Still, I had to be there to be sure.
I started to get out of the car, but Fiona stopped me. “You can’t be seen there,” she said. “You walk into the middle of that gunfight and you’ll either be killed or arrested. And if you’re arrested, you have no idea if you’ll ever see freedom again.”
She was right, but I couldn’t stand by, either.
If you’re a good spy, you don’t need to be the instigator of violence to be effective. Sometimes it’s enough just to be the guy who makes everyone else feel safer.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Take the car back to the loft. I’ll call you when it’s over.” I leaned over and kissed her once on the cheek before jumping out of the car. I hurdled the Evanses’ side fence, took the Strongs’ back gate in a nice swing move, scaled the Williamses’ block wall, shimmied under the Mecklenburgs’ bougainvillea bush (which was just a sprig when I was a kid) and then wormed my way into my own backyard.
The sound of gunfire was intense, but the sound of approaching sirens was pervasive. I looked up and saw not one but three helicopters hovering.
The news has always loved to televise bad people doing bad things to one another, especially when they do so in unusual places, like, say, neighborhoods filled with blue light specialers.
My main goal now, however, was to navigate the labyrinth of razor wire I’d prepared in the yard, as I’d become accustomed to having two Achilles tendons and had every intention of growing old with both. I put my head down and watched every step, remembering the pattern of the wire, the circle pattern meant to ensnare even the most limber advancing army, which in this case would be me. All I knew was that I had to get into the house and make sure all was okay.
“Don’t take another step or I’ll blast you.”
I looked up to find Zadie clutching a shotgun. She didn’t have her glasses on, so I was likely just a blur moving through the yard. She was looking to her right. I was standing about twenty feet to her left.
“Zadie,” I said, “it’s Michael. Don’t shoot.” I took a step forward and she fired a single shot that conveniently found its way into the dirt about five feet behind me and to the left.
“Are you dead?” she asked.
“No, Zadie, I’m still standing right here.”
“You didn’t run off?”
“No, Zadie, I didn’t. Now put that gun down before you hurt someone.”
“You say you’re Michael?”
“That’s what I say, yes,” I said.
“How do I know it’s you?” she said.
“You could go inside and get my mother,” I said. “Just don’t tell her you shot at me. My mother reacts very poorly to people who try to shoot her son.”
I could almost see the gears working in Zadie’s head. Eventually she lowered the gun. It must have made sense to her, so I kept walking until I was directly in front of her and then gently removed the shotgun from her hands.
“Let me take that,” I said.
“In my day I was a pretty good shot,” she said.
“I’m sure you were,” I said.
The gunfire on the street had come to a stop and now I heard the barking of police officers, shouting, screaming, moaning, and the approaching sound of more than one ambulance. I didn’t know where Sam was, or his condition, only that he’d brought a war zone to bear on my mother’s street and the likely result was that the bad guys were now about to be the incarcerated guys. My first concern, however, was the collateral damage.
I looked Zadie over. She was unwounded. She didn’t even seem all that nervous. “Are you okay?” I said.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard people fighting,” she said.
“That was a bit more than a fight,” I said.
“I ever tell you about my husband robbing buses?”
“Yes,” I said.
“So maybe sometimes he wasn’t alone.”
You learn a lot about someone if you know how to get the right stories out of them.
I put my arm through Zadie’s and guided her inside the house, where we found Nate crouched behind a sofa, my mother and Maria beside him. Maria’s dog stood panting over them. There was no blood and it didn’t look like any bullets had come sailing through the windows. I peered out the window and saw a dozen police cruisers, SWAT members, three ambulances and a lot of people on the ground.
This was going to be on the news. Probably nationally.
What I didn’t see was a gold Lincoln. Lyle Connors was behind a desk somewhere following all this on his BlackBerry while sitting in a management course. A good leader has plausible deniability. A great leader has actual deniability.
I also didn’t see a white van. Where was Sam?
“You can get up now,” I said.
“How do you know?” Nate said.
“If you ever see more blue lights in your house than blood, you’re safe.”
Nate checked himself. No wounds. My mother stood up, walked into the kitchen, pulled open a drawer and a pack of cigarettes and immediately lit up. “If I’m going to die,” she said, “it will be on my terms.”
Maria just sat dazed next to Nate, absently petting her dog. This had not been a particularly good week in Maria’s life.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Pretty far from that,” she said. “Can I go home?”
“Soon,” I said.
I looked back outside. Still no Sam, but also no Bruce. I knew Sam could take care of himself and I knew, if given a rope, Bruce had the capacity to tie his own noose. That he-or his body-wasn’t outside was good. If they’d already managed to kill him, it’s likely the Ghouls wouldn’t have bothered with the possible slaughterhouse of an entire household in a quiet Miami neighborhood.
“Maria,” I said, “do you have somewhere safe you can go if need be? A place where your family won’t be under any duress?”
“I have a cousin in Ohio,” she said.
“Ohio is nice this time of year,” I said.
There was a knock on the back door and then it began to open with the same perceptible creak it has had since 1981.
“Get the boiling water!” Zadie shouted.
“Easy there, Toots,” came a voice, followed by the welcome vision of Sam Axe, a Stella in one hand, a gun in the other.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“Setting the van on fire,” he said.
“I thought that was a rental,” I said.
“Technically, yes, it belonged to a rental company.” Sam kicked off his shoes and plopped down on the sofa. “You know what I like?” he said.
“Being alive?”
“That the Banshees and Ghouls fight Civil War style. One on one side, one on the other. And then everyone goes bang-bang. John Wayne would be proud.”
“Any sighting of Bruce?” I said quietly, lest Zadie start to worry.
“Nope,” Sam said. “Mikey, I don’t have a great feeling about this.”
“No,” I said. I called Fiona to tell her we, at least, were all alive.
“I know,” she said.
“Where are you?”
“I ditched the car a few blocks away and am now standing at the end of the street surrounded by senior citizens in tears. Seems they never knew their neighborhood was a hotbed for criminal activity, or at least it hasn’t been since those Westen boys moved away.”
“Yeah,” I said, “listen. There’s still no sign of Bruce.”
“He’s a cagey one, Michael. He’s probably fine.”
“Keep an eye out,” I said and hung up.
I checked my watch. We didn’t have much time before the police would begin canvassing the neighborhood for information, which meant a bunch of people with a cache of guns and dubious backstories was not going to be good news for anyone.
“Listen up,” I said. “In about ten minutes a cop is going to come to the door. Ma, I need you to collect all of the guns and put them in the laundry room. Inside the dryer and the washing machine will be fine. Put the shotgun in a closet. Maria, for the next hour, you and Nate are a couple and you’ve come over for lunch to meet Nate’s mother. Okay?”
Maria nodded once. Nate seemed happier about this than was reasonable for the circumstances.