After an eternity of waiting, we reached the end of the alley and ran into the street. That’s when I saw the line of cops wearing riot gear and carrying plastic shields. They were shouting something . . .
“Get back!”
“Oh, fuck,” Boonie muttered. Suddenly a rock flew over our heads. It hit one of the cops. Then a glass beer bottle shattered against a shield. The police line faltered, and one of them stepped out of line, lifting his baton to hit a man who’d been standing too close. Suddenly the others started hitting people, too, and the crowd panicked. Everyone surged back but there was nowhere to run—the wall of people behind us just kept pressing forward. I felt Boonie’s grip on me slip.
“Boonie!” a man yelled. I looked over to see one of his biker friends waving at us. He plowed into the crowd, cutting a line toward us. Boonie caught me up, throwing me over his shoulder as he moved toward his friend. People were throwing more rocks now as the police kept fighting them.
What the hell? Things like this don’t happen in Coeur d’Alene!
The crowd ebbed and surged around us as Boonie fought free, then we were running across Lakeside Avenue into the neighborhood just north of downtown. We weren’t the only ones fleeing—all around people ran up the street, screaming and crying. I’d never seen anything like it.
‘’You okay?” Boonie asked, setting me back down. I nodded.
“The others already left,’’ his friend said.
“Thanks, brother,’’ Boonie told him. I looked at the biker, noting the Silver Bastard patches he wore. This man had thrown himself into a rioting crowd to guide us to safety, I realized. No wonder Boonie considered him a brother. For the first time, I realized the club might be more than a criminal gang . . .
“Thank you,” I said, and the man offered a toothy smile. I saw a trail of blood trickling down his forehead.
“Are you hurt?’’
“No worries,” he said, wiping at it. “One of ’em got me, but I got him back.”
The sudden, bright light of a spotlight filled my eyes.
“Stay where you are,” a voice said over a loudspeaker.
“Let’s go!” Boonie’s friend shouted, then we were running again as the sound of the rioting crowd grew louder behind us.
_______
Ten minutes later, Boonie and I slowed to a walk as we moved up Fifth Street. I had no idea where his friend had gone, or where Kelly was.
“Would your friends have taken the girls with them?” I asked Boonie as we stopped to lean against a wooden privacy fence. My breath came hard and my side hurt from running. At least I wasn’t feeling drunk anymore. Way too much adrenaline . . .
“Yeah, they should be fine,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We planned it out when we came looking for you. Fuck. Don’t take this the wrong way, but every time I kiss you something blows up. I’m startin’ to think we’re cursed.”
I looked at him, and realized he was right. First the mine, then Farell’s crash . . . now whatever the ever-loving hell this had been.
“Damn. What do you think would happen if we actually made it to a second date?”
He stared at me, then his face cracked and he started laughing. I caught his mood, and then we were both laughing so hard tears ran down my face.
“Fuck if I know,” he said admitted finally. “Apocalypse or some shit?”
I sobered, frowning at him. He was joking, of course, but he raised a point. Bad things really did seem to happen every time we got together.
“Maybe for the good of humanity we should call it quits?”
“No way,” he said, pulling me into his body for a hard kiss. My insides heated and I guess I wasn’t totally sober after all, because I felt absolutely no inhibitions.
A car sped by and someone shouted, “Cops are coming!’’
Boonie dropped me abruptly. Down the street I saw the flash of blue lights.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” he asked, glancing around. “Over here.”
I followed him into the alley behind the fence. The yard had a gate, but it was locked. Not a problem for Boonie—he caught the edge of the fence and jumped, boosting himself up and over. Seconds later the gate opened from the inside. I ran through right before the squad car turned down the alley. Boonie slammed it shut behind me, and we both leaned back against it, panting.
“Are they looking for us?” I asked, confused.
“Doubt it,” he replied. “I mean, they always target the club, but I’m thinkin’ they just want to clear out downtown.”
“What the hell happened? Did you see anything?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There was a biker outside the bar. The cops were givin’ him shit, and then some guys in the crowd started arguing with them. By the time I realized what was happening, the biker was already gone. Still not quite sure how it turned into a riot.”
I glanced at him sharply. “Was he one of your friends?”
“Nope. Never saw him before and he wasn’t wearing club colors. All happened pretty damned fast. I think the cops panicked.”
Beyond the fence more lights flashed. We heard the police car pull into the alley, then it stopped and the lights went dark. I heard the crackle of the cop’s radio—he’d parked there. Crap.
“So now what?” I whispered. “I think we’re stuck here.”
Boonie shook his head, lifting a finger to his lips but it was too late.
“You hear something?” a voice asked. Suddenly a flashlight hit the other side of the fence, narrow strips of light shining through the cracks in the boards. I gasped. In an instant, Boonie caught me, covering my mouth with his hand.
“Boost me up,’’ said another man. “I’ll look over the top, maybe I’ll see something.”
Boonie let my mouth go, holding my gaze intently. As the cops shifted just inches from us, he jerked his chin behind me. I glanced around to see an overgrown lilac shrub—it was more than big enough to hide us . . . assuming we could reach it.
Fortunately we’d been in this situation before.
Not with the cops, of course. But when we’d been kids we’d had a far more terrifying nemesis.
Granny Blackthorne.
Twice a week she baked bread for her family, which she’d set out on her back porch. She also put out cookies, cupcakes, and even the occasional pie.
Looking back, it’s obvious that she was leaving the food for the kids in the trailer park. Most of us had enough to eat—at least during the school year, when we could get free lunches at school—but a lot of it was cheap, prepackaged shit. Not long after the worm incident, Boonie had judged me worthy to join his raiding party. Because I’d been a cute little girl, they’d used me as bait. I’d pick a handful of wildflowers, then go knock at Granny’s door. After a few minutes—her hearing wasn’t so good—she’d answer and I’d hold them out, offering my best gap-toothed smile and lisping about how much I liked her roses.
It was my job to keep her talking as long as possible, while Boonie and the boys went raiding. I’d wait for the signal and then run off to get my share of the booty.
She never caught on to us—or so we assumed—but no matter how much we stole, she put out more. Along the way, we’d developed a whole secret language of elaborate hand gestures, winks, et cetera, because you never knew what might happen during a highly dangerous food raid.
Now Boonie blinked at me twice in the old pattern.
Back up.
The cops were talking again, then I heard a flashlight hitting the boards. I nodded understanding, taking two steps backward as Boonie guided me. He caught my hands and lowered me to the ground. Seconds later I’d scooted silently into the safety of the shrub. Boonie followed, crawling over my body just in time.