marble.
'She was a
'Yeah,' I said. 'A kid. That's what it was about, right, Mac? Kids?'
It took MacGregor a long time to answer. 'Tuition,' he said, not to anyone, not looking at anyone. 'Books, clothes. Travel. Piano lessons, painting lessons. There had to be something for them besides this. I had to find them a way out.' He faced me suddenly, the pleading back in his eyes. His voice wavered. 'I had to, Smith. I'm their father; I had to.'
I had trouble speaking, too. 'Ginny Sanderson had a father, Mac.'
'I didn't know about her. I didn't know.'
No one spoke. We watched each other, motionless, silent. Statues, all of us, cold and separate, powerless, and alone.
Lydia, finally, broke the silence. A quick, worried glance at me; then to MacGregor, 'What do they want?' MacGregor gave her a blank, lost look. 'What?' 'They let you come up here. They're holding their fire. Why?'
He swallowed. 'Jimmy. They'll let you two leave with me. They want to talk to Jimmy.'
'Do it.' Jimmy's words came fast, but they caught in his throat.
'Talk, bullshit.' I didn't look at Jimmy, spoke to MacGregor. 'They'll kill him. Then they'll call Brinkman. Here he is, the guy who killed Wally, the guy who killed Ginny. Sorry he's dead, but it'll save the cost of a trial. Any problems, call MacGregor.' I paused, said, 'Then they'll come for Lydia and me later.'
He met my eyes, nodded slowly. 'I know that. It was all I could think of, to get Grice to let me come up here. It'll buy time.'
'What do you mean?'
'I'm not the only cop who picked up the CB call. Brinkman's on his way, but he wasn't close.'
I looked closely at him. 'You could have stayed away, then,' I said. 'You could have kept out of it, and maybe you'd have stayed smelling clean.'
'Yeah,' he said. 'But they said it was Jimmy, and he was asking for help. I had a feeling what was happening. And I'm a cop, Smith. Whatever you think.' An engine roared to life below us. 'Hey!' Lydia yelled. 'They're moving!' 'What the hell—!' MacGregor stuck his head up next to hers, dropped down again as a shot sliced the air. With a cop's instinct he reached for his gun, pawed an empty holster. He cursed, looked at me, shrugged. 'Grice has it,' he said. 'That was the deal.'
Grice's voice blared from the speaker on MacGregor's car. 'You've got thirty seconds, folks. Come down, everyone can leave but Jimmy. How about it?'
'Do it, for Chrissake!' Jimmy said again.
Lydia and I exchanged a look that MacGregor caught, and MacGregor understood it. For the first time, he grinned. 'Fuck you!' he yelled over the rock, and his words echoed in the dusty air.
'What's happening?' I asked Lydia. I struggled to sit up straighter, as though it would help me think.
'They're moving the Ford around this way. I can't get a shot.'
But they could. As the Ford's engine shut off, a barrage of gunfire from our right almost hid the sounds of someone scrabbling up the rock. Lydia whipped around, fired where she couldn't see. Sudden silence; then a shot from behind her, the side MacGregor had climbed. She answered that, too, and then the Winchester was empty and Ted's sneering face appeared behind a Luger where the first shots had come from.
He swung the barrel of the gun to Jimmy, who was frozen, pressed against the rock; but before Ted could fire, MacGregor tackled him. They fell, struggled, tumbled down the rocks out of sight. Then a shot. Then nothing.
Lydia had reloaded. Suddenly we were fired on from both sides. Lydia shot again, twice, looked at me with frightened eyes. There was nothing I could give her. She shook herself, reloaded again, and as she did, a siren screamed and tires crunched and car doors slammed and a voice I had never been glad to hear before hollered, 'Give it up, Grice! I got two more cars on the way!'
Shots screamed from our right, and two or three from ahead, near the shack. Lydia crept forward to the cleft shed been shooting from before, craned her neck. She yelled, 'Sheriff, on your left!' She stood to get an angle, fired down the face of the rock.
Then, at the whine of another shot, she jerked, lost her footing, fell hard against the rock. She didn't get up, didn't move.
'Oh, Jesus, no,' I heard myself plead. I was dimly aware of Jimmy grabbing the rifle, more shots, then silence, sudden and total. I saw nothing but Lydia's face. 'Lydia, please,' I whispered. 'Please.'
The silence ended, broken by shouting voices, slamming car doors, a confusion of smaller sounds. Through it all, Lydia's pale, still face.
'Antonelli, you bastard!' I heard Brinkman yell. 'I'm coming up there. You gonna shoot me?'
'No,' Jimmy answered, but it came out as a whisper, so he had to say it again: 'No!'
'Stand up—where I can see you!'
Jimmy did, leaning the rifle against a rock, showing the cops below his hands were empty. Grunts and curses as Brinkman hauled himself up the rock pile. He appeared from behind a boulder like Godzilla coming to crush a city.
'Well,' he drawled, with the mean little smile. 'Don't you two look like shit.'
Lydia groaned, moved her hand a little in the dirt.
'Help her!' I looked from Brinkman to Jimmy. 'Jesus, help her!'
