Andy waited until he heard footsteps coming from downstairs.
It was all or nothing. The only chance Andy and his family had. Toss the grenade, stand back, and hope for an opening. “Mr. Girard,” said Andy, “will the food take much longer?”
The silence from King Girard was impenetrable. At long last he asked, “What did you call me?” His words had razor edges.
“Mr. Girard.” Andy cultivated his most innocent baby voice. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Why’d you call me that?”
“The other man. He said your name was King Girard. Did he mean someone else?” Andy could hear the other man’s footsteps reaching the top of the stairs.
The sound of disbelief in Girard’s voice reached towering heights. “He called me what?”
“King Girard,” Andy whimpered. “He said he and you worked for Bear Brandt.” He turned in a mock cringe that hid his hands and face from the room.
“What the hell?” Girard growled through clenched teeth as the door opened.
“Here’s the chow. You wanted the chicken salad—” began the other man. He was silent for a moment, then shock crept into his voice. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“You told this kid my name, idiot!”
“I never! What—”
“Then, how in the hell did he learn it? Answer me that? How did he find out who we worked for? Huh? Telepathy?” Andy heard the sound of skin being slapped. It was close to the time and Andy began pulling his hands free of his bonds as one of the men grunted and then there was the deafening sound of a shot being fired.
Immediately Andy’s mom began screaming from the bathroom. Andy shoved up his blindfold and saw King Girard drop his gun and fall to the floor where he came to rest, his head and shoulders propped up by a built in bookshelf. The other man was slouched against the wall holding his middle. His nose was bleeding and he had a smoking automatic in his hand.
“Daddy!” cried Andy as he ran to the side of King Girard’s body, fell to his knees, and threw himself over the corpse. “Daddy! You killed my daddy!”
“Whathehell?”
The other man’s confused frown turned to astonishment as Andy rolled off, pointed King Girard’s .357 Magnum at him and shot him through the heart, the roar of the weapon making his ears ring. The recoil was very strong, but he managed to hold on, his mother still screaming from the bathroom.
First things first. He got up, placed the pistol on the table, and grabbed the cellular phone. He placed a call to his father’s extension and waited. Soon his father’s voice came on the line. “This is Captain Rain.”
“Dad?” Andy responded, a genuine sob in his voice.
“Andy? Son, what is it? Where are you? What’s going on?”
“Dad, the men here had a terrible fight. It was awful. I think they’re both dead. Come and get me and Mom.”
“I will, son. My god, I will. Where are you? Do you know where you are?”
“I don’t. I’ll get Mom on the phone and then look outside.” Andy paused as he worked himself up to ask the question that frightened him the most. “Dad, did you let Bear Brandt go?”
“No,” his father answered. “I couldn’t let him go. Do you hate me for that?”
A great weight lifted from Andy’s shoulders. “No, Dad. I love you. I’ll go get Mom.” Andy took the phone with him to the bathroom and opened the door. His mother was sitting on the floor sobbing hysterically. When she saw Andy, she screamed again and held out her arms. He walked to her side and allowed her to hug and kiss him until it hurt. “Mom,” he said. “We’re all right, Mom. Here. Dad wants to talk to you on the phone. Take it and talk to him.”
“Your father?” she sobbed.
“Here. Talk to him. I have to find out where we are.”
“What about the men? What about the men out there?”
“They’re gone.” He handed the phone to her and disengaged himself from her arms. He handed her the phone and she placed it to her ear.
“Yes? Gary? Oh, Gary!”
Andy went back to the small living room and surveyed the scene. He cleaned the prints off Girard’s weapon, held the barrel by his shirt tail, checked to make certain how and where King hung his piece, then placed the weapon in the corpse’s right hand. He looked back to make certain that he had been unobserved. Returning his gaze to King Girard, he was dizzy for a moment and then a terrible headache hit him. It was like an ice pick thrust into his right eye. It was an old headache. A Billy Stark headache. In prison Ellen had said to Billy that the headaches were pain, rage, and guilt coming out sideways.
But Andy Rain wasn’t Billy Stark. Andy Rain had feelings. He could be angry and he had nothing to be guilty about. As the heat filled his face, Andy swung back his foot and kicked King Girard in the side. The man groaned, rolled back, lifted his weapon, and aimed it at Andy. Without thinking, the boy grabbed the barrel of the weapon with both hands, closed his eyes, lifted up, and twisted the barrel away from him with all of his might. The weapon discharged, Andy’s mom screamed, and King Girard shuddered from his toes all the way to his fingertips as he fell back, dragging Andy with him. Andy fell on top of King Girard and opened his eyes. He raised his head and saw that he was still holding onto King’s gun. He let go of the weapon, pulled himself off the kidnapper, and stood up. As his point of view rose, he saw that a good portion of King Girard’s forehead and scalp were missing. Pieces of them were splattered all over the living room’s off-white wall.
In a daze Andy turned around and saw his mom standing in the doorway, the phone in her hand. Her eyes were wide, frozen in an unblinking stare. Her mouth was open and a panicked voice was yelling from the phone’s earpiece. Andy led his mom to the couch, sat her down, and took the phone from her hand. “Dad? Dad?”
“Andy? What happened?”
Andy took a deep breath when he realized tears were running down his cheeks. “Mom’s sick, Dad. She’s real sick.”
“What was that shot?”
Andy assumed his mom had seen everything after he had placed the gun in King Girard’s hand. “I kicked him. One of the kidnappers. I’m so sorry. It was real stupid. I thought he was dead. I kicked him and his gun went off. I really scared Mom. I’m so sorry. Dad, I’m going to go find out where we are. I’ll be back in a minute.”
They had been on the second floor of a working class tenement, 1207 Beecher, only three houses down from Wayne Road. He stood there in the noon sun, looking at the faces on the street. A man washing his car. A woman carrying groceries. An old man sitting on the curb talking to himself.
He thought about running. There was so much to explain. Girard and his companion had been professionals. How had they suddenly gone stupid and shot each other? Questions and answers. Sooner or later the cops would have a lot of the first and would demand plenty of the second. They had to. The cops weren’t stupid. And what would his mom say when they questioned her? Andy Rain had saved the day, and he couldn’t have saved the day, so the answer had to lie elsewhere, and then what would happen? Perhaps no one would look at it that way. Perhaps he could talk them out of the truth. Perhaps all he had to do was keep quiet about certain things.
He couldn’t run. He couldn’t leave his parents, his home, his friends, his life behind him. He sighed and headed back into the building.