for me. Bruce kicks him in the face and yells to me, “RUN!”
I make a break for it, holding onto my stomach as I fight off the heaviness the drug has left in me, running through the hallway of the empty house, down the stairs still hung with family photos. Outside, I turn to look behind me. I stare up at the house and turn around to escape. “HELP!”
Chapter Thirty
Tommy
My old man has always been an asshole, but the look in his eyes scares even me.
Dad jumps on top of me, straddling me as his leathery fists pound into my skull. I rotate my hips and buck upward, knocking him off balance, freeing my arms to punch him back, hard. Bruce grabs my dad around his body, yanking him up by using his own body weight for leverage and power. It’s enough to get me off my back. Kneeling in front of my father, I give him everything I’ve got. As I punch him into unconsciousness, I yell at him, “This is for ruining my life! This is for not being there in court! This is for treating Mom like shit!”
“Tommy! Tommy!” Bruce yells, keeping his grip on my old man. “You have to go get her! Someone’s going to find her!”
Panting to catch my breath, I look toward the door and nod. Glancing back to my unconscious father, I shake my head. “I can’t believe what he was about to do.”
“Remember what Rita told you? I’ve got this. You go!”
Gasping for breath, I jump up and run for the door. Looking behind me, I see Bruce pulling the ropes over my dad’s wrists. “Bruce?” He looks over to me. “Thank you.” He nods.
As I run through the hall, I hear him yell, “And by the way, Walter! I am gay, but I fucking hate being called Brucie!” A dull, loud thud follows. As I race down the stairs of the place I used to call home, I allow myself one little smile for Bruce’s redemption.
Outside, Annie’s running up the center of the street under a sun-filled Marin County sky, yelling, “HELP!”
“Shut up!” I whisper-yell at her. She turns around, then looks for where to run, not sure if she can trust me or not. She’s hobbling, and I catch up with her easily, covering her mouth and dragging her to the side of a darkened home. I grew up here. Most of our neighbors go back east for the holiday to celebrate where there’s snow and tradition. There’s probably only two houses on this street with people in them, and that’s two too many.
She gives a muffled cry against the palm of my hand. Then bites me. I yelp, shaking my hand and giving her a murderous look. “Quit it! I’m not going to hurt you unless you make me hurt you. Okay? Would I have saved you just now?”
Panting, her face bruised and wet, she shakes her head. “Take me home!”
“Okay! I’ll take you home. Come on.” She doesn’t move, too surprised to function. I motion for her to follow me and she hesitates, but then decides she has no other choice. “I’m taking you home! I promise. Okay? Look into my eyes.” I point at them. “I promise.” She relaxes. Checking out her face, I say, “Looks like he punched you pretty good.”
She nods, holding her stomach and peering at me. “You too,” she says, hoarsely.
“Yeah, not the first time,” I mumble. “My car’s just up here.” I parked it out of sight of the old house, a habit from robbing homes ever since I was a kid. But no one would have recognized this old beater, so I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. She looks at the Colt as we walk up to it, then glances to me. “Don’t say it,” I smile, attempting to make her feel better. “I’ve gone down in the world.”
She blinks a couple times, still trying to figure me out. I unlock her door and she gets in carefully. I pull off my jacket and hand it to her. She takes it, staring up at me like I’m some sort of alien. I exhale, walking around to get in the car.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“Marin,” is all I say. She’ll see the signs as we drive back to the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m too busy thinking what to do, how I’m going to get the hell out of this state, and probably this country.
After fifteen minutes of driving in silence, her voice