“No, Dad, go back. Go back.”
Robby spun Marie around to put her in between him and the approaching threat, a tired old man who didn’t have the strength of a third grader. “Ho, so your old man was involved in your scandalous activities. I should’ve known. Who else were you going to trust?”
Dad continued to advance as fast as his tired, broken-down body allowed; a beeline right for Robby, right toward certain death.
“I saw which house you came out of, old man.” In the yellow streetlight, Robby’s eyes turned crazy. He shoved Marie down face-first into the pavement. She hit both hands out in front, skidding across the surface of abrasive asphalt.
“Stop, old man. Stop right there.”
“Robby, don’t. You don’t have to shoot him. Robby, please.”
Robby brought his gun up.
The gunshot echoed off the face of the quiet houses, rolled down the street until it dissipated.
A gunshot too loud for a handgun.
Robby rose up and was flung back three feet. He landed in a crumpled heap. He grunted once and lay perfectly still.
I looked back up the street. Mack walked slowly down the sidewalk, an Ithaca Deerslayer, 12-gauge shotgun at port arms.
On hands and toes I scrambled over to Marie. “Marie. Marie.”
She rolled over and kicked at my face. “What do you think you were doing walking out there like that? He could’ve killed you.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
Her shoulders shook as she cried. I took her in my arms, “I’m sorry. It worked out. Pop, you okay?”
Dad stared down at the mortally wounded man. “What? Yes, sure.”
Marie said, “Bruno, you’re bleeding, you’re shot.”
Mack continued past us, went over to Robby. He knelt down felt his neck. Took Robby’s gun.
Sirens started up headed our way.
I told Marie, “Help me up.”
I hobbled over to Robby. All the buckshot hit him in the chest, neck, and chin. The sight stunned me. I never thought I would see it. Not Robby Wicks down in the street. Dead.
“Bruno,” Mack said, “we don’t have a lot of time.”
“Yeah, I know, we’ll get off the street. Come on, Dad.”
“Bruno?”
I froze. His tone told me he spoke from his official side, not out of camaraderie.
I said, “We haven’t done anything wrong. You, yourself, let us go. Remember?”
He took a step back out of range of Dad’s baseball bat. He let the Deerslayer hang down by his side.
Marie understood, shook her head, “No, not the kids. You can’t have the kids. Not now. Not after all we’ve been through. Please.”
“Don’t beg,” I said to her. I turned to Mack. “Why?”
“I can clean it all up with the kids. You can walk clean. Think about it. If you don’t give them up, they’re just going to keep chasin’ you and you can’t keep running.”
“Is that really your motivation?”
“Of course, what else?”
Sirens drew closer.
“How about a deal?”
“You have nothing to deal.”
Marie said, “No, Bruno, it’s all or nothing.”
“It can’t be—”
Mack said, “We don’t have much time.”
I leaned on her, growing weak, “We were going to give him up anyway once we got everyone to safety,” I told Mack, “They chased us hard because of Wally. We’ll give you Wally. We know he’s going to a good home. But if you want the others, they won’t stand a chance. You’ll give them back to their people. You want them all, you’ll have to gun me right here in the street.”
Dad said, “Me too.”
Marie said, “Make it three.”
Mack looked around as he tried to decide. Way down by Wilmington, red-and-blue rotating lights turned onto our street, seconds away.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The warm Pacific breeze blew across the patio, the sun warm on my naked chest. Marie came out carrying a box under one arm and sat on the lounge next to mine. “This just came from FedEx.”
My heart beat faster, my mouth went dry. “Babe, nobody knows we’re down here.”
“Take it easy, big fella, it’s from Mack. Should be fine. Relax, the kids are all playing video games, and your dad’s doing so much better with all the stress off of him. I’m really glad we took him along.”
Two weeks earlier, that night right after the shooting, we’d all hobbled back to the house. When I opened the door, Marie saw little Tommy Bascombe and socked me in the stomach. I forgot to tell her about that part. She cried and kissed me like she’d never kissed me before and that’s saying something.
We’d fled that night, left everything behind but the clothes we wore. We hopped into a car and hightailed it for the Mexican border. We crossed from San Diego into Tijuana, kept driving through Rosarita and down into Ensenada where we had already reserved a suite with three bedrooms. Everything prepaid in advance.
The nice thing about a woman who’s a physician’s assistant, she can handle most medical injuries. And, in Mexico, they sell just about anything over the counter, painkillers, antibiotics, and such.
After two weeks in the sun with three regular hot meals a day, I was healing quickly. Today was the first day I was able to sit on my butt. We were waiting for Dad’s counterfeit passport to arrive from the States before we continued on. The cargo ship that would take us all to Costa Rica, would dock in Ensenada in another five days.
Now, for the first time in the two-week vacation, Marie looked a little stressed. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Come on, Bruno, you know what’s bugging me. Our finances. We’re broke. We bailed so fast we couldn’t get to our savings.”
She was right. I was scared, too, and tried to buffer the situation a little. “At least all of our meals and transportation are paid for. I know you want help to take care of the kids. I’ll be on my feet by the time we get there and I’ll get a job.”
“What kind of job are you going to get? I’ll get the job, and you take care of the kids.” She stopped, hesitated a moment, then said, “I know what it is. I guess I’m just scared of the unknown.”
“Let’s see what’s in the box,” I said, wanting her mind off the subject.
She opened one end. “Looks like Mack sent along some baseball gear for the kids. Why would he do that? He didn’t owe us anything.”
“Large ball caps and XL shirts?”
“I know, right?”
“Hand me that,” I said.
The box was plain brown cardboard with professional printing on the exterior: Sheriff’s Benevolent Society, Widow’s and Orphan’s Fund, XL shirts, large baseball caps. I tore open the box and found wadded-up newspaper with a note on top.
Bruno,
That night I wasn’t far behind you but I was still behind you. You’re a good cop. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you. I found this at one of the places; I must’ve only missed you by seconds. From what you told me, I knew it was yours so I thought I would send it along.
Marie leaned over and pushed the wadded newspaper aside, awe in her tone. “Bruno, how much is there?”
“If I had to guess, I would say two hundred and fifty thousand.” Money from Chantal’s coffee table. The money from the train heists that I had buried in the backyard of the abandoned house on 117th and Alabama. Robby had found it, dug it up. Money he and Chantal were going to use to flee the country.
Marie covered her mouth and stared at me, her brown eyes filling with tears.