“This how y’all wanna do it, right?” Ike said in a low murmur.
He heard the Caprice before he saw it. When he did see it he recognized the driver. He was one of the guys who had accompanied the blond Viking he had nearly decapitated. The car was going slow enough to be sightseeing. Ike exploded from behind the shrubs like he’d been fired from a rifle. He was already swinging the bush axe as he ran. It sliced through the air in a wicked arc before slamming into the driver’s side window and shattering it like a sheet of ice during a spring thaw.
“Fuck, shit!” Dome yelled. His foot slipped off the gas pedal as he tried to fold his body under the steering wheel. Cheddar reached for the .32 in his waistband, but it got hung up on the buckle on his belt. The car continued to roll even as Ike reared back with the bush axe again.
“Drive!” Cheddar roared.
“What the fuck you think I’m trying to do?” Dome howled.
Ike swung the axe again. It connected with the back window of the Caprice. There must have been an imperfection in the tempered glass, because it exploded inward, showering Dome and Cheddar with razor-sharp shards. Cheddar got his gun loose, but just as he did, Dome hit the gas. Cheddar was thrown backward and the gun went off. Dome and Cheddar both screamed as the cacophonous sound of the gun filled the car. Dome felt a bullet whiz by his head and exit through the roof. He flew down the road spitting gravel from his rear tires. Bits of glass covered him like chips of ice.
Ike watched as the Caprice reached the end of Townbridge Lane doing forty and turned right onto Townbridge Road without even attempting to slow down.
Randy Hiers, Ike’s neighbor two houses down, came out onto his front step. He was wearing a wifebeater and lounge pants. Randy didn’t work. He was collecting disability for a work-related injury that Ike was 90 percent sure he was faking. Randy liked to decorate his yard with Confederate flags and DON’T TREAD ON ME signs. He railed against freeloading immigrants every chance he got. Ike didn’t think he recognized the irony of crusading against freeloaders while collecting disability that he didn’t really need.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Randy yelled. He had the self-assurance of most mediocre men. They told themselves the world was their oyster but never realized their oyster had turned rancid a long time ago.
“Nothing you need to worry about, Randy,” Ike said. He started to walk back toward his house.
“Now hold on a goddamned minute. You out here breaking some guy’s windows with that … what is that, anyway?” he said, glancing at the bush axe. Randy shook his head like a bull and continued his righteous diatribe. “I got kids in here, Ike!” Randy said.
“You wanna see them grow up, you’ll go back in your fucking house,” Ike said. He didn’t wait for Randy to respond. By the time he reached his front door Mya was already there waiting for him. Ike walked inside and closed and locked the door behind him.
“Ike, what the hell is going on?” Mya asked. Her face was drawn. Ike leaned the bush axe against the coatrack near the front door.
“You think you can take Arianna and stay with your sister for a few days?” Ike asked. Mya moved closer to him. Her hand hovered over his chest but didn’t land.
“Ike, what is going on?” she asked again. Her tone was gentle but firm. Ike went in the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He came back in the living room. Took a long sip.
“You know how I told you me and Buddy Lee was handling what happened to Isiah?” Ike said.
“Yes,” Mya said.
“This is what handling it looks like. Call your sister and see if you can stay over there for a few. Please,” Ike said before taking another sip of his coffee.
TWENTY-SIX
Buddy Lee turned in to the trailer court and nearly had a heart attack. Parked in his short driveway was a gold Lexus. Standing next to the Lexus was his ex-wife. Buddy Lee parked his truck on the side of the gravel road that ran in a serpentine “S” through the trailer court.
Why in the hell is she here? Buddy Lee thought. Tremors started in his hands and worked their way up his arms. Flexing and unflexing his fingers helped slightly. He checked the rearview mirror. She was still standing by the Lexus. The breeze caught her hair and made a halo out of it around her head. Buddy Lee sucked at his teeth and got out of his truck.
Christine took a few steps toward him. Buddy Lee leaned against his tailgate. They stood there like old gunslingers. Words were usually their weapons, and their aim was deadly. The breeze died down, and Christine’s hair fell back to her shoulders.