Rae had been brought up by her grandmother after the early deaths of her parents, and the grandmother, by her own admission, hadn't relished the responsibility.
I said, 'Do you realize that's one of the first times I've heard you refer to your ex without 'the asshole' appended to his name?'
'Yeah, well, maybe I'm growing up.' There was a
Hank entered, looking drawn and weary. He glanced at Rae's hair and said, 'Jesus, you look like you're wearing a greasy fright wig.'
'Perhaps, but tomorrow I will have sleek auburn tresses. And you will still look like you're wearing a used Brillo pad.'
That coaxed a smile out of him.
I grabbed the popcorn bowl and stood. 'Let's go.'
Rae got up, too, and removed the bowl from my hands. 'I'll take that. I want to check and see if there're any good late movies on the tube.'
Together we trooped down two flights of stairs. Ralph and Alice followed, taking an occasional tumble, refreshed for another attempt at ripping the place to shreds. In the hallway Rae said good night and herded them toward the kitchen.
Hank already had his coat on. I collected my bag and jacket from Rae's office. When I came out, he was standing by the door. I said, 'Wait a minute,' and took out the.38.
Hank's eyes moved to it, and he swallowed. The possibility that the sniper might wait outside was tangible to him now. I asked, 'Are you sure you wouldn't rather just stay here tonight?'
'… Can't. This case I'm trying is important. I've got to get some sleep.'
'All right, then. Stay put while I take a look around.'
I opened the door and went out onto the front steps, gun ready. The fog was dense and still. Through it I could barely make out hazy lights in the houses on the other side of the little park; its few shade trees and trash dumpster were deep in mist-laden darkness. I stood for over a minute, watching and listening. Nothing moved, and the only sounds that came to my ears were those of a normal late evening in a quiet neighborhood.
Finally I stepped back inside and said to Hank, 'It looks okay out there, but what we're going to do is make it obvious that there are two of us. My car's in the driveway, and the passenger door is unlocked. Don't hesitate or look around, just get in and slouch down. We'll drive to your place and pull right into the garage.'
'What about my car?'
'We'll just leave it here. I'll pick you up in the morning so you can get it before you have to be in court. Hopefully this'll be cleared up by tomorrow night.' I opened the door again and stepped back onto the porch.
Hank hesitated a few beats before he joined me. Behind him I saw Rae watching us, backlit against the kitchen door.
Outside, everything was as still as before. I scrutinized the park once more. Hank closed the door behind us. I started down the steps, putting my body in front of his. But for some reason he moved to my left. 'Hey!-'
And then the branches of a tree at the edge of the park moved. Rippled, even though there was no breeze. I moved back in front of Hank, yelling at him to get down.
There was a whine. The pillar next to me splintered. A wood fragment grazed my cheek as I heard the gunshot.
Hank froze.
I hit him with the full weight of my body. Knocked him against the far railing.
Another whine. Another report. Hank grunted and tumbled down the steps.
I slid after him. Flattened my body on the pavement. No more shots. Nothing.
I moved my hand toward Hank. Touched something warm and wet. Brought my fingers up in front of my eyes. Blood.
I raised my head to stare at him. He lay very still, and the pavement around us was already staining red.
Nineteen
Frantically I felt Hank's neck for a pulse. It was there-weak and erratic.
Someone at the top of the steps shouted something about calling 911. Then Rae was kneeling beside me, grasping my arm. 'Oh, Jesus-is he alive?'
'Yes-barely.' I shook off her hand and stood, scanning the park. A figure was running uphill from its apex, barely visible in the thick mist.
The bastard had waited to make sure he'd hit Hank!
Rage welled up in me-cold, controlled, purposeful. I glanced at Hank, saw Jack and Larry were with him now. Doing more for him than I could. Doing more than I had. I felt as if I were viewing the scene through a polished pane of glass-one I wanted to smash into jagged, glittering shards.
I gripped my gun so hard my fingers hurt. Then I began running uphill, too, just as the sniper disappeared into the mist.
The sidewalk was uneven and steeply canted. I stumbled and banged into a car that was parked across it. A couple who were cautiously descending toward the commotion at All Souls saw my face, then my gun, and gave me a wide berth. I ran to the top of the grassy triangle, where I'd last spotted the fleeing figure.
Higher up, the fog was even thicker. It dimmed what lights were on in the surrounding houses, made the familiar terrain alien, confusing. I stopped to get my bearings.
Several narrow streets converged at the top of the park, then fanned off in different directions. He could have strolled down any of them like an ordinary pedestrian, perhaps intending to return as a bystander to the chaotic scene below. The thought heightened my rage, which was already burning dangerously high-directed outward at the sniper, but also inward at myself for failing to protect Hank. I hesitated, damping it down, peering through the shifting grayness.
Diagonally from where I stood was one of those little wooded areas that dot Bernal Heights-a mere strip of land covered with fir trees. I studied it, then moved slowly across the intersection, gun raised.
A tall figure darted from the trees' dark shelter. I shouted for him to stop. Would have fired, but then he vanished again. Lights flashed on in a nearby house; their rays showed him fleeing uphill, on the steepest section of Coso Avenue. I went after him.
The man-he ran like one-took the steps that were cut into the sloping sidewalk three at a time. I raced along on the pavement beside them. I could hear his gasping, wheezing breath now. His feet slapped the concrete in counterpoint to mine. From behind me came excited voices and distant sirens.
He overshot the intersection with Prospect Avenue and kept climbing. Beyond the iron railing bordering the steps were houses; across Coso was a long lot enclosed in a high wooden fence and then a cliff face-some fifty or sixty feet of sheer rock. He kept on climbing the steps, but then two figures appeared at the top of the hill, their outlines blurred by the fog. Their voices carried-young, strong, male. I yelled for them to stop the running man.
He whirled. Hesitated for only an instant, then darted across the street. Looked from side to side, then disappeared into a two-or three-foot gap between the high fence and the cliff face. The young men whirled, too-and vanished over the hill.
I sprinted across Coso. Stopped and flattened my body against the fence next to the opening. My breath came hard; blood roared in my ears. I tried to listen, but could hear nothing from the gap behind the fence.
A trap? Was he aiming his gun at the opening?
After a moment I inched along and peered down there. The fog was trapped in the narrow pocket-waist-high and thick as smoke from a brush fire. It moved sinuously away from me and trailed off into the darkness.
I still could hear nothing, not even a telltale pant or wheeze. Finally I slipped around the corner, staying flat against the fence. The ground was rocky and uneven; I tested it carefully with my foot before I took each step. Ahead was total blackness. It was as if I were entering a tunnel that had no end.
