We both ordered burgers.
While we were busy, I had more or less forgotten that I wasn’t feeling up to snuff, but sitting still, drinking iced tea, and waiting for our food, it started coming back. The worse I felt, the more I kept remembering everything about that ugly crime scene in Ballard. Farley Woodfield was evidently a World War I vet. There was a framed photo montage hanging over the fireplace. It included several photos of him—a sweet-faced young kid—posing manfully in his brand-new doughboy uniform. The faded cloth matting around the photos was decorated with a collection of miscellaneous pieces that included faded battle ribbons, tarnished medals, and a distinctive sergeant’s chevron.
Just thinking about it hit me hard. Here was a poor guy who had given up his youth to go to war and serve his country. Now, seventy years later, he had been left to his own devices with no one to help him or to watch his back.
Our food came. Jonas dove into his; I pushed mine away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, because I didn’t want to talk about what I was thinking. “I need to take a piss is all.”
I left the table and the back room, but despite what I’d said, I didn’t head for the rest room. I wanted to clear my head, so I went outside and walked around the parking lot for a few minutes. I was thinking about the old guy and wondering what I’d do if I was in his position. If I were gone, would my pension be enough for Anna to be able to get by? If something went wrong with her health, would our daughter come through and take care of her if I wasn’t able to do it?
Somewhere along the way, I realized that my arm was hurting—aching like crazy. I kept wondering how I had managed to hurt it that badly without noticing anything had happened. It was hot as hell outside. Even though it was close to nine at night, it wasn’t dark outside yet, and it sure as hell wasn’t cool. Pretty soon I started feeling light-headed. I went over and stood by the building so I could lean against the wall. That’s when all hell broke loose. Two guys came charging out of the restaurant and through the parking lot with Lulu chasing after them, screaming like a banshee.
“You come back here!” she screeched, waving a small piece of paper in the air. “You think you can just walk out on your check, you worthless turds? You think your food’s coming out of my paycheck?”
The problem was, as soon as Lulu screamed at them, the two men stopped running and turned on her. At that point, I don’t think any of them had seen me, but I saw them. The one guy grabbed Lulu by the arm and swung her around, sending her crashing head first into the trunk of a parked car. That’s when things went into slow motion for me. It looked like the other guy was closing in on her. Pushing off from the wall, I drew my Smith & Wesson.
“Okay, you guys,” I ordered. “I’m a police officer. Let her go. Get your hands in the air.”
Surprised, they all three turned to gawk at me. That’s when my body just stopped working, starting with my arm and fingers. The gun fell to the ground and went spinning uselessly away from me across the pavement. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe because of the crushing pain in my chest. Even while it was happening, I realized I had to be having a heart attack. I had my wits about me enough that I took a step or two back toward the building so that if I fell, I could slide down the wall instead of falling flat on my face or whacking the back of my head on the pavement.
I remember seeing the three other people in the parking lot, standing there frozen in time, staring at me. The one guy was still hanging on to Lulu’s arm. Lulu’s mouth was open, like she was still screaming although I no longer heard any sound. Her face was red with fury. I more than half expected her to turn around and plant her fist in her attacker’s face, but then he dropped out of sight and disappeared from my line of vision for a moment. A second or so later the look on Lulu’s face changed. Her eyes widened. In that moment the expression on her face went from utter fury to abject fear. A gun must have gone off then although I don’t remember hearing that, either. I saw the blood spray out behind her, saw Lulu stagger backward a step or two, then I blacked out.
When I came to, Jonas was squatting beside me and yelling in my ear. “Pickles! Can you hear me? The ambulance is on its way. What the hell happened?”
He didn’t need to tell me about the ambulance. With my hearing back, I could hear the approaching sirens. They were already, in the background, muffled in a load of cotton, but coming closer fast.
“Two guys,” I managed. “Lulu. Is she . . . ?”