the inevitable was obvious.
Carl turned to me then, fire in his eyes, and pointed between us and the exit.
“Damn straight,” I answered, because it was the only way any man worth his salt should, no matter his age.
41
We walked down the bus’s aisle as casually as possible. Nora sat with her ear bent to Valencia, though she peeked up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She stood as Carl made it down the first step. “Nosiree. You need to stay inside the bus.”
Valencia had trapped Nora in the window seat when she’d sat down, and she pretended to be helpful, trying to get out of the way, all the while making Nora’s exit even more impossible.
Josie held the lever for the bus’s door.
“Open it,” I said.
“I should go. This is my mess.”
“No, by golly,” Carl said. “It’s mine.”
A moment passed, full of all the weighty things this meant. Next, a whoosh of pressure escaped as the doors sighed open.
Carl stepped onto the broken pavement, balancing himself with the side of the bus as he made his way to the back. I followed, watchful of my step. We moved into the misting rain and the flood of headlights, palms out. Bates and Anderson stood as silhouettes, coming into focus only after our angle changed. The lights played across their faces in angry ways.
Bates spotted us first and drew back from Anderson, waving his pointer. The motion was erratic. Drunk. “I’m helping Josie clear out her shit.”
“Give it or I call the police,” Anderson said.
“Call,” he roared. “Let’s tell them everything.”
Stumbling, he walked to his car and dipped into his driver’s seat, reemerging with a handful of clothes. He headed for the bridge railing, stepping backward a few times to regain his balance. Anderson grabbed his arm before he made it, and tried ripping a dress away. The rain had slicked the pavement, the fabric. Together, they edged dangerously close to the railing.
“Stop!” I yelled, my voice high-pitched and piercing.
Anderson stopped dead. So did Bates.
Then me too . . . once I realized I was holding out my gun.
Bates let the clothes drop to the ground. I trained the muzzle on him, more or less.
“What are you doing, old man?” he said.
Carl said, “Duffy, have you lost your mind?”
Anderson had his hands up, a pleading in his eyes for me to take it easy.
I tipped the gun to the car and back. My heartbeat had blended into a hum. “Get her stuff out. Set it on the ground. Kaiya too. Carefully.”
“Are you going to shoot me if I don’t?”
“Maybe.” I aimed somewhere between his eyes, my finger on the trigger. I thought of Nam. I thought of the shooting range. I thought of my father with his arms wrapped around mine, helping me aim at a full soda pop sitting on a fence post. I could do it if I had to.
Water dripped from the muzzle of the gun. Beyond it, Bates blinked slowly. Then he stumbled to the car and dipped inside again, throwing clothes and shoes and a few books over his shoulder.
I readjusted my grip, willing my hands to stop shaking.
The final thing he pulled from the car was a box, which he held tight to. “Where’s the ring?”
“Drop it, and we’ll talk,” I said.
The box landed with a thud at his feet. His eyes flickered on mine, and then past me, above me, to the bus’s back window. “Josie? I see you,” he called. “I gave your dead mom back. Don’t you want to come give me a kiss goodbye for old times’ sake?”
I turned instinctually to see if she was there, forgetting the first rule of war: Disarm someone when they’re distracted. Bates pounced before I knew what had happened. He had my wrist in his hand, his boozy breath in my face.
Anderson raced to us like he’d been shot out of a cannon. And then, somehow, Bates was mixing with him