Part 2 (1/2)

Otis shrugged. ”Can't do do nothin' else.” He hand-brushed his hair back behind his ears. nothin' else.” He hand-brushed his hair back behind his ears.

Otis went to the door, yanked it open, and charged out into the sunlight. Frank went out behind him, calling his brother's name.

William Jonas watched the man reach for the door handle of the Ford. Someone yelled, ”Richard!” The man looked back at the center of the commercial strip. Two men carrying guns and a duffel bag bolted from a door. Jonas speed-scanned: One of them was white with gray hair and a gray mustache, the other a tall, dark-skinned man with Las Vegaslooking hair. The image of them registered as Jonas returned his sight to the man by the Ford. The man by the Ford pointed his gun at Jonas.

He's scared. He won't shoot....

The man by the Ford steadied his gun with both hands.

Jonas thought of his wife and sons. He closed one eye, aimed, and fired his weapon.

Jonas's first round penetrated the door of the Ford. His second round found its target. The pale white man's sungla.s.ses went funny on his face as he crumpled and swung down, his arm hooked around the window frame. Jonas could see a black line running like a worm down the front of the man's face.

A round sparked off the hood in front of Jonas. He blinked, moved his gun arm, fired at the two men who were standing still and firing at him. He squinted, saw smoke coming from their guns, heard his winds.h.i.+eld spider, kept firing even as a bullet tore into his bicep and another hit his shoulder as he was jerked up and back. He took another bullet high in the chest. It was like a hot needle going in. He screamed as he fell, firing his weapon into the front quarter panel of his own vehicle, feeling the shock of his back hitting the hard, hot pavement and the wind blow from his lungs. He stared up at the blazing sun and listened to the siren grow louder. He fought for breath and got it. He turned his head to vomit. He dropped his Glock and heard the dull sound it made on the street.

G.o.dd.a.m.n plastic gun. Oh, sweet Jesus, I am hit.

Lisa Karras couldn't believe the heat. She had called the weather service, but the temperature given on the recording didn't begin to describe the feeling of actually being outdoors. Not that Jimmy seemed to notice. He was ahead of her, walking faster even as she slowed her pace.

”Jimmy, honey, c'mon. We've got all day. The ice cream store's not going anywhere.”

He turned around and jogged backward, pointing to his mother with that evil, beautiful smile of his that couldn't help but break her down.

”I'm not biting for that,” said Lisa. ”I'm telling you, sweetheart, I can't go any faster than this.”

Jimmy turned frontward and broke into a run. She called out to him weakly, but by now he was out of earshot, charging down Alton, halfway to 39th. Fireworks sounded from far away.

”Where you goin', man?”

”I'm going to finish that cop.”

”You hear them sirens? The two of us ain't gonna make it if we stay. And I ain't leavin' you here, you know that.”

”He killed my brother,” said Frank.

”Then we'll just have to come back at a better time,” said Otis. ”Do him the same way.”

Jonas's unmarked blocked the road. A patrol car skidded into the Wisconsin Avenue turnoff, rolled up 39th, and came to a stop behind the unmarked. The driver radioed for backup while his uniformed partner crawled out of the car.

Frank and Otis moved quickly to the Ford. Frank picked up Richard and threw him across the backseat of the Ford. He tossed the duffel bag on top of Richard, ignoring the uniform's shouted commands, and got under the wheel. Otis was already on the pa.s.senger side of the bench.

Frank yanked down on the tree and fishtailed coming out of the s.p.a.ce. Sirens wailed from several directions. They heard the pop of gunshots behind them, and neither ducked his head.

Otis wiped sweat from his forehead, glanced at the speedometer: fifty, sixty... okay, s.h.i.+t, it would be all right. Frank always did know how to handle a ride.

”Gonna be a trick to get us out of here,” said Otis. He holstered the .45.

Frank saw a flash of cop car moving toward them on the street called Windom to his right.

”Punch this motherf.u.c.ker,” said Otis.

Frank pinned the accelerator. The car lifted, and both of them were pushed back against the seat. The Ford blew through the four-way and caught air coming over a rise.

”Watch it,” said Otis, as something small ran backward into the street ahead. ”Hey, Frank, man, slow down....”

Something was wrong. There were ambulance or police sirens all over now, and Lisa Karras knew something was wrong. She broke into a run.

”Jimmy!” she yelled, frantic because he was still going toward the intersection of 39th and he was too many steps ahead and it was too hot. ”Jimmy!”

He turned and ran backward. She saw his crooked smile and the flush of his cheeks as he tripped back off the curb. She saw surprise on his face, but only for a moment. A blur of white car lifted him and pinwheeled him over its roof. He was hinged at an awful angle as he tumbled over the car.

That is not my little Jimmy, thought Lisa Karras. thought Lisa Karras.

That's just a broken doll.

Frank Farrow gave the cracked winds.h.i.+eld a spray of fluid and hit the wipers. Blood swept away and gathered at the edges in two pink vertical lines.

Roman Otis turned his head, looked through the rear gla.s.s. A woman was in the street, her hands tight in her hair. Her mouth was frozen open, and she was standing over a small crumpled thing.

Frank gave it a hard right onto Nebraska Avenue, downs.h.i.+fted the automatic to low coming out of the skid, and then brought it back up to drive. He pa.s.sed a Jetta on the right and crossed the double line pa.s.sing a ragtop Saab.

”There's Connecticut Avenue,” said Otis. ”I remember it from the map.”

”I see it.”

”You ain't gonna make that yellow, partner.”

”I know.”

Frank shot the red; a car three-sixtied as they went through the intersection and down a steep grade, Frank's hand hard on the horn. Vehicles ahead pulled over to the right lane.

Otis breathed out slowly, checked the backseat, looked across the bench.

”Look - about your brother.”

”Forget it.”

”Your brother did good, man. Remember it. He kept that cop busy and he did good. good.”

Frank was expressionless.

”Frank.”

”I said forget it. Where's the switch?”

”Tennyson at Oregon. About a mile up ahead.”