So what to do?
Make myself a less consistent target, for one. As Sunglasses began to pull the trigger, I jumped suddenly to the left and tackled Scarface. The bullet whizzed past me. I made sure now to keep Scarface’s body between the gun’s trajectory and, well, me. Scarface hadn’t been expecting that attack. As we toppled backward, I moved my forearm into his throat. When we landed on the floor, my forearm jammed deep into neck. His eyes bulged, and he made a choking sound.
I had him just where I wanted him.
Of course, if that had been all, if my only concern was Scarface, I’d be a pretty happy guy right now. But it wasn’t. He wasn’t even my biggest worry. My biggest worry was Sunglasses. He had quickly recovered from my surprise move and was now heading toward us with his gun raised.
I could only hide behind Scarface’s body for so long-and by “so long,” I meant “maybe another second.”
Sunglasses stood over us. He pointed his gun down at me. From my spot on the ground, I unleashed a kick that landed on his shin. He cursed, shook it off, took a step back, and once again took aim.
This was it, I realized. I was out of moves. It was over.
Scarface was rolling away, coughing, trying to regain his breath. It would take a while, but that didn’t really matter. I’d be dead by then. Sunglasses altered his aim slightly so that the barrel was at my chest. I was going to raise my arms in surrender, but I knew that would do no good. I was staring at that smile-twitch again, the last sight I’d ever see, when I heard a shriek.
It was Ema.
She leapt on Sunglasses’s back, her momentum knocking him forward. He managed to keep on his feet but just barely. Ema’s arms snaked around his neck and squeezed for all she was worth. Without hesitation, I rolled toward Scarface and threw another blow at his throat. It landed but not flush.
Sunglasses tried using his free hand to pry Ema’s arm off, but she was a lot stronger than he expected. He lifted the gun hand toward her, as though hoping to shoot her off his back. Ema was ready for it. She took her right arm off his neck and chopped down on his gun hand.
The gun dropped to ground.
Now was my chance!
I dived for the gun, but Sunglasses wasn’t through yet. He kicked the gun with his right foot just before I got to it. The gun skittered all the way down the recently waxed floor of the hallway. No time to go for it. Scarface was starting to recover. He, too, had a gun.
Sunglasses reeled back, trying to get Ema off him, but she wouldn’t budge. Then he stumbled backward and slammed her into the wall of lockers. He did it again, harder this time, head-butting her in the face with the back of his head. It worked. Ema’s grip went slack. She slumped to the ground, dazed. Sunglasses turned toward her, but when I shouted, he turned back to me. Ema used the distraction to roll into a classroom and out of harm’s way.
Meanwhile, Scarface was stirring again-and he still had a gun.
I leapt back toward him, but this time he was ready. Scarface rolled onto his back and kicked his foot out. It landed in my solar plexus. The air whooshed out of me. As I fell to the ground, I threw a flailing elbow strike. It struck pay dirt-Scarface’s nose. I heard a crunching sound and knew that it was broken.
But before I could get back up, Sunglasses was on me too. He kicked me hard in the ribs. I fell flat. He threw another kick. I grunted. The third kick made my head start to swim. I thought I might throw up. I lay there, defenseless.
The next kick sapped me of whatever strength I had left.
I was losing consciousness, almost ready to surrender, when my eyes traveled past Scarface and landed on Spoon. His eyes were still closed. His face was pure white. The blood poured from an open wound. I didn’t know if he was dead or alive, but I’d be damned if I would let him bleed out.
I had to do something, and the answer was suddenly obvious.
Scarface’s gun.
It was in his back pocket. If I could just reach…
Sunglasses saw what I was going to do. He smiled down at me and lined up for another kick, one that would probably finish me off, but suddenly the air was shattered by the sound of an alarm.
“Lockdown!” a voice over the loudspeaker intoned. “Lockdown… Lockdown!”
Ema! That was why she had rolled into the classroom-to hit the panic button Spoon had told us about. The distraction was all I needed. With one last grunt I reached over and grabbed the gun from Scarface’s back pocket. I pulled for it, but it wouldn’t come out. Sunglasses looked back over at me. He reeled back for another kick, but it wasn’t in time.
I freed the gun and pointed it at him. “Freeze!”
Sunglasses stopped and slowly put his hands above his head. I crawled away, keeping the gun on him, making sure I was far enough from Scarface too.
The loudspeaker kept going: “Lockdown… Lockdown…”
Ema ran back out into the hallway and knelt down next to Spoon.
“Spoon? Arthur?” Her voice was a tearful plea. She cradled his head. “Talk to me, okay? Please?”
She was crying. I was crying. But Spoon didn’t move.
I could hear sirens approaching in the distance. I turned and looked at Scarface and Sunglasses. Part of me hoped that they would make a move, because I wanted to shoot them for what they’d done.
They must have seen my face and knew. Neither moved.
I looked over at Ema. “Is he…?”
“I don’t know, Mickey. I don’t know.”
CHAPTER 39
I don’t know how many hours passed.
When the cops showed, they surrounded me and told me to put down the gun. I did. The rest was just a murky haze. Sunglasses and Scarface were cuffed. Paramedics rushed over to Spoon. Ema sat, cradling his head, trying to stop the flow of blood. I ran toward him too because for a moment, a very brief moment, I feared one of the paramedics would be the sandy-haired paramedic who took away my father. I feared that he would wheel Spoon out of there and I’d never see him again.
“Mickey, what have you done?”
That voice, I knew, came from deep inside of me. I had been warned, hadn’t I? Detective Waters had told me in no uncertain terms not to get involved, but I hadn’t listened. It would have been one thing to put my life at risk. But look what I had done to Spoon.
I don’t think I will ever forgive myself.
I don’t know how many cops showed up. I remember the flashing lights from a long line of emergency vehicles slicing through the still night air. For the next several hours-I cannot tell you how many-I answered questions. I kept asking only one in return, over and over:
How is he?
But they wouldn’t tell me about Spoon’s condition.
For the most part, I told the truth, but when they asked, “How did you guys get into the school?” I lied and said, “I forced open the door.”
“Kid,” the cop said to me in a grave voice, “breaking into the school is the least of your friend’s problems.”
Several officers came in and out, including Chief Taylor and even Detective Waters. The mood of the officers swung between pissed and pleased-pissed because we had been foolhardy and gotten Spoon shot; pleased because we had cracked the case of who shot Mrs. Caldwell and Rachel. Two hardened criminals had been apprehended and were going to jail for a long time. The surveillance cameras would see to that, plus the guns they used were Smith& Wesson.38s-the same kind used to shoot Mrs. Caldwell and Rachel.
At some point, Uncle Myron showed up. He took on the dual roles of panicked guardian and attorney. He immediately told me to stop talking to the police. But I waved him off. They needed to know. So instead Myron sat next to me and listened too.
The last person to interrogate me was Detective Waters. When he finished, I said, “Does this help your other case?”