swollen lips. It was imperative that he buy the Falcon this afternoon so he would have a chance to clean it before Saturday.
Jimmy heard a car approaching. He stood, hoping it was Mr. Dunbar. Then the blue Blazer emerged from the shadows of the trees that overhung the street, and Jimmy sat back down. The Blazer was Officer Johnston's new cop car. It was a four-wheel-drive enclosed truck with a siren, red-white-and- blue roof lights, knobby tires, a public-address system, a searchlight, a shotgun, and black windows all the way around. Just why the town had bought it was a mystery. In eleven years, Johnston had never done any police work beyond setting speed traps and harassing parked teenagers. He sure didn't need a brand-new truck for that.
The Blazer slowed. The driver's-side window slid down, and Officer Johnston leaned out. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses. His veined nose seemed to throb. A burning cigarette hung from his lower lip.
'Who's that on the porch?' Johnston demanded. The Blazer came to a stop at the mouth of the Dunbars' driveway.
Jimmy stood. 'Jimmy Blackburn, sir.'
Johnston frowned. 'Oh, yeah. Mr. Firecracker.' Three years ago he had hauled Jimmy, Ernie, and two other boys to City Hall for throwing firecrackers into trash cans. 'What you doin' on the Dunbars' porch?'
Jimmy nodded at the Falcon. 'I'm going to buy that car, sir, but nobody's home yet.'
'Uh-huh.' Johnston took the cigarette from his mouth and spat. 'I get any complaints from Mr. Dunbar, I'll know who to look up.'
'Don't worry, sir.'
'I ain't the one needs advice, Mr. Firecracker,' Johnston said. 'You watch yourself.' The tinted window slid up, and the Blazer moved on.
'Asshole,' Jimmy muttered. He was careful not to let his lips move. Johnston was known to keep an eye on people in his rearview mirror and come back if they cussed him.
When the Blazer was gone, Jimmy gazed at the Falcon and imagined himself in the front seat with Mary Carol snuggled up beside him. He doubted that she was much of a snuggler, but he could imagine it. He could imagine almost anything.
A squirrel appeared on the Falcon's roof. It seemed to have materialized from the air. Its tail fluffed, and it deposited a brown pellet on the black paint.
'Hey!' Jimmy yelled. 'Not on the car!'
The squirred chittered and deposited another turd.
Jimmy stepped off the porch and started across the yard, but stopped when a blob of gray fur shot past him. It rushed to the Falcon and leaped up, slamming against the left rear door. It fell to the ground and leaped up again, barking. It was the filthiest dog Jimmy had ever seen. It leaped at the squirrel over and over again. The squirrel dashed about the roof looking for an escape.
Jimmy watched, considering. He felt a little sorry for the squirrel, but sorrier for the dog. Even though its fur was thick and shaggy, its ribs showed. It couldn't belong to the Dunbars; it had to be a stray that had stopped to rest in the cool dirt under their porch. It was so hungry that it was crazed. Jimmy went into the yard and looked for a rock to throw. Maybe he could knock the squirrel to the ground, and the dog would have time to be on it.
He found a half-buried chunk of brick. He kicked it loose and picked it up, but as he cocked his arm to throw, the squirrel jumped to the Falcon's hood and from there to the ground. It started for a cedar, but the dog cut it off. The squirrel zigzagged and fled toward the Nazarene church. The dog charged after it.
Jimmy threw the chunk of brick, hoping to at least slow the squirrel down. He missed and hit the dog. The dog flinched but didn't slow. Jimmy was angry at himself then, and impressed with the dog's determination. He swore that the dog would dine on squirrel meat before evening.
The squirrel crossed into the churchyard and ran up the church's concrete steps toward the white double doors. Then it disappeared. The dog leaped up the steps and ran headlong into the left double door. There was a loud bang and a rattle. The dog fell back, then leaped up again. It clawed at the door and barked.
Jimmy crossed into the churchyard and climbed the steps. He saw that the left door's bottom right corner was chipped and ground down, making a small hole. The squirrel had escaped into the church.
The dog moved aside as Jimmy reached the top step, but continued to bark. Jimmy knocked on the right double door. He didn't know if the Nazarenes would be home on a Wednesday afternoon, but it was worth a try. He knocked hard so he would be heard over the dog, and the door swung inward. The dog stopped barking and ran inside.
Jimmy pushed the door open wider. 'Hello?' he called. 'You have a squirrel loose in the church!'
No one answered, so Jimmy entered and went through the vestibule into the sanctuary. There were no windows, and the place was dark and cool. It reeked of Pine-Sol. Even with a shaft of afternoon light stabbing through the open doorway, Jimmy couldn't see anything clearly. He heard the dog's toenails clicking somewhere ahead, but that was all.
He looked back into the vestibule for light switches and saw none, so he ran his hands over the paneled sanctuary walls on either side of the vestibule. There were no light switches here either. Maybe they were up front near the pulpit. He stepped away from the vestibule and walked straight ahead, up what he guessed was the center aisle. He was beginning to see long shadows that must be pews.
The dog's toenail clicks stopped, so Jimmy stood still and listened. There was a growl and then a squeal, followed by rattles and clangs. Then the toenail clicks returned. Jimmy felt the dog's furry body brush against his jeans. He turned back toward the vestibule and saw the dog trot into the sunshine. It was carrying a limp squirrel.
Jimmy clapped and whistled. He watched the dog start down the concrete steps, its tail wagging.
Then a loud
Jimmy stared at the dog's rump. He couldn't see its front half. He couldn't see the squirrel. The dog's rump didn't move. Its tail didn't wag.
Officer Johnston stepped into the rectangle of light and looked down at the dog. He was dressed in brown, with a black belt and boots. He was wearing his mirrored sunglasses. He was hatless, his thinning hair slicked back with grease. He held his big blue pistol in his right hand. He cocked it with his thumb and pointed it at the dog.
'Trespasser,' he said.
Johnston prodded the dog with a boot. The dog's rump slid off the landing, leaving only a little blood. Johnston looked into the church, and Jimmy felt the cop's mirrored eyes probing.
'That must be you in there, Mr. Firecracker,' Johnston said. 'Come on out.'
From the moment of the gunshot, Jimmy had been numb. Now, in the glare of the twin mirrors, the numbness burned off like frost before a flame. He hated the cop more than Satan hated God. He would not obey that bastard. Johnston wasn't his old man. Johnston wasn't shit.
Jimmy crouched and moved to his right, groping for a pew. He would get underneath and crawl toward the vestibule. Then he would wait until Johnston came well into the sanctuary, and dash out. If he was quiet and quick, Johnston wouldn't see him. There would be no way to prove who had been inside the church with the dog.
Johnston came inside. Jimmy hurried to get under a pew and banged into metal.
There were no pews. There were metal folding chairs instead. There was no way to hide under them and crawl to the door. The Nazarenes were a cheap-ass denomination.
