I handed it back to her. “That’s basically it. As long as you don’t shoot me or the paperboy, the mailman, or some Jehovah’s Witness who’s only trying to save your soul.”
She pursed her lips. “That’s pretty strong disapproval I hear in your voice.”
“Hey, I wish you didn’t need a gun. I wish the world could be a better place.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it that some clown sold you this thing with you not knowing any more about it than I know about transcendental meditation. You should see what this baby will do to a pound of flesh.” I made a fist about the size of a human heart.
Her look said she could imagine. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill anyone with it. I thought it might scare someone off.”
“Jesus, Koko, that’s even worse. If he gets it away from you, you’ve just armed your enemy.”
Nothing was said for a moment. Koko put the gun down on the table.
“You never want to pull a gun on a guy unless you mean it, that’s all I’m saying.”
She looked frustrated. “I know you’re right. I’ve been uneasy with that thing in the house. But what am I supposed to do? You don’t get Jehovah’s Witnesses at two o’clock in the morning.”
“You never know. Those birds never stop trying.”
The gun yawned up from the table between us. She started to say something but again her eyes drifted nervously to the window.
“I was pretty careful when I came up here,” I said.
“Why? Did you think you were followed? Did the same cat cross your path?”
“I was careful, Koko. You know the reasons.”
“Maybe so, but I think you were followed.” She got up and went quickly to the window to peep through the curtains. “See? He’s there. He’s out there now.”
I came up and we stood together, close enough to touch.
“I don’t see anything.”
“I saw someone, across the road. He went back in the trees.”
“Same guy?”
“I don’t know. I think so. I can’t be sure.”
“I’ll go take a look.”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that. I’ll call the police.”
“Whatever you want. But it’s different seeing a guy in your backyard and seeing one out on the road.”
“The police will laugh at me, is that what you’re saying?”
“They’ll have a harder time taking this seriously.”
“What about you? Do you think I’m imagining things?”
“I think you saw somebody. Who that was, we may never know.”
“What if it’s him?”
“He’d have to be pretty good to have followed me here.”
“But if he is pretty good, it could be done.”
“Anybody can be followed.”
“No matter how careful you think you are. And it would be a lot easier if he knew ahead of time where you were going. Or thought he knew.”
“Sure. He wouldn’t need to follow me at all then, would he?”
“Just wait for you. But what would that prove?”
“That you and I have made contact. He’d have to assume that you now know what I know. And that I’ve put you on guard.”
“So the next time he breaks in…”
“He won’t pussyfoot around.”
She stepped away from the window and sat looking down at her gun.
“None of this may happen,” I said. “But you’ve got to play it safe now. I’ll help you if you want.”
She looked up at me. “We’re in this together, is that what you’re saying?”
“We are if you want us to be.”
“I’m not sure what that means. But right now I sure would welcome your help.”
“Then you’ve got it, no strings attached, for as long or short as you want it.”
She gave me a grateful look. Then she looked uneasily around the room. “I guess there’s nothing we can do till morning. But this house has been violated. I think I’ll go crazy just waiting here.”
“Well, the alternative is to get out now. Where’s your car?”
“In the garage behind the house.”
“Get all your stuff together, if that’s what you want to do. Gimme your keys; I’ll get the car and bring it up close to the house. Then we’ll stash the stuff in the car and get it out of here.”
“Where will we go?”
“Down to Baltimore where there are people and lights. Maybe we’ll just drive around till dawn. At nine o’clock we’ll go to your bank and get a safe deposit box. The bank should be able to copy your notes. Later you’ll want to get dupes made of the tapes as well.” I shrugged. “This isn’t the greatest idea since Poe invented the detective story, but it’s the best I’ve got. Unless you want to change your mind and stay here till dawn.”
“No, that doesn’t feel…I don’t know how to explain it.”
She gave me her keys and went away. I heard her footsteps on a stairwell going down, then I heard her moving around under my feet, and I walked from window to window, looking out into the yard for trouble. The backyard looked peaceful in the moonlight, the garage a ramshackle building in the center of it, the whole property ringed by trees and underbrush. From there I couldn’t see any sign of a neighboring house.
I went out through the kitchen, through a small porch to the backyard. Nothing there either: no movements or sounds, no shadows darting away into the trees. It would be easy to find Koko guilty of an overactive imagination, but now I had a dark hunch of my own. I leaned back against the porch and wondered if we were doing the right thing. But I told her we’d go, it was her choice, so I finally moved uneasily away from the house toward the garage.
Halfway across the yard I froze. Something had moved, back in the trees. Might be a man, maybe a dog: probably nothing more than my own imagination competing with Koko’s. A breeze had come up, fluttering the leaves, and maybe that’s all it was.
I egged myself on. Come on, boy, you’re acting like a spooked kid.
I reached the edge of the garage and looked around it. I could see the door a few feet ahead: a double door for the car and a walk-in at the side. There was a small window and the interior looked pitch-black. I eased along the wall. My dark hunch had grown into a monster and I wished I had brought a flashlight, or Koko’s gun.
The door creaked loudly as I opened it and stepped inside. It was dark but I could see part of the car in the moonbeam coming through the window. It glinted off one of the fenders and fell against an empty wall.
I moved quickly away from the door and stood against the opposite wall, listening. This is damn ridiculous, I thought. Koko would wonder where I’d gone. But I didn’t move.
Someone was in here. I felt him breathing: I sensed his spirit. Nothing moved, there was no sound from any part of the garage, but by then my internal alarm was going crazy.
Then he did move. A slight bump, small enough to be nothing more than a rat.
A shadow crossed outside the door. Nothing imaginary about that. I leaned forward and peered out as something flitted past toward the trees. Another shape flicked past the window. There were three of them now, at least three. I eased along the wall, my fingers probing around for anything that might work as a weapon—a tire iron, a wrench, a hammer—but all I picked up was a layer of dust.
Nothing to do but go ahead. I took two quick steps away from the wall, touched the hard, cold door of the car, found the handle, and jerked it open. I was ready for what happened next; he was not. The car’s interior light came on and I saw him, in a crouch about three feet away. He shouted and came at me. I swung from the hip, caught him with a solid left just above the belt, and he dropped like a congressman’s ethics. He rasped out two desperate words, “Jesus…Christ,” and the other two charged into the garage. I slammed the car door shut—we all might as well be in the dark—and spun away as a dancing shadow moved around me. I swung and hit nothing.