Johnston stopped just inside the sanctuary and stood straddle-legged. He raised his cocked pistol. 'Hey! Boy! Freeze!' His breath rasped. He smoked too much.
Jimmy knew that Johnston couldn't see him. Not without lights, and wearing mirrorshades. Jimmy backed up the aisle. As long as he didn't run into any more chairs, he didn't think Johnston would be able to hear him over the cop's own breathing.
Johnston came forward, fanning his pistol before him. He was looking back and forth, searching. He kept his sunglasses on. He didn't see Jimmy.
Jimmy came up against the dais at the front of the sanctuary and stepped onto it. It stood a foot off the floor and was covered with what felt like artificial turf. Jimmy glanced to his left and saw the shadow of the pulpit. He got down on all fours and crawled to hide behind it. Once there, he discovered that it was hollow. The hollow was covered with a cloth. Jimmy pushed through the cloth and crawled inside.
His left hand came down with his full weight on something soft and furry. The thing squeaked. Jimmy pulled his hand back and drew his legs into the pulpit. He sat with his knees hugged to his chest and tried to keep his breaths shallow and quiet.
The dais creaked as Johnston stepped onto it. His footsteps went toward the back wall, then stopped. Outside the pulpit, lights came on. They shone through the cloth. The cloth was white. It didn't hang all the way to the floor. Jimmy looked down and saw that the furry thing was a squirrel in a nest of shredded paper. It wasn't moving. He had crushed it. There was a bloody mess behind and beside it, and tiny pink babies. They looked dead too.
Johnston's footsteps resumed. They were loud thumps on the thin plywood. The platform groaned. The light dimmed, and the scuffed leather toes of Johnston's boots appeared below the edge of the white cloth.
'Come on out, boy,' Johnston's voice said from above. 'You're under arrest for trespassing.'
Jimmy didn't want to leave the pulpit. He looked away from Johnston's toes and stared at the dead mama squirrel and her babies instead. He smelled blood.
'You know, Mr. Firecracker,' Johnston said above, 'I don't know for a fact that it's you in there. Could be a professional church thief. Could be a convict. Nobody'd blame me if I acted in self- defense. I could put a bullet through the pulpit and nobody'd question it. Not a soul.'
Jimmy stared at the dead mama squirrel. Something was happening inside his head and chest. It knotted in his gut. Today was his birthday, and he had wanted to buy a car. Then he had tried to help a hungry dog, and the town cop had killed the dog for no reason. Now the cop wanted to kill him too. Because he was hiding in a pulpit.
'I could shoot you,' Johnston said above, 'just like I shot that damn dog.'
There it was. The dog was dead. Jimmy had tried to help it, and Dad had made him drop his pants and had switched him with the fishing rod. The dog had killed rats, and Dad had shot it. The blind man had said that Jesus would help, but Mom had left, and the dog was dead. The dog had killed a squirrel, and Johnston had shot it. The blind man had not heard the voice of Jesus, had made it all up, had lied to him. Jimmy had swum in the pond with the dog, and now it was dead. Dad had hit Mom in the mouth. Jasmine had screamed at monsters in the night. Jimmy had hit the dog with a hammer so it wouldn't hurt. But Jasmine had seen. He had come into the church with the dog, and now it was dead. Jesus had not listened to him even though he was saved on Easter. Glass had broken in the living room. He had awakened in the morning with his sheets glued to his legs in lines of blood. Boss Stud had taunted his sister and stomped his kite. Johnston had kicked the dog down the steps. Jimmy had wrapped the dog in shop rags to bury it, and it was all his fault because he had made a deal with God. Jasmine came to him to say that she hated him. Dad pushed his face into the gravel, and Mom came back and served smoked pork chops. The dog swam out to where he and Ernie splashed and then the sound of the shotgun and the red splash on the concrete in front of the Nazarene church.
There it was.
The dog was dead.
Jimmy waited a moment longer, to feel the tightness of the change inside, to know it was right. It meant never seeing Mom again. Or Jasmine. Never goofing off with Ernie. Never trying to snuggle with Mary Carol Hauser. Never graduating from high school.
And then there was Dad.
A moving shadow told him that Johnston was reaching for the white cloth.
That was all, then. He could let Johnston pull away the cloth, or he could do it himself. Nothing he had ever done had made anyone behave any better, so the only choice left was how he would behave himself. But if Johnston pulled away the white cloth before he did, even that choice was taken away.
Mom. Jasmine. Ernie. Mary Carol.
Dad.
None of them was worth as much as this.
None of them was worth as much as the life of a dog.
He took the dead mama squirrel in both hands. It was warm and limp. One of the babies slid onto his wrist. He was surprised that he wasn't scared. He was trembling, but not from fear.
That was important.
Johnston's fingertips brushed the white cloth.
Jimmy's life was over.
Blackburn lunged through the cloth, thrusting the dead mama squirrel into the cop's face. The light was brilliant. The squirrel's eyes gleamed from each lens of the mirrorshades. Johnston gave a gargled scream. Blackburn shoved the squirrel into Johnston's mouth.
Johnston stumbled back. Blackburn went with him, trying to shove the squirrel down his throat. Johnston's pistol came up. The muzzle grazed Blackburn's cheek. It was hot. The engraving on the blue barrel was an inch from Blackburn's eyes. He saw the word colt. He saw the word python. He saw the numerals 3,5, and 7. It was a revelation. It was a God speaking to him on the green-turfed dais of the Nazarene church. He let go of the dead mama squirrel and reached for the pistol's blue perfection.
Johnston coughed out the squirrel and pointed the pistol at Blackburn's mouth. Blackburn grabbed it. He and Johnston fell together. The oil in Johnston's hair had the sharp smell of Vick's Vapo- Rub. A clump of black strands tickled Blackburn's upper lip. He spat the clump away and saw droplets appear on Johnston's sunglasses.
'Little prick,' Johnston said. His breath was the essence of wet cigarettes. His teeth were yellow scabs.
Blackburn tried to pull the pistol away, but Johnston wouldn't let go. He was stronger than Blackburn. Johnston rose to his knees, pulling Blackburn with him. They knelt with their hands locked on the pistol between them. Blackburn tried to stare past his own reflections. He imagined the cop's eyes as milky white.
'You're under arrest, you piece of shit,' Johnston said. He was breathing hard. He could hardly talk.
Blackburn smiled at him. 'Nobody likes you,' he said.
Johnston stopped breathing. His mouth opened. Blackburn leaned forward and kissed him. Johnston's grip weakened. Blackburn wrenched hard and fell.
He lay on his back, looking up at the white lights in the ceiling above the pulpit. He raised his hands over his face. They were wrapped around the body of the Python.
Johnston appeared above him, blocking the lights. He was standing. He was huge, but nothing more than a shadow. Nothing more than a ghost.
'Give me the gun, son,' the cop said. A huge shadow hand reached down.
Blackburn turned the Python and held it two-fisted the way the cops on TV did. His right index finger curled around the trigger. It was hot. It felt right. His finger was happy. The hammer was already cocked. He pointed the muzzle at the shadow's head.
'No,' he said.
The shadow moved away. Blackburn sat up, keeping the pistol steady. The
