Terry closed her eyes and struggled with her fear. “Okay,” she said finally. “But if you’re not back here in two hours, I’m calling Mayor Cage and the cops and anybody else I can think of.”
Caitlin squeezed her arm. “Good girl.”
She waved at Harold, who walked back to the booth with some chicken fingers wrapped in wax paper.
“We all set?” he asked, sliding into his seat.
“Yep, I’ll be your only passenger. Terry’s staying here to man the phone for me. And if we’re not back in two hours, she’s calling the cavalry.”
Harold looked discomfited by this news, but then he shrugged and said, “You’re paying the fare, you make the rules.”
“Can we make it there and back in two hours?”
“Probably so. Long as we don’t run into company.”
“Is that your boat in the back of your pickup?”
“Yeah. And we’d better get moving, before this rain lets up.”
“I’m ready.”
“One more thing,” he said, his face hardening.
Caitlin raised her eyebrows.
“You got a gun?”
She nodded.
“What kind?”
“Nine mil. In my purse.”
“Okay. I feel better already.”
“Do you have a gun?”
Harold looked embarrassed. “All I got’s a .22 rifle, for shootin’ snakes and such. I had to pawn my pistol. But we’ll be all right with your nine.”
“Okay, then. I’ll come out to your truck a minute after you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Harold Wallis walked back to the counter, bought a pack of cigarettes, then sauntered out into the rain as if he had nothing to do for the rest of the day. A man in the far booth watched him for a few seconds, then went back to his coffee.
Caitlin folded the map and slipped it into the side pocket of her purse. Then she looked at Terry and gave her a confident smile. “Don’t worry, okay? Just drive around for a while, walk through a couple of stores. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Terry Foreman looked like she was about to cry. “You’d better be.”
“Two hours from now, you and I are going to be headed into the history books.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, I do. And I sign the checks.”
“Great.” Terry got up so that Caitlin could get out of the booth.
Caitlin shouldered her purse and walked to the door without looking back.
She could hardly contain herself as she trudged through the rain toward the beat-up truck with the knifelike brown pirogue jutting from its open bed. Harold Wallis was already inside, and blue-gray exhaust puffed steadily from the tailpipe. With a silent prayer of thanks, Caitlin climbed into the truck.
CHAPTER 67
DRIVEN BY PANIC, I crossed the Mississippi River and reached the police barricade at the intersection of Auburn and Duncan Avenues in record time, topping a hundred miles an hour on short stretches, weaving in and out of traffic like a PCP-crazed fugitive on COPS. Thanks to a radio call by Chief Logan of the Natchez police, no police cars tried to stop me. I don’t think half the drivers I passed even saw me until I’d blown past them.
My well-known face was enough to get me past the Natchez cops at the Duncan Avenue barricade, but it takes Kaiser to get me past the FBI agents and up to the Abrams house. A bright red fire engine is parked in the driveway, its crew spraying water on the face of the house, which still seems to be standing. As we move closer, I spy Annie and my mother sitting on the Abramses’ front porch, watching the firemen work. Kirk Boisseau leans against one of the porch columns, his pants scorched, his face lined with pain. James Ervin is sitting against the column at his feet, his face covered with soot.
“Daddy!” Annie cries, leaping off the porch and running to me.
I lift her into my arms and squeeze tight. Beyond her, I see tears running down my mother’s face.
“Kirk feels really bad,” Annie says in my ear. “But he was awesome.”
She pulls back and begins chattering with eyes so bright and alive that I can only stare. “The house isn’t messed up too bad. The fire department was so close, and the sprinkler system worked just like it’s supposed to. The back looks bad, all black, but the fire chief already said the damage is mostly superficial.”
“Sam Abrams is going to have a heart attack,” I murmur, looking past her at Mom again.
“Tell Dad how Kirk saved you, Gram!” Annie cries. “Come here, Kirk.”
Hugging my mother, I wave at my old friend. After patting Ervin on the shoulder, Kirk limps toward us.
“He got burned bad on his leg,” Annie goes on. “But he pushed Gram back through the door when Spider-Man threw the bomb.”
“Spider-Man?” I ask in confusion.
“The guy who threw the bomb was wearing a Spider-Man mask. Kirk said it was a Molotov cocktail.”
I lower her to the street and reach out to take Kirk’s hand.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should’ve reacted quicker.”
“Don’t be stupid, man. You did great. I’m just glad you’re alive. You obviously went far beyond the call of duty.”
“He did,” Mom says. “He was wonderful.”
“I’ll second that,” John Kaiser says from behind me.
As I turn back to Kaiser, my cell phone rings. I take it from my pocket and check the LCD, then stop. The screen reads JORDAN GLASS.
“Dad, listen,” Annie says, pulling on my arm.
“Hang on, babe.” Jordan must have tried to reach Kaiser and failed, then decided to try me. But if my memory serves, she ought to be winging her way to Cuba now, or at least headed to the airport. I press SEND and say, “Hello? Jordan?”
“Penn, yeah, it’s me.”
“What’s going on? Are you trying to reach John?”
Kaiser moves around in front of me, his eyebrows raised.
“No, I wanted you. I’m worried about Caitlin.”
Thirty yards to my right, a window shatters and falls to the ground. I whirl and see a fireman aiming his hose into the new opening in the house.