Page 56 of Delusional

Rob joined us a few seconds later, along with Gary. Rob glanced at his mother’s grip on the knife but didn’t say anything. It felt like it wasn’t the first time Rob had seen his mother holding a weapon. Then he looked at the blood on the ground. He took a step outside and studied the ground.

“I can follow this trail.”

I said, “And run into an ambush? It feels like they’re trying to flush us out of the house. We need a plan. Time is on our side. The longer we can drag this out, the more likely it is the sheriff’s deputies might show up.”

“We’ll see,” Gary said. “They said they’re on their way.”

Rob said, “This is an opportunity I’d rather not waste. I know the area, and with the snow, I’ll be able to spot movement from up there. It’s as dark as the inside of a broken refrigerator down here. All the advantages are on our side.” He waved us into the house as he jogged back inside. By the time I stepped through the kitchen and into the hallway, Rob already had a coat roughly on and a rifle and a revolver in hand.

Rob gave me the revolver and a half-full box of ammunition. “This is for your personal protection. I’ve been using this .30-30 Winchester since I was thirteen years old. I’m going to get up on top of the ridge. I should be able to see everything between the two houses from there.”

“I guess I’m the bait?”

“Not exactly. But I don’t want Pops or my mom getting mixed up in this.”

I shot a look toward the couch and saw Chet sitting up now but appearing confused.

“And Gary isn’t the best choice,” Rob continued. “I’m afraid that leaves you.”

“Oh, boy. Everyone likes getting picked for an activity.”

Then we saw another figure as it flashed past a rear window. Joke time was over. Now it was time to show these scumbags that not everyone they encountered was a victim.

My guess was that Arnold Marks—or Arjan Marku—was so used to people rolling over as soon as he used a little muscle that we’d thrown him for a loop. He couldn’t just walk away. Not after the way I’d insulted him at the car lot. I’d known he’d do something in retaliation. But I hadn’t realized it would be quite this serious.

It was a mistake I was hoping he’d regret for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER 68

OUR PLAN WAS simple. Gary went to the front door, opened it, and shined a light out as he shouted, “Is someone out there?”

At the same time, Rob and I slipped out the back door. He immediately headed up the nearest hill to the ridge with his rifle. I took the single-action old-fashioned revolver, with about thirty extra rounds now in my pocket. I followed along the base of the hill, staying in the deep, dark shadows. Not only did the shadows keep me hidden from anyone; they also kept me from seeing anything.

By the time I came to a stop close to Gary’s house next door, my eyes had adjusted to the dark somewhat. I was still wearing my jacket—I hadn’t even had a chance to take it off—but it was still crazy cold out. I was nervous, and I kinda expected sweat to trickle down into my eyes. It was a normal reaction to extreme stress. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight in this weather. It felt like my sweat froze right to my forehead.

As I paused there in the dark, I heard a familiar noise. It was Fido, the llama, spitting at someone. All I had to do was turn slightly to my left and move about ten yards. I heard the sound of cursing, then saw the briefest of movements in the dark.

I raised my revolver and out of habit shouted, “Police, don’t move!”

That earned me two quick bullets fired in my direction. I dropped straight to the ground. I fired twice and heard someone groan. Fido spat a couple more times as the figure stumbled away from the house.

Behind me, from the top of the hill, Rob fired his rifle. The report from the large-caliber Winchester was solid and loud. I couldn’t see what he was shooting at but was sure that the former military sniper had hit whatever he’d aimed at.

I decided to follow my potential target around the corner of the house. As I ran past Fido’s pen, the llama hissed at me. I hoped it didn’t warn anyone waiting around the corner.

I didn’t hesitate or slow down. As soon as I turned the corner, I ran into someone hard. We slammed into each other like a head-on collision on the interstate. I dropped my revolver as I fell onto the rock-hard frozen ground. Rather than reach for it, I decided it would be better if I acted quickly, so I sprang off the ground and hit the person I’d run into.

I heard my victim let out a groan as the air was pushed from his lungs. Then someone else fired a shot at me. I scurried backward like a crab to get behind the cover of the side of the house. When I peeked around, I saw the woman from the bar helping her partner up from the ground.

A pickup truck roared up to the front of Mona’s house and screeched to a stop. I watched as Arnold Marks and one of the rednecks from the sports bar—Cauliflower Ear—climbed out of the pickup with weapons in their hands. Marks was holding some kind of AK-47 knockoff, and Cauliflower Ear had a chromed automatic pistol. They started to walk toward the house.

This could get ugly quickly.

The running lights from the truck illuminated the two men. But as they walked forward, continuing toward the house, I lost them in the darkness. I jumped from around the corner, scooped up the revolver, and raced to the front of Gary’s house until I came to a low rise. I dropped to the ground and braced my hand against the hump of snow and earth.

I couldn’t let those assholes get to the house. I lined up a shot with my old-timey weapon. To say conditions were less than ideal would’ve been a joke. I could barely see my targets in the dark, the wind was whistling through the valley at what felt like thirty miles an hour, and I was using an ancient and unfamiliar gun. Plus I was facing a guy who clearly was intent on killing me.

Nothing I haven’t experienced before.