If Angels Fall

THIRTY-TWO

God be praised .

Keller had left Golden Gate Park without a hitch.Gabrielle was as quiet as a lamb, hugging her pathetic mutt.

“You are a radiant Angel.” He could not take his eyesfrom her.

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”

Keller had been checking his rearview mirror every fewseconds since they left the park. No hint of trouble. Time to shift things intohigh gear. “Say, Gabrielle, it’s pretty hot. Want a soda?”

“Yes, please!”

Keller fished through a canvass knapsack behind theseat, producing a can. “I’ll open it for you.”

“Thank you.” Gabrielle took the can from him, gulped ahuge swallow. It was cold. She let Jackson lick some from her hand. “Baddoggie.” She wagged a warning finger at him. “Don’t you ever run away from meagain!”

“I bet you believe in God, say your prayers everynight?”

She nodded as the truck jerked over a pothole.

“Goodness. You spilled some on your dress. We’ll haveto stop so I can clean it for you.”

Gabrielle looked at her dress and saw no stain. “Idon’t think I spilled any, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Yes, you did. I’ll get it for you, as soon as I finda safe place to stop. Up there looks good.”

Keller spotted a house with a FOR SALE sign. It lookedempty. Neighborhood was quiet. He had to do this now, couldn’t wait any longer.It was still several miles to Wintergreen Heights. He stopped in front of thehouse and left the engine running.

“I really didn’t spill any, Mr. Jenkins. Honest. Ilooked.”

“You spilled some down your chin.” Keller grunted,reaching into the knapsack and pulling out a plastic bag with a damp face clothinside, reeking of medicine.

Gabrielle touched her chin. It was dry, but before shecould do anything, the stinky wet cloth was over her mouth, forcing her tobreathe through her nose. She struggled, kicked, and tried to scream. Jacksonbarked. Gabrielle dropped her Coke. It spilled and hissed on the floor. Kellerheld the cloth firmly against her face, staring into her fluttering eyes as shefell asleep.

Jackson barked fiercely.

“Shut up!” Keller said, removing Gabrielle’s dress andleotards, stuffing them into the knapsack. Rummaging in the pack, he pulled outa pair of child’s shorts and a Forty-niners’ T-shirt. In seconds, he hadslipped them on Gabrielle, along with a ball cap.

Then he pulled a pair of scissors from the knapsack,leaned Gabrielle forward, and began snipping off her chestnut braids.

The dog growled, leaping at Keller, biting at hishands. Damn! Keller caught his forefinger between the razor-sharp blades, andmost of the hair in his hand went out the window. The wound was deep.

Damn it!

At that instant, Keller saw an old woman watching fromher living room. What did she see?

Keller stomped on the gas, the engine roared, tirespeeled, stones flew in anger. How could he have been so careless! He poundedthe steering wheel, driving his rage like a rocket. Try to relax.

His heart thumped. It was happening. As it had beenprophesied. To the ignorant, the girl was a little boy who’d fallen asleep. Buthe knew the truth. The Divine Truth.

Slow down to the limit before you attract moreattention, he told himself. Come on. The old woman saw nothing. What was thereto see from her angle across the wide street? Nothing. She saw nothing: a manstopping to look at a house that was for sale. Nothing.

But the hair? What if she called the police?

Was he doubting his mission? His revelation?

He was cleansed in the light of the Lord. He mustnever cease believing he was blessed. That’s right. He had put more than adozen blocks behind him now and was beginning to relax, focusing on his routeto Wintergreen. The angel was sleeping. Good. Keller looked at the dog. Themutt could lead the police to him. He could sacrifice it with the scissors. Hecould it right now. He could pull into a back alley. It would take threeseconds, then he-

Traffic had come to a dead halt. The rear bumper ofthe Honda in front of Keller rushed at him. He hit the brakes in time to avoidcrashing. The two lanes ahead were merging into one. Cars inching along. What washappening? He saw a flash of red emergency lights.

Police! A roadblock?

Keller’s tongue swelled. He began sweating. Therearview mirror reflected a clogged river of vehicles, a virtual parking lot.He could try escaping by driving along the sidewalk. No, that would guarantee apursuit.

He was trapped. Keller squeezed the wheel. No. Notthis way.

You promised to help me. Do not forsake me.

The Angel was sleeping.

“Got the number two song in the Bay Area coming up,but this just in from the newsroom.” The radio in the convertible VW Golfcreeping alongside Keller was cranked to distortion. The young redhead alonebehind the wheel was oblivious as she puffed on her cigarette. “A five-year-oldgirl was reportedly abducted less than thirty minutes ago from the children’splayground at Golden Gate Park. Her name is Gabrielle Nunn. She has brown,braided hair and is wearing a flowered dress. Police say she may have beentaken by a man.” The radio faded away.

No. Not this way. Stay calm. He reached under the seatbetween his legs for the Smith amp; Wesson, purchased last year from a crackdealer in the Mission.

Numbers filed. Untraceable, like the wind, my man. TwoC’s.

Keller slipped the gun casually under his left leg. Hethought of the phony license he got on the street, along with fake birthcertificates, credit cards, library cards. When he required it, he could beanybody he wanted. God will provide, his father would say.

Ahead, a charter bus belched black smoke, its bigdiesel rattled as it crawled, clearing a line of sight. Keller first saw anSFPD black-and-white blocking one lane, then another. Then the ambulance and amangled car flipped on its roof. He saw the firefighters with the jaws-of-lifeclattering like a ravenous metal-eater to get at the bloodied person trappedinside. An accident. Okay. Keller sighed.

Suddenly a cop stood before him on the road, directingtraffic.

“You!” The officer pointed at him. His motorcycle wasnearby. A Harley Davidson. Impossible to outrun. He was an imposing trafficbull in dark aviator glasses, leather jacket, leather boots, and a leatherutility belt with a holstered gun.

“Hold it right there!”

Keller eyed the officer as he approached.

Not this way. He refused to let it end here. He feltthe hard barrel of the gun under his leg, and kept both hands on the wheel. Thecopy made leathery squeaks as he walked. His stern face telegraphed a clearmessage: Do not fuck with me, sir.

The dog barked and Gabrielle stirred. Her eyelidsflickered. Do not forsake me. A droplet of sweat rolled down Keller’s backbetween his shoulder blades.

“What’s the problem, officer?”

“Sir, are you aware your left front tire isunderinflated?”

“No, I wasn’t aware.”

Just then the officer’s portable radio crackled withsomething unclear. He snatched it, and requested a repeat of the transmission.Keller slid his hand under his left leg, fingering the gun.

I am cleansed in the light of the Lord.

Again, the officer could not make out the radiomessage.

“Been crapping out like this all day,” he complained,cursing city bureaucrats. “Sorry, sir. Get that tire pumped.”

“No trouble, officer.”

The cop gave Keller a polite salute and waved himthrough.

It went according to his prayers. According to theprophesy. Thank God! Praise Him! He gazed upon the sleeping Angel. Behold theSeraph. Behold Gabriel. God’s messenger now belonged to him.

Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus.