Rogowski did the same. O’Bannon slid forward and kicked the door open. The night air whooshed in.
The two detectives slipped out into the rear parking lot. O’Bannon looked around and saw no one. There were faint traces of soot on the asphalt, but no way to determine which way the intruder went.
They swept the lot and found no one. O’Bannon holstered his weapon. Rogowski did the same.
“Why would someone make off with a body?” Rogowski said.
“Sick people around.”
“You don’t think-“ Rogowski said.
“That he got up and walked out?”
“Maybe the fire didn’t kill him.”
“I think I want to go home and finish my pizza. And tell the good doctor to lock his doors when he’s here at night.”
Ten
Chris was finishing stocking the last of the Coca Cola in the cooler. It was almost ten o’clock, close to quitting. He still had to sweep the floor before he could leave.
Mr. Shaw, the manager, stood behind the counter. He watched Chris over his rimless glasses, which were forever on his nose. “You can head out after that, Chris. Sweep in the morning.”
“You sure?”
“Sure as shit. Don’t worry about it tonight.”
Chris finished putting the two liter bottles in the cooler, picked up the plastic trays they came in, and took them to the stock room. He stacked them against the wall. The vendor would come pick them up this week.
He clocked out and grabbed his backpack. As he passed Mr. Shaw, he said goodnight.
“Hey,” Mr. Shaw said as Chris was almost out the door.
“What’s up Mr. Shaw?”
“Call me Mike, I told you that. You got a ride?”
“My dad’s pulling up now.”
“Good. Things happening around town. You shouldn’t be walking alone.”
“Thanks Mike. G’night.”
His dad pulled up in the Tundra, the headlights spearing Chris in the eyes. He climbed in the truck. Dad was wearing his work pants and a white t-shirt.
“Shaw let you go a little early?” Dad said.
“Yeah. Said I could sweep up in the morning.”
That got a nod of appreciation from his dad.
Dad backed the truck out and pulled onto the road. They drove in silence until they got near the old Harwell place. He was staring out the window when his dad muttered, “Fuck. Hang on.”
The tires squealed and Dad threw an arm bar across Chris’ chest to keep him from going forward. Chris looked out and saw a hooded man standing in the road, not five feet from the truck’s grill.
Dad rolled down his window, stuck his head out, and said: “You fucking numbnuts!"I almost hit you!”
“Dad, I think-“
“Quiet, Chris. Are you gonna move?”
The man had a can of something in his hand. He flicked his wrist and splashed something all over the truck’s hood. That put his father into nuke mode. He started to get out of the car. Chris grabbed his belt to try and stop him. “Dad, what if that’s the killer?”
“Killer or no killer, I don’t give a shit.”
Chris’s fingers ached. He held the belt. Dad was dragging him across the seats, halfway out the door.
The guy was at the driver’s side door and Chris saw him whip out a knife from his belt. This time, Chris let go of his dad’s belt. Dad gave a grunt and doubled over. The guy pulled back and ran. His dad slumped on the ground against the side of the truck.
Chris hopped out and went to dad. Blood spread across his white t-shirt. His face was twisted into a look of agony. Chris knelt down and looked at the wound. There was a purplish gash in his stomach.
“Bastard got me good. Hurts.”
“I’m calling for help,” Chris said, and took out his cell. He dialed nine-one-one and when the dispatcher came on, he had to take a deep breath to calm himself and get the words out. He managed to tell the dispatcher that his dad had been stabbed. Then he relayed their location.
The dispatcher kept him on the phone, instructing him to keep pressure on the wound with something. He found a few clean rags in the back of the Tundra and pressed them on Dad’s belly. That made Dad howl and he felt terrible doing it.
It seemed like a half hour before the ambulance pulled up, but in reality it was only minutes.
“Hang on Dad.”
“I’m trying kid.”
Dad was whisked up to surgery. They didn’t tell Chris much and he was alone in the surgical waiting room, save for a red-haired nurse at the desk. A television played a Seinfeld rerun. The laugh track was getting on his nerves.
He went to the desk. The nurse looked up and smiled.
“Are there any updates on my dad?”
“Peters, right?” the nurse said. Her nametag identified her as Ashley.
“That’s right.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. Do you want anything? We have water and juice.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She stood up. “Let me see what I can find out.”
She left the waiting room, red hair bouncing in a ponytail as she went. She was maybe five years older than him and he wondered for a moment what it might be like to kiss those pretty, red lips.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. Hope’s picture came up on the phone.
Chris answered.
“Can you come over?”
He could hear the panic in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
“The police are here. Someone broke in and painted a bloody symbol on the wall.”
She was on the verge of tears.
“Okay, slow down. I’m at the hospital right now.”
“Hospital? Are you hurt?”
“My dad’s been stabbed. Some guy walked out in front of our truck.”
“Omigod, Chris, is he okay?”
“He’s in surgery. The nurse is getting me an update,” Chris said. “He got stabbed
