Majestyk's gaze came away and he looked down at the deputy lying in the aisle. He was sure the man was dead, but he got out of his seat and reached down to feel for a pulse. Nothing. God, no, the man had been shot through the chest. Majestyk was about to rise, then hesitated as he saw the ring of keys hanging from the deputy's belt. He told himself to do it, now, and think about it later if he had to. That's what he did, unhooked the ring and slipped the keys into his pants pocket. As he rose, turning toward the rear of the bus, he saw the black guy, only a few feet away, staring at him.
Neither of them spoke. The black guy looked away and Majestyk moved down the aisle to the back windows.
The second squad car was close behind, directly below him. He could see the deputy behind the wheel, his face bloody, talking excitedly into the radio mike. The next moment he was out of the car with his revolver drawn, moving around the back end of it to the sidewalk. Majestyk watched him. The deputy ran in between two cars that were facing out of a used car lot, then down behind the row of gleaming cars with prices painted on the windshields to where his partner was covering the door of the bus from behind the end car in the line.
Majestyk made his way back up the aisle in a crouch, watching the used car lot through the right-side windows. He saw both deputies raise their revolvers and fire.
With the closely spaced reports Renda dropped again away from the door and behind the first row of seats.
Halfway up the aisle Majestyk watched him.
Renda was looking at the two Chicanos now who were also crouched in the aisle, close to each other with their shoulders hunched.
After a moment Renda said, "Come on, let's go. We're getting out of here."
When they realized he was speaking to them the two Chicanos looked at him wide-eyed, frightened to death, and Renda said again, "Come on, move!"
One of the Chicanos said, "We don't want to go nowhere."
"Jesus, you think we're going to talk it over? I said we're going." Renda was reaching for them now, pulling the first one to his feet, then the other one, pushing them past him in the narrow aisleway.
The other Chicano said, "Man, I was drunk driving-I don't run away from that."
And the Chicano who had spoken before was saying, as he was pushed to the front, "Listen, please, they see us coming out they start shooting!"
"That's what we're going to find out," Renda said.
He crowded them, jamming them in the doorway, then put a foot behind the second man-as the man said, "Please, don't! We don't want to go!"-pushed hard and the two Chicanos were out of the bus, stumbling, getting to their feet, starting to make a run for it.
Majestyk watched the two deputies in the used car lot swing their revolvers over to cover them and was sure they were going to fire. But now the two Chicanos were running toward them with their hands raised high in the air, screaming, "Don't shoot! Please! Don't shoot!" And the deputies lowered their revolvers and waved them into the used car lot.
Renda was watching, crouched by the open door as Majestyk came the rest of the way up the aisle.
"Go out there, you give yourself up or get shot," Majestyk said.
Renda looked over his shoulder at him. He watched Majestyk step over the dead driver and slip into the seat, lean against the steering wheel and reach with both hands to turn on the ignition.
"What're you doing?"
Majestyk didn't answer him. He put the bus in gear, began to ease it forward a few feet, then braked and shifted into reverse.
The two deputies in the used car lot saw it happen. They moved the two Chicanos out of the way and returned their attention to the bus-in time to see it start up abruptly in reverse and smash its high rear end into the grille of their squad car. The bus moved forward-God almighty-went into reverse and again slammed into the car, cranked its wheels and made a U-turn out of there, leaving the radiator of the squad car spewing water and the two deputies watching it pick up speed, back the way they had come. They wanted to shoot. They were ready, but at the last moment had to hold their fire because of the people in cars and on the sidewalk, on the other side of the street.
Then the two city police cars were approaching the intersection from the south-off to the left-their sirens wailing, and the two deputies ran out to the sidewalk, waving their arms to flag the cars down.
Majestyk heard the sirens, the sound growing fainter, somewhere behind them. He headed west on the street they had taken into town, turned north on a side street, then west again a few blocks up. Finally he slowed down and eased the bus into an alley, behind a row of cinderblock industrial buildings that appeared deserted. He pulled the lever to open the door and looked around at the black guy.
"Here's your stop."
"Man," the black guy said, "you know where you going? If they don't shoot you?"
Renda was in the aisle, moving toward the black guy. "Come on, Sambo, move it. And take them with you."
Majestyk helped the black guy lift the bodies of the driver and the deputy and ease them out through the narrow doorway. Renda told them to hurry up, for Christ sake, but Majestyk paid no attention to him.
As he got behind the wheel again the black guy, standing outside, said, "Man, what did you do?"
Majestyk looked at him. For a moment he seemed about to say something, then closed the door in the black guy's face and took off down the alley.
Move out fast and try to get to high country before the police set up roadblocks and got their helicopters out. That's what he had to do. Keep to the back roads, working north, get far enough away from the highway and find some good cover.
That's what he did. Found an old sagging feed barn sitting out by itself on a dried-up section of pasture land, pulled the bus inside, and swung the double doors shut to enclose them in dim silence.
Majestyk remained by the crack of vertical light that showed between the doors, looking out in the direction they had come, seeing the dust settling in the sun glare.
Somewhere behind him in the gloom Renda said, "You move, don't you? I figured you for some kind of a local clown, but you move."
Majestyk didn't say anything.
"What'd they bust you for?"
"Assault."
"With what?"
"A shotgun."
"Assault, shit, that's attempted murder. They were going to jam you the same as me."
"Maybe," Majestyk said.
"Maybe? What do you think you're going to do about it?"
"I got an idea might work."
"Listen," Renda said, "we get to a phone we're out of the country before morning. Drive to Mexico, get some passports, we're gone."
His back still to Renda, Majestyk pulled the deputy's keys out of his pocket. He'd almost forgotten about them, hurrying to get out of there, maybe hurrying too fast and not thinking clearly. He would have to slow down a little. Not waste time, but make sure he wasn't doing anything dumb. He listened to Renda as he began to study the keys and select one that would fit his handcuffs.
"I got friends," Renda was saying, "as you noticed, huh? It was set up in a hurry and they blew it. All right, I call some more friends. They get us out of the country, someplace no extradition, and wait and see what happens. I got enough to live on, I mean high, the rest of my life. It won't be home, shit no, but it won't be in the fucking slam either. I couldn't make that. Couple of weeks I'd be sawing my fucking wrists." He paused. "What're you doing?"
Majestyk didn't say anything and Renda came over to him, his face brightening as he saw the keys.