To me, Ludmilla said, almost apologetically, “Momma doesn’t understand that it could still be there in the computer. She thinks, you smash the screen, it’s gone.”
I smiled. “That’s sweet,” I said. “So, you’ve done what you came to do, the file is gone, so don’t even worry about the monitor, I can get another one of those. Don’t worry about it.”
“You come,” said Mrs. Gorkin. “Come to restaurant.” She smiled, showing off a brown, crooked tooth. “We make you lunch.”
“Listen,” I said, “that would be great, but I have this thing I have to go to. Maybe, later, I could drop by. Love to get an order of fries. Honestly, terrific fries.”
Gavrilla had hold of my arm. “Momma wants you to come with us.”
I had a mental image of Brian Sandler, the twins dipping his hands in first, then pushing his face into the fryer. If I could just break free of Gavrilla’s arm, get out the study door and down the stairs, I could be out the front door in a shot. The girls were strong, but they didn’t look as though they were built for speed. I was sure I could outrun them.
Then Mrs. Gorkin pulled some sort of short-barreled pistol from the bag hanging over her shoulder. “You come back with us,” she said, pointing the weapon at me. I could outrun the twins, but a bullet was something else altogether.
The phone rang.
I looked at Mrs. Gorkin. “I should answer that,” I said.
“No, it can ring,” she said.
“But there are people who are expecting me to be here, who might wonder why I’m not coming to the phone.”
“The bullsheet,” said Mrs. Gorkin. “You could be in bathroom, having crap. Let it ring.”
And it rang. Once, twice, three times. And then it went to the machine.
“Hi, Mr. Walker? This is Detective Herlich returning your call about the Brian Sandler investigation. Feel free to try me again, or I may try you again, too.”
The message ended. Mrs. Gorkin looked very displeased with me. “So you don’t know anyting. But you call police to tell dem what you don’t know?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Especially with the pistol pointed at me.
“We go back,” Mrs. Gorkin said. “Ludmilla, go down street and bring up car.”
We were going down the stairs, Gavrilla in front, then me, followed by Ludmilla and Mrs. Gorkin, when there was a knock at the front door. Everyone froze.
“Sheet,” whispered Mrs. Gorkin.
It couldn’t be Sarah, I figured. There was no reason for her to come home late morning from work. Paul was at school, Angie at college. But whoever it was, it presented an opportunity. Maybe, if the Gorkins allowed me to answer it, I could mouth “Help!” Roll my eyes, nod my head back into the house, somehow indicate that I was in a great deal of trouble.
“I should see who it is,” I said, turning and looking at Mrs. Gorkin.
Another knock. Harder, more insistent. Maybe it was Detective Herlich. No, that made no sense. He’d only just called. Unless he’d called from his car. Maybe he was out front.
Yes. Let it be Detective Herlich.
“Really,” I said. “Just let me answer it. I’ll get rid of them.”
“You girls,” Mrs. Gorkin whispered. “You get on sides of door.” To me, she said, “I stay up here on stairs. Have gun. You be stupid, I shoot you.”
“Of course,” I said.
Gavrilla cleared the way for me to get down the rest of the stairs, then she and her sister hid on either side of the door.
There was another knock. Whoever wanted me to answer it was banging it with his fist now. Would a cop bang a door like that?
I approached the door, my heart pounding. I took hold of the knob, turned it, and opened the door wide.
It took me a moment to recognize him. Even though I’d heard so much about him, I’d only seen him once in person, at the stun gun demonstration.
Gary Merker. Arms down at his side, one hand, his right one, held slightly behind his back. Beyond him, in the driveway, I could see an old Ford pickup with one adult in it, on the passenger side, and possibly a child in the middle.
“You Zack Walker?” he said.
“Uh,” I said, wondering how much crazier things could get. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Then Gary Merker raised his right arm, and I saw that there was something gun-like in it, but not a gun exactly.
Okay, now I knew what it was. A stun gun.
Merker squeezed the trigger, and then I had, and I hope you’ll forgive me for this, the most shocking experience of my entire fucking life.
33
I DROPPED TO THE FLOOR.
I went down without any accompanying theatrics. This was no Broadway death scene where I clutched my chest and staggered across the stage in tiny steps whimpering that the end was near.
I simply dropped. Like a Thunderbirds puppet with the strings cut.