Chapter 8: Another One of Those Days

Delaney managed to survive the wedding planning session, even if she was obviously a bit worse for the wear. She only answered in grunts until mid-morning when I reminded her we were having tacos for lunch, then I at least got two-word answers.

Mooky looked around the place before he handed us our order. “A guy who was at the rave knows a guy who heard the name Caleb tossed around. I know it isn’t much...”

“It’s more than we knew.” I thought about the sheriff’s warning. “Back off, though, I think somebody is taking this seriously. Somebody did a drive-by last week, fired some shots into the yard.”

“I heard there was some kind of shooting thing that happened in town, but I didn’t know what.” He stared at me with wide eyes. “Dude ... you’re not going to ... like, you know ... go on a rampage, are you?”

“Just be careful. Sheriff wants us to let up.”

Delaney made a sour face. “We aren’t even allowed to tear off mattress tags.”

Mooky blinked, even more confused than usual. “What does that even mean?”

“It means he’s going to be looking over our shoulder, and we have to stop doing anything.”

“For now,” Delaney smirked.

“For now.” I agreed.

“So what are you going to do?”

“It means we’re going to go pick up a wrecked bus and take it to the yard. You just keep your head down.”

He nodded.

Two hours later, loaded up with a half-crushed school bus, I started to push past a slow-moving Cadillac.

Delaney peered down into the Caddy. “Ten miles under the speed limit. I’m not even sure she can see over the dash. And her glasses are like a foot thick.”

“We’ll just ease on ahead of her, so she doesn’t have to worry about us.”

Delaney gave me a sidelong glance. “She probably shouldn’t be driving.”

“Everybody gets older. The alternative really sucks.”

She slid all the way back into her seat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Getting older is tough.” I glanced in the mirror and saw a Chrysler 300 coming up. “At least she can still get around.”

I could see that sink in. She shifted and gave a slight frown. “Yeah. Mooky said he goes up to Friendship Village because the people there can’t really go anywhere.”

She shrugged. “Let her drive.”

As we passed the Sunday driver, the Chrysler crowded behind us followed, then slipped into the right lane to push past impatiently.

Delaney glanced in the mirror. “What a dick.”

“Screw it; he can sweep for cops ahead of us.”

It was only luck that I glanced over to see an arm out the window, holding a large revolver.

“Get down. Gun. Gun. Gun!” I hunched down myself.

The shots spawned insanely loud clangs, a giant steel bell that rang in a tight, rapid rhythm as Delaney curled up into a tight ball.

I pushed right as fast as I could risk with the load, hoping to catch him and shove him off the road into the fields.

The metallic clanging suddenly stopped. That was six rounds. I started to reach for my 1911 behind Delaney’s seat. He’d have to switch guns or reload. One-handed. While driving. Even with a speed loader a revolver would be a bitch to reload that way.

The Chrysler was suddenly past us as I tried to push him off the road. The rollback just wasn’t agile enough to pull it off. Blue and white strobes lit up behind us as a state trooper closed up.

We watched the big Chrysler power off into the distance.

“What the fuck was he shooting?” Delaney looked at me wide-eyed.

“A magnum of some kind, probably a .357.”

“It sounded like a damn cannon.”

“Pretty much. Basically a light rifle round in a handgun.” I waited for the trooper to go after the M300, but he stayed on us instead.