A Tap on the Window

Sixty-six

Donna raised the canister to within six inches of Phyllis’ startled face and let loose. The spray, which took my breath away when she sprayed it too close to me in the house, completely clouded Phyllis’ mouth and nose and eyes.

She screamed, then gasped for air.

The gun was coming up, but before she could aim it anywhere, I was on my feet, grabbing her right forearm with both hands and slamming it against the windowsill.

Phyllis held on to the gun. I slammed her wrist again, much harder this time, against the sill, and the gun clattered out of her hand. Donna was still spraying. It was like her hand had gone into spasm, was frozen into position.

Phyllis coughed and hacked and clawed at her face with both her hands. But once her fingers touched her cheeks, they became adhered to them, and she struggled to pull them away.

I went for Donna’s arm, steered it away from Phyllis’ face. “It’s okay,” I said. “Nice going.”

She threw the can to the floor and put her arms around my neck. “Oh God oh God.”

As much as I wanted to hold her, I broke free to get Phyllis’ gun before she dropped down and started patting around to find it. Something she might have been inclined to try the moment she got her hands unstuck from her face.

Phyllis was screeching.

Donna had moved to the window. “Cal,” she said. “Ricky’s coming.”

I bolted out the front door, grabbing my Glock from the table in the hall along the way. The moment I was outside I glanced up the street.

Even if he couldn’t make out exactly what he was seeing from where he was parked, Ricky must have noticed some commotion in the window as I struggled with his mother. Now he was out of the truck, coming our way, gun in hand.

The front door to the house that was closest to his truck flew open and Augie charged out.

“Haines!” he bellowed. “Haines!”

Ricky glanced back, saw Augie, but kept on going. “Freeze!” Augie shouted, but Ricky was not about to follow orders from his chief right now.

There was the sense that all hell was breaking loose.

Feeling exposed, I charged toward Phyllis’ car for cover. I dropped to the ground near the rear bumper, my knee just missing the puddle that I now had little doubt was blood.

I had a pretty good idea what — who — was in that trunk.

There was screaming coming from the front door of my house. I glanced that way, saw Phyllis Pearce stumble out. Her hands were free but her face was streaked with blood where her fingers had pulled away skin. Donna appeared in the doorway behind her, still holding the gun, but raising her arm in a gesture of futility, as if to say, “I couldn’t shoot her.”

Ricky was nearly to Phyllis’ car. Still on one knee, I raised my weapon over the trunk and yelled at him: “Stop!”

Ricky raised his gun and fired.

I dropped down behind the car. There was another shot. I couldn’t be sure, but I guessed it was Augie, trying to stop Ricky.

Haines ran past the end of the car, turned the gun in my direction, fired wildly, missing me. Then he stopped, pivoted, aimed the gun back at Augie. I raised my head, saw my brother-in-law running this way.

Raised the Glock, aimed for the center of Ricky’s body, and pulled the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Ricky staggered back as though he’d been hit with an invisible sandbag. He dropped left, put out an arm to break his fall, but by the time his palm hit pavement it offered no resistance. He crumpled into a heap.

Augie was on him a second later, stomping on the hand that still clung to the gun. Haines didn’t move.

Phyllis ran past me, screaming, fell to her knees at her son’s side, threw her arms around him and began to weep. Augie bent over, pried the gun from Haines’ dead fingers, and started to walk toward me.

He had a sudden look of alarm on his face. He was looking past me.

I spun around.

Donna was standing ten feet away, looking down, her hand pressed to her stomach, where there was a growing dark blotch.

Donna eyes met mine as she said, “Something’s wrong, Cal. I think something’s wrong.”