Some of the passengers must have already caught on to what was happening. Joe saw them trying to duck below the train's windows or hovering at the edge of the doorways.
'But this is my stop!' one woman-passenger was saying.
Joe glanced at the train, where one car down a thin, blond woman in her mid-forties was emerging through the doorway. She had a cell phone to her ear and was oblivious to everything that was going on around her.
'Get back!' Joe yelled at her.
She just gaped at him.
Suddenly, two more shots were fired, the second one hitting the concrete platform, causing a little explosion just inches from the blond woman's feet. Shrieking, she dropped the phone. But she just stood there, waving her hands around her head. Another blast resounded, just missing the woman again. With a spark, the bullet ricocheted off the train wheel.
'Shit,' Joe muttered, slipping his cell phone into his pocket. He jumped out from behind the trash can and hurried toward the woman. All at once, several blasts rang out and a hail of bullets soared past him. He grabbed the woman, who struggled and screamed as he dragged her toward the brick partition. A few other people were huddled there, including the two guys who looked like gang members.
Joe heard more shots--until they finally dove for cover behind the partition.
Then nothing.
The El doors shut, and with a groan, the train started to pull out of the station.
Joe kept waiting for the next shots. He wondered if the sniper was reloading. People stayed frozen in their hiding places. A few women were crying.
Joe realized the sniper had been aiming at him specifically. He'd been shooting at the blond woman just to draw him out. It was as if the gunman knew he'd feel compelled to save her.
He took the cell phone out of his pocket. 'Sydney? Are you still there?'
'Joe? Are you all right?' Her voice was still breaking in and out.
'Yeah,' he said, catching his breath. He touched his cheek and saw blood on his fingertips. 'I don't think anyone's hurt. You better get off the line. I need to call for backup.'
'But Dad's okay?' Eli said into the phone.
He sat at his uncle's green-tiled kitchen counter with the cordless in his hand. His uncle had coffee brewing, and the aroma filled the house. Kyle set a box of Rice Krispies and a cereal bowl in front of Eli.
'Yes, Eli, he's fine, thank God,' his mother assured him on the other end of the line. 'He just got a scratch on his cheek. He'll probably call you tonight.'
'But they didn't catch the guy--this sniper?'
'No, unfortunately they didn't,' his mother replied. 'They're saying it was a gang-related shooting. A couple of gang members were on the platform with Dad.'
'Did you get a chance to see him?' Eli asked anxiously.
'Not this morning, but we saw each other last night.'
'Are you guys getting back together? Are we moving back home?'
'We'll talk about it when I see you tonight, okay?'
'Can't you at least give me an idea what's gonna happen?' he pleaded. 'Please?'
'Well, if we do move back, it wouldn't be for a few more weeks,' she said. 'Now, that's all I'm going to say. I have to finish up editing here, honey. I love you, and I'll see you tonight. Could you put Uncle Kyle on the line?'
'Love you too, Mom,' he muttered. Then he handed the cordless phone to his uncle.
'Thanks, sport,' he said. 'There's Hawaiian Punch in the refrigerator, and bananas in the bowl over there. Knock yourself out.' With the phone to his ear, he wandered out of the kitchen. 'Hey again, Syd...'
Eli grabbed the milk and the punch out of the refrigerator, then sat down and started eating his Rice Krispies. He wasn't happy with the news that it might be a few more weeks before he could have his old life back. And there was no guarantee it would even happen. His dad was getting shot at, and here he was, thousands of miles away. He couldn't really be sure his mom was telling him the whole story either.
His uncle had gone upstairs with the cordless phone. Eli could barely hear him now. He realized his uncle was whispering.
Putting down his spoon, Eli left his cereal half-eaten and slipped off the counter stool. He crept to the bottom of the stairs and listened. 'No, Dan didn't call me,' his uncle was saying. 'But maybe he's just playing it cool.... What do you mean?' There was a long pause. 'So basically you're saying Dan is this psycho killer. Well, then you're insinuating it. He took off when you did, because he had a family emergency--in Portland. He isn't in Chicago, Syd. Y'know, this really pisses me off. This is the first nice guy to show some interest in me in like a year, and you're making him out to be a psycho.'
Biting his lip, Eli kept perfectly still at the foot of the stairs.
'You're a fine one to make character assessments,' his uncle was saying. 'Shit, after what Joe did to you, you should be consulting a divorce attorney instead of still pining after him. What about
Eli couldn't believe what he was hearing.
'Well, you started it with all these questions about Dan,' his uncle was whispering. 'And I really like this guy. I swear--it's as if I'm not allowed to have a personal life while you're here. I didn't mind putting you guys up for a few weeks. And I don't mind looking after Eli. He's a great kid. But I'm kind of tired of being a babysitter here. I mean, when you called me yesterday morning, you practically acted like it didn't matter that I had a brunch date. I was supposed to drop everything and look after your son so you could cover your news story...'
Eli winced. His uncle's words stung. He'd had no idea he was such an imposition. His mom had dumped him on his uncle, who didn't want him here. He glanced over at his half-finished bowl of cereal--and then at the front door.
'Forget it,' his uncle was saying. 'I'm sorry, Syd. Here I am, worried about you and I'm screaming at you. I'm just edgy and pissed off, probably because Dan didn't call. My luck, you're right. He probably is a psycho...'
Eli felt inside the pockets of his cargo shorts for money and his house keys. He could no longer hear his uncle's voice as he crept to the door. Slipping outside, he quietly closed the door behind him and started up the street.
Eli wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but he didn't want to stay where he wasn't wanted.
The phone was ringing when he stepped inside the apartment. Eli let the machine pick it up. As he looked around the living room, he could hear the recording start on the machine in the kitchen.
Eli had taken the Number 11 bus back here. He'd been so depressed and disillusioned that he hadn't thought to look around at the other passengers for the man with the weird eye. He'd only remembered at the last minute before getting off at his stop. Eli hadn't seen him on the bus, and he hadn't seen him near the apartment complex either. It was odd, but Eli wasn't scared of him anymore.
He wondered what awful thing had happened between his mom and dad. The way his uncle had been talking, it had sounded as if his dad was a murder suspect or something. It didn't make any sense.
He tried to call his dad's cell, but it was busy. Taking a fruit roll-up out of the cabinet, he wandered into the dining room. He glanced over at the built-in breakfront, and his eyes strayed down to that bottom drawer. On Saturday, his mom had hidden his dad's letter in that drawer. Eli wondered if it was still there.
He quickly stuffed the roll-up in his mouth and opened the breakfront's bottom drawer. He rifled through old bills, receipts, instructions, and warranties. 'C'mon, where is it?' he said, his mouth still full. There was something in that letter his mom didn't want him to see.
'Goddamn it!' he yelled. In his frustration, he yanked the whole drawer out and dumped its contents on the floor. He shuffled through all the papers, but still didn't see that envelope with his dad's handwriting on it. Had his mom thrown it out?
