by Barbara Gee
Big moved to the kid’s door and slowly inched it open further, relieved that the hinges were silent. The room was revealed gradually, and he smiled when he saw the bed in the far corner, a kid sized hump under the blankets, up against the wall. He crept to within five feet, raised his gun, and opened fire.
Things went very wrong, very fast. As the shots rang out, hitting the hump on the bed just as planned, bright lights suddenly blinded him and a massive weight drove into his back, taking him down to the floor hard and fast, his nose smashing into the hardwood, the pain stunning. His arms were yanked up behind him and efficiently zip tied, then a heavy boot rolled him onto his back. He squinted into the light, feeling blood pouring from his nose, and saw three men standing over him. While one of them told him loudly and colorfully just what he thought of him, another yanked him to his feet.
Still dazed, the shooter looked over at the bed, wondering why there were feathers everywhere. And why did no one seem worried about the boy?
“Move it, jackass.” As Big was shoved toward the door, he looked back at the bed one more time, his head finally clearing enough to begin to comprehend what had happened.
He’d shot up a bunch of feather pillows. The cops had been on to him the whole time, he realized with disgust, and he’d walked right into the setup like a freaking amateur. His head throbbed from the broken nose, and he groaned and swore when the front door opened and more cops filed in, bringing the kid he had hired as a lookout along with them, his hands cuffed behind him.
Big swore again. It was over. He was going to be bested by a five year old kid after all.
CHAPTER 24
Ryan shoved the piece of crap who had tried to kill his son toward the cops who were quickly filling his living room, then ran back into the hallway. He reached up and grabbed the pull on the fold down attic door.
“Have someone bring the mattresses and fresh bedding in,” he told Detective Wheatley when he followed. “I want Hank back in bed and everyone out as soon as possible, just in case he rouses before we expect.”
The detective shouted out some orders, then helped Ryan pull down the attic steps and unfold them. Ryan moved swiftly up the narrow, rickety stairs. A night light illuminated the little boy sleeping soundly on a pile of blankets, and the large cop seated right beside him. The man’s teeth gleamed white in the dim light as he smiled.
“I take it things are wrapped up down there?” he said, unfolding his long body from the lawn chair he’d made himself comfortable in.
“Two scumbags in custody,” Ryan said shortly, squatting down beside Hank. “He showing any signs of waking up?”
“No sir, he’s still sleeping nice and sound.”
Ryan gently lifted the boy into his arms and descended the stairs much more slowly and carefully than he had gone up. In Hank’s bedroom, four cops had already changed out the mattress and were working at getting the new sheets on, ones identical to those now full of bullet holes. Next came the new comforter, complete with the stars and footballs, and new pillows. Ryan held Hank close while he waited, needing to feel his warm little body and hear his soft, even, peaceful breathing.
Ryan had gotten a call that morning informing him that a Jonesburg police officer had overheard another officer talking on his phone in the bathroom at the station, informing someone that ‘the kid’ was coming in the next morning to look at mug shots. With that information, Ryan knew they finally had their chance to pin down Big. The man would no doubt try to stop Hank from going to the station, and it would have to be tonight. At their house.
Good, Ryan had thought grimly. He’d be sure to have a little surprise waiting.
Ryan and Detective Wheatley had put their plan together quickly. Three cops had shown up at the house almost immediately, to make sure they got inside unseen, before Big had a chance to surveil the property. Ryan had snuck them inside when Hank was in the bathroom, and the men had hung out in the spare bedroom all day, with Hank being none the wiser. Thankfully Hank had taken a nap during the afternoon, allowing Ryan to take sandwiches and drinks to the cops so they could eat while they worked at nailing down the details of their plan for the evening.
Lying in wait for Big, and stuffing pillows under the blankets on the bed so they could get him for actual attempted murder, was a pretty straightforward plan, but Ryan agonized over what to do with Hank while it all went down. Their best chance of luring the perp into the house was to make it obvious that Hank was inside, and since Ryan didn’t want to traumatize the boy by sending him away with strangers, he was willing to work with that. He had a moment’s pause when he considered the possibility that the perp might try burning the place down, but in the end he had determined the chance of that was pretty much nonexistent. The guy needed a sure kill, and a fire left too much room for error, as he had already found out.
If Hank stayed at the house, though, Ryan had to make sure there was no chance of him being anywhere close to the action. He needed to be protected both physically and psychologically, because yet another night faced with a bad guy and shooting could do untold damage to the still fragile little boy.
First, Ryan determined that the attic would be the best place for Hank to hide out, with an officer up there to watch over him and guard the only way into the space. Then he called a local pediatrician he had known for several years. He explained the situation and asked what the doctor thought about giving Hank something that would knock him out for the duration. Drugging his son felt intrinsically wrong, and yet he needed to protect Hank from any knowledge of what was going to happen that night.
The pediatrician assured Ryan that there were sedatives approved for children, and a one-time use of a higher dosage in these circumstances was nothing to be concerned about. Hank would sleep soundly for hours, and noise, even gunshots, wouldn’t be a problem. The medication would gradually wear off, and Hank would wake around his normal time the next morning. He might feel a little groggy for an hour or so, but that would be the extent of it.
Just to be sure, Ryan called another doctor and gave her the same scenario. When she suggested the exact same medication and dosage as the first doctor, Ryan arranged to have the pills delivered. He crushed them up and put them in a serving of chocolate pudding, which had been Hank’s choice for his bedtime snack. A half hour later the boy was sound asleep.
Ryan turned on the boy’s bedroom light, because he knew Big would be watching for that, but then he carried Hank up to the attic and laid him on the blankets there instead of putting him to bed. One of the police officers settled in beside him, getting comfortable in a lawn chair they had found leaning up against a rafter. The other two officers took up positions in Ryan’s bedroom, ready to follow the perp in and take him down as soon as he started shooting at the empty bed. Ryan squatted behind the couch in the living room, ready to block the hall off behind the perp to prevent him escaping should he abort early or somehow escape the other cops.
The final piece had been arranging to have a replacement mattress and matching bedding ready to go, so that Hank would never suspect he hadn’t been in his bed all night. Those items were loaded into a police van, which was parked close enough to get on scene within minutes.
With all the bases covered as well as they possibly could be, the only thing left was to wait for the guy to walk into their trap. Which he had done, exactly as predicted. The takedown had gone off without a hitch, and now Hank’s bedroom was completely back to normal. Ryan carefully laid Hank in the bed and covered him up.
“Thanks for everything,” he told the officers who remained. “I’d love to come down to the station and take part in the questioning, but I need to be here for Hank. I trust you all to do what needs to be done, but keep me in the loop, okay?”
Detective Wheatley clapped him on the back. “Your plan was a good one, Ryan. That guy won’t be seeing the light of day again, not with the new charges we slapped on him tonight along with the ones he’ll face when Hank ID’s him.”
“I�
�m glad it’s finally over. I’ll bring Hank to the station tomorrow to identify him as the man Anthony told to burn down my house, and to tie up any loose ends. Then the next day we’re going to head out west to visit some friends. I want to get Hank away from here and the bad memories for a while. I’ll make sure you have all my contact information.”
As they walked down the hall, another officer told Ryan that he’d cleaned up as much blood as he could find, but it might be a good idea to take another look once the light of day hit.
Ryan thanked them all again, then locked the door behind them. He went to the back door, removed the pane of glass that had been cut, and stuck a sheet of cardboard in the hole. He pulled the curtain over it, hoping Hank wouldn’t notice. If he did, he’d have to come up with a story about how it had been broken. He walked slowly through the house, making sure there was no telltale evidence left behind that would alert Hank. Finding none, he went back into his son’s bedroom.
He stood looking down at him, the adrenaline that had jacked him up earlier draining away, and suddenly tears were running down his face. Dropping to his knees, he gathered his boy once more into his arms, risking waking him up because he had to reassure himself that it was over and Hank was fine.
Without giving it conscious thought, Ryan breathed a fervent prayer, thanking God that his son was unharmed and oblivious, and that he never had to worry about Anthony and Big again. Praying again after so many years felt a little bit weird, and yet, somehow, it also felt a little bit right.
After a while he tucked Hank in again, kissed his warm, soft cheek, and went to bed for a few hours of much needed sleep. Tomorrow he’d call Tuck and Libby and give them the good news. Then he and Hank would pack up and get ready to head out.
CHAPTER 25
Ryan tried to make going to the police station as easy as possible for Hank. Over breakfast he’d explained to the little boy that he’d talked to a police officer, who had informed him that they were pretty sure they had the man who attacked Grandpa Byron in custody. Ryan related this as great news, giving Hank a high five and saying how cool it was that neither the two of them, nor Byron and Louise, would have to worry about the man harassing them anymore.
Hank responded even better than Ryan had hoped. His eyes lit up and lost the shadows that had haunted them ever since the attack on his grandfather.
“Is that bad guy in jail?”
“He sure is,” Ryan said. “And we want to make sure he stays in jail for a long, long, long time. You could help with that part, if you want to.”
“How?” Hank asked, shoveling a big bite of chocolate chip pancake into his mouth.
“Well, the police think he’s the same guy you heard Anthony talking to about burning my house down. Do you remember that?”
Hank nodded, his eyes wide. “I don’t like that mean man.”
“I don’t either. But since you saw him, the police were wondering whether you’d come to the police station and tell them whether the guy they arrested is the same man you saw talking to Anthony about starting the fire. If it’s the same guy, he’ll be in even more trouble, and stay in jail even longer.”
“Do I have to see him?” Hank asked hesitantly.
“Yeah, but here’s the cool thing. You’ll be looking at him through a window into another room, and it’s kind of like a magic window. You’ll be able to look through it like normal and see all the people in the room just fine, but none of those people can see you. I promise, that man won’t be able to see you at all. On his side of the window, it just looks like a mirror, and he can’t see through it. I could do a dance in my underwear right beside the window, and he wouldn’t be able to see me.”
Hank grinned at that image, just as Ryan had hoped. “I’m not going to dance in my underwear, Dad,” he said.
“But if we did, the man couldn’t see us,” Ryan said, tousling the boy’s soft blond hair. “The police will have about five men in the room, all lined up against a wall. All you have to do is look at all those men through the magic window, and tell us which one you saw talking to Anthony. And then we’re out of there.”
“He has black hair,” Hank said.
“Perfect. You’ll know him right off, so we’ll probably only be there a few minutes. And then we have some important things to do.”
“What?” Hank asked curiously, back to eating his pancakes.
“We need to go shopping to get stuff for our trip.”
“To the ranch?” Hank asked excitedly, bits of pancake flying from his mouth. He saw it and giggled, and it was the greatest sound Ryan had heard in days. It was amazing how the knowledge that the bad guy couldn’t hurt them anymore had immediately taken the almost immobilizing fear from the child.
“Yes, to the ranch,” Ryan said, getting a cloth to wipe the table. “I thought we’d drive the new truck instead of flying on an airplane. We can see more that way, and spend some more time together. That okay with you?”
Hank nodded. “Can I tell Libby we’re coming?”
“Sure. We’ll call her this evening, okay? We’ll head to the police station when you’re ready, then go do our shopping, then stop by the hospital to say goodbye to your grandma and grandpa. When that’s all done, we’ll come home to pack and call Libby. Sound like a good plan?”
“Yeah. Can I get cowboy boots?”
“Well, I’m thinking we might want to wait until we get to the ranch to buy those. There’s a real big store in the town there, with all kinds of boots. They have a lot more to choose from than what we would find here in Chandler. But we can get you a bunch of jeans and shorts and shirts, and also some toys and books and stuff to have in the truck while we’re traveling. How’s that sound?”
“Good. Can we go now?”
“Sure, as soon as you’re finished eating.” Ryan stood up. “I’m going to go make a phone call real quick. You go get dressed when you’re done, and then we’ll head out.”
***
As they parked at the police station, Ryan could tell Hank was getting nervous, so he distracted him by reminding him that he needed to be thinking of a name for the dog Libby was going to have waiting for them.
Hank screwed his face up as he thought about it. “What about Rex? Or Blackie?”
“But what if he’s not black?” Ryan asked. “You don’t want a brown dog named Blackie, do you?”
“Then he could be Brownie. Or Whitey. Or Yellowy. Or Greeny,” Hank said, laughing at his own silliness.
“If Libby got you a green dog, I might have to tell her to take him back and get a new one!”
“There aren’t any green dogs, Dad. I was just kidding.”
“That’s good,” Ryan said, feigning relief. “Maybe it would be better to wait until we see the puppy before we choose a name. You might look at it and have a perfect name come to mind, just because of how he looks.”
“Okay. I can’t wait to see it.”
Ryan held the station door open for Hank, and they went in. Detective Wheatley was waiting, and he gave Hank a grown up hand-shake and thanked him for coming to help them out as he led them to the room adjoining the interrogation room where the line-up would be.
“Did your Dad tell you about this window?” The detective asked.
Hank looked at his dad and grinned. “Yeah.”
Ryan reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Time for my dance?” he teased.
“No, Dad!” Hank said.
Detective Wheatly looked at them, intrigued, and Ryan explained what he had told Hank about the magic window. The man cringed and patted Hank on the shoulder. “Thanks for stopping him, young man. I don’t need anyone dancing in their skivvies in here.”
Hank giggled, and Ryan nodded at the detective. “We’re ready whenever you are. We’ve got a lot to get done today, so the sooner you bring the guys in, the sooner we can get out of your hair.”
“Are you gonna put the mean man in jail when I tell you who he is?” Hank asked.
“You bet I am. You won�
��t have to worry about him anymore,” Detective Wheatley assured him.
“That’s what my dad said.”
“He was right. Hang on, I’ll tell my guys to send them in.” The detective picked up the phone on the table and told the attendant in the interrogation room they were ready.
A door opened, and a line of men filed in. Ryan watched Hank carefully. The boy’s dark eyes locked on a man immediately, watching him as he walked in and took his place in the line-up. Ryan glanced through the window, not at all surprised to see that the man Hank was staring at was indeed the man who had tried to kill him the night before. The one who had cold-bloodedly pulled the trigger five times, thinking he was shooting a child.
Detective Wheatley was also watching Hank. “What do you think, son? Do any of those guys look like the one you saw talking to Anthony about burning down a house?”
“He doesn’t look like him, he is him,” Hank said emphatically, pointing. “That one. He always came to our house after my mom died, and he was mean to me. He told me to stay in my room and stop spying on them. And he said he was going to burn down a house. It was my dad’s.”
“Have number four step forward,” Detective Wheatley said into the phone. When the man moved ahead, the detective looked at Hank. “That one?”
Hank nodded. “He has a black car. And the wheels are all black, too.”
Ryan smiled at the detective. “Need anything else before we go?”
“No, that should do it.” The officer smiled at Hank, reaching out his hand for another manly shake. “You’ve helped us out a lot, young man. We couldn’t have done it without you. Now you go on, go get packed up for your big trip out west. I wish I could go along.”
“I’m getting a puppy,” Hank said, turning his back on the window and the man who was now being led away. “And I’m going to ride a horse named Ozzie.”
“Oh man, that sounds great.” Detective Wheatley looked over at Ryan as the boy ran ahead of them to the front door. “Smart thinking, Ryan. That boy is so excited about your trip he didn’t even think about being afraid of seeing that man again.”
