his Panama hat. My heart lurched. Before I’d only had Trey to worry about in this uneven fight. Now I had another civilian to protect. The gun was so close. It would end things quickly and I might not even have to use it . . .
I checked Walt. He didn’t have his bag of seashells with him this morning but instead he carried a stainless steel insulated coffee mug. As we watched he raised the mug to his lips and drank some of the contents. When he was done he looked inquiringly at the group that surrounded Trey and me.
“Well?” he said, with a fine touch of belligerence. “Cat got your tongues?”
But he turned to the skinny kid with the bandana, who had been making out like this was the baddest part of South Central LA and he was the baddest dude in it. “Nathan, isn’t it?” Walt said, his voice slow and easy. “What are you doing out when your mother’s sick? Shouldn’t you be at home helping out with the chores?”
“No sir, um, I mean yes sir,” Nathan muttered, hanging his head. “She’s much better.” He all but scuffed his toes in the sand.
“Well, if you’ve finished fooling around with these young friends of mine,” Walt said, his gaze steady, “we’ll let you be on your way.”
It struck me then that he was like an old-time Wild West sheriff, facing down the gunslinging brat pack by the slow weight of his reputation alone. One day they might have the courage to take him on, but today was clearly not that day.
Abruptly, Nathan turned and trudged away and his gang went with him. I studied their retreat but he didn’t even dare to go for a resentful backward glance. I gradually allowed my fists to unclench, my shoulders to unlock. It was only now that I became aware of the stiff ache of my body and the dull thumping pain behind my eyes.
I turned back to Walt, who was calmly drinking more of his coffee as though completely oblivious to what might have been.
“Nathan’s not a bad kid,” he said conversationally. “Gets a little wild now and again but basically he’s OK. Harriet and I go to the same church as his mother.”
He swung his cool gaze onto me then and I struggled not to quail under it just as the skinny kid and his mates had done.
“Not sure about the new hair style, Charlie,” he remarked. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, you look like hell.”
Seventeen
Walt and Harriet’s kitchen looked exactly the same as it had the last time Trey and I had been there. More importantly, it smelled the same – of food.
The lady of the house was working furiously at the hob when Walt opened the door and ushered us inside. The smell of bacon frying on the grill hit me straight in the stomach, which immediately let out a clearly audible grumble.
“Well, somebody’s hungry,” Walt said with a smile. “Can I get you guys some coffee?”
Harriet turned then and it was relief I saw in her face. “Oh, you found them,” she said, putting down her spatula. She came forward then, all smiles, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing over her loose pinafore dress. She pulled out chairs from the table and hastily brought out extra cutlery for us. It was only as I sat down that I noticed there were already three settings.
I looked up at Walt, tense, and saw from his face that he knew right away I’d spotted the extra place.
“My nephew, Andrew,” he said calmly, by way of explanation. “He’s staying with us for a few days.”
At that moment I heard footsteps approaching across the tiled floor of the living room. A young man in a casual jacket and tie appeared round the corner of the kitchen cabinets. He was shorter than Walt, slightly more thickset than the old man but he had a sharp upright stance that usually denotes time in the military – or the police.
Even without that suspicion, his instinctive reaction confirmed my fears. He’d been holding a mobile phone up to his ear with his left hand, making, “uh-huh,” noises. As soon as he caught sight of the pair of us he jolted to a standstill and dropped the phone. His right hand snaked for the gun on his hip.
“Now hold it right there!” Walt thundered and his nephew froze automatically. I could just see the Glock 23 service pistol halfway out of its belt holster under the pushed-back hem of his jacket. If he’d ever got to finish it, it would have been one hell of a fast draw.
I had been holding my bag on my lap under the level of the table, which had a wipe-down vinyl cloth hanging over the edges that masked my hands. As soon as I’d made the guy for what he was, I’d stuck my hand inside the bag, trying to sit still and not to let the movement translate into my shoulders. I had my fingers curled round the SIG’s pistol grip and already had it clear of the bag when Walt rapped out his command. I froze, too.
“Sit down, Andrew,” Walt ordered, quieter now but carrying no less weight because of it. “I will not have gunplay in this house. You keep that piece on your hip, boy.” He turned those ferocious eyebrows in my direction. “And you, Charlie, I’ve put a whole heap of trust in you – enough to bring you into my home like this. Don’t let me down now.”
I left the SIG lying across my lap and slowly brought my hands above the level of the table, empty. Andrew let his gun drop back into its holster with obvious reluctance and picked up his phone from where it had fallen on the kitchen tiles. The leather cover the phone had on seemed to have saved it from destruction.
“Sweet Jesus, Uncle Walt,” he said then, in a slightly strangled voice. “Do you know who this is? Do you have any idea how many people we’ve got out hunting for these two?” He never took his eyes off me while he spoke.
Walt didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, let’s call a truce while we eat, shall we?” he said mildly. “There’ll be time enough to talk about this afterwards.”
It was a bizarre meal. Trey sat alongside me and ate in complete silence, his gaze fixed on his plate. Andrew took the chair opposite me, with his aunt and uncle at each end. Every time I reached for my water glass Andrew tensed slightly.
I kept my expression bland and my knees up and together so the SIG didn’t slide off onto the kitchen tiles, which I felt might have confirmed his worst suspicions. The last thing I wanted to do was give him any reasons to go against his uncle’s wishes. As it was the fingers of his right hand gave the occasional twitch, as though they were anxious enough to be considering independent action.
Nobody did much talking while we ate, although Walt was taking it all with a blithe lack of concern. He played the perfect congenial host, periodically offering juice, fresh fruit, or a plate of pancakes round the table. We accepted with a muted politeness. I knew from our past meeting just how quickly the old man could slip back into the professional skin of his former life. It made me constantly wary, expecting the worst.
In spite of the uncomfortable atmosphere, we were certainly hungry. The food had seemed plentiful in supply but was quickly consumed. It was then that Harriet pushed back her chair and stood, leaning forwards with her hands on the table.
“Walt, why don’t you take Andrew and Charlie through to the living room. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about and you’ll be more comfortable in there,” she said, her voice easy even if her body gave her away a little. “Trey, honey, how about you give me a hand to clear the table?”
I half expected Trey to kick up a stink about being excluded from the grown-ups’ discussion but to my surprise he jumped up and started stacking dirty plates together like he couldn’t wait to be out of there.
Walt and Andrew stood also. I was the last on my feet, mainly because I still had the gun resting across my thighs. The bag had slipped to the floor and as I reached down for it I managed to stuff the SIG back inside. When I straightened up I found Andrew had loosened his jacket again, just in case, and was watching me with narrowed eyes.
He had dark eyes, a little like Sean’s. At this distance it was hard to differentiate the changeover line between iris and pupil. Sean could have that vigilant and impenetrable air about him, too. It was clear that, whatever his uncle’s feelings on the subject, Andrew trusted me about as far as he could throw a small car. I suppose I couldn’t really blame him for that.
After all, so far I hadn’t had particularly good press.
