lobby.
Parker was there, wearing ancient shorts and a ragged sweatshirt. I gave him a nod, and we went out to the parking lot and began stretching. I got the impression Parker hadn’t run in a long time; probably the shorts and sweatshirt were his gym clothes, because I could see he worked his muscles, though a paunch was gaining ground on his waistline. I could tell he wasn’t enthusiastic about the exercise, but he was enjoying watching me.
“Ready?” I asked, and he nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked more like he was going to face the guillotine than a pleasant evening exercise session.
Off we went, down the sidewalk past a block of houses, then another block of houses, then the high school grounds. The outside lights were plentiful, and everyone seemed to be inside tonight. It was chilly, and there were still puddles here and there from the earlier shower. Cars went by with fair frequency, some of them clearly exceeding the speed limit and some of them at a crawl, but with a sidewalk, that didn’t present any problem. I wondered if any of the drivers recognized my running partner.
The cold air felt good to me. I went at an easy pace, enjoying the stretch of my legs and the increased rate of my heart. The high school track was surrounded by a high fence, and it was locked, no big surprise. I led my companion across the road to the vast lot filled with school buses. Parker kept up with me, and I glanced sideways to see that he was smiling a little, pleased with himself. I picked up the pace, and the smile faded rapidly. Within four blocks of really running, Parker was wheezing for breath. He kept going because he was fueled by pride.
Even his pride ran out in the next half mile. There were three rows of buses, and we’d run from the road to the end of one row, up the other row, and we were rounding the end by the road to start running the length again. I was really moving and feeling good, but Parker stopped, hands on his knees, chest heaving. I ran in place. He waved a hand at me to tell me to keep on going. “Stay in sight,” he said, biting each word out in turn.
I waved back at him and began running again. I wasn’t half the runner my brother was, but that night I felt as swift and light as a bird, compared to Parker. I zoomed down the silent line of buses, smelling the puddles and the pavement, washed clean by the evening’s rain. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Parker was walking after me at a good pace, but I was definitely getting into the “out of sight” range. With some regret, instead of rounding the bus line and starting up the middle again, I turned and began running back the way I’d come. There must have been another street beyond the bus lot, because from that direction, I could hear a car going slowly. At that moment, car lights came on behind me, shining in Parker’s face and casting my own shadow in a long streak in front of me. I felt a jolt of fear, and I slowed down, not sure what to do. The sound behind me was definitely a car engine, idling… but it was drawing closer.
The detective, though it was clear his eyes were dazzled, picked up his pace and began trotting toward me. As he drew closer, he pulled up his sweatshirt and drew a gun. I didn’t register that for a second, and then I thought he was going to shoot me. My steps faltered, hesitated. The car engine began to get closer.
“
I didn’t understand anything, but I began moving faster and faster, my arms sawing the air to build up my momentum. When I reached him, Parker shoved me between two buses and swung to face the oncoming car, his gun at the ready. The car swerved as the driver presumably noticed the gun pointed in his direction, and then, with a screech of tires, accelerated madly, fishtailing out of the parking lot as it sped away.
“What?” I said. “What?” I jumped out from between the buses to confront my appointed savior, and threw open my arms.
“Death threat,” he said. His breathing was still irregular. “You got a death threat today. Didn’t want you going out on your own. Easy target.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that? So that’s why you agreed to run with me.”
“I didn’t know you were a health nut,” he said unfairly. “I was just supposed to make you aware of the situation, tell you about the drive-by.”
“So instead of…” I started to sputter. Then I closed my eyes, gathered myself, and stood up straighter. “Do you have a name attached to this death threat?”
“No, it was a man’s voice. He was saying he thought your work was the work of Satan, and so on. Said he didn’t think you ought to be in Texas, and he was going to take care of that the next time he saw you. He mentioned your new hotel by name.”
I was pretty offhand about the phone call until Parker Powers got to the “he mentioned the hotel” part. That was unnerving, and I knew I had to take this seriously.
“So do you think this car was his, or do you think you just scared the shit out of some teenagers parking back here?” My legs were getting stiff, so I bounced up and down gently on the balls of my feet, then stretched down to touch my toes.
“I don’t know,” Parker said, his voice gloomy. “I got a partial license number, though, and I’ll run the plate.”
I suddenly realized, actually understood, that this man had put himself in front of me when he thought someone was going to be shooting at me. The enormity of the act virtually smacked me in the face.
“Thank you,” I said. All of a sudden, my knees were shaking. “Thank you for doing that.”
“That’s what we’re supposed to do,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect. Lucky I didn’t have to do much protecting. I might have had a heart attack.” He grinned, and I was glad to observe that his chest wasn’t heaving anymore.
“So, we should head back, huh? I guess this was pretty much a nonincident?” I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, which was pretty absurd.
“No, I guess they left for good.” He seemed relieved about that. “Let’s go back to the hotel.” He holstered his gun.
I knew there was no way I was going to get the policeman back up to a running pace. We were at least walking briskly when we left the bus lot and we passed the high school. Then we were in the residential area, and there was almost no traffic now. Everyone was home from work, no one was going back out tonight. The temperature had dropped a little, and I began to shiver. We had three blocks to go. We were in a little neighborhood where yards were a hobby. Even in the winter, there were trees with leaves, and bushes, and rock gardens decorating the small front yards. Parker Powers was asking me questions designed to calm me down, an inconsequential stream of inquiry about my running history, how long I ran each day, if my brother ran…
And just as I recognized that the shadow behind one of the trees was suspiciously man shaped, it began to move. A man stepped out from the tree, and I saw the streetlight glint off a gun. Parker Powers lunged toward me to shove me aside, away from the threat, and the gunman fired right at him and hit him in the chest.
Screaming would have been a waste of time. The only advantage I had was speed, and I jumped onto the tiny grass lawn and took off like a rabbit on meth. I heard footsteps behind me, even on the grass, and I tried to go behind the house and found there was a fenced-in backyard. It wasn’t much of a fence, kind of a swipe at providing security. I grabbed the top of the fence and vaulted it, landing well, then chased across the dead grass and vaulted the other side.
It wasn’t until later that I thought of everything that could have made me fall and break my leg.
I found myself in the next backyard, and I had a clear shot at the next street over. There were houses only on one side of the street. The opposite side was a narrow belt of trees with a ravine behind them, as near as I could tell in the spotty pools of light. I began running toward the hotel, running in earnest, flat out. It was much darker back here. I was afraid I would fall, afraid I would get shot, afraid the detective was dead. I knew I was going in the right direction, but I couldn’t see the hotel because the street curved. I almost knocked on a door, but then I thought of the danger to the people inside that house, and I ran on. I thought I heard a noise ahead of me, and I dove to the side and crouched behind a car parked in a driveway. I was silent for a moment, listening, though my heart was pounding so loudly it was hard to make out external sounds.
I unzipped my shorts pocket, withdrew the cell phone, and flipped it open, keeping a hand curved around it to dim the light. I punched in 911, and a woman’s voice answered. “I’m hiding in the driveway of a house, in the business park behind the Holiday Inn Express,” I said, keeping my voice as low as I could. “Detective Parker Powers has been shot. He’s lying out on Jacaranda Street. The shooter is after me. Please come quick.”
“Ma’am? Did you say an officer’s been shot? Are you wounded?”
“Yes, Detective Powers,” I said. “I’m not wounded yet. I have to hang up.” I couldn’t be talking on the phone. I needed to be listening.
Now that my own breathing had moderated, I was sure I could hear someone else breathing, someone else stepping very quietly through the front yards. Someone who didn’t want to be out in the middle of the street. Weren’t any of these people aware of what was going on around them? Where were the armed householders with guns when you needed them? I didn’t know whether to break and run, or stay where I was and hope he didn’t find me.
I found the tension almost intolerable. Waiting crouched beside that car was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I didn’t even know if this quiet street went through. Maybe it dead-ended just around the slight curve. I’d have to plunge back through the yards so I could emerge on Jacaranda Street to get back to the hotel. There might be fences, there might be dogs… I could hear one barking now, and it sounded like a big one.
The footsteps, very quiet footsteps, came a little closer and then stopped. Could he see me? Would he shoot me in the next minute?
Then I heard the wail of sirens. God bless the police, God bless their lights and noise and guns. The shadow that had crept almost up to where I crouched made a rapid retreat as the gunman abandoned caution and ran back down the street in the direction I’d come from.
I tried to get up but I couldn’t. My legs just wouldn’t work. I could see the beam of a large flashlight coming closer and closer, and then it danced over me. It returned to fix me in its glare.
“Lie down with your arms extended!” said a woman’s voice.
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
At the moment, that seemed a lot better than standing
