“Sweet Jesus,” Deke muttered.
“It’s important things get done!” the man roared, flecks of spittle launching from his lips. He balled up one hand and slammed it against the side of the truck, creating a resounding gonglike crash that caused David to jump. “None of you have any idea! You don’t have any clue! Marybeth.”
David took another step back from the man. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard the man correctly until the name was uttered again.
“Marybeth?” It came out as a query this time, the man’s voice laced with a terrible combination of grief and fear. How quickly his demeanor had changed.
David saw the lights of the police cars against the houses at the far end of the street before he saw the actual vehicles. Someone—Deke again?—said, “It’s the police,” and there was a grave finality to the voice.
The ice cream man whipped his head around and stared toward the opposite end of Columbus Court as two police cars appeared. The cars slowed down and came to a stop in front of the Fosters’ house, their rack lights dousing the night in strobes of blue and red.
“Who’s this?” the ice cream man muttered. The confusion was back in his voice. He turned and stared at David again, a crease forming between his eyebrows. The man’s jowls quivered. He looked like a trapped animal. “Why would you do this to me?”
“Me?” David said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You need help, pal,” said Deke Carmody.
The man did not turn and look at Deke; his eyes remained locked on David. A hand came up and David flinched. “Marybeth, why would you do this to me?”
David shook his head.
The ice cream man removed his hat, revealing a mat of close-cropped dark hair that looked spongy with perspiration. His cheeks continued to quiver, and when he next spoke, he did so through clenched teeth with a voice drenched in fury.
“Why would you do this to me?”
“Hey, now,” David said, holding up both his hands.
The police approached. There were two of them, young-faced and distrustful. One of them looked at the ice cream truck in utter disbelief before turning his attention to the man in the apron.
“Sir,” said the officer. “Hello?”
“He’s bleeding from his nose,” David said, pointing. “I think he’s hurt. And he doesn’t seem to know where he—”
The man lunged at David, so quick that David didn’t have time to react. He was driven backward and lost his balance, falling to the pavement. The ice cream man came down on top of him, the force of a meteor crashing to earth, and David felt the wind punched out of him.
The man made a hissing sound and David felt wetness speckle his face. He wanted to shriek but thought better of opening his mouth for fear that whatever— (blood) —was dripping off the man might spill into his own throat.
David bucked his hips, then reached out to clutch the man’s head, seeking leverage to shove him off. But before he could, the man was yanked from him by the police officers. Deke and Tom Walker appeared beside David, each gripping him under an armpit and hoisting him to his feet.
The cops had the ice cream man pressed against the side of his truck while they cuffed his hands behind his back. But it seemed that the fight had left the man now, the anger and rage fleeing just as quickly as it had come. There was a perceptible slump to his shoulders, and his feet, clad in those ridiculous white patent-leather shoes, were positioned at odd angles.
“He said his name’s Gary,” David offered, smearing the splotches of blood along his undershirt in an effort to rid himself of them.
“Did someone hit him?” asked one of the officers.
“No,” said David. “He came out of the truck like that.”
“He came out of the truck like that!” Deke echoed, jabbing a finger in the ice cream man’s direction.
The officer cocked an eyebrow at David. “How come he attacked you?”
“Beats me,” David said.
“Gary,” the cop said, pulling the cuffed man off the side of the truck. “That your name?”
The ice cream man craned his neck so that he could look at the officer. His eyes blazed with some lunatic fever.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” the other cop asked.
“Mocha almond pecan,” said the ice cream man.
6