“Not at all,” I said, brushing her cheek with the back of my fingers.
She asked me, “Are we disintegrating?”
I didn’t know how to answer that.
I PAUSED for a moment before going back into the family room and looked through the angled slats on the kitchen door at Sanders and Morales. Both had their backs to me and were preoccupied with Angelina and the football game.
I thought: I could knock them out from behind, and we could gather up our daughter and get in the Jeep and go.
The kitchen was filled with heavy objects I could use- cast-iron skillets and pots, a rolling pin somewhere, that damned big mixer. For a few seconds my heart raced as I envisioned the scenario. I’d hit Sanders first because he was the closest, then go after Morales before he could stand and draw his gun. But knocking them out? I winced. That only happened on television and in the movies. What if the blows just opened up gashes, and one or both cops remained conscious?
No, I thought, the only way to ensure our escape would be to take them out. I glanced over my shoulder at the block of knives. That Santoku knife was sharp, substantial, and seven inches long. I could slit Sanders’s throat and go for Morales’s neck to cut it open or, if necessary, plunge the blade into his temple or heart. That might be possible, I thought. But could I do it in front of Angelina? Would she scream and be forever scarred?
That’s when Sanders gathered Angelina up and sat her on his lap. And Melissa said, “Jack, could you go get the leaf for the table?”
CODY SHOWED UP with Torkleson, a baked ham, and a case of beer.
In the kitchen I whispered to Melissa, “What safer place for an accessory to a qua druple homicide to be than at a dining table surrounded by policemen?”
She said, “I don’t find that funny.”
MELISSA THREW HERSELF INTO preparing the meal. The glass of vodka and orange juice that always seemed to be full explained at least a measure of her vivacity. She clucked at me again for our odd choices of canned food and the fact that we had enough beer to serve a battalion. Cody and Torkleson seemed to get along well with the two deputies, and the four of them talked shop, their voices getting louder as they drank more and more beer. I felt ashamed for my murderous thoughts, and for a while had trouble looking Sanders and Morales in the eye.
Finally, Melissa announced to all of us that dinner was ready, and we shambled in and took our places at the table. Melissa said a prayer, and I glanced up to see all four men with their heads bowed.
As for me, I wasn’t on very good terms with God just then.
THE TALK AT THE table turned inevitably toward the multiple homicides at the Appaloosa Club last night. I could feel my heart start to beat harder, but I feigned uninformed interest and kept my head down. The one time I looked up, Cody and I exchanged a fleeting glance.
Torkleson said, “If I hadn’t traded shifts with McCoy and Scruggs, it would have been my case. Those poor guys. The mayor is all over us because of the Eastman murder, and now this. Man, the heat those guys are under.”
“Any ideas who did it?” Morales asked.
Torkleson shrugged. “Some blond chick says she was there. She told the Scruggs it was a single shooter-a huge hairy guy with a beard and a long coat.”
Meaning Garrett Moreland had not talked to the police, just like before. Either he was scared, or he had something serious to hide. I recalled how calmly he had sat there at the table cradling the mug in his hands when Jeter approached him and called out his name.
“Bullshit,” Sanders said, then acknowledged Angelina in her high chair. “Sorry,” he said to Melissa.
Torkleson agreed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. One guy doing all that? It’s hard to believe. I don’t know if the blonde is credible at all. She says the big hairy guy just pulled a shotgun out of his coat and started blasting.”
Morales said, “She says this big hairy guy just let her leave? Her and nobody else? Come on…”
Torkleson said, “She claims she thought her friend was right behind her out the door, but it turns out her friend was one of the victims. Shot three times in the chest.”
“A big hairy guy?” Sanders said. “Sounds like she’s been watching too many movies. This thing has ‘gang’ written all over it.”
Cody nodded. “You’ve got that right.”
Torkleson said, “That’s what we’re thinking, too. Two of the victims were local leaders of Sur-13. It’s like somebody was trying to cut the head off that beast, probably the 32 Crips or Varios. Maybe the Crenshaw Mafia, who are gangster Bloods-we’ve heard they’re moving in from Southern California. No way this was random. It was a power play. And get this: One of the shooters used a ten-gauge shotgun. That’s serious hardware. I thought those guys stuck to nines and the occasional AK-47.”
But they didn’t get Garrett, I thought. I wondered just how deep Garrett was involved with the gangsters. Then I thought: He could be a leader, too. It could have been a meeting. That made me think differently about Garrett.
“A ten-gauge. Jeez,” Morales said. “I bet that made a mess.”
Torkleson said, “From the photos I saw, well…” He glanced over at Melissa, who was rapt but very pale. I’d not told her any of the details of what had happened in the Appaloosa Club, only that things had gone horribly wrong, and Garrett got away. She looked at me, trying to read me.
“…Let’s just say there was a lot of blood,” Torkleson continued.
“I’m sorry,” Sanders said, “but I can’t get all weepy about hearing that some big boys from Sureños 13 got hit.”
Morales agreed.
“Two of the victims were bystanders, though,” Torkleson said. “The friend of the blonde had a couple of priors, but nothing of note. The bartender was an ex-con and probably a member of Sur-13, but I’m sure he wasn’t a prime target- he was just there.”
“Nobody saw or heard anything?” Cody asked innocently.
Torkleson shook his head. “Nobody but the blond girl so far. You know the neighborhood-it’s deserted at night, and not a lot of cops go by there even though they’re supposed to. And from what I understand, gunshots at night aren’t at all rare in that neighborhood.”
“So who called it in?” Cody asked.
“A citizen,” Torkleson said. “Some guy said he went to the bar for a drink, but the place looked closed, which was unusual. He looked in a window and saw the bodies.”
“Anything else?” Cody bored in. I hoped he wasn’t being too obvious, but I recognized the fact that he was just being Cody the relentless cop.
“One thing, and it’s not much,” Torkleson said. “A ware-house delivery driver called in and said he sometimes uses that street to get to his shop. He said he saw a light-colored Jeep parked in front of the place at about the time we figure it all went down, but that’s all we’ve got.”
“Hey,” Morales said, gesturing toward me with a spoon, “Mr. McGuane here’s got a light-colored Jeep. He was gone last night for a few hours.”
“That’s right,” Sanders said.
I felt my insides clutch up. Melissa was dabbing at some sweet potatoes on Angelina’s face, and I saw her freeze.
Sanders said, “Maybe on the way to the bar, you stopped at the Appaloosa Club and shot four people.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Looks like we’ve solved the case,” Morales said, digging into the mashed potatoes.
Sanders said, “Now we can get a commendation and a raise and be on TV standing next to the mayor. Excuse me, can you pass me the ham?”
I began to breathe again. When I looked over at Cody, he winked at me.
Melissa stood up unsteadily, but I assumed I was the only one who noticed. “Who wants dessert?” she asked. I could tell she wanted to top off her glass again when she went over to the counter.
WE WERE IN THE LIVING ROOM, and it had gotten dark outside. Tiny little hard balls of snow pinpricked the west windows and melted on impact and slimed down the glass, leaving snail tracks. The second Thanksgiving Day game was in the first minutes of the fourth quarter, with Dallas ahead by twenty and John Madden extolling the virtues of Turducken and eight-legged turkeys. I was frankly surprised the deputies and Torkleson had stayed so long. And they seemed in no hurry to leave. There was still plenty of beer, and Cody had cracked open the Jim Beam Black. I wondered if they’d stay until the end of the game or until the alcohol ran out, and I was pretty sure it would be the alcohol. Angelina was charged up by the company although she was starting to get wild since she’d refused to take her nap. Why nap when there were four men doting on her? Melissa was in the kitchen cleaning up and, I assumed, working a little on the bottle of vodka. I couldn’t get the image of her sitting bedside with her glass, watching our daughter and me while we slept, out of my mind.