“ What happened to your face?” Harrison asked.
“ Bear.”
“ No shit?”
“ No shit,” Coffee said.
She came out of the room a few seconds later, walked up to John Coffee and kissed him on the lips, like they had been lovers. “The keys to the Corvette are on the bureau, on top of the note,” she said. Then she got in the Volvo, rolled the window down and said, “Oh yeah, one more thing, I’ve got a pair of hiking shoes behind the passenger seat, could you put them in the trunk. They’re new.” Then she followed the cop out of the parking lot.
He ran his hand along the stubble on his chin, then gingerly felt the bruises on his throat. He could understand her being done with the coward, Miles, but what was she doing nosing around him? That he couldn’t understand, but then there was a lot in this world John Coffee didn’t understand, like why the terrorists attacked the World Trade Center, why his government chose to use the attack as a vehicle to undermine the Constitution with the so called Patriot Act, why his government chose to go after Iraq when the culprits were mostly Saudi, why he seemed to get audited year after year when he’d never filed a dishonest tax return, yet certain people he knew, who were as crooked as the day is long, never came under the gun of the IRS. So in the grand scheme of things, Coffee supposed her lying to the sheriff to get him off the hook was no big deal, but still he was nothing to her.
He shook his head, it made no sense, then he went back into the room and read the note.
John Coffee
I’m sorry Miles called the police. I told him not to. You can use the Corvette till tomorrow, when I’ll want it back, all in one piece. You can deliver it to me at 108 Pine Woods Road. Tomorrow at eight. I’ll have dinner on.
See you then — Sarah
P.S. Thanks for the ride.
He folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. Then he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. The last thing he thought about, before drifting into a fitful, dreamless sleep, was that old black woman, the witch that couldn’t die.
Chapter Eleven
Arty spent the night in his clothes, as he had done the night before. He sat up and smoothed the wrinkles out of his sweatshirt. He was half asleep, but he didn’t yawn. Instead he turned his head and looked at the inviting pillow, wishing he could sleep for another hour or two, but he had to get home.
He had papers to deliver.
He smiled. Soon he would be coasting through the dark early morning, sailing papers through the mist, hearing the solid thump they made when they hit their target. Porch or driveway, Arty never missed. He preferred the porch from the middle of the street, more of a challenge. There was no satisfaction gained from an underhanded drop on driveway, no matter how fast he coasted by.
He leaned over, reached for his shoes and socks and pulled them on. He dropped his hands to his thighs, after lacing his shoes, and pushed himself up. For the first time in his young life, he felt good about himself. He felt needed. He turned and looked at the girl sleeping in the other bed. He had a friend.
He was hungry, but he’d have to wait till he got home before he could have anything to eat.
He tiptoed to the window, not wanting to wake Carolina.
“ Arty,” her voice stopped him with one leg out the window. He pulled it back inside.
“ Yeah.” He turned to face her in the dark.
“ I was thinking about what you said.”
“ You believe me, don’t you?” he whispered. He wanted to turn the lights on and look her in the eyes, but her mother was home, so they had to keep the room dark, and be as quiet as possible.
“ Yeah,” she answered. She sat up in bed. She had her arms wrapped around her ferret the way most girls her age might clutch a stuffed animal.
“ Why?” He knew the story he’d told her was like something from a scary movie.
“ Because you wouldn’t lie to me,” she shuddered and Sheila wiggled against her.
“ I will never lie to you,” he said.
“ And I’ll never lie to you,” she answered.
“ I’ve been thinking, while you were asleep, and I know what we have to do.”
“ What?”
“ We have to kill it,” he said.
“ Why us?”
“’ Cuz there is no way anyone is ever gonna believe us. We’re just a couple of kids.”
“ Maybe if we leave it alone, it’ll leave us alone.” She hugged Sheila tighter.
“ No, it’s not gonna leave us alone.” He came back from where he was standing by the window, sat on his bed and faced her.
“ What do you mean?” she said.
“ It was staring in the window the night before last and last night it was just outside the window, maybe staring in, too, only you didn’t see it. I think it’s after us.” He meant after her, but he didn’t want to scare her anymore than she was already.
“ Why?”
“ I don’t know, but we can’t not do anything. We gotta get ready. We gotta be ready.”
“ Maybe it doesn’t want to hurt us. Maybe it’s just sniffing around looking for something to eat.”
“ By your bedroom window?”
“ Maybe it was sniffing everywhere and we only saw it when it was here.”
“ Two nights in a row?”
“ Maybe it wasn’t the wolf lady the first night. Maybe it was a peeper, or a burglar, or my dad, like we thought before.”
“ Hey, I just thought of something. Maybe your dad was shooting at it and the bullets really did come in here by accident.”
“ I bet that’s it. He was trying to protect me from the werewolf.”
“ Then that means he knows it’s after you.” He didn’t say us this time, because he knew she would see through it. It was her bedroom window and it was her father’s gun. The wolf was after her and she knew it.
“ At least I know my dad’s not trying to kill me.”
“ I wish we could talk to him,” Arty said.
“ I don’t know how to get a hold of him.”
“ Then we gotta take care of the wolf lady ourselves,” he said.
“ But what if it doesn’t want to hurt anyone? Just because werewolves are bad in movies doesn’t mean this one’s bad.”
“ We still gotta be ready. We need a gun and some silver bullets. Just in case.”
“ I still got the gun, but how do we get the silver bullets? No one is gonna sell kids bullets.”
“ You’re right and I’ve been thinking about that. We’ll use shotgun shells with silver buckshot. That should work.”
“ Where are we gonna get a shotgun?”
“ My dad’s got one in the garage, and he loads his own shot. All we gotta do is find the silver and I’ll make the shells.”
“ Have you ever fired a shotgun before?”
“ No, but it can’t be too hard.”
“ You ever made the shells before?”
“ Yeah, my dad makes me do it all the time. I’m not good enough to go hunting with him, or even to touch his
