Three men came out of the shadows. Three men with ski hats pulled down low over their foreheads and hands that were out of sight as they walked forward through the snow.
“Elle? What are we going to do?”
“It’s fine.” She punched the locks again even though it wasn’t like she could more-lock the doors. “Get down.”
“What?”
Without looking away from the approaching trio, Elle shoved her sister toward the passenger side’s wheel well. “Shut up, and get down there—”
“I can’t fit—”
As Terrie argued, Elle’s heart pounded and she put her face into her sister’s. “Please. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s safer there.”
“You said it was fine.” Terrie’s lower lip trembled. “You told me we were fine. I’m scared.”
“It’s going to be okay. Just get down.”
“What are you going to do?”
At least this was asked as the girl folded herself up under the glove compartment, becoming a pink marshmallow Peep crammed badly into some very non-Easter packaging. Elle went back to staring at those men. The closer they came, the younger they got, until she decided they were only a year or two older than herself. The one in the middle was the shortest, but he seemed to be in charge, walking in front of the taller two. They all had parkas on, gray and black, but not like it was a uniform, more like they had the same style.
She looked to the tow truck man. He was leaning back against the door of his vehicle, his arms hanging casually down at his sides. He seemed totally unconcerned, and was not taking out a cell phone and calling 9-1-1. Had he already done that? No. He couldn’t have.
The boys fanned out, like they had done this before, and knew that spreading wide would give them a better attack.
“What you doin’, old man,” the one in the center said as they stopped in a semicircle.
His voice was muffled on account of the BMW being so well insulated and sealed up.
Did they have guns? Elle wondered. Safety glass didn’t go far when it came to stopping bullets.
“I’m never taking you out again when I shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Ever.”
“I’m not going to tell Dad,” Terrie said in a small voice.
“Huh?” the punk demanded out by the tow truck. “What the fuck you doin’?”
Elle narrowed her eyes on the tow man. He was staring at the one who was talking, eyes unblinking, body utterly still. She had a thought that the punk needed to be careful. As much as he seemed to think he was in control, something about what was going on here was not in his favor; he just didn’t seem to be aware of it yet. Then again, maybe Elle was the one who was reading this wrong.
Yeah, ’cuz really, her judgment had been so great tonight already.
Then again, the way the tow truck man was staring at the punk was . . . way too focused.
Like how a cobra might look at a bare foot that had invaded its territory.
She almost cracked the window to yell that the punks needed to run. But it was just a tow truck guy, right? And maybe she was making a dangerous superhero out of him because he was all that stood between her and a whole lot of even-worse happening. She’d thought he was a threat and she’d been wrong. But she was not wrong about the three who had come out into the street.
“You fucking deaf?” the one in front said.
“I’m going to tell him,” Elle whispered as her head got buzzy with fright and she closed her eyes. “I’m going to tell Dad. This was a horrible mistake and I need to be responsible for it.”
“I wish he were here.”
The fact that it didn’t dawn on either of them to call their mother was lost on Terrie, and something that lingered for Elle. But she should be used to it by now, she supposed—
The sound took her back to Labor Day, when her father had been carrying that cooler full of soda and ice and had dropped things: Loud, dull, and with a rattle.
Her lids popped open.
Outside, at the tow truck, one of the taller kids was slumping off the side of the hood, a streak of blood marking the path of his seemingly unconscious flop to the snow. The man in leather didn’t pay him any mind. He lunged forward, grabbed the shorter one who’d thought he was in charge by the throat. As the leader