You're Next

Shep shifted, and the sun came across his right shoulder, striking the side of his face. He had a new scar, a twist of hard tissue beneath his ear – shattered bottle, maybe, though Mike knew that it was something they’d never talk about. Shep still kept his hair short, a little longer than a buzz, the right length to avoid foster-home head lice. He wore a V-necked undershirt, the St. Jerome pendant, rubbed faceless like an old coin, swaying on its thin silver chain. The muscles ridging the top of Shep’s chest were as distinct as those that used to frame the bottom of Mike’s a decade ago. Though Mike was still in good shape for his age, the contrast made it clear: He had softened.

That slight overlap of Shep’s front teeth – the familiarity – was comforting. It felt like home. But there were differences, too, beyond the purpled seam of scar tissue. The muscle of Shep’s neck had hardened, grown sinewy with age, and his features looked more pronounced; they had a lean, hungry intensity that was almost wolfish. Regarding him across the threshold, Mike was all too aware of the missed years.

Shep said, ‘Well?’

Mike said, ‘You got any stuff?’ ‘Nope.’

Kat’s footsteps pattered on the tile behind Mike. Shep brushed past him and crouched, bringing his head level with hers. ‘The eyes,’ he said.

‘You’re big,’ Kat said. And then, to Mike, ‘He’s big.’

‘Kat, this is Shep.’

Her hand looked tiny shaking his. Annabel came around the corner, smoothing her shirt. Her posture firmed when she saw Shep.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘The way Mike and I have been going, I need someone new to fight with.’

Shep looked at her blankly.

‘That was a joke,’ she said. ‘Except for the thanks part.’

They moved into the kitchen. With a yawn Annabel tugged the omelet pan from the rack. She looked at it wearily, set it aside on the counter, then poured coffee for the adults and cereal for Kat. ‘Eat fast, monkey. We gotta get you to school.’

‘I don’t know that I want her going today,’ Mike said.

‘You think those guys are coming after me?’ Kat’s cheeks looked hollowed out, dark fingerprints beneath her eyes. They’d filled her in on what had happened, keeping the details as vague as they could get away with. She needed to know that dangerous men were focused on them; she didn’t need to know that they’d crawled into her bedroom while she was sleeping.

‘No, honey,’ Mike said. ‘They want to mess with me. But you can’t be too safe.’

Annabel said, ‘The teachers are on alert, the playgrounds are fenced, they have three supervisors out there at all times, and frankly, it seems they’re finding it easier to break into our h-’ She caught herself and shot Kat a quick look, but Kat was busy staring at Shep. It occurred to Mike, with some regret, that Kat had never met anyone like him. ‘Plus,’ Annabel continued, ‘even sitters and relatives on the pickup list have to sign out the kids with ID. She’s probably safer at school than she is here.’

‘So it’s not safe here?’ Kat asked.

Shep sipped his coffee and stared straight ahead, playing up his deafness. He could retreat like that when strategic or convenient. Mike would bring him up to speed when the time was right, and until then all this was none of his concern.

‘You are safe,’ Mike said. ‘We will keep you safe. Your mom’s right. School’s safe, too.’

Annabel took Kat by the shoulders, steering her toward the hall. On her way out, Annabel caught sight of her textbook – Experience & Education – on the phone table and groaned. ‘I was supposed to write up a mock lesson plan for today. Dr Skolnick’s gonna be annoyed with me.’

‘We’ll get things back on track,’ Mike said.

Annabel eyed Shep, still gazing blankly forward, taking his coffee one deliberate sip at a time. ‘Promise?’ she said.

The telephone rang, and Mike crossed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and picked up.

A woman’s voice said, ‘Michael Wingate?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Dana Riverton,’ she said. ‘I knew your parents.’

Riverton hadn’t given any more information or revealed why she wanted to meet. She’d said only that she’d rather handle their business in person. Mike had picked a cafe nearby, and they’d agreed to meet at noon. Shep would watch from the shadows and follow the woman home to get an address.

Mike had asked Sheila to clear his schedule for the day, a directive that was met with passive-aggressive cheer. He’d called Hank, eager to find out who the hell had put the alert out on him and which law-enforcement agencies didn’t have him flagged. Hank was still grinding away, hitting walls everywhere he looked, the whole thing feeling more ominous by the hour. Waiting on several return calls, he swore up and down he’d phone back the minute something broke. Before hanging up, Mike had told him to also see what he could find out about a Dana Riverton.

The few hours since then, Mike had spent filling in Shep, who’d listened intently, interrupting here and there to ask highly specific questions that Mike couldn’t always answer – ‘These guys have any jailhouse ink?’ ‘Did Dodge square up on you like a boxer or a streetfighter?’ ‘Who’s the senior detective, Markovic or Elzey?’ Then he and Shep had walked the property, spending extra time at Kat’s window – ‘You need a sturdy check rail with the sash lock or you can slide in a flexible form hook and pop the latch. See the scratch marks here? They ain’t from a chicken.’

Now they sat in the family room, Shep ready at last to weigh in on the big picture. ‘Your locks suck,’ he said. ‘That Schlage in the laundry room, you could get through with a wet noodle. We’ll change the ones that need changing after we handle this Riverton broad. The side gates need padlocks. I have a friend who trains attack rottweilers in Fort Lauderdale, I can have one out in two days.’

‘An attack rottweiler? What about Kat?’

‘I’m thinking of Kat.That’s why we need an attack rottweiler. You can keep him out back.’

‘How will we-’

‘I’ll handle him.’ Shep pulled two sleek black cell phones from his pocket and set one on the coffee table in front of Mike. ‘These are only for us. Don’t use it for anything else. Let me repeat that: Don’t use it for anything else. Each is programmed with the other’s number.’

‘Can I give Annabel your number? In case…?’

‘Her and no one else. Keep this phone with you at all times. Text me if possible. I don’t like talking.’

Mike knew that the issue for Shep wasn’t talking but hearing. On the facing sofa, Mike leaned back, picked at his shoe. It was ten forty-five, his apprehension growing the closer he got to that meeting with Dana Riverton. First Dodge and William, then all of a sudden she shows up? Pretty big coincidence. Her claim that she’d known his parents had to be a manipulation; he despised himself for wondering – hoping – that maybe it was something else.

Refocusing, he plucked the Batphone from the coffee table and slid it into a pocket. Shep leaned forward, the pendant dangling, and laced his rough hands together.

The first lull since he’d arrived.

Another awkward minute crept by, and Mike asked, ‘What have you been doing?’

Shep shrugged. ‘Cracking jobs mostly, still. A lot of cash floating around Reno, ’cuz, you know, the gambling. I did a bank once, but no guns. Went through a back wall at night, covered the sound with a fake street crew jackhammering the curb out front.’ He shook his head. ‘But that was a onetime thing.’

‘I bet you’re something to watch now,’ Mike said. ‘Going at a safe.’

‘You wouldn’t believe your eyes.’ Shep leaned back, stretched his arms across the top of the couch.

Mike thought of the others. Charlie Dubronski, serving a life sentence for armed robbery. Tony Moreno, overdosed on black tar in a truck-stop bathroom. All those wrong turns, all those dead ends. And here was Mike Wingate of the Ford F-450 and the land-development deal, with his pure-of-heart wife and bright daughter. He’d been lucky as hell. Until now.

Mike said, ‘What next?’

‘Go get me your cell phone. Your real one, I mean.’

When Mike retrieved his phone, Shep clicked around, then held up the screen. The highlighted entry read A’S CELL. ‘This the one they have?’