A Storied Man

(to go back to Part Nine, click here)

Ronnie stood in the parking lot looking up at his mom’s motionless body on his balcony, next to the man who saved him from Larry in the hospital bathroom. What’s he doing here? “Somebody help her!” he shouted. He started to run toward the front patio.

Doyle’s thick arm shot out to stop him before he got past Phong’s police cruiser. “Whoa, son, we have to let our officers secure the apartment and bring her out of there first. We don’t know who’s in there or what they might do if you try to be a hero. Not to mention the tear gas.”

“Well, tell them to hurry. She could be dying up there!”

A man wearing a tie and standing next to an unmarked car spoke up. “They’re working as quickly as they can. We don’t want to get anybody else hurt by overlooking something.”

“Judging from what I see here, I’d say somebody already did that,” Grandpa said. “Mr.?”

“Detective. Wallace Davies.” The tall man, sporting a beer gut, reached out to shake hands with Grandpa.

Grandpa didn’t return it. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, detective. We’ll have plenty to discuss later.”

Phong muttered to Doyle, “Wonder why Chief sent Davies instead of Padgett?”

“He’s supposed to be some homicide expert,” Doyle said.

The word “homicide” set off alarm bells in Ronnie’s mind. If his mother became just another case under investigation, he would never forgive himself. He was sure that if he had resisted temptation and never thrown that gravel at Trena’s window, none of this would be happening.

Two men wearing S.W.A.T. gear and gas masks emerged onto the balcony. A woman in a gas mask but without weapons or a helmet followed after them and leaned over Susan and the U.S. Marshall. She froze as she placed fingers from each hand on the victims’ necks.

Come on, Mom, be okay, be okay.

The woman looked down at Davies and gave two thumbs up. “We have a pulse on both,” she said. “His is weak, but hers is racing.”

Susan lifted her head slowly.

“Mom!” Ronnie shrieked.

The S.W.A.T. officers stepped back inside to be replaced by paramedics, who immediately ripped off their own gas masks to attend to their patients. With little room to work, one by one they put oxygen masks on Susan and the Marshall, loaded them onto stretchers, then again donned their own masks.

Trena grabbed Ronnie’s hand. “It looks like she’s going to be okay,” she said.

“I can’t believe this happened. I shouldn’t have turned around and left when I saw that car.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped this,” Trena said.

Ronnie, barely listening to Trena, grabbed Doyle’s arm. “I’m going to the ambulance. Don’t try to stop me.” He would be beaten down to the ground before he’d stop trying to get to her.

If I just hadn’t turned around. Dammit. Why did I leave her? She never would have left me.

Doyle lowered his arm and pointed Ronnie to the ambulance. As he made his way past Detective Davies, he heard him grumble, “‘Sure,’ I told her, ‘I won’t be as busy there. Not as much killing there.’ Here we go again.”

——-

Fearing she would say the wrong thing, Trena was content to hold Ronnie’s hand as they ran to the ambulance. She felt ashamed for letting herself think Maybe he likes me when he didn’t push her hand away. The events of the day had grown much bigger than her crush on an older boy. She knew it was silly, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t keep romantic thoughts from popping into her head. I’m 13 now and he’s only 16. That’s not impossible to imagine.

Everything she had gone through — making a plan and putting her body through its most strenuous and excruciating test since her accident, had been brushed aside like spilled salt. She accepted that Ronnie’s attention was not on her now, but it still hurt. He and his mom needed each other, and Trena resolved to keep her mouth shut about anything else to avoid seeming selfish.

Still, she wanted to know how her mom found out where she had gone. Trena had known Kerri for a year and didn’t think she would rat her out like that. Had something bad happened that made Kerri tell somebody? Did the guy who was following me do something to Mom? Now she was worried about two mothers.

They reached the ambulance just as the paramedics lifted Ronnie’s mom into the back. It was the same pair who had transported Trena after her fall, a very young blond woman and a tall, hulking man in his 30’s.

They saved my life, and then I never saw them again.

“Mom, are you okay?” Ronnie yelled after her.

“We’re giving her oxygen right now, so she can’t talk,” the young woman said.

“Did she say anything?” Ronnie asked.

Detective Davies walked up beside Ronnie.

“She said, ‘It was Larry,’” said the large paramedic. “We really can’t talk right now, either, kid.”

Trena’s head started spinning with images of Larry’s friends talking about her like a piece of meat, and of Larry’s secret phone calls. The relocation, and then the next, after they thought he was out of their lives forever. She squeezed Ronnie’s hand to hold herself up.

“Ouch,” he said.

“Sorry, I–” she began. Pushing down her rage and somehow stopping the tears from spilling onto her cheeks, she said, “I thought he was dead.”

Ronnie’s mom pulled away her oxygen mask and croaked, “He is now.”

“Look, we need to get her to the hospital so they can check her for internal injuries,” the young woman said. She reached out and pulled back doors until they clicked shut.

Trena looked at Davies. “I want to see Larry,” she said.

“I’m afraid we can’t allow any civilians in there right now,” Davies said. “It’s still dangerous. If he is dead, then your mother will get a look, considering that she was still married to him.”

“But she won’t be here right away. I don’t want to wait,” Trena said. Her voice was steady, more determined than querulous.

“I know you’re upset, Trena. We just can’t let you go in there,” Davies said.

“Upset? I want to make sure the asshole’s dead.”

Davies raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he only ever made trouble for me, and then my mom, too,” Trena said.

“I can tell you have a big beef with this guy, but we just can’t let you in there.”

“I need to follow them to the hospital, but I don’t have a car.” Ronnie said.

Davies said, “Officers Phong and Doyle can take you there.”

Ronnie wrapped a hand around his forehead and rubbed his temples. “Yeah, maybe that would be okay.”

Ronnie didn’t talk to Trena in the backseat. He didn’t ask how she had been doing nor tell her what he was thinking. Nobody made smalltalk, and even Ronnie’s grandpa remained speechless. The town she barely knew blurred past as she heaped silent curses upon Larry’s head.

——-

Susan woke to bright lights and an electronic pinging sound. She scanned the room slowly and figured out within a few seconds that she was in a hospital room. A hacking cough came from her right. She turned her head slowly. A man she put in his eighties apparently was trying to swallow back down a small piece of lung. She closed her eyes and thanked whoever might be listening that she might one day get to be that old. Whatever she’d been through, she wasn’t finished yet.

Now, about that private room I’m pretty sure my insurance pays for. No, she didn’t want to seem like an ingrate when she felt fortunate just to be alive.

Where’s Ronnie?

She glanced down at either side of her bed. An IV ran into her arm, a pulse-ox sensor covered one fingertip. Where is it?

There, near her left shoulder, was the nurse call button. She pushed it.

A tinny voice came from the speaker. “May I help you?”

“I want to see my son.”

“Well, ma’am, you’re in luck, because he’s been asking for you. We were letting you rest.”

Thank God he’s okay. My baby’s okay. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“I’m rested already. Just send him in, please.”

“Okay. Is that all you need?”

“Yes. Well, unless you have a good single-malt Scotch.”

A monotone voice answered, “We’ll send your son right down.”

Some people can’t take a joke.

The man to her right erupted into another round of wet coughs.

Susan lay there, staring at the ceiling, for the second time glad that Larry was dead. She wasn’t sure it was wrong to revel in another’s demise once, but twice might be pushing it. Whatever the case, she wasn’t going to go shouting it off the hospital rooftop.

What about Puligi?. The U.S. Marshall had risked his life for her family again.

“Mom!” came Ronnie’s voice from the doorway.

She turned slowly to her left. There, fully intact and unharmed, was her younger son — her baby. Susan knew that although she might talk a tough game, she always would think of him as her little boy.

Next to him stood Trena. They walked over to her bed, where Ronnie leaned down and hugged her. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, sweet boy.”

She wanted to ask how Trena got there, but figured that could come later. Obviously her face relayed her confusion. “Oh, she took a bus to get here this morning,” Ronnie said.

“Hi, Mrs. Batson,” Trena said.

However unwittingly, the girl standing there next to Susan’s baby boy had become quite the harbinger of doom.

“Did Larry come back with her?” Susan asked.

“No, that’s not how it was at all. She snuck out of her mom’s place to catch a bus to see me. She thought Larry was dead, too.”

“I hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Batson.”

Susan put her hand on Trena’s arm. “Thanks, sweetie.” Then, to Ronnie, “Do you know how Puligi’s doing?”

“Puligi?” Ronnie asked.

Trena spoke up. “The guy who saved you in the hospital bathroom, and today ended up on your balcony. He’s the U.S. Marshall assigned to our case.”

Ronnie gave Trena a severe look.

“You never told her? Don’t worry, I think we can trust your mom. We were in the Witness Protection Program, and Puligi was checking in on us, just like when we lived here.”

That answers a lot of questions. “But how is he doing?” Susan asked.

“He’s in surgery,” Ronnie said. “He got shot a few times and lost a lot of blood. That’s all we’ve heard so far. What happened in there, Mom?”

Susan took a deep breath. She didn’t know where to start, and didn’t feel up to the color commentary version. “Puligi came over to check on us at about the same time Larry came back to kill you. Good timing for me, bad timing for both of them. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

They all let that one hang there.

Susan spoke up again, this time to Ronnie. “So, do I have you to thank for getting all those police over there?”

“Remember that guy I told you warned me not to talk to Trena? He went to his local cops, and they found out Puligi’s boss was working with Larry. Larry was paying him off, and told him if he stopped helping him he would have his family killed.”

“My God. And here I thought Larry was just some sleazeball mob wannabe,” Susan said.

“So, Mrs. Batson, did you really kill Larry?”

“Well, I shot him, but that didn’t kill him.”

“What did?” Trena asked.

Susan grinned. “A nasty fall down the stairs.”

The End

(to go back to Part Eight, click here)

“Slipped through your fingers?” Susan said.

“It’s complicated, really. We think he had somebody working for him on the inside. Somebody we haven’t identified yet.”

Susan held the gun box out to Puligi. “Hold this,” she said.

He almost dropped it. “Jesus, Susan. What the hell are you packing?”

“Ruger GP-100. Forty-five caliber.”

She ran to her bureau and started rifling through the top drawer. “It was my ex-husband’s. He needed something to trade me for the sailboat’s outboard motor in the settlement. It’s in here somewhere.”

“What is?” Puligi asked.

“The key to the damn gun box!” She tossed pink and baby blue panties over her head as she searched. In a misplaced thought, her mind took her back to when she threw them forward, at 1980’s rock bands.

The sound of a door crashing down brought her back to the present, followed by glass shattering. They’re both coming in. Oh God. Oh shit. She found the key.

“Stay here!” Puligi said as he set the gun box on the bed and rushed out the bedroom door.

As she watched him go, she saw the phone on her nightstand. How stupid! Call 911! The first and last time she had called 911, Ronnie had stormed into her room to tell her Trena was hurt. Now, in her most terrifying moment of need, she put the receiver to her ear. Dead. They must have cut the line.

She heard gunfire and a man shouting in pain. It sounded like Puligi.

“You son of a bitch! Take it standing up!” yelled Larry.

More shots and this time a different man crying out.

She found the key inside a pair of socks she didn’t wear any more. I knew they were in here somewhere.

“Hey, that’s my friend! Quit shooting at him! Die already!”

One shot this time, followed by a stifled yelp. Susan ran to the bed and managed to work the key into the box’s lock.

Puligi rushed into the room in a maniacal bear-crawl, dripping blood on the carpet. He slammed the door with his foot, then turned back to lock it.

“Sometimes you have to take the battle to your opponent,” he said through quick, ragged breaths. “We were going to be sitting ducks in here if I didn’t take advantage of the higher ground.”

“Larry’s dead?”

He crawled across the floor and tried to catch his breath. “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure his partner is.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, but I can’t go to the hospital right now.”

Larry’s voice called from somewhere on the stairs. “I can wait a long time, motherfuckers!”

“You’re not out of ammo yet?” Puligi yelled.

“Wouldn’t a government faggot like you like to know?”

Puligi whispered to Susan, “He had a revolver. I don’t know exactly how many shots he fired, but it was at least four or five.”

She pulled her gun from the box and held it aloft by the grip, pointed at the ceiling. “Well, I have six here.”

“You look like you know how to handle that.”

“I’ve shot lots of targets.”

Puligi pointed to the opposite side of the bed. He mouthed, “Over there.”

Susan held his hand to support him as they worked their way around the foot of the bed. They ducked between the bed and the wall.

“Hey, Batson bitch, you teach your son to screw little girls?” Larry yelled.

“He didn’t screw her, Outhouse!” she replied.

Puligi managed a deep breath and yelled, “You try to come in here and at least one of us will blow your head off!”

Susan whispered, “What do we do now? We’re trapped and my phone is dead. Don’t all you guys carry cell phones?”

“It’s in my car, hooked up to the charger. Besides, I’m pretty sure your neighbors heard the gunshots.”

It was a lot like a scenario Susan had played over and over in her head. At home, alone, reading a book in her bed. She hears a noise and realizes someone is in the apartment. She’s too scared to venture out, so she ducks behind the bed and calls out that she’s armed and knows how to shoot.

Now, however, it was real and she was not alone.

“I’m going to kill both of you and that pervert kid of hers!” Larry said.

——-

The brakes squealed and puffed as the bus stopped in the passenger loading area. Groggy from her long nap, Trena slowly stood and stretched through her spine’s protests. She noticed the dirty man looking at her chest. Nasty man. Stop it. She took a few swigs from a bottled water and then shoved it into her rucksack.

She couldn’t quite place the smell. Unlike the dry, medicinal smell of an airplane’s cabin, it was wet and musky. The bus’s less advanced air circulation system couldn’t hide the fact that humans, each with his or her own scent, were the cargo.

Trena worked her way slowly down the aisle, occasionally bumping her rucksack into the shoulders of those waiting more patiently than she ever could. She said, “I’m sorry,” at least 10 times, and rarely got a “That’s okay,” in reply, if anything other than a harsh glance.

She didn’t let the grumpy people get her down. “Thanks for a smooth ride,” she said to the driver as she turned to walk down the few steps to the oil-stained concrete.

Ronnie’s not far away now.

“Excuse me, young lady, could I have a word with you?” a man’s voice said from behind her.

She turned to see a uniformed policeman motioning her over. He was an Asian man about her height. She pointed at herself and asked, “Me?”

“Yes. I’m Officer Phong. I think some people are looking for you. Worried about you, even. Come inside out of the cold.”

Trena found it funny that he spoke with a southern drawl. She wasn’t amused, however, that Kerri must have ratted her out to her mom. How else would they have known exactly where she would be?

She followed Phong inside the station, where throngs of people waited for tickets, sat reading newspapers or playing portable video games, or cried at the sight of loved ones departing or arriving. Another policeman, standing near a wall-mounted pay telephone, raised his hand to get Phong’s attention.

Trena was vaguely aware of Phong’s introduction of his partner. All she could think of was her fading hopes of seeing Ronnie. Were these guys instructed to make her go back home? She’d crawled through two attics and skulked in and out of a minivan to get that far, only to be stopped by a tattletale’s minions. No, that’s not going to happen.

She ran.

——-

Ronnie parked at the bus station and got out. “You stay here, Grandpa, and watch for anybody suspicious. Honk like crazy if you see anybody.”

“I’m your lookout? Just what do you think is going on, Ronnie?”

“Please, just do it. I’m going in to call the cops.”

Ronnie ran. When a car backed out and hip-checked him, he limped for a few steps as he continued toward the front doors. He stopped suddenly when a little girl stepped into his path.

“Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?” she asked.

“No, thanks. In a hurry,” Ronnie said.

“Okay, thank you sir. Have a nice day.”

They’re worse than the perfume ladies at the mall.

Just through the front doors, he slowed and put his hands out to keep a turnstile from raising his voice. Looking for the phones, he noticed two policeman running around and into people. He scanned ahead of them to find their quarry.

Trena?

“Trena!” he called. She can walk! The past year had treated her well. Her body had filled out more.

Trena turned to look, but couldn’t find him. He called out again.

This time she saw him, and Ronnie thought he caught the slightest recoil in her reaction. She thinks I look bad the way my nose healed. Within a second, she looked ecstatic and weaved through the crowd toward him, the cops in close pursuit.

Ronnie felt like a pinball as he worked to meet her. When they finally made it despite the oblivious masses, they threw their arms around each other. “It’s good to see you,” they said, almost in unison.

Ronnie pushed away, his hands on her shoulders, and looked at her, incredulous. “You can walk!” he said.

“You can breathe through your nose!” Trena said.

The cops grabbed Trena’s shoulders.

“Let her go, son,” one of them said. He looked Asian but sounded like a hick.

“What’s going on? Why are you after her?” Ronnie asked.

“She’s a runaway,” said the other cop, a pale-faced man with freckles and red hair. The Irish and Asian Duo.

“I came to see him, that’s all.” Trena said.

He didn’t want to make Trena feel unimportant, and he was flattered she had gone to the trouble, but he had something else on his mind. “I need to talk to you guys, anyway,” Ronnie said. “I think somebody’s been following me, and he’s parked at my apartments right now.”

Trena’s eyes widened. “Someone’s been following me, too,” she said.

Trena listened along with the cops as Ronnie told them the story, including the stranger warning him not to communicate with her.

“Hey, Phong,” said Irish cop, “I heard about these kids today at the station. A detective called from somewhere in Indiana to tell us about their case. Chief put Padgett on it.”

“That’s these kids?” he gave them each a quick look. “Witness Protection, huh? I don’t know if I want to mess with that.”

“Please, you’ve gotta come out there and help us,” Ronnie said.

“Boyle, let’s call this one in. You two, don’t move,” Phong said.

The cops stepped away to talk privately. Phong pushed a button and spoke into the transceiver clipped on his shoulder.

Questions filled Ronnie’s mind. He blurted out, “How did you get here?”

“Where are we?” Trena said.

Ronnie thought for a moment, then smiled and pointed at her. “You took the bus.” Genius. Freakin’ genius.

“Your face. It’s –” she hesitated. “Different.”

He tried to take it in stride. “Yeah, the doctors did a few surgeries on my nose, but it never will look just like it did.”

“The last time I saw you, it was all swollen and gross. This is much better.”

“Swollen and gross? That’s how you remember me?”

“Only for a year. Now I think you’re cute again.” She smiled.

Phong and Doyle finished up their impromptu conference. They had serious looks on their faces.

“What’s wrong?” Trena asked.

“Everything’s fine. Miss, we’re under orders to take you with us.” Phong said. He turned to Ronnie, “And you, too. It may not be safe for you to travel in your car. We’re going to check out this suspected tail you say you have.”

“My grandpa’s in my car.”

Doyle sighed and rolled his eyes. “Go get him,” he said.

In the back seat of the police cruiser, Grandpa wasted no time breaking the ice. “Well, Ronnie, your mother was right. She doesn’t seem like a harlot at all.”

“Grandpa!”

“That’s okay,” Trena said. Then, to Phong and Boyle, “Why aren’t you running your sirens?”

“We don’t want to run off anybody who might be sneaking around,” Phong said.

Ronnie held back talking to Trena with everyone else in the car. He just sat back and tried to convince himself that his mom was okay. She’s a smart lady.

The town looked different somehow in light of the things going on around him. The mall and the other shops seemed trivial. St. Edward’s Hospital stood out more than usual. Although it was his first time in a police car, something else seemed strange, too.

“Hey, why don’t I hear a police radio?” he asked.

“It isn’t all APB’s and 5150’s like you hear on TV,” Phong said. “Sometimes there’s just nothing on.”

On Ronnie’s street, the car passed through alternating bands of light and shadow as they drove alongside the majestic cottonwood trees.

Ronnie starting sweating when he saw the sign for his apartments. As they turned into the parking lot, he said, “What the hell?”

Three squad cars sat, blue lights flashing, facing his apartment building. Movement on the right caught his eye. It was Billy, his gas huffing friend, trying to get a better look at what was happening.

“Mom!” Ronnie yelled. “Did you guys know about this? Is she okay?”

“We knew there was a situation, but we didn’t want you to hear anything on the radio,” Phong said.

“Hear what?” Ronnie asked. “Is somebody hurt?”

“We’re not sure, son. When we spoke to dispatch from the bus station, we heard that there had been a 911 call of shots fired.”

“Shots?” said Ronnie and Trena.

“Shit! We gotta go help her!” Ronnie added.

“All we can do is let our colleagues do their jobs,” Boyle said.

——-

Resting the heavy gun on the bed, but still keeping it aimed at the door, Susan heard hope from outside.

“This is the police. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands up,” said a voice through a megaphone.

“That’s it, Lead-head. You’re done,” Puligi shouted hoarsely.

“Fuck that,” Larry said.

A shot pierced the door and sent splinters flying into the room. The door swung open and banged into the wall.

Larry rushed into the room and turned to shoot.

Susan pulled her trigger. The recoil sent her hand up in the air and she barely held onto the gun. Larry fell against the door and dropped his, but stayed on his feet.

Susan stood up from behind the bed and faced Larry. She trained the gun on him, this time holding it securely in both hands.

“Susan, don’t shoot!” Puligi said. His voice was barely more than a ragged whisper.

She looked down at Puligi, unsure he was going to make it out alive.

When Susan looked back to the bedroom door, Larry was gone. She scanned the room and didn’t see him, but saw his gun on the floor. No, no more slipping through fingers.

Susan rushed out of the room and saw Larry had made it only three or four steps down the stairs. Figuring there was no way he could avoid prosecution this time, she aimed at his legs and fired.

As he fell Larry shouted, “You bitch!” He let out a series of grunts and expletives as he tumbled down the stairs. He said, “Motherf” and then all was silent.

Susan stood at the top and looked down. About halfway up the section above the landing was a man she’d never seen, lying perfectly still flat on his face. On the landing lay Larry Outhouse, body twisted, eyes open but not moving.

Her nose burned and her eyes starting watering. Tear gas. She ran to the bedroom. “Quick! They’re gassing the place!”

Puligi sat slack against the wall in the corner, barely visible behind the bed. Susan ran to him, “Wake up! They’re gassing the place.” She slapped his face.

His eyes blinked open for an instant and he grunted.

“No, dammit, come on. We just have to get to Ronnie’s balcony.”

She got an arm underneath his and helped him to his feet, then half dragged him to Ronnie’s room. He fell against the bed as she struggled with the sliding glass door lock. Finally, she opened the door and helped Puligi out into fresh air.

“Mom!” she heard Ronnie yell.

“Drop your weapon!” the megaphone commanded.

Susan blacked out.

(to be concluded)

(To go back to Part Seven, click here)

Susan sipped her soda, the carbonation tickling her nose. She had mixed feelings about inviting Puligi into her home. When she had first met him at the hospital more than a year ago, he came across as a desperate man cruising the emergency room chairs for a date. When she got angry, he admitted he was a student conducting research on dating. Finally, after he intervened on Ronnie’s behalf and subdued Larry Outhouse, he told her he was a federal cop watching Larry’s activities. The latter, while uncommon, seemed believable considering that Larry had lunged at Ronnie earlier that day and subsequently smashed his face nearly into oblivion.

Now, although his story that he was just now getting around to following up with her sounded a bit suspect, Susan thought the situation Puligi described sounded serious enough to enlist help. She didn’t want Ronnie getting into trouble with the mob. He was her baby, but her ability to protect him extended only so far. One single mom, no matter how tough and wise, would be little match for vicious men bent on revenge.

So, with hope and worry battling for brain time, she had dialed the number Puligi provided, and the mysterious man stood in her kitchen seemingly enjoying a soft drink. Nevertheless, she was keeping her guard up.

“You know, that C2 was good stuff. Why did Coke drop that product?” Puligi asked.

“I don’t know. I liked Pepsi Edge, myself.”

“Oh, a Pepsi woman, huh?”

“Guilty,” Susan said.

Puligi looked at the Coke Zero bottle on the counter and glanced at her with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, that? I’ve never liked Pepsi’s diet drinks.”

They both looked around the room. Susan felt nervous, and suspected the same of her guest as Puligi tapped a large pinkie ring against the side of his highball glass.

“You can always count on me for riveting conversation,” Susan said.

“Don’t discount the topic at hand, Susan. Long after today’s children are gone from the world, the Coke versus Pepsi debate will rage on.”

She blushed at his use of her first name. What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m acting like a schoolgirl.

“I suppose you’ve researched that, too, in the finest ER waiting rooms,” she said.

“Touché.”

Where are Ronnie and Daddy?

——-

Sitting, her legs dangling through the attic door, Trena peered down at the ladder. No way to fold it up from here. She knew it would instantly alert her mother, but with any luck she would sleep in until at least 10 o’clock.

She stood slowly, holding a vertical beam whose sole purpose seemed to be holding the light switch, and flipped on the light. The little bit of plywood flooring was covered, down to the square inch, by boxes. She adjusted her rucksack, took a deep breath, and raised her arms out to her sides for balance. With the agility she had developed through several years of playing soccer, Trena straddled span after span of white blown insulation. The rucksack’s added weight and the awkward strides between ceiling joists made stepping lightly a challenge. She hoped her mother didn’t hear.

The arches of her feet ached when she reached her destination. She leaned on the firewall between the duplex units, able to stand without crouching. The wall gradually got shorter as it extended toward, but stopped short of, the point where the roof met the ceiling. Although she had never crawled through it, her judgment had been right — the gap was just large enough for someone her size.

She walked, both hands against the firewall, constantly ducking lower to avoid bumping her head. She groaned; her back was not happy with that mode of travel.

Finally she squatted and got on her knees. The bare bulb in the center of the attic didn’t cast much light into the space before her. She made it to the gap and peered through into complete darkness.

She had forgot the flashlight.

Oh, shit. I can’t go back now. She had visions of a misstep bringing her crashing through Kerri’s parents’ bedroom ceiling, drywall and insulation snowing down around her. No, can’t go back. She waited for her pupils to adjust.

Minutes later, without enough light to embark on a journey across Kerri’s attic, Trena turned and sat down to relieve her knees. She glanced at her watch and pushed the Indiglo button; it read ten past midnight. If she didn’t make it that night, she might never again summon the courage. Tears welled up and only surface tension kept them from spilling over onto her cheeks.

From somewhere on her right came the sound of heavy springs stretching. As she turned to look a shaft of light pierced the blackness. She heard someone folding down Kerri’s attic ladder, and then ascending footsteps.

The next morning, Trena lay perfectly still in the cargo area behind the minivan’s third row seats. Her left side felt cold, like the time she went winter camping and slept on a boulder with no sleeping pad. Otherwise she was toasty warm underneath the thick fleece blanket Kerri had thrown over her. “Mom won’t even notice,” Kerri had said. “We keep it in here in winter in case the van breaks down on a trip.”

Her escape now depended on waiting, the one thing that drove her crazy.

“Oh, I hate this light. I don’t understand why it says, ‘no right on red,’” said Kerri’s mom.

Trena knew they must be on Alexander, waiting to take a right into a strip mall near the bus station. It featured “Food Dude,” a small regional grocery chain that carried items the larger stores ignored. Trena thought of her favorite candy bar, “Coffee Crisp.”

“Go, Mom, it’s green,” Kerri said.

“Oh, I don’t know where my head is.”

The minivan swung around and then proceeded for less than a minute before a jolt sent Trena airborne. She landed back in the same spot, clenching her teeth to keep from screaming. Her back would have to wait a little longer for its much-needed respite.

“Jesus, Mom! Watch out for the speed bumps!” Kerri scolded.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. My mind’s on permanent lunch break today.”

Trena felt a swing to the left. The van stopped. This might be it. Get ready for it.

“You know what’s got me so flustered, honey?”

“Not right now, Mom. Please.”

“I just really think you’re too young to know whether you’re a lesbian.”

“Mom, shut up! Just go in the store!”

A lesbian? Trena couldn’t help recalling the times that Kerri had shown little interest in boys. Instead of the questions filling her mind, she concentrated on her task. She heard the van door open and close, but remained silent until she heard from Kerri.

“Okay, Tree, she’s in the store now.”

Trena threw the blanket off. “Can you please help me get up? My back’s killing me.”

After she gritted and grimaced her way back to her feet, Trena stood facing her friend. “We have a lot to talk about when I get back.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry it came out like that. I really meant to tell you, but then you got caught up in this other stuff.”

As they stood there hugging, Trena couldn’t help feeling awkward.

“Good luck,” Kerri said over Trena’s shoulder.

“Thanks.”

Trena dashed as fast as she could across the parking lot to the bus station. She quickly nudged her way past the masses to get in line for a ticket. Next stop, Ronnie.

——-

David awoke to a day he hoped would end well. Following uneventful ablutions, he reported back to the police station to give a description to the sketch artist and to browse through hundreds of mugshots in tattered photo albums. As he sat there in Kevin Butcher’s cubicle poring over the pictures, none of the faces rung a bell, and he got depressed thinking of such a large number of suspected criminals wandering the world unchecked.

Butcher returned with the artist’s sketch in his hand. “You’re really going to laugh when I tell you this,” he said.

“Good, I could use it,” David said.

Butcher thrust the drawing into David’s face. “This guy? The one you call ‘Big Man?’”

“Yeah?”

“He’s one of the good guys. More specifically, he’s James Luker, and he’s in charge of the U.S. Marshall’s Witness Protection Program.”

“No way,” David said.

He set the sketch on his desk. “That’s right. The Anthony you heard him mention? That’s Anthony Puligi. Seems he was assigned to a Witness Protection Program case, and this girl is part of that family.”

“No shit?”

“None. Sometimes the Marshall’s office informs local authorities of a protected family’s placement, and after just a little digging, I found our records on it.

“This was a big case. A guy called ‘Lead-head Larry’ worked for some big-time mafioso. Apparently he met this girl’s mother during a hospital stay and married her. Not long after, he agreed to testify against his boss.”

David let it sink in. Although he had suspected that the “Big Man” was shady, until now it didn’t seem real. He almost pinched himself to make sure it wasn’t a nightmare.

“Damn, Kev. Why did this Luker use me instead of some government hacker?”

“That’s got me stumped. Maybe he was working outside the rules and didn’t want it traced back to him.”

David looked at the sketch on Butcher’s desk. “I’d say he struck out there.”

——-

“Would you say that your son has been pining for Trena?” Puligi asked.

“I think the word ‘pining’ is a little strong. And a little pompous,” Susan said.

She walked to the front window to watch for Ronnie’s arrival. A car she’d never seen sat where her Buick usually stayed. “That silver Audi out there, with a plate that says ‘too much for you.’ That yours?” she asked.

“No, I would never drive a foreign car. Mine’s a black Chrysler 300.”

“I prefer American cars, too.”

Susan liked Anthony Puligi. She found it hard not to like a man who, by her reckoning, had saved her son’s life. It didn’t hurt that his looks were much better than her memory of them.

A loud crash came from the entryway. Susan gasped.

“Get out of the apartment, Susan!” Puligi said as he pulled his gun from a shoulder holster.

“What’s going on?”

He squatted behind the recliner and aimed his gun at the entryway, his shooting hand resting on his opposite forearm. “Someone’s trying to break in. Just go. Go out the front patio doors.”

“I have a gun upstairs.”

“This won’t last long enough for you to need it. Now, go!”

Susan ran to the sliding glass patio doors. A man stood on the other side, holding a gun next to his grinning face. Susan screamed. That’s impossible.

Puligi turned to look.

Another loud crash came from the entryway, this time along with the sound of splitting wood.

——-

Trena ended up seated next to a stinky man with dirty, torn clothes. She had slept through most of the bus ride, and now with only a few miles to go tried to rub the sleep from her eyes.

——-

Ronnie sped down the road and zipped past the huge cottonwoods, now seemingly the only steady presence in his life. Except for his mom. Oh, God, Mom, I’m so sorry. He wanted to turn back and rush into his apartment. Is that what I should do? Is she even in trouble? All he knew was that somebody called “goob2berdy” had told him not to talk to Trena or it would mean trouble for both of them.

He headed for the nearest place with lots of people and a pay phone. He could hide in the throng and then call for help. Only one time, to see the confused man now seated next to him, had he been there.

“Ronnie, what are we doing? Why did you turn around and leave?” Grandpa asked.

“Long story, Grandpa, but I think there was someone following us this morning, and now his car is in our parking lot.”

“Why would someone follow you?”

Ronnie tried to think where to begin. “That girl who got hurt. Remember that story?”

“Yes.”

“Well, her stepdad was bad news. They were moved here by the Witness Protection Program, and after her accident he smashed up my face. While he was waiting for trial for that, somebody found him and killed him in his cell. Her and her mom had to move again. Now I think whoever’s following me has something to do with the mob.”

“I’m not sure I got all that.”

“Sorry, no time for more details. I’m trying to think what to do next.”

“Call the police. Stop now and call the police.”

“I’m going to, but somebody might be following us right now. I want to get somewhere that they can’t just grab me.”

——-

Susan couldn’t believe her eyes. Standing there on her patio, wielding what appeared to be a snub-nosed .38 caliber, was Larry Outhouse.

Outhouse looked at Susan and yelled through the glass, “Where’s your no-good, little girl-fucking son?”

He looked past her and saw Puligi. “There’s the mother cunt-fucker who sucker-punched me. I’m a lucky man!”

“New plan, Susan,” Puligi said, “let’s get upstairs before that door comes down. You say you have a gun somewhere?”

She led Puligi in a confused, terrified dash to her bedroom, where she flung open her closet doors and reached up to pull out her gun lock box. “How is that possible? We heard Outhouse was killed awaiting trial.”

“The prosecution decided he was too valuable as a witness in the mob case to let him go down for beating up Ronnie. They leaked false information about his death to help ensure nobody would look for him.”

“So what happened?”

“He slipped through our fingers.”

(to be continued)

(To go back to Part Six, click here)

Trena’s back hurt already from sitting up reading in her bed again. Harry Potter had been the perfect escape from thinking of what she was about to do. She ducked under her rucksack, full of two changes of clothes and two bottled waters, as she slung it over her head and shoulder.

She winced. “Okay, no more sudden moves like that,” she told herself.

She looked at the book she had just put down. “Sorry, Harry, you’re too much dead weight right now. Keep mom safe.” Guilt washed over her briefly. She knew her mother would worry, but it was the only way to see Ronnie.

Her plan started out difficult. Her mom was working part of a four-on, three-off schedule that got her home late that night, and she always slept in late on those days. She wouldn’t notice anything amiss until Trena was on the bus. That part was a cakewalk. It was the noise that worried her.

And that she had fallen way behind in her upper-body exercises.

Trena walked out of her room and turned down the short hall, all the while looking up at the string hanging from the attic’s pull-down ladder. When she got there, she steeled herself against the coming pain and stretched her arms up to reach the red plastic nub on the end. She barely held back a shriek, and, bracing herself for what she knew would hurt worse, she pulled.

Fire shot down her spine. The springs creaked and the noise she usually liked echoed throughout the duplex along with a tiny yelp she let escape from her lips. She clamped her eyes shut against the pain as she pulled the ladder door far enough that it stayed in position.

The furnace fan roared to life. Trena slowly lowered her arms and froze, listening for any sign of her mother stirring. There’s no way she slept through all that.

Hearing nothing above the heater, she carefully folded down the ladder and pushed her heel against a rung to finish the job. “Just one step at a time,” she told herself as she slowly and methodically made her way up into the darkness.

——-

“So, you don’t have any idea who these guys are, but you took their money?” Detective Kevin Butcher asked.

“Well, technically I haven’t been paid yet,” David said.

“Nice work. You think maybe you should have kept working here for the City?”

“You detected that all by yourself?”

“It’s why they call me Inspector Badass.”

“More like Inspector Gadget.”

Butcher chuckled as he sat and motioned to a chair beside his desk. “You can give your description to our artist later, and I’ll have you look through some mugshots. So, when did you say you contacted the boy?”

David found it strange that this man with whom he’d worked slipped so easily into his role as a cop. Someone he’d previously seen as a goofball sounded oddly professional. He tried to follow along.

“Just less than an hour ago, at a customer’s house.” He didn’t reveal the name because of Louise’s reputation for asking young men to come to her house to fix things, and the gossip that came with it.

“And the kids’ names?”

“Ronnie Batson and Trena Tayback.”

“Did you say, ‘Tayback?’”

“Yeah, that’s right,” David said.

“Like the actor Vic Tayback?”

“I don’t know. Never heard of him.”

“You know, he played Mel on that show ‘Alice.’”

“Sorry, must have missed that one,” David said.

He lifted the lid from a crystal candy dish on Butcher’s desk. It clinked against the dish and sang out a single, pure note. He pulled out an almond M&M.

“Easy on the lead crystal, man,” Butcher said. “My wife would kill me if you broke that.”

“You have your wife’s crystal up here?”

“Yeah. Overflow from the house. Says she doesn’t want to pack it away.”

“It’s lovely, Kev.”

“Bite me, computer boy.”

David told Butcher the whole story of what he did for the big man and his minions. Butcher recorded the conversation and took notes of the details like names and places.

“That doesn’t give me much in the way of finding these guys. So, the only names you know are Jerry and Anthony, and the quote Big Man, as you call him, assigned this Anthony to take care of something you believe they perceived as a problem, but you don’t know what exactly that is.”

“Yes. That’s all I know. But you know where the girl and the boy live now, so you can do something, right?”

“Maybe.”

“What?” David asked, incredulous.

“I mean, yeah, we can do something. We can ask around about these names and check up on the girl and the other kid.”

David relaxed a bit, but grabbed another M&M just for something to crunch. He ate when he was nervous or bored. “You know, I busted my ass back when I was on salary, helping you crack that gambling ring,” he said, a drop of chocolate spit shooting from his mouth on “busted.”

“We’re on it, Dave. Don’t worry. Just go home and get some sleep. You look rough.”

David replaced the candy dish lid and stood, his hands high above his head to stretch his arms. “Yeah, I’m done with the day, and it’s done with me.”

——-

Ronnie turned from the country club’s driveway and quickly sped up to the posted limit. Already convinced the Audi was following him, he wanted to confirm it. A pond owned by a prominent local grocer was at that end of town. It often froze in winter, and the owner welcomed children and their families to skate on it. Ronnie had fond memories of going there with his grandfather and just sliding around in his shoes.

“Grandpa, let’s go to Dolen’s Farm,” Ronnie said.

“Why there?”

“Just to see it. I haven’t seen it since I was little.”

“Okay.”

The Audi followed him into the right lane. Ronnie turned into Dolen’s and slowly cruised by the parking area. Three children climbed out of an SUV and donned skates with two blades on each foot. A golden retriever with white fur on its snout ran up to them wagging its shaggy tail.

“Old Rusty’s still around,” Ronnie said.

He checked the rear view mirror. Noticing that “2much4u” was nowhere in sight, he continued around the pond’s circular drive. Pristine frozen surface spread out in a semi-circle from a sign reading “Danger, Thin Ice.”

He stopped back at the two-lane highway. The Audi still not around, Ronnie pulled into traffic and drove toward his apartments. As they passed “The Venusian Inn,” he remembered the time he insisted his mom take him there. It turned out to have an astronomy theme, not the science fiction slant he had hoped.

“Ronnie, did you hear me?” Grandpa said.

His eyes blinked out of their obsessive flitting between the rear view mirror and the road ahead. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

“Do you know many of the gays?”

Oh, no. Not again.

“A few, I guess, but nobody who’s admitted it.”

“So, boys your age don’t want people to know they’re a gay?”

“Not unless they want to risk getting beat up,” Ronnie said.

“When I owned rental properties, I rented to the gays just like I did anybody else.”

Ronnie wanted out of the conversation and out of the car. He loved Grandpa, but the way he came out of left field drove him crazy. He needed to try to contact Trena.

Confident nobody was following him, he relaxed and let his eyes watch out front for a while.

They meandered down the road that followed the river before ending up at the apartments. Large, old cottonwood trees lined the road, barely beyond the river’s floodplain. Old bales of hay from the summer’s harvest dotted the field, their rotting slowed by the cold. When he pulled into the parking lot, he looked to see if his usual spot was vacant.

In it sat a silver Audi A8.

Ronnie turned the car around. “New plan, Grandpa.”

——-

Susan tilted up the two-liter bottle of Coke Zero and the ice cracked under the warm soda’s flow. She tore off a paper towel and held it to her mouth to surreptitiously remove her chewed piece of Nicorette. Her new addiction safely concealed, she grabbed a coaster for her guest. More handsome than I remembered.

“They’re usually back from golf by now,” Susan said.

“No problem, Ms. Batson. I’m just glad you decided to contact me.”

“You can call me Susan.”

“Please, call me Anthony.”

(to be continued)

(To go back to Part Five, click here)

After she saw Kerri to the door, Trena returned to her room. Her framed collection of Brazilian postage stamps caught her eye. She remembered her grandfather, who got her interested in philately, and grew sad that she never would see him again. For about a year after Larry dragged Trena and her mom into the Witness Protection Program, she picked up a new stamp here or there, when her mom could take her to a show. Without a buddy who shared her interest, her own waned. Now the pride of her collection, featuring images of Brazilian football stars, sat atop her dresser behind a can of hair mousse and a box of tampons.

For a second time, because Larry couldn’t resist getting back into crime, Trena left behind everybody she had worked so hard to befriend. She was allowed no contact with anybody from either of her previous lives. Ronnie, the person she had known the most briefly, was the person she wanted to see, and now she had a plan.

——-

Susan was confused. Not since the night he saved Ronnie’s life had the U.S. Marshall spoken to her. She pulled the small wad of Nicorette gum from her mouth and smashed it over the rim of her water glass.

“So, you just decided to call me and see how I’m doing?” she asked.

“Yes, Ms. Batson. Well, you and Ronnie, of course. It is Ms., right?”

“Sure is. We’re fine.” She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t ask, and considered carefully each query.

She pulled off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, grabbing the inside corners of her eyes to clear out the crust. It was getting late and her body had shifted into sleep gear.

“Before I answer any more questions. What was your name again? Your real name.”

“Sorry about the ruse at the hospital, Ms. Batson. I was trying to remain incognito to avoid involving you or your son. Name’s Anthony Puligi.”

“Thanks, Mr. Puligi. You saved my son’s life.” Susan said.

“You’re welcome. If you’ll pardon me, I must admit I enjoyed that excuse to use my fighting skills.”

“As I said, I’m grateful. How may I help you, Mr. Puligi?”

“We call to check in on people we feel may have garnered unwanted attention from organized crime,” he said. “Your son’s run-in with one Larry Outhouse, for instance.”

“You mean when that piece of shit smashed up my son’s face?”

“That incident, yes.”

“But my son had nothing to do with Larry and whatever he was doing. Besides, Larry’s dead. Is there still some reason we should be worried?”

“Has anyone contacted you or your son regarding Larry Outhouse or his dealings?”

“Not me, and I’m pretty sure Ronnie would mention it.”

“Have you noticed anyone watching you?”

“No, but I probably will now.”

She wanted the Nicorette back in her mouth.

“Has Ronnie spoken with Larry Outhouse’s stepdaughter?”

Susan hesitated. Ronnie had received that comment, and a chat invitation, but they still didn’t know for sure that Trena had sent either. She remembered liking Puligi at the hospital, once she got past his persona called Gary. She pried the wad of gum from her glass and shoved it in her mouth.

“You there?” Puligi asked.

“Yes, sorry. I’m chewing gum. No, Ronnie hasn’t spoken to her since the day she left the hospital here in town.”

“Well, if she makes contact, please let me know.”

“Sure. I have your number on caller ID.”

But I’m not going to use it.

——-

After failing to reach the girl named Trena, David had to talk to somebody about what was happening. The problem was, he had no clear idea himself. He could picture it clearly. “I’m pretty sure these guys are bad. Proof? Um, no. No proof. I just don’t feel right about them.”

In his former position as computer support technician for the City, he had met and made friends with all the detectives, dispatchers, and the Chief. When he had a question, they always were glad to help.

Could he get in trouble if he told them what he had done? He thought about this as he drove home from Louise’s house. Gray limestone hillsides carved out by dynamite loomed above him and his tiny Civic hatchback. A few scraggly trees somehow had found purchase on a cliff ledge. Nature really doesn’t give a shit what we do.

David couldn’t afford to adopt that attitude. Instead, he needed to consider what would be worse — remain silent and risk the girl and boy getting hurt, or squeal to the cops and risk getting arrested. With the added perk, of course, of having his major joints rearranged by the big man.

Sweat on his brow, he took the exit for the police station.

The station was brand new, thanks to the community’s burgeoning growth sparked by retail conglomerate Wal-Get’s decision to locate its headquarters there.

“Hey, David, how’s it going?” asked Trish Lanham, beat cop. Her voice was high-pitched, with a strong feminine lilt, not the stereotypical voice portrayed in films and TV. David always had a bit of a crush on her.

Women in uniform had no particular power over him, but Trish wore it very well. Through the drab, angular khaki he could see her femininity. Her breasts gave the top shape without looking “Reno 911″ and not even Harrison Bergeron’s tailor could have hidden the round shape of her ass.

“Great. Where’s Kevin Butcher?”

“He’s in his office. Come on back.” She punched a red button on the wall. A nearby door clicked as its electromagnetic lock lost power.

David walked past Jennifer, the Chief’s secretary, who sat there poring over a training tome entitled Forensics Photography in the Field. He remembered her telling him that she wasn’t cut out for desk work, and that she had enrolled in a course to help her reach another level. Among other things, it would teach her to photograph bludgeoned heads in low light situations.

He grimaced, then said, “Jennifer, glad to see you’re still serious about being a cop.”

“Oh, hey, David. What’s up?” She spoke with the tone of a starched-shirt businessman.

“Just going to see the guys who catch the bad guys.”

Four detectives sat in cubicles. Unlike the scene depicted in most TV shows, partners didn’t sit at desks facing one another. Instead, there were partitions and lots of talking over them in raised voices — three male, one female.

Butcher saw David. “Help! I can’t find the ‘any’ key,” he said.

David suppressed a groan. That joke was funny when Homer Simpson used it, but some people didn’t know when to let it die.

“Hey, Kevin. There’s something I need to tell you.”

——-

His grandfather in the passenger’s seat, Ronnie drove his mother’s Buick Century along the town’s main east-west thoroughfare. Clubs in the trunk, they were on their way to the Placid Pines Country Club for a friendly round of 18.

While he admired the Century’s smooth ride and respectable V-6, he didn’t like that he was guaranteed no second looks by girls. Who am I kidding? I don’t even get first looks in this thing.

He could see it now: “It’s not my father’s Oldsmobile. It’s my mom’s Buick.” Yeah, that’s smooth, man, real smooth.

At a red light, he checked the rear view mirror. In it appeared a shimmering silver Audi A8, brand new. He read the license plate aloud, “Too much for you,” keeping lip movement to a minimum.

“Excuse me?” Grandpa said.

“Nothing. Just that guy’s custom plate.”

“Ronnie, I hope you’re careful with sex,” his grandfather said.

A bit stunned, Ronnie took it in stride. He was accustomed to fatherly talk from the old man, who evidently thought that without a father, Ronnie needed someone to run him through the birds and bees spiel.

“Yes, Grandpa, always.”

“Good. You know, there are ways besides intercourse to satisfy your biological urges. Heavy petting, things like that.”

Ronnie’s stride couldn’t quite step over that one. He wanted to just stop the car, get out, and catch the nearest bus home. Had his mom told Grandpa he was obsessing about Trena?

“Um, sure, Grandpa. I know. Don’t worry.”

They hit the course, and Ronnie hit the ball — way too many times.

He was not focusing on the game at all. Besides his attempts at mind-over-matter to tune out the cold, his thoughts kept returning to Trena, and he felt he should be doing something to contact her instead of wading into brier patches to find errant golf balls. That morning before they left, he tried unsuccessfully to contact her over chat and e-mail.

He also considered the advice the stranger had given him, and tried to imagine what kind of trouble Trena could be in. Was “goob2berdy” somebody from the U.S. Marshall’s office just trying to protect Trena’s identity? Some mobster set on making life hard for him and Trena?

Determined to find out, he found comfort when they teed off on number 10. Although the back nine was much more difficult than the front, there were a number of groups behind them. That meant more dropping and finishing out with a new ball instead of wading through weeds and nettles only to hit the next shot from behind a tree.

Back in the parking lot, Ronnie unstrapped their bags from the cart and heaved them into the trunk. His back protested as he lowered the old man’s bag. “Grandpa, you sure you’re carrying regulation?”

“Not one extra club in there, I assure you.”

“Yeah, I assure you,” Ronnie muttered under his breath.

They headed out, again with Ronnie behind the wheel. The clubs clinked together in the trunk as he drove too fast over a speed bump. Grandpa wordlessly shook his head. As he waited to turn left, Ronnie looked in the rear view mirror.

There was a silver Audi A8. The front plate read, “2much4u.”

(to be continued)