window to study the three men in the reflection.
She took the tickets and change, and walked behind the three men to the doors. A line was forming at the door of the bus, and Jane joined it. She glanced over at the area near the doors where Alma Rivers stood. She was still there, unmoving, still watching Jane. When their eyes met, Alma nodded once, turned, and walked around the corner of the building—maybe to the parking lot, maybe to the street. All Jane knew was that she was gone.
