High Noon Page 0,28
him, Reuben passed her the phone. And pressed the gun to her belly. "Tell him what I'm doing first." Sweat snaked a slow, fat line down her back. Why didn't the pills work? Had Carter wriggled out the window?
"Mister? He's got the gun at my stomach, and I'm awful scared.
We're so hot. No, we're not hurt, but we're so hot it's going to make us sick. If we could just have the air-conditioning back on, maybe we could sleep, 'cept we're so scared I guess we'd need a bunch of sleeping pills or something. Please, mister, would you please turn on the electricity? "And, sir?" She gripped the phone tighter when Reuben reached for it. When he shrugged, leaned back, the wave of relief was like giddiness. "Could you please give him the money and the car he wants? He's been real nice to us since I gave him the potato salad I made myself. He even let me go to the bathroom first. We're all just so tired we might just pass out any minute, you know?"
Reuben held out a hand for the phone, then gave her a nasty little poke with the gun to move her back. "Hear that, Dave? This girl here, she wants the electric back on. Wants me to have the money and that Caddy. Hell no, I didn't let them get anything to eat, and I won't till that electric's back on. Fact, I'm gonna go eenie meenie right now and... Where's that boy? Where is that little shit?"
"Mr. Reuben, he's right... " Phoebe shot out her arm as if to point and knocked over the bottle of Wild Turkey. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I'll clean it right up. I'll-"
She went down, pain searing over her face as the back of his hand slammed against her cheek. "Stupid bitch!" He lurched up, staggered. Phoebe looked straight into the barrel of the gun.
Like the wrath of God, Essie leaped off the couch and onto his back. He bucked; she bit. Her nails scraped like razors down his face as they both screamed, both cursed. Phoebe scrambled back in a crab walk, barely avoiding a bullet as Reuben went down to his knees under Essie's assault.
"Help us! Help us now!" Phoebe shouted until her lungs burned.
She grabbed the bottle, prepared to whale in, but Reuben went down, flat on his face. Weeping, screaming, Essie continued to pound him with her fists, even when the door burst open. Even when men rushed in with guns.
"Don't shoot us. Don't shoot us." Weeping, Phoebe crawled to her mother.
Things slowed down to a dream, it seemed like. And in the dream people walked her through water where voices echoed and the lights hurt her eyes. Once, she fell asleep, and did dream. But the dream was so scary she pushed herself awake again.
Mama had to have X-rays of her face to make sure her cheekbone wasn't broken, and stitches to close the gash. Phoebe sat in the little room in the hospital. She didn't want to lie down, didn't want to sleep again and fall back into the dream where the gun exploded, and the bullet-like a live thing-hunted her down and killed her.
Carter slept curled up in a ball on the narrow bed. His fists were clenched, and off and on his body twitched like a horse's did when flies landed on it.
Doctors and nurses and police came in and out, and asked questions. When they did, she wanted them to go away. When they went away, she wished they'd come back so she wasn't alone.
But there'd been water to drink, to wash the grit that had coated her throat. And then icy Coca-Cola, straight from the bottle.
She wanted her mother. She wanted Mama so bad it hurt worse than Reuben's hand across her face.
When a man came in with a big McDonald's takeout bag, the smell of burgers and fries had her stomach jittering with sudden and acute hunger.
He smiled at her, glanced at Carter, then came over to sit beside Phoebe on the bed. "Thought you might be hungry. Don't know about you, but I'd rather skip the hospital food. I'm Dave."
She knew she stared, knew it was rude. But she'd expected Dave to be old-older anyway. He looked barely older than the high school boys Phoebe liked to sigh over in secret. His hair was a light brown with a lot of curl to it, his eyes shades lighter and blue. He wore a dark