“You don’t need the shotgun.”
“Which probably mean I do.”
She opened the closet and took a red and blue flannel shirt off a hanger, draping it over the jeans.
DeJuan said, “What up? What you really doing?”
Kate said, “What’s it look like?”
“Getting feisty, huh? Givin’ DeJuan attitude. What it look like-look like you tryin’ to sneak out, get away. That what you doing?”
“Why don’t you go back down?” Kate said. “I’ll meet you in a few minutes. I’ve got to get something in my room, go to the ladies.”
She walked past him now, out of the room, carrying Luke’s clothes. He followed her down the hall to her room. He got on the king-size bed, leaned back against the headboard, pillows propped under him, laid the shotgun on the comforter.
She went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and took out a brown cable-knit sweater she bought at Nordstrom, remembering the price-$180 marked down three times to $22. She opened her underwear drawer-not knowing what he could see-and gripped the Smith and Wesson. 357 Airweight, bringing it out of the drawer, hiding it in the pile of clothes between her sweater and Luke’s shirt.
DeJuan said, “Now this the kind of bed I like-extra firm.”
She closed the drawer and glanced over her shoulder, saw him grin at her and grab his crotch.
“Yo, girlfriend, I got something else over here extra firm.” He patted the bed next to him. “Got something special for you-never seen nothing like this.”
She started moving across the room toward the door.
He slid off the bed, leaving the shotgun where it was and caught her before she got to the door. Stood in front of her, acting like he thought she was interested.
She gripped the handle of the Airweight under the clothes and said, “Let’s see what you’re so proud of.” Wanting to pull the trigger, get it over with, but knowing she couldn’t. It was too risky with Luke downstairs.
DeJuan dropped his pants to his ankles standing there posing-his thing hanging out-a sly grin on his face.
Kate said, “That’s all you got?” She stepped past him and he tried to grab her, tripped over his pants and fell on the floor. She ran along the upstairs hall and went down the stairs. Celeste met her at the bottom, pointing the Ruger at her chest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said and slapped her across the face with an open hand.
Kate had her finger on the trigger. Jack was still in the same chair like he was paralyzed. She didn’t see Luke, and that was what kept her from making a move. Don’t be dumb, she told herself.
“Put it on the floor,” Celeste said. “Let’s see what you’ve got there.”
Kate bent down and placed the clothes on the rug.
Celeste shuffled through the pile and the Airweight fell out. Celeste picked it up and aimed it at Kate as DeJuan appeared at the top of the stairs and said, “Yo, we got company.”
Teddy came in the room now, pulling Luke by his shirt collar, and said, “Cop just pulled in. Sheriff ’s deputy.”
Celeste said, “How many?”
“Looks like just one,” Teddy said. He glanced at Celeste. “Stay here and watch ’em.”
“You stay here,” she said. “I’m gonna take care of this one. It’s my turn.”
TWENTY — SIX
Celeste watched him get out of the car with the shotgun. He was wearing his two-tone uniform and a brown baseball cap with a gold star on the front. He took his hat off and rubbed his brush cut. He looked around and went to the front windows and looked in.
Now he walked along the west side of the cabin. Staring at the tire tracks in the grass, following them, then stopping, looking through a side window into the main room. He held a shotgun in his hands, looking alert, and came to the far edge of the cabin almost in the backyard.
Celeste came around the corner and met him. She said, “What’s up, Officer? Remember me?”
He aimed the shotgun at her. She could tell he was nervous. He looked left toward the woods, turned and looked behind him.
He said, “Mrs. McCall here?”
“She’s inside,” Celeste said. “Want me to get her?”
“You look familiar,” the deputy said.
Celeste said, “Would you mind pointing that scattergun somewhere else? It makes me nervous.”
He aimed the shotgun barrel at the ground.
“What’s the problem, Officer?” She had the Ruger tucked in the waistband of her jeans, could feel it pressing against one of her butt cheeks. “You expecting trouble?”
The deputy stared at her.
Celeste said, “Carrying a shotgun and wearing a vest?” She could see the impression of it puffing out his shirt.
“Don’t leave home without it,” the deputy said.
“That’s clever,” she said. “Ever considered a career in advertising?”
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s why I became a cop.”
He grinned, showing he was a fun guy.
She saw DeJuan appear, coming around the south side of the cabin, moving toward the deputy, leveling his twelve-gauge.
“You aren’t by chance an Aryan, are you?”
DeJuan was getting closer-thirty feet away now.
“My parents were committed, but I never bought it myself,” the deputy said. “Why do you ask?”
“I had a feeling,” she said. “I don’t know.” But she did. It was the muscles and the brush cut and the blue eyes. He looked like one of Richard Butler’s Ayran Warriors. “How do you feel about blacks?”
DeJuan was closing in-twenty feet now.
“I don’t dislike anyone ’less they give me a reason,” he said.
“How about city jigs with shotguns, who want to do you great bodily harm?”
“I’d take issue with that,” he said.
“ ’Cause there’s one behind you right now.”
The deputy turned like she knew he would and brought the shotgun up, but he was too late. DeJuan fired. Boom. The first blast hit him in the chest, blowing the shotgun out of his hands, sending him backpedaling.
DeJuan racked the twelve-gauge, moving toward him. The second blast hit him in the head and he went down, body twitching. Celeste pulled the Ruger from her waistband and shot him twice and he lay still.
Celeste said, “Think he told dispatch where he was going?”
DeJuan said, “Why you asking me?”
Teddy appeared now, walking up behind her, and looked at the deputy. “O death, O death, won’t you spare me over for another year,” he said in a singsong voice. “I guess not.” He glanced at her. “I’m death, I come to take the soul. Leave the body and leave it cold.”
Celeste said, “What the hell’s that?”
“Them’s words from a song my uncle used to sing when somebody passed away.”
“This motherfucker didn’t pass away,” DeJuan said. “He blown away.”
“Where they at?” Celeste said.
“Locked up tighter than a jaybird’s ass,” Teddy said.
“How about Jack?”
“Dumbass setting there in his bracelets,” Teddy said, “tryin’ to figure out what the hell happened.”
Teddy picked up the deputy’s shotgun, which was now pocked with buckshot, the pump lever hanging from
