Vernell wrapped his arms around me and I stood huddled inside them, peeking out every now and then to take stock of the situation. Don Evans smoked a cigarette, then lit another one right after it. There was another flash of color at the door as Jolene stuck her head outside and seemed to be saying something to Don. A moment later, she emerged with Keith and Sheila. The sunlight glinted off an object in Jolene's outstretched hand.
"Vernell," I said, my voice shaking, "she's got a gun and they're all heading for the car."
Vernell was transformed into action. "Come on," he yelled, "run!" He was off, moving down the beach, away from the beach house and back to the parking lot where he'd hidden the Dancing Jesus. I lit out after him, my heart pounding in my throat. Now what were we going to do?
Vernell sprinted the distance back to the truck and had the motor started by the time I caught up.
We were less than a quarter of a mile from the beach house in one direction and almost a mile from the bridge in the other.
"They're gonna have to go through me to get off this island!" Vernell yelled over the sound of "Amazing Grace" that suddenly blared out over the loudspeaker.
"Turn the music off!" I yelled back.
Vernell flipped the switch, but nothing happened. Instead I could hear the grinding of the satellite dish as it started moving faster. Vernell's truck seemed to be developing a mind of its own. Vernell flicked switches and dials, but still the music screamed out into the early morning air.
"Vernell, do something!" I screamed. "There they go!" Jolene's white Caddy shot by, speeding down Beach Road.
Vernell put the truck into gear and laid rubber out onto the street. "Don't worry!" he yelled over the "Hallelujah Chorus,"
"we'll catch up to them! I had this baby custom-built. She'll flat fly!"
Vernell stomped on the gas pedal and the truck lurched into a screaming acceleration, just what we needed to catch up to Jolene and my baby. We didn't have a plan, we didn't even have a weapon, but we were going to, by God, save our little girl. And we might have done it, too, if Vernell had just been watching the road up ahead.
"Look out!" I shrieked. "Slow down!" But it was too late. Up ahead the traffic had come to a halt, backed up by an accident that seemed to eat up the foot of the bridge.
Vernell tried to react, but the Dancing Jesus had other ideas. "Onward Christian Soldiers," it blared, the music coming so fast, it was sounding like Munchkins on a holiday from Oz. Vernell reached for the emergency brake, stood on the brake pedal, and slammed the truck from one low gear to another. The tires squealed, the brake lining smoked, and the Dancing Jesus mobile turned sideways in the street, slid off the edge of the road, and bounced into a telephone pole with a mighty thud.
Vernell flew forward as I was thrown to the floor. His head banged up against the windshield and his body fell back against the seat. There was a mighty hiss as the radiator sprang a leak. For once the Dancing Jesus was silent.
"Vernell!" I said, pulling myself up off the floor. "Vernell, are you all right?"
Motorists were leaving their cars, walking toward us with concerned looks on their faces. After all, it wasn't every day that Jesus took a flying leap into a telephone pole. Vernell lay sprawled on the passenger seat, moaning softly, a big goose egg rising up in the center of his forehead.
In the distance, I could make out Jolene's Cadillac, locked into a queue of cars. Every emergency vehicle in the world, or on the island, was congregated at the foot of the bridge. They wouldn't get to us for awhile, if ever. In the meantime, Jolene might get away with my baby, and if she did…
I looked back over at Vernell. He was out of it.
"Honey," I said to his prostrate body, "stay here. I'll be back." I reached down on the floor, among the fast food wrappers and other trash that littered the Dancing Jesus, and pulled out a baseball cap and a tire iron. I crammed my hair up into the cap and pulled the bill down low over my face. I pushed the tire iron up into the sleeve of my sweater.
Vernell moaned again. "Wait," he cried weakly. "Sheila."
"It'll be fine," I said softly. "I'm done thinkin'. It's time to act."
With that I left Vernell to the ministrations of strangers and took off to save Sheila.
As I walked swiftly up the line of cars, I tried to develop a plan. Short of reaching into the car and hauling Jolene out by her hair, I was not having much success with the tactical aspect of my mission. The closer I got to Jolene, the closer I came to the scene of the accident. It was a nasty one. Two victims lay on the ground, tended to by EMS workers. The fire trucks obscured the crash vehicles, but from the amount of glass on the highway, I knew it must've been bad.
I crept up behind Jolene's car, trying to peer inside without being spotted. Don Evans sat in the driver's seat with Sheila next to him. Jolene sat behind her and Keith sat next to Jolene. It was a perfect setup. If Sheila or Keith caused a problem, it would be easy to shoot them. The windows were rolled up, the air conditioning was running full-blast, and the outside world went by in front of them like a movie.
I waited two car lengths back, hidden by a family passenger van, looking for my moment, waiting for the element of surprise to be on my side. Up ahead, volunteer firemen were slowly moving down the line of cars, stopping at each one, talking about the accident. People were everywhere. I waited, sweating under my cap and sweater, the tire iron eating into my armpit. Then, just as the volunteer started for Don Evans, gesturing for him to roll down his window, I made my move.
I loosened my grip on the tire iron, letting it slip down my sleeve and into my hand. Like Mama always said, opportunity is not a lengthy visitor. I took a deep breath and jumped out from behind the van, ran up to Jolene's side of the car, the tire iron held high over my head. I brought it down quickly, smashing into Jolene's window with all my might.
The glass shattered into a million little diamonds, and Jolene screamed as the tire iron grazed the side of her head. I don't know how I did it. I don't remember doing it, but somehow I pulled her scrawny little body out of the window. Unfortunately, the gun came with her.
Jolene stood for a second, dazed, the gun trembling in her hand, and then she seemed to come back to life. Her eyes focused, her lips curled into a snarl, and she started to bring the gun up in front of her. I slashed out with Vernell's Dancing Jesus tire iron, knocked her hand out of my way, and then lunged at her. Sheila was the only thing on my mind. The woman wanted to kill my baby.
This was not a woman you wanted to fight with for a sale item at the semiannual Dillards' clearance sale. I charged her and we went down, hitting the asphalt with a bone-rattling jar. The shock finally loosened the gun from her clawlike grasp, sending it skittering across the road. I was beating the crap out of Jolene, and it felt so fine. I tangled my hands in her bleached blond hair and yanked so hard, she screamed. She brought her knee up and attempted to disembowel me with the sheer force of her adrenaline. But I banged her face against the gravel.
"That's for Sheila!" I panted, and proceeded to pull my fist back. I had never been in a fight, not in all of my life, but it came natural and easy. My fist connected with her pretty little nose, and to my surprise, it cracked. "And this is for Jimmy!" I screamed. "And Jerry!"
I don't even think I felt the police officer pull me off her. I know I didn't feel any of the blows she landed. I kept trying to get to her, even as she was surrounded by uniformed officers and led away.
"Maggie, let up now, girl." I heard the familiar voice, talking right into my ear. "You want to see your daughter or not?" he asked. "'Cause I can't let go until I know you're in control."