past was dead and gone. But in his present state of mind he allowed himself to remember a snowy winter night almost a month after his mother's death…
13
He’d been watching the fatal overpass every night, sometimes in the open, sometimes in the bushes. The January wind had frosted his face, chapped his lips, numbed his fingers and toes. Still he waited. Cars passed, people passed, time passed, but no one threw anything off.
February came. A few days after the official groundhog had supposedly seen its shadow and returned to its burrow for another six weeks of winter, it snowed. An inch lay on the ground already and at least half a dozen more predicted. Jack stood on the overpass looking at the thinning southbound traffic slushing along beneath him. He was cold, tired, and ready to call it a night.
As he turned to go he saw a figure hesitantly approaching through the snow. Continuing his turning motion, Jack bent, scooped up some wet snow, packed it into a ball, and lobbed it over the cyclone fencing to drop on a car below. After two more snowballs, he glanced again at the figure and saw it was approaching more confidently now. Jack stopped his bombardment and stared at the traffic as if waiting for the newcomer to pass. But he didn't. He stopped next to Jack.
'Whatcha putting in them?'
Jack looked at him. 'Putting in what?'
'The snowballs.'
'Get lost.'
The guy laughed. 'Hey, it's all right. Help yourself.' He held out a handful of walnut-sized rocks.
Jack sneered. 'If I wanted to throw rocks, I could sure as hell do better'n those.'
'This is just for starters.'
The newcomer, who said his name was Ed, laid his stones atop the guardrail and together they formed new snowballs with rocky cores. Then Ed showed him a spot where the fencing could be stretched out over the road to allow room for a more direct shot...a space big enough to slip a cinder block through. Jack managed to hit the tops of trucks with his rock-centered snowballs or miss completely. But Ed landed a good share of his dead center on oncoming windshields.
Jack watched his face as he threw. Not much was visible under the knitted cap pulled down to pale eyebrows, or above the navy peacoat collar turned up around his fuzzy cheeks, but a wild light flared in Ed's eyes as he threw his snowballs. And he smiled as he saw them smash against the windshields. He was getting a real thrill out of this.
That didn't mean Ed was the one who’d dropped that cinder block. He could be just another one of a million petty terrorists who got their jollies destroying or disfiguring something that belonged to someone else. But what he was doing was potentially deadly. The impact of one of his special snowballs—even if it didn't shatter the windshield—could cause a driver to swerve or slam on his brakes. And that could be lethal on the slippery asphalt.
Either that had never crossed Ed's mind, or it was what had brought him out tonight.
Could be him.
Jack fought to think clearly. Had to find out. Had to be absolutely sure.
Jack made a disgusted noise. 'Fucking waste of time. I don't think we cracked even one.' He turned to go. 'See ya.'
'Hey!' Ed said, grabbing his arm. 'I said we're just getting started.'
'This is diddley-shit.'
'Follow me. I'm a pro at this.'
Ed led him down the road to where a 280-Z was parked. He opened the trunk and pointed to an icy cinder block wedged up against the spare tire.
'You call that diddley-shit?'
It took all of Jack's will to keep from leaping on Ed and tearing out his throat with his teeth. Had to be sure. Jack’s plan left no room for error. No going back later and apologizing for making a mistake.
'I call that big trouble,' Jack managed to say. 'You'll get the heat down on you somethin' awful.'
'Naw! I dropped one these bombs last month. You shoulda seen it—perfect shot! Right in somebody's lap!'
Jack felt himself begin to shake. 'Hurt bad?'
Ed shrugged. 'Who knows? I didn't hang around to find out.' He barked a laugh. 'I just wish I coulda been there to see the look on their faces when that thing came through the windshield. Blam! Can you see it?'
'Yeah,' Jack said. 'I can see it.'
As Ed leaned over to grab the block, Jack slammed the trunk lid down on his head. Ed yelled and tried to straighten up but Jack slammed him again. And again. He kept on slamming it until Ed stopped moving. Then he ran to the bushes where twenty feet of heavy-duty rope had lain hidden for the past month.
*
'Wake up!'
Jack had tied Ed's hands behind his back. He’d cut a large opening in the cyclone wire. He now held him seated on the top rung of the guardrail over the south side of the overpass. A rope ran from Ed's ankles to the base of one of the guard rail supports. Ed's legs dangled over the southbound lanes.
Jack rubbed snow in Ed's face.
