He swung a vicious kick at my body. I caught his foot before it connected and twisted it sideways. It could have wrenched his knee or ankle out if he hadn’t allowed himself to roll with it. He landed hard, sending up a plume of dry sand that was instantly scattered by the breeze.
I bounced to my feet while I had the chance, Trey scrambling up, also. The bag with the flowers on it was in my hand, keeping the SIG only inches from use, but I couldn’t bring myself to get it out, even then.
They were just kids. Offensive and repugnant kids, maybe, but kids nonetheless. Perhaps if I drew the line somewhere I could come back to myself. Perhaps there might still be hope for me.
The skinny kid was back on his feet in a flash, his momentary lapse firing his anger. I turned so Trey was directly at my back and watched the eyes and hands in front of me for the first move.
“Can I ask what the hell you boys think you’re doing?” said a sudden familiar voice from a little way off to one side.
We all spun to face it. Walt stood a couple of metres away, staring at the bunch of us from under the brim of his Panama hat. My heart lurched. Before I’d only had Trey to worry about in this uneven fight. Now I had another civilian to protect. The gun was so close. It would end things quickly and I might not even have to use it . . .
I checked Walt. He didn’t have his bag of seashells with him this morning but instead he carried a stainless steel insulated coffee mug. As we watched he raised the mug to his lips and drank some of the contents. When he was done he looked inquiringly at the group that surrounded Trey and me.
“Well?” he said, with a fine touch of belligerence. “Cat got your tongues?”
For God’s sake, Walt. Don’t provoke them. You’ll only make it worse for yourself.
But he turned to the skinny kid with the bandana, who had been making out like this was the baddest part of South Central LA and he was the baddest dude in it. “Nathan, isn’t it?” Walt said, his voice slow and easy. “What are you doing out when your mother’s sick? Shouldn’t you be at home helping out with the chores?”
“No sir, um, I mean yes sir,” Nathan muttered, hanging his head. “She’s much better.” He all but scuffed his toes in the sand.
“Well, if you’ve finished fooling around with these young friends of mine,” Walt said, his gaze steady, “we’ll let you be on your way.”
It struck me then that he was like an old-time Wild West sheriff, facing down the gunslinging brat pack by the slow weight of his reputation alone. One day they might have the courage to take him on, but today was clearly not that day.
Abruptly, Nathan turned and trudged away and his gang went with him. I studied their retreat but he didn’t even dare to go for a resentful backward glance. I gradually allowed my fists to unclench, my shoulders to unlock. It was only now that I became aware of the stiff ache of my body and the dull thumping pain behind my eyes.
I turned back to Walt, who was calmly drinking more of his coffee as though completely oblivious to what might have been.
“Nathan’s not a bad kid,” he said conversationally. “Gets a little wild now and again but basically he’s OK. Harriet and I go to the same church as his mother.”
He swung his cool gaze onto me then and I struggled not to quail under it just as the skinny kid and his mates had done.
“Not sure about the new hair style, Charlie,” he remarked. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, you look like hell.”
Seventeen
Walt and Harriet’s kitchen looked exactly the same as it had the last time Trey and I had been there. More importantly, it smelled the same – of food.
The lady of the house was working furiously at the hob when Walt opened the door and ushered us inside. The smell of bacon frying on the grill hit me straight in the stomach, which immediately let out a clearly audible grumble.
“Well, somebody’s hungry,” Walt said with a smile. “Can I get you guys some coffee?”
Harriet turned then and it was relief I saw in her face. “Oh, you found them,” she said, putting down her spatula. She came forward then, all smiles, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing over her loose pinafore dress. She pulled out chairs from the table and hastily brought out extra cutlery for us. It was only as I sat down that I noticed there were already three settings.
I looked up at Walt, tense, and saw from his face that he knew right away I’d spotted the extra place.
“My nephew, Andrew,” he said calmly, by way of explanation. “He’s staying with us for a few days.”
At that moment I heard footsteps approaching across the tiled floor of the living room. A young man in a casual jacket and tie appeared round the corner of the kitchen cabinets. He was shorter than Walt, slightly more thickset than the old man but he had a sharp upright stance that usually denotes time in the military – or the police.
Even without that suspicion, his instinctive reaction confirmed my fears. He’d been holding a mobile phone up to his ear with his left hand, making, “uh-huh,” noises. As soon as he caught sight of the pair of us he jolted to a standstill and dropped the phone. His right hand snaked for the gun on his hip.
“Now hold it right there!” Walt thundered and his nephew froze automatically. I could just see the Glock 23 service pistol halfway out of its belt holster under the pushed-back hem of his jacket. If he’d ever got to finish it, it would have been one hell of a fast draw.
I had been holding my bag on my lap under the level of the table, which had a wipe-down vinyl cloth hanging over the edges that masked my hands. As soon as I’d made the guy for what he was, I’d stuck my hand inside the bag, trying to sit still and not to let the movement translate into my shoulders. I had my fingers curled round the SIG’s pistol grip and already had it clear of the bag when Walt rapped out his command. I froze, too.
“Sit down, Andrew,” Walt ordered, quieter now but carrying no less weight because of it. “I will not have gunplay in this house. You keep that piece on your hip, boy.” He turned those ferocious eyebrows in my direction. “And you, Charlie, I’ve put a whole heap of trust in you – enough to bring you into my home like this. Don’t let me down now.”
I left the SIG lying across my lap and slowly brought my hands above the level of the table, empty. Andrew let his gun drop back into its holster with obvious reluctance and picked up his phone from where it had fallen on the kitchen tiles. The leather cover the phone had on seemed to have saved it from destruction.
“Sweet Jesus, Uncle Walt,” he said then, in a slightly strangled voice. “Do you know who this is? Do you have any idea how many people we’ve got out hunting for these two?” He never took his eyes off me while he spoke.
Walt didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, let’s call a truce while we eat, shall we?” he said mildly. “There’ll be time enough to talk about this afterwards.”
It was a bizarre meal. Trey sat alongside me and ate in complete silence, his gaze fixed on his plate. Andrew took the chair opposite me, with his aunt and uncle at each end. Every time I reached for my water glass Andrew tensed slightly.
I kept my expression bland and my knees up and together so the SIG didn’t slide off onto the kitchen tiles, which I felt might have confirmed his worst suspicions. The last thing I wanted to do was give him any reasons to go against his uncle’s wishes. As it was the fingers of his right hand gave the occasional twitch, as though they were anxious enough to be considering independent action.