She figured the operator would stay on the phone for at least a couple minutes, talking louder and louder. The towel and closed door would have to be enough to drown out whatever noise the 9-1-1 operator would make, or a ringing call back. Maybe, just maybe, there was a GPS chip in the phone to locate its where-abouts, and police would eventually be sent to her home to check on the call.
She went to the door and listened again without opening it. The TV was still playing, only now a game show of some sort. June wondered what sort of weapon she could use against a man with a loaded gun. She still had the pocketknife she got from Clinton’s pocket. Small and flimsy, it wasn’t much of a fighting weapon.
She went to the nightstand and slid open the drawer. There was nothing inside but a romance paperback, a nail file, and antacid. She had nothing else in the bedroom to use as a weapon.
Her only other option was to get to the baseball bat from next to the front door and use it on the man before he knew what was happening. Thinking of the area she would have to cover to get to it, she would be exposed to him for several steps before she could even get to the bat, let alone attack him with it before getting shot. He had already fired off one shot, so she had to assume the gun was fully loaded, unlike the others.
She would have to use her mind. That would have to be her best weapon.
That’s when it hit her, what Reagan had said a couple times about not going back to prison for doing something stupid. No bullets were in either of his partner’s guns, only so murder couldn’t impulsively be committed. If she was lucky, Reagan might have done the same with his, putting only one bullet in for show.
But she couldn’t count on it.
She opened the door and walked out.
“Hey, there you are! Have a good time with that...” He looked over the back of the couch. He had removed the rubber Ronald Reagan mask from his head. Their eyes met; he looked startled it was her and not his partner. She didn’t recognize him either.
“I doubt he had much fun,” she said to him.
He was immediately up on his feet, his gun rising. June froze in her tracks, not sure of what to do.
“What’d you do to him?”
“He wasn’t my type.”
“You killed him?”
“He’s taking a nap.”
They stared at each other. His gun hand began to shake. She struggled to control her nerves, waiting for the gun to fire. When it didn’t, she took another step.
His face twisted into a frown, turning red. When his face went dark, he looked like somebody that belonged in a mental institution rather than prison. With no other option, that was the game she would have to play with him. She had to shake him to the point of making a mistake. It was all she had.
A banging sound came from outside in the garden.
“What’s that?” he asked, glancing quickly toward the back of the house.
It had to be Georgie in the shed, now awake, trying to draw attention to his plight. She shrugged.
“Where’s Donny?” he asked.
“Oh, so that’s his real name. He’s taking a nap out in the shed.” She took another hesitant step toward him. From the side of her eye she could see the baseball bat next to the front door. “We’re all alone now. Just you against me.”
“You should stand still,” he told her. “I’m the one with the gun.”
“And you should set that gun down before you get hurt,” she said back.
The guest bedroom door creaked open, the movement catching her eye.
“Auntie,” said a tiny voice. “What’s...”
“Koemi, go back inside and close the door,” June said steadily.
“But...”
“I said go back inside!” June could barely keep from screaming at her nieces, but kept her gaze on the man in front of her.
After she heard the door close, she took another step forward, followed by another to close the gap between them.
Reagan’s gun hand wavered a bit as he wiped sweat from his brow. “Stand still.”
“Your partners’ guns were empty. What’s up with that?”
“Those two Bozo’s with live ammo?” he asked. “I don’t think so. I ain’t goin’ to prison for murder, just because they might do something stupid.”
“You’re going back to prison anyway. Right after a trip to the hospital.” June took another step. She was almost to the side of the couch. She had angled toward him and away from the bat, forsaking its potential use. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
“You seriously think I won’t shoot you?”
“I thought you weren’t going to prison for doing something stupid?”
“Don’t push your luck, missy.”
“Don’t call me missy. If you were a real man you’d beat the crap out of me.” She smiled, surprising herself that one formed on her face. At least she thought it was a smile and not nausea.
He grinned for only a moment, and then releveled his gun at her chest.
“You are a man, right? Because those other two...well, I checked and there wasn’t much there, really. But a big, smart guy like you wouldn’t be so deficient, right?”
She took one last step, then only two steps away from him. She couldn’t risk any more. She stood still, her eyes locked onto his face, his gun pointed at her chest.
“So, are you a man or not?”
“You wanna come check?”
“Only if you promise to pull my hair and pinch my butt...”
He grinned. His gun hand relaxed ever so slightly and lowered a bit.
That was her chance, the opening she needed, exactly what she had been angling for. Bullets or not, she had to do something.
She swung her open hand at the gun. He was quick with it, but she caught just enough of it for the gun to drop to the floor.
He looked at her surprised, but fell to the floor for the gun. She dropped right after him, having guessed wrong about the gun being empty. He went after the gun because it was still loaded.
In the small space between the heavy coffee table and the couch, they fought feverishly for the gun. Back and forth it went from one set of fingertips to the other, until it finally ended up in his grasp.
A shot rang out in the house, and wall plaster shattered. They wrestled more. It was his body weight against her training. She had to be better at ground grappling than him.
June splayed her legs out and hooked an ankle around a coffee table leg so she couldn’t be flipped. She got an arm around his neck, using his armpit as a grip and pulled back, stretching his spine backwards. Her other hand still tried to get control of the gun. Or at least her finger through the pistol guard so it couldn’t be fired. Anything to keep the muzzle pointed away.
As their hands frantically fought for the gun, he gave her an elbow to the jaw. Seeing stars for a moment was nothing new to her during a fight, and she grunted through the sharp but temporary pain. Unable to see the gun then, she pulled back on his neck even harder, trying to keep the gun aimed away from her.
Another shot rang out. That time there was a jolt of pain in her ribs.
June almost let go. But she had to hang on. She had nieces to protect. She was so close to winning the fight.
June saw something she could do. The man’s arm was almost straight at the elbow. If she could lock it straight, she could turn his arm and force pain down the length of it. It was a struggle, but she got his elbow straight and locked, and began twisting. Arching her back as much as she could with the pain of a gunshot wound to her rib cage, she pulled hard.
The man groaned and the gun fell from his hand.
Just as she couldn’t hold him any longer, he elbowed her ribs and broke loose.
Before he could get to his pistol, June kicked it under the couch. They were now even in weaponry, but she was fighting injured.