Endless Night Part 25

"The shorts don't even fit me anymore."

"I know. You've gotten so big. You used to be so cute."

"Dad!"

He whopped her on the bottom, then headed for the kitchen. "Come on, we'll have some of that ice cream."

They both decided on Heath Bar Crunch. Jody scooped it into bowls. They ate at the kitchen table, and were almost finished when the ringing phone made Jody jump.

Dad picked up. "Yelll-oh." He listened. His face showed no expression except for the usual, one-sided smirk. "Real good," he finally said. "Thanks." He hung up. "So far, so good. We've got a couple of units keeping tabs on w.i.l.l.y's car. It doesn't look like he's being tailed by anyone but the good guys."

"You've got their car under surveillance?"

"Sure. What do you think we are, a bunch of chimps?"

"No, but ... That's pretty cool. So, it's like Andy and his creepy uncle have bodyguards."

"For the time being."

"But not the whole way?"

"Only as far as the county line. That should be far enough, though. If they haven't picked up a tail by then, we can be pretty sure they're clean."

"What if they do pick up a tail?"

"Then we're in luck. We'll pounce. We'll grab *em. We'll convince 'em to cooperate, and next thing you know, we'll have the whole gang."

"That'd be great," Jody said.

"It'd be great, but it won't happen. The way these guys acted last night, they don't look like your typical, dumb criminal types. They might not be geniuses, but they aren't morons, either. They know what they're doing. They're careful. They're gonna be hard to catch."

Jody curled her upper lip. "They aren't good enough to get us, are they?"

"n.o.body's that good, honey."

"Oh, yeah. Right."

"What, you don't believe me?" He tried to look offended.

"Do I look like a chimp?"

He nodded. "Daughter of Kong."

"Thank G.o.d I got my looks from Mom."

He laughed and shook his head.

Jody took their ice cream bowls and spoons to the sink. "Why don't you go relax or something?" she said. "I'll do the dishes."

"Nope. What we'll do right now is slap together about a dozen or so hamburger patties. I'll take *em out and grill 'em, then hand the things around to our team of vigilant protectors. They'll love us for it. After that, they'll defend us with their very lives."

He removed extra packages of ground beef from the refrigerator, then worked at the counter with Jody. When six patties were shaped, he said, "Might as well get these started," and took them outside. Jody pulled off more chunks of meat, made them into b.a.l.l.s and mashed them flat.

She was glad her father had thought of this. Preparing hamburgers for the cops seemed like a nice thing to do. Also, though, it kept her mind off the killers, off Andy, and off Uncle w.i.l.l.y.

Soon, she had six more patties ready for the fire.

Dad hadn't come back inside, yet. She supposed he was probably standing over the barbecue, spatula in hand, keeping his eye on the burgers. "You know how a watched pot doesn't boil?" he'd asked her-more than once. "Well, an unwatched barbecue b.u.ms your burgers." Burgers, or chicken, or steaks, or whatever he happened to be preparing at the time he was imparting his wisdom.

But Jody knew him. He didn't stand watch on the fire to save the food from burning. That was just his excuse. In fact, he did it because he liked to be outside in the early evening, liked the scent of the smoke, liked hearing the meat sizzle and spit, liked to watch the flames leap. He'd never admitted any such thing, but she could see it in the way he behaved. She supposed maybe it took him back to his Boy Scout days, or to his backpacking trips into the mountains with Mom when they were young. Or maybe cooking his meat over a real fire, outside, had an appeal that went beyond nostalgia-maybe it was more basic and primitive, had something to do with "man the hunter."

Jody loaded the raw patties onto a plate and headed for the back door.

She remembered how Dad used to stand over the grill with a squirt gun of clear yellow plastic. That was when she'd been very young. He used the gun to shoot down flames. Sometimes, he squirted Jody. That usually made Mom yell at him.

Sometimes, Jody used to take drinks out of the squirt gun. The water would shoot out of a hole no bigger than the tip of a needle. It would make a hissing sound. Sometimes you shot it at the roof of your mouth, and that tickled. Sometimes, you sucked the water straight from the muzzle. You could always get more water by sucking than by shooting. The water always tasted funny. Like rubber or plastic.

She stepped outside, and the screen door banged shut.

Dad's head snapped around. "Jody! I told you to stay in the..."

First, the bullet hit.

The noise of the shot came a few moments later.

Chapter Eighteen.

The bullet smacked the concrete patio far enough in front of Jody so that the platter didn't block her view. She saw a quick spout of chips and white dust, heard a whing, felt a tug on her shorts and a sting.

Then came the crash of the shot.

Jody realized she had forgotten to stay inside.

Flinging the platter of burgers, she whirled around and reached for the door handle. She tugged. The screen door started to swing toward her.

A bullet slammed it shut.

She saw the hole in its aluminum frame-a hole the size of a dime. The slug must've pa.s.sed within an inch of her shoulder.

"Down!" Dad yelled. "Hit the deck!"

Ducking, she twisted around and looked back.

He was charging at her, gun still holstered, spatula dropping from his hand.

Off beyond him and over to the left, someone with a rifle was standing on the roof of their garage.

How'd they get so close? There were supposed to be cops!

That is a cop!

He was facing the hillside, rifle shouldered, eye to the huge scope of his rifle.

The third bullet slammed a bar of hot wind against the side of Jody's head, the top of her ear.

Then her father's body blocked her view of everything. He clutched her, lifted her, swung her. A strange growling sound came from him. Then a grunt as he crashed through the screen door.

Inside the kitchen, he didn't stop, but dashed with Jody through the dining room and into the hallway as if his goal was to get her into the very center of the house where there would be the maximum number of walls between her and the world outside.

There, he pushed her away from him and lifted her up in front of him. Checking her back? Then he lowered her to the floor. He eased her down on her back, and knelt beside her.

They were both making gaspy, whimpery noises.

Jody couldn't catch her breath.

What if I'm dying?

She knew she'd been hit at least once. High on the leg. The wound hurt, burned. But maybe she'd been hit worse, and just didn't know it yet because it was a very bad hit, so bad it was numb. So bad it would kill her.

She pushed her elbows against the carpet and raised her head. Just as she did that, Dad yanked her shorts down.

She saw no blood on the front of her blouse.

But her right leg, now minus shorts, was a b.l.o.o.d.y mess a few inches below the crotch of her panties.

"Oh, my G.o.d," she said.

"It's all right," Dad muttered. He folded her shorts to make a pad, and pressed the pad to the side of her thigh. After holding it there for a moment, he lifted it away and bent lower. He let out a soft whistle.

"How bad?"

He shook his head. "It d.a.m.n near missed you."

"It didn't miss me, Dad! Look at all the blood!"

From somewhere out of sight beyond Jody's head came sounds of quick, heavy footfalls. Dad dropped the shorts, s.n.a.t.c.hed the Browning out of his shoulder holster and leveled it down the hallway.

"Sergeant Fargo?" A woman's voice. It sounded forceful, but calm. "I'm Officer Miles. Was she hit?"

"Nicked by a ricochet."

"How about you!"

"Nothing touched me."

"We've got units going up to look for the shooter."

Miles sank to a crouch. Her hand went directly to Jody's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "How you doing there, champ?"

"Not great." Miles was younger than Jody had expected from the sound of her voice, and prettier.

"You don't look too bad for a young lady who's just been shot up."

She winced as Dad mopped the wound.

"It's not much more than a scratch," he said.

Miles looked, and nodded. She turned her eyes to Jody's face. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Almost everywhere."

Miles curled up a comer of her mouth in a way that reminded her of Dad's usual smirk. "I'm mostly interested in tonight's installment on your injuries."

Braced up on her elbows, Jody inspected herself. Blood from the wound on her thigh had dribbled down the side of her leg, painted red streaks on the backs of a few small bandages, and soaked the top of her sock. Her other leg looked fine except for its a.s.sortment of sc.r.a.pes, bruises, scratches and bandages.

Above the waistband of her panties, her blouse hung open almost to her chest. She supposed the b.u.t.tons must've come undone when Dad grabbed her and hauled her into the house. The open area of the blouse showed more bandages than skin.

For a moment, her gaze stayed on the patch of gauze between her navel and the top of her panties. That was where the spear had poked her last night. The spear that had gone through Evelyn first.

She grimaced.

It's not over. Still not over. Maybe it won't be over till they get me. Me and Andy. Not till we're as dead as Evelyn.

"What is it?" Dad asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about Evelyn."

Dad shook his head. "Yeah," he muttered. "It's tough."

"Just the single wound?" Miles asked, then added, "For tonight ?"

"Yeah. I think so."

Miles c.o.c.ked her head slightly. Her light brown hair was even shorter than Jody's, probably shorter than the hair of half the men on the force. She had a small, puffy scar under her chin. "What do you say, Sergeant? Should we bring in an ambulance?"

Jody grimaced. "It'd take me back to the emergency room, wouldn't it?"

From the look on her father's face, she knew the answer.

"I don't want to go. Please. I'm not hurt that bad. You said it's only a scratch. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay here."

To Miles, Dad said, "I'm sure she's at least got a mild case of shock. h.e.l.l, so have I, and I wasn't shot."