“Don’t bullshit me. I bet your dear brother got you one, first thing. Cough it up. Now!”
She hesitated, then pulled out the burner we’d got her and laid it on the floor.
“Right.” Harvey looked us over, seeming to be thinking.
Three of us and one of him. Without the gun, I might’ve tried to see if my childhood baseball skills worked with a cane, but I didn’t dare.
“Okay,” he said. “Outside. Crip-guy first and then Brooklyn and little Cheyenne will stay right close to me.”
At least he wasn’t going to just murder us out of hand and drag Cheyenne off, but we were still in deep trouble.
Brooklyn said, “Leave Cheyenne here. I’ll go with you. Do whatever you want.”
Harvey barked a laugh. “Why? You’re no use to me. I’m no queer and you always were a weakling. Move it!”
I turned to the exit, opening the deadbolt as slowly as I could. The alarm panel had an emergency button too, but I had no excuse to reach for it and the muzzle of Harvey’s gun was now aimed squarely at Cheyenne. My heart pounded and I felt dizzy. Fear or vertigo? Fuck no, not now.
“Outside, one by one.”
I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool Gaynor Beach evening. Dusk was falling, but the last colors still brightened the sky.
Brooklyn followed me, and then Harvey shoved Cheyenne out ahead of him. She’d dropped Eb’s leash but the big dog stuck to her far side, his ears down. He wasn’t any kind of attack dog. Probably just as well with a gun in the mix.
“Out front. The gray truck. Walk that way.” Harvey gestured with his chin.
The pickup parked at the far side of the lot had California plates on it, but otherwise looked like the one Harvey’d driven off in. Maybe he’d stolen the license plates somewhere.
I walked toward the truck, one slow step at a time, leaning on my cane harder than I needed to so I’d seem weak and useless.
I am weak and useless.
Surely there was something I could do, but I couldn’t think of what. My heart pounded but the dizziness didn’t worsen.
“Stop there.” Harvey worked to pull his key fob out of his pocket and pop the locks. I saw that his right hand was wrapped in a stained, makeshift bandage and felt a fierce satisfaction that at least Sadie had sunk her teeth into the motherfucker. I hope I get my turn soon. Fury was turning my vision red. How dared he come into my shelter and try to kidnap a child? I would end him. I’d never been a violent man, but the handle of the cane dug into my clenched palm.
Harvey looked back and forth between the truck and us. “Sit down, both of you,” he snapped. “On the ground. And hold that dog or I’ll shoot it.”
I grabbed Eb’s leash and eased myself down to sit on the edge of one of the planted curbs. Even six inches might make a difference in how fast I stood up. Brooklyn sat on the pavement beside me.
Harvey nodded. “I’m leaving now, me and my fiancée. I’m taking her back to her daddy, all lawful, and we’ll get married with his blessing. No liberal California court gets to come between a man and his daughter, and the wedding her daddy wants for her.”
All lawful. I wanted to choke, to shout that this was kidnapping and he’d go to prison for life. But if he thought he had nothing to lose, he might kill Brooklyn and me after all.
He nudged Cheyenne, urging her to move with his heavy boot against her ankle. “Over to the truck, Chey. You two stay put there. You try to come at me, and I’ll gut shoot you. Girl, get in on this side and slide over.”
Cheyenne shot a terrified look at us over her shoulder, then climbed in the driver’s side of the pickup. I saw her scoot over and struggle with the other doorhandle, trying to get back out, but Harvey must’ve done something to disable it. He got in beside her, slammed the door, and started the engine. Both his hands were on the wheel and I didn’t see the gun, as he pulled forward out of his space, turning…
Brooklyn was muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” beside me.
I fumbled in the rock bed, and as the truck moved faster, I found a fist-sized rock and threw it with all of those remembered baseball skills. I hit the windshield in front of Harvey, spiderwebbing it with cracks but not breaking through. Harvey swerved and stomped on the gas.
Then I saw Cheyenne grab his bandaged hand off the wheel, open her mouth wide, and bite down on the bandage, her eyes wild, her jaw clenched on him.
Harvey screamed, loud enough to hear where I was scrambling to my feet. Infected dog bite. Go Cheyenne. Cheyenne was whipped back and forth with the force of his attempts to get free, but she hung on with hands and teeth.
Harvey took his other hand off the wheel to punch at her and as he twisted, his foot must’ve come down on the accelerator. The pickup leaped forward, plunged up over the curb, and smashed into the shelter through the big front window. Glass crashed. Stucco cracked and fell. I saw the airbags deploy as the truck slewed to a stop.
“Cheyenne!” Brooklyn bolted toward the accident. I tried to follow as fast as I could in a shambling run.
