“A rat.”
“A rat. Didn’t I tell you there was nothing to worry about?” Ron smiled and raised the shotgun.
“Hey, don’t fool around with…”
Jake Corey, hiking up the middle of the road, having called it a night and taking the easy way back to his car instead of trudging through the dark fields, heard a gunshot.
He whirled around and ran.
Aw Jesus, I shouldn’t have let them stay. I knew it I knew it was wrong I knew he was there I knew it I should’ve forced them to leave. Those goddamn idiots I warned them so what more could I do plenty that’s what I could’ve made them leave. They knew what they were doing like hell they did. Thought it couldn’t happen to them it’s always somebody else well maybe Ronnie boy blasted the bastard and not the other way around fat chance I’ll just bet one of them’s deader than cold shit maybe both of them by the time I get there can’t you goddamn it run any faster!
The restaurant was ahead of him, jarring in his vision as he sprinted for it.
Past the car.
Up the stairs three at a time, snapping open the holster and drawing his .38, still at full speed when his shoulder hit the door.
Wood splintered and burst and the door flew open.
Nobody.
He ran for the bat-wing doors.
He dove through the doors, tumbled into the kitchen, came up in a squat and took aim.
He didn’t fire.
He didn’t know what he was seeing.
The woman in the red shorts was sprawled on the floor, faceup. Faceup? She didn’t have a face. A chin, maybe.
Ron was hunched over her, his face to her belly.
No one else in the kitchen.
The cellar door stood open.
“Ron? Ron, which way did he go?”
Ron lifted his head. A bleeding patch of his wife’s flesh came with it, clamped in his teeth, stretching and tearing off. He sat up straight. He stared back at Jake. His eyes were calm. He calmly chewed. Then he reached back for the shotgun.
Jake Corey’s bullets slammed him down.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alison filled two pitchers with draft beer and carried them to a booth crowded with Sigs. Two of the guys were seniors: Bing Talbot and Rusty Sims. She’d dated Bing a few times her freshman year. She’d been in classes with him and with Rusty, and knew they were with the Sigma Chi house. The other four packed into the booth were undoubtedly also frat brothers—they had that look about them.
They’d already killed two pitchers and six Gabby-burgers. They were still working on the chili fries.
Alison set the two full pitchers down on the table.
One of the younger Sigs waved at her. “Hey, hey!” He pointed at the name stitched on her blouse above her left breast. “Wha’s ‘at say?”
“Alison,” she told him.
“Wha’ d’ya call the other one?”
“Herbie,” she answered.
He fell apart, giggling and slapping the table.
Alison started to turn away, but Bing caught her by the skirt. Stopping, she smiled down at him. “You want it? It’d look good on you.”
“Wait, wait,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her.
The others had definitely heard her. They were yucking it up, hooting and whistling over the remark.
“Wait,” Bing said again. He let go of her skirt. “What’d the waitress say when she was sitting on Pinocchio’s face?”
“Lie! Lie!”
Bing slumped. “You heard it b’fore.”
“How ‘bout joining us?” suggested a skinny guy who was squeezed between two of the huskier frat brothers.
“Not enough room.”
“You can sit on my lap.”
“No, mine!”
“Mine!”
“We’ll draw straws.”
“I’m not allowed to fraternize with the customers,” Alison said.
“Awwww.”
“Frat-ernize,” Rusty said.
“I geddit, I geddit!”
She back-stepped quickly as Bing made another grab for her skirt. “Enjoy, fellows,” she said, and turned away.
“Ah, what a lovely derriere.” The voice was wistful.
Yes, indeed, Alison thought. And it’s about time to haul that derriere out of this joint. She checked the wall clock behind the counter. Two minutes till ten.
Eileen, behind the cash register, looked up as Alison approached. “You taking off?”
“Yep.”
Eileen, who was wearing red beneath her tight uniform, glanced over at the Sigs then back at Alison. She grinned. “At last, my chance at table six.”
“Enjoy,” Alison told her. She went into the kitchen, said good night to Gabby and Thelma, and picked up her flight bag. When she came out, Eileen was already on her way to table six.
She went to the rest room, intending to change into her street clothes, but the door was locked. With a shrug, she left. She didn’t mind walking home in the uniform. At night, it didn’t seem to matter so much.
She started down the sidewalk, coins from tips jangling in her apron pocket. After a few steps, she crouched, opened her flight bag, and took out her purse. She was transferring handfuls of change from her apron to a side pocket of the purse when someone approached.
And stopped in front of her.
She recognized the beat-up, ankle-high boots.
Her heart quickened.
She looked up at Evan.
“So,” she said, “you came after all.”
“I never said I wouldn’t.”
“I guess not.” She finished emptying her apron, buckled down the purse flap, shut the purse inside her flight bag, and stood up.
“Can I carry that for you?”
“If you like.”
She handed it to him. Evan pretended it was too heavy, gasped with surprise and staggered sideways. “Whoa!
