She nodded. “Yes—he’s smaller.”
“Round face, also has a mustache.”
“Yes! They just showed up at the apartment…came into the den and grabbed me. I don’t know how they got in….”
“That can wait. But here’s the plan.”
I told her that right behind Aladdin’s Castle—separated by one knee-high fence and another somewhat higher one—was a parking lot; beyond that parking lot, and another fence, Western Avenue, along which my Olds was parked, in front of the quiet clapboard houses of the residential neighborhood in Aladdin’s backyard. I would go out first—to see if I drew any fire (but I didn’t say that)—and when I signaled her, she would join me, we would duck around the side of the building, and she was to climb the fences first as I covered her with the .38.
“Got it?”
She nodded; but she seemed woozy.
“Jackie, you have to get ahold of yourself.”
She nodded again, more assuredly. Then she touched my face and looked up at me with a longing expression. “You really do care about me, don’t you?”
It sounded childish—and both absurd and slurred—yet it was so tender my heart broke, a little. She was another man’s wife…and I suspected that man had sent her here to die.
“You know I do,” I said, and I kissed her—a short, sweet kiss.
Then, .38 in hand, I ran through the barrel, and exited into the crisp, somewhat breezy night; I was on a platform that, if I followed it to some stairs, would present another round of adventures in the other wing of the castle. I would pass on that privilege.
I slowly scanned the landscape—the thickness of trees surrounding the lagoon, empty benches, the idle railroad, the empty expanse of paved midway, curving around the lagoon at left and right. The tower of the Pair-O- Chutes adjacent to the castle seemed to me an unlikely spot for a sniper—no elevator went up there, after all, only those dangling chains (whose chutes and harnesses were in storage), and I doubted my round-faced adversary was hanging up there by a chain or two, waiting to get a good shot off.
I looked at the castle’s next-door neighbor on the other side—could someone be up in one of those ferris wheel cars?
I hopped off the platform, motioning for Jackie—waiting on the other side of the barrel—to stay put. Moving as silently as possible, I stepped out into the castle’s lawn, one slow step at a time, listening for any sound that might give movement away.
Nothing.
Nothing but the wind rustling the tarps and rattling the shutters of Riverview in hibernation, the scaffolding of various roller coasters whining and creaking; and the occasional honking car horn and other late-night traffic sounds of the nearby streets.
Where was the son of a bitch? Had he heard the shot and panicked and fled? Had he positioned himself elsewhere in the park—was he roving the midway, to see if I’d enlisted backup, despite warnings to the contrary?
If he’d seen me, he’d had plenty of opportunity to take a potshot.
I turned toward the barrel—which was positioned as if at the end of one of the giant Aladdin’s sleeves—and waved at Jackie to join me, which she did. At my direction, she took the lead, as we ducked around the side of the castle, and I moved in circles, gun fanned out, trying to be ready whatever direction the shit might fly from.
We were approaching the first, shorter fence, when the shot split the night open, a gun blossoming orange from just behind the castle building, across the fence—near the damn parking lot! The bastard had anticipated my move, was waiting for me.
I caught a glimpse of him, his pale round face like a mustached moon in the night, as he ran right at us, his dark suitcoat flapping, his hat flying off, and I yanked Jackie down off the fence, onto the grass, another round blasting, the bullet flying over us as the little man charged toward us.
I took her hand and almost dragged her away from that fence, back toward the park. Our pursuer had to climb that smaller fence and that would slow him down. Then I turned back toward where he was coming, with Jackie in front of me, and without taking time to aim threw two shots in his general direction, just to give him something to think about.
Then we ran again, Jackie stumbling, but I pulled her along as we fled down the midway, cutting to the right, in front of Aladdin’s, then rounding the lagoon, heading down the midway, back toward the looming roller coaster scaffolding and the front gates.
But Jackie wasn’t making it—she seemed about to collapse, sweating, tottering, and finally I had to duck with her between two shuttered stalls, a Skee-Ball and a penny arcade, and I knelt at the mouth of the little grassy alleyway, while she leaned against the side of the stall, next to me. I was watching the midway for our pursuer, but also sneaking side glances at my fading companion.
“I’m…sorry,” she whispered, out of breath.
“Shhh,” I said, .38 poised.
“They…they gave me a fix.”
“What?”
“Be…before you got here…so they…could handle me better…didn’t want one…didn’t need one….”
I knew I should keep my eyes on that midway, but I turned to her, and she looked terrible—ghostly white, perspiration pearling her forehead, despite the breeze. “Christ, Jackie—had you already shot up?”
She nodded, swallowed, her breath heaving; she seemed dizzy, as if about to pass out.
