Elsie had dragged the rocking chair into the kitchen. She'd positioned it in front of the back door and left the door ajar so she could hear the slightest sound coming from the yard. She'd been sitting there, in the dark, for almost three hours and she was sound asleep. Her hands were folded, at rest on her stomach, her mouth had dropped open, and her head tilted crazily to one side. Matt sat at the kitchen table, his arms crossed in front of him on the table, his head resting on his arms. His eyelids drooped shut. His breathing was slow and regular. A short nap wouldn't hurt, he decided. He was a light sleeper. He would hear the flasher when he came into the yard.
A stone hit Lizabeth's window. It was a small stone, and the sound it made was so slight it was barely audible. Lizabeth felt her heart jump in her chest. She stood absolutely still, her hands pressed to her mouth, the pulse thumping in her throat. She didn't want anyone to get hurt. Not Matt, not Elsie, not the flasher. She moved to the window and was caught in the beam of the flashlight. Lord, why didn't he just stop. Why didn't he put his clothes on and take up bowling or something. It was almost as if he wanted to get caught. Lizabeth leaned into the window. "Get out of here!" she hissed in her loudest possible whisper.
"What?"
"Get out of here! There's a man in my kitchen who's going to break every bone in your body!"
Matt woke up at the sound of Lizabeth's voice. The kitchen was black as pitch, but Matt was out of his chair and across the room in three strides. The back door was half open and Matt saw the streak of light blink off. He reached for the door and slammed into the rocking chair, dumping Elsie onto the floor.
"What the devil's going on?" Elsie said, coming awake. "Don't anybody get near me. I know judo. I got Mace."
Matt turned the lights on, grabbed Elsie by the elbow, and pulled her to her feet.
Lizabeth came flying down the stairs. "What was that crash?"
"Land sakes, there he goes!" Elsie shouted. "Hey, you damn pervert, you're in trouble now! Matt's gonna break every bone in your naked body!"
The flasher ran across the yard, with Matt in pursuit. Matt dove at the man, catching him by the ankle, propelling them both facedown into the dirt. Ferguson bounded from the open kitchen door and pounced on Matt. The swearing was loud and creative while the dog snuffled into Matt's pockets and the flasher squirmed loose.
"Ferguson!" Lizabeth had him by the collar, but she couldn't get the dog off Matt. "Matt, do you have food in your pockets?"
"M amp;M's!" he grunted out.
Lizabeth turned the pockets inside out, spilling the candy onto the ground. She looked up in time to see the flasher jump on the Harley. The engine caught and the Harley roared out of the driveway.
"If that don't beat all," Elsie said. "That slimeball stole your bike. Well, he's not going to get away with this. I got my keys in my pocket. Ill run him down in my Caddy."
Lizabeth ran after her. "I don't think this is a good idea."
"Nonsense!' Elsie said, sliding behind the wheel. "I've been on these high-speed chases before. I know what I'm doing."
Matt jumped into the passenger side just as Elsie gunned the engine. Lizabeth and Ferguson climbed into the back and the Cadillac peeled out of the driveway and barreled down the road after the flasher.
Matt braced his arms against the dash. "Elsie, don't you think you're going a little fast? Maybe you should pull over and let me drive."
"No way," Elsie said. "Well lose him. Besides, I got perfect control over this car." The Cadillac took a corner on a skid and swayed from side to side before finding equilibrium.
"Need new shocks," Elsie shouted over the roar of the V-8 engine. "These ones got mushy on me."
"He's turning down High Street," Matt said.
Elsie grunted and jerked the wheel of the Cadillac. The car jumped the curb and cut across Elmo Nielson's front lawn. "Shortcut," Elsie said. "Won't hurt nothing. Elmo can't grow grass here anyway. Too much shade."
The Cadillac closed in on the flasher, and Lizabeth could see the man's tie flapping over his shoulder and the paper-bag mask rippling with the wind. Flashing lights reflected in the rearview mirror. "Omigod," Lizabeth said, "we've picked up a police cruiser."
The Harley turned into Vinnie Mazerelli's driveway and, without even so much as a backward glance, the flasher cut through Vinnie's yard and disappeared from view.
Elsie stomped on the brake. "Doggone!"
Lizabeth and Ferguson slid off the seat, and the black-and-white cruiser slammed into the back of the Cadillac.
Elsie gave a disgusted sigh. "Wouldn't you think they could teach them cops how to drive?"
Matt rolled his eyes and got out of the car. "Howdy," he said to Officers Dooley and Schmidt.
Dooley nodded. "I don't suppose I have to ask who was driving the Cadillac."
"Don't suppose you do," Matt said.
"And I guess the naked guy slapping leather on the Harley was the flasher?"
"Yup."
Dooley shifted his attention to the squad car. The entire front end was smashed. Both headlights were broken, steam escaped from a cracked radiator, and the bumper was lying on the road. The Cadillac didn't have a scratch.
"You guys got a lot of nerve following so close," Elsie said. "Look here what you've done with the taxpayers' money." She patted the Cadillac's rear fender. "I tell you, they don't make cars like they used to. Next time you get yourselves a car, you get a real car. Like my Caddy here."
Dooley's left eye twitched. He put a finger to it and pressed his lips together. "It would probably be best if you took her home, now. I'd hate to be charged with police brutality," he said to Matt,
By the time they got home, the Harley had already been returned. It was parked in the driveway, key still in the ignition, just as Matt had left it.
"You see," Lizabeth said, "he isn't such a bad guy. He even brought your bike back."
The sun broke over the horizon with barely a whimper as Bob the Cat sat on the back stoop cleaning his front feet, pretending nonchalance while keeping an alert ear for the sound of familiar feet treading across the kitchen floor. It was six-thirty and Lizabeth felt raw-eyed from lack of sleep. She quietly crept down the stairs and smiled at the sight of Matt stretched out on the couch in a tangle of sheets. He was fully dressed and looked mildly uncomfortable. He slept on his back with his arm flung over his head, and even in the dim light of dawn the red stubble on his chin was distinctly visible. Lizabeth stood beside the couch and watched him. His breathing was even, like a child's, she thought. But that was where the similarity stopped. There was nothing childlike about the lean planes of his face or the fierce slash of blond eyebrow. His large frame dwarfed the couch and charged the room with virility and latent energy. She wondered if the latter was real or imagined. Her perspective was hardly impartial. She touched his shoulder. "Matt."
The thick, curly blond lashes fluttered open, and he stared at Lizabeth with unfocused eyes. 'I'm not in my bed," he said. "Am I in yours?"
"No. You're on my couch."
"Oh yeah. Now I remember. I was having this awful nightmare that I was chasing the flasher and Ferguson attacked me. And then the flasher stole my motorcycle because I stupidly left the key in the ignition. Then we went on this bizarre ride with Elsie…"