The boy looked so frightened that Hawley almost didn’t hit him. But then he did. A few heavy punches to the gut and a couple more to the face for good measure. He could feel the boy’s jaw bust out under his knuckles. He saw a tooth flung onto the mud. The kid was sobbing. He tried to crawl away and Hawley dragged him back and then kicked him twice in the ribs.
It was one thing to jack a car, and another to lure them out with a sob story about a missing dog. It was the dog that got him, and it was the dog that he thought about as he beat the boy—Charley the dog wandering around out there alone in the rain, scared and lost and feeling ready to curl up and die, and with no one even looking for her, because she didn’t exist.
Hawley was swinging his leg back for another kick when he heard the shot. The bullet grazed his lower leg, dug out a chunk of flesh and then kept on going, right into the front tire. Hawley stumbled and fell, and when he hit the ground he saw the air streaming out of the wheel, the black rubber slowly collapsing around the hole and then slumping onto itself, the truck tilting over onto its axle and into the mud.
Lily stepped out of the woods, the Colt held just as Hawley had taught her, arms braced and fingers locked, pushing and pulling to steady her hand. She stood ten feet away but didn’t lower the weapon.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“You shot me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Hawley lifted his pant leg. The bullet had gone through the back of his calf, a slice of flesh carved off in a straight line.
“I’m all right,” he said. “But I think you killed the tire.”
Lily lowered the gun. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat. When she was through, she looked relieved and washed out. The rain tore down from the sky between them and Hawley began to feel the flush of pain, a burn like his leg was being held against a fire. He bent over and pressed the wound to stop the bleeding, while Lily hurried to the back of the truck and opened the cap and got the first-aid kit. She fell to her knees in the mud, rolled up his pants, wiped Hawley’s leg with alcohol and started wrapping it with gauze.
“This looks bad.”
“It was an accident.”
“I dropped the umbrella.”
“We’ll get it later.”
Lily tied off the bandage and stood. Then she turned away from him and leaned against the car. For a moment Hawley was reminded of the diner. He’d said the right thing then but right now he didn’t have any words. And when she lifted her face he knew something else was wrong.
“What happened to Charlie?”
Hawley spun around, checking the edges of the forest. There was no sign of the boy. The only thing he’d left behind was his tooth, a gleaming bit of white in the mud. Hawley crouched down on his good leg. Then he saw a flicker of something, and he glanced underneath the car, and found Charlie the boy where Charley the dog should have been, curled up in a ball with his purple sneakers, just beyond the rear axle.
“Come on out of there,” said Hawley.
“Get away from me!” screamed the boy.
“My wife just wanted us to stop fighting,” said Hawley. “She didn’t mean to hurt anybody. And she’s sorry now. Aren’t you sorry, honey?”
“Yes,” said Lily, her voice tight.
“Are you hit?” Hawley asked.
“What?” the boy said.
“Did you catch a bullet.”
“I don’t think so.”
Lily kneeled down and stuck her head under the transom. “Is your name really Charlie?”
“Yeah,” said the boy.
“Listen, Charlie,” said Lily. “I promise nothing is going to happen. He’s not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to shoot you, and no one’s going to call the police. Okay?”
Charlie thought this over for a few moments, then slunk out on his stomach, just as Hawley had imagined the dog doing. But once he was in front of them he did not look grateful. He didn’t even look that scared—only thin and hungry and tired. His jeans were sopping wet, his leather coat covered in gunk. There was blood leaking from his nose and mouth, the skin around his eye was cut and his lower lip had started to swell. He kept his palm against his jaw, as if he were holding it together with his fingers.
“Let me see.” Lily examined his face. When she touched his chin, he cried out, and she made a shushing sound, as if she were soothing away a bad dream. “We need to take you to a hospital.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to the boy. “Do you know how to change a tire, Charlie?”
The boy pressed the tissue to his nose and shook his head.
“Well, you’re going to learn now.” Lily walked around to the back of the truck and started to unlock the spare.
Hawley stepped up next to the tailgate. Lily’s body was trembling, but when he touched her she pushed him away.
“What are you doing?”
“You just beat up a kid, Hawley.” She pulled out the tire iron.
“He was stealing our car.”
“He knows what we look like. He’s got our license plate number.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing. When I was his age I was robbing gas stations and sleeping in a different car every night.”
Hawley took the tire iron out of her hands. The wind picked up and a gust of rain blasted them both. Lily covered her eyes. When she lowered her fingers her face was pale and dripping. She shook her head at Hawley and rolled herself a cigarette. She flicked the wheel on her lighter but the paper was too damp to catch. Lily tossed the cigarette into the mud.
“I need a minute,” she said. And then she stepped away from him and into the woods.
Hawley watched her go. Then he pulled the spare out and carried it to the boy.
Charlie backed away.
“I promised her I wouldn’t hit you again,” he said. “But I’d like to. So you better do what I say.”
“It hurts to talk,” Charlie mumbled.
“Then don’t.” Hawley threw the tire iron on the ground next to the spare. “Go get some rocks. Big ones. Stick the rocks behind the wheels. It’ll keep the car from rolling off the jack.”
The boy limped to the edge of the forest. He clutched his side. “It hurts to breathe.”
“Then don’t do that, either.”
Charlie pried two big stones from the mud and kicked them beneath the back tires. Hawley took off the hubcap, then used the tire iron on the first four lugs and slipped them into his pocket. He put the jack under the frame rail and started cranking the lift.
“I thought you were supposed to lift the car first,” Charlie said.
“Pulling the nuts off in the air can throw the car off. But you should leave one screw on so the wheel doesn’t pop out. It goes faster that way.”
“You a mechanic or something?”
“Something.” Hawley pushed his weight against the wrench until the truck dangled in the air. He screwed off the last lug and wiggled the dead tire loose. He could hear the bullet rolling around inside as he set the wheel under the car, behind the jack.
The boy looked at the tire, then back at Hawley.
“In case the car falls off. This’ll keep the car high enough so you can get the jack under the frame again.”
“Right.”