Before he could fire, there was a loud crack-crack.
Then the air was full of screams. The man staggered and fell backward into an armchair. Just above his belt, two dark stains were spreading across his shirt.
Owen stood frozen between the bleeding man and the door to escape.
“Move,” Max said. “We haven’t got all night.”
Owen grabbed the sack and blundered out the door, Max following.
They ran to the car, Max wedging himself behind the wheel and starting it. Through long training he resisted the urge to floor it, and they cruised out of the tranquil neighbourhood in a slow agony.
Owen switched off the jammer and fumbled in the sack for one of the cellphones. He dialed 911 and asked for an ambulance to be sent to the Blakes’ address.
“I need your name, sir.”
“No, you don’t.” Owen dropped the phone back into the sack. “You shot the guy, Max. I don’t believe it, you actually shot the guy.”
“I don’t know how it happened!”
“You loaded real bullets is how it happened. We never use real bullets. Or so you’ve always said. Are you going to tell me that all this time you’ve been using real bullets?”
“Of course not! I always use blanks! It was a new gun. Spider Weems was hard up for cash. Sold it to me for a hundred.”
“Fully loaded.”
“Yes, I must have forgot that bit.”
“Max, that was a stop sign!”
Max swerved to avoid a smart car, which had a surprisingly loud horn, and headed for the expressway.
“You’ve probably turned us into murderers. We’re both going to end up in the goddamn electric chair, and some poor innocent guy is going to end up dead. Jesus, Max, what if he has kids?”
“For God’s sake, it was an accident!”
“Yeah, great. Remind me to try that one on the judge.”
They left the car in the parking lot and entered the mall separately as a bald man and a goateed youth, emerging fifteen minutes later as innocent tourists. They left the stolen car in the lot and drove the Taurus back through town toward the trailer camp, Owen at the wheel.
“Bright side,” Max said, “that shot probably saved us from a lengthy semester at Oxford.”
“What about the guy’s life, Max?”
“I value yours more. This is our fifth adventure together. I don’t see why it should be a surprise that sometimes things can go wrong.”
“Max, you didn’t used to shoot people. We have to abort the rest of the trip and head home. And you have to retire for good.”
“Never, lad. Banish Max and banish all the world.”
“This is no time for Shakespeare! This is real life! Those were real bullets! We’ve caused real pain!”
“You’ve missed the turn.”
Owen made a U-turn at the next intersection. They parked in the shadow of the Rocket and went inside.
“What did you think of the accent?” Ek-cent. “Bruce Whittaker, strite outta Queensland, at yer service.”
Max embarked on a recitation of Portia’s speech on mercy, translated into Australian. In other circumstances it might have been funny, but now it was unbearable. Owen turned on the kitchen light and peered into the sack. He was trying mightily to behave as if this had been a normal show, no disasters.
“We should sort out the cellphones first. We can dump them in a mailbox tomorrow. Look at this necklace I found upstairs. It was right in front of the mirror. She must have been trying it on just before the guests arrived.”
“Let’s just stash it for now, laddie.”
Owen loosened a couple of screws and pulled back the dishwasher, and Max handed him the sack. He was tucking it into their hidden hutch when Max said, “Good God. What the hell are you doing here?”
Owen whipped around to see who he was talking to.
Sabrina was lying on the bottom bunk, just now raising herself on one elbow.
THIRTEEN
“You’re back,” she said, her voice fogged with sleep.
“The girl’s gone deaf,” Max said, moving closer to the bunk. “I asked what you were doing here.”
“Bill turned up at the hotel. He was waiting in the lobby. Luckily, I saw him before he saw me.”
“How did he know you were in Tucson,” Owen said, “let alone which hotel?”
“Well, he does work in hotel security.”
“She called him,” Max said. “Didn’t you? You called him and told him where you were.”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
“If you didn’t call him,” Max said, “the only way he could find you would be to follow us-which he could not possibly do, because when we drove out of Las Vegas he was still in the hospital.”
“All right, I did call him. I mean, I dialed him-he wasn’t there. I just left a message saying I hoped he wasn’t hurt too bad and that I was sorry for how things worked out. But I didn’t speak to him or tell him where I was.”
“If he has connections to the cops,” Owen said, “or maybe the phone company, they can pinpoint the location of a cellphone to the nearest tower.”
Max’s brow furrowed into Shar-Pei-like folds. “I begin to suspect, young lady, that you haven’t told us everything there is to know about Preacher Bill.”
“I guess I should have mentioned …” Sabrina winced, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just-I didn’t want to scare you away, that’s all.”
“What are you talking about?” Owen said. He was surreptitiously nudging the dishwasher back into place.
Max wheeled to face him. “Our damsel in distress here-our sweet, innocent, saintly young lady-failed to mention that her mentor, her man, also happens to be an officer of the law.” Then, turning back to Sabrina: “Isn’t that right?”
“You gotta be kidding,” Owen said. “He’s a cop?”
Sabrina nodded miserably. “Not is a cop. Was a cop. He quit years ago. I guess I should have told you.”
“Why didn’t you?” Owen said.
“Because the devil child knew that if we’d had the slightest idea she was consorting with a copper, we’d have nothing to do with her.”
Owen sat down at the kitchen table. He looked at Max. “Still, I don’t see how it’s that big a deal. What difference does it make?”
Max went into lecture mode, hands on hips. “The difference, my son, is that he’s connected to an organization that is very good at tracking people down. He has access to networks, faxes, radios. By now he’s probably got her picture on every bloody cop computer in the country.”
“You’re right,” Sabrina said. She grabbed her coat from the top bunk. “I’ll go.”
“How did you get in here, anyway?” Max said.
“Oh, come on, Max. My dad taught me a few things.”
She brushed by Owen. He grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he said. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Yes, I do. Max just said I do.”
“No, I didn’t,” Max said. “Though at this moment it is an extremely attractive thought.”
“Max, even if somebody should recognize her, we’re not going to get into any trouble. We’re just on holiday and Sabrina’s along for the ride.”
“I don’t like surprises,” Max said. “This was not the way the Pontiff brought you up, I’m sure.”
“Oh, please. My father is no bloody hero.”
“John-Paul would never teach you to mislead friends who try to help you.”
“Okay, Max. I’m sorry. I should have told you right away.”
“Right,” Owen said. “And what-we would have left her there in the parking lot with that Bible-thumping nutcase? Let him beat her half to death?”
“Never. I have a few faults, but cruelty to the fair sex is not among them. I would have done everything the same.”
“So, fine. In other words we’d be exactly where we are at this moment.”
“Not so. For one, I would have confiscated Her Highness’s cellphone and mailed it to Ouagadougou before she could alert the entire bloody country as to her whereabouts. Hand it over, hell spawn.”