exchanged surprised stares for the longest heartbeat in history.
'Shit!' I shouted, fumbling with the ignition key, swiveling in my seat to keep him in sight.
'Get this car moving,' Grandma yelled. 'Don't let that son of a skunk get away!' I wrenched the gearshift into drive and was about to pul out when I realized Kenny had Uturned at the intersection and was closing ground between us. There were no cars parked behind me. I saw the Suburban swerve to the curb and told Grandma to brace herself. The Suburban crashed into the back of the Buick, bouncing us forward into Morelli's car, which crashed into the car in front of him. Kenny backed the Suburban up, stepped on the gas, and rammed us again.
'Well, that takes it,' Grandma said. 'I'm too old for this kind of bouncing around. I got delicate bones at my age.' She pulled a .45 long-barrel out of her tote bag, wrenched her door open, and scrambled out onto the sidewalk. 'Guess this will show you something,' she said, aiming the gun at the Suburban. She pulled the trigger, fire flashed from the barrel, and the kick knocked her on her ass.
Kenny floored the Suburban in reverse all the way to the intersection and took off.
'Did I get him?' Grandma wanted to know.
'No,' I said, helping her to her feet.
'Did I come close?'
'Hard to say.'
She had her hand to her forehead. 'Hit myself in the head with the dang gun. Didn't expect that much of a kick.'
We walked around the cars, surveying the damage. The Buick was virtually unscathed. A scratch in the chrome on the big back bumper. No damage that I could find in the front. Morelli's car looked like an accordion. The hood and the trunk lid were crumpled, and all the lights were broken. The first car in line had been shoved a couple feet forward, but didn't look bashed. A small dent in the back bumper, which may or may not have been the result of this accident.
I looked up the street, expecting Morelli to come running, but Morelli didn't appear.
'Are you okay?' I asked Grandma Mazur.
'Sure,' Grandma said. 'I would have got that slimebal too if it wasn't for my injury. Had to shoot with one hand.'
'Where'd you get the forty-five?'
'My friend Elsie loaned it to me,' Grandma said. 'She got it at a yard sale when she lived in Washington, D.C.' She rolled her eyes up in her head. 'Am I bleeding?'
'No, but you've got a notch in your forehead. Maybe we should take you home to rest.'
'That might be a good idea,' she said. 'My knees feel sort of rubbery. Guess I'm not so tough as them television people. Shooting off guns never seems to take anything out of them.'
I got Grandma in the car and clicked the seat belt across her chest. I took one last look at the damage and wondered about liability for the first car in line. The damage was minimal to none, but I left my business card under the windshield wiper in case he discovered the dent and wanted an explanation.
I assumed I didn't have to do this for Morelli, since I'd be the first person who came to mind.
'Probably it'd be best if we don't mention anything about the gun when we get home,' I told Grandma. 'You know how Mom is about guns.'
'That's okay by me,' Grandma said. 'I'd just as leave forget the whole thing. Can't believe I missed that car. Didn't even blow out a tire.'
My mother raised her eyebrows when she saw the two of us straggle in. 'Now what?' my mother asked. She squinted at Grandma. 'What happened to your head?'
'Hit myself with a soda can,' Grandma said. 'Freak accident.' Half an hour later Morelli came knocking at the door. 'I want to see you . . . outside,' he said, hooking his hand around my arm, jerking me forward.
'It wasn't my fault,' I told him. 'Grandma and I were sitting in the Buick, minding our own business, when Kenny came up behind us and knocked us into your car.'
'You want to run that by me again?'
