Chapter 11

It was a somewhat sad and lonely young man who mounted his motorbike and rode away from the Donahue home. There had been, for him, a short-lived thrill in his sadistic treatment of Marcy and a certain satisfaction in his domination of the boy whom he had once considered a friend; however, now as he pulled away from the curb, it was the complete feeling of aloneness that swept over him. If anything were to be done, he had to do it... alone, and if necessary, assume the consequences himself. It was a risky and dangerous undertaking! He had to have some money, fast!

Then, he thought about how stupid his grandstand play had been, back there with Ray and Marcy: Fifty bucks for the gun... and twenty... just to be able to tell Marcy off! Damn! That's playing it pretty stupid!

He had to find exactly the right place... the right setup... one that would enable him to make his hit, fast, and would give him a clean getaway, afterward.

Riding up and down the streets of Redfern, he checked out several possibilities: A couple of liquor stores and two or three all-night service stations. It came to him, then; he was thinking of pulling a robbery right in his own home-town where there were too many possibilities of recognition. Why pull something else stupid, now? There are a hell of a lot more places over in San Bernardino!

Decisively, he headed for the larger city; his plan, now, to hit a late-closing liquor store, head toward Los Angeles, to throw off any possible pursuit, then work his way back to Redfern on the back roads. He reexamined his ideas and felt satisfied his plan was workable.

Idling along the streets of San Bernardino, he spotted what he was looking for, a liquor store in a small shopping center. It was the only business establishment still open, and there was but a single clerk on duty within the brightly lit store with its overloaded shelves of bottle goods.

Don parked his bike and watched the place, from a distance. There were few customers. The parking lot was almost empty. As a patron's car pulled away from in front of the liquor store, Don decided it was time to make his move.

He left his bike, out of sight, some twenty-five yards from the entrance, the motor idling; then, pulling his stocking cap down low to his eyebrows and hastily covering his lower face with his handkerchief, he strode to the door, his snub-nosed pistol in his hand.

The night clerk, a broad-faced man with a definite paunch was taken completely by surprise. He sat on a stool behind the counter, his nose buried in a paper-back book with a lurid, sexy cover.

"Put the money in a paper sack... and be quick about it!" Don ordered.

With excruciating slowness, the clerk laid the book aside and focused on the young gunman. He arose and moved toward the cash register, carefully selecting a small sack from a pile of them under the counter, as Don moved closer to watch the man's every move.

The older man glanced once toward Don, saw his obvious nervousness and said, "Son... you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Hell, yes!" he barked. "Don't talk! I just want the money!"

"Just as you say! You've got the hardware!" He punched the cash register open and scooped bills into the sack, then put the sack on the counter. "There you are..."

Don made no move to pick it up. "All of it!" he snapped. "The big stuff... underneath the cash box!"

Obediently, the clerk lifted out the cash box, picked up more bills and put them in the sack. "That's it... you've cleaned us out!" he said.

"Now, come around the counter... keep your hands in sight!" Don commanded.

Again, the man obeyed, and when he had reached the end of the counter, Don ordered him to lie on the floor.

"Don't move from there for ten minutes... and you won't get hurt!" he warned, as he turned and sprinted for his motorcycle.

Galvanizing himself into instant action, the moment Don's running figure had cleared the door, the clerk moved fast for one of his girth. He dived behind the counter and came up with a long- barrelled.45 revolver. Guessing that the robber was working alone, he went through the door fast and flattened himself on the asphalt. He saw his target, the boy was just mounting the motorcycle. The big gun, in his hand roared out once.

Don's left leg suddenly collapsed under him, and searing pain caused him to cry out. Then, he was on the ground. His pistol was jerked out of his waistband, and he was conscious that someone was examining his wound.

Merciful unconsciousness blotted out the rest... until he woke up again in the prison ward of County Hospital. When he finally became aware of his surroundings, where he was... and the circumstances of his being there, he turned his head into his pillow and wept--not because of the pain--but for sheer frustration and worry about what would happen to his sister, Charity.

Christ! I've really messed up everything!

A white, starched nurse, fat and grandmotherly, bustled in, saw that he was awake and said, cheerily, "Time for your shot! Turn over on your side... please!"

Obediently, Don turned, aware now of the pain in his leg. It hurt more than he was willing to admit. Efficiently, the nurse jabbed the needle into his alcohol-swabbed backside. "There... that'll be better, now!" she clucked.

Tossing and turning, Charity spent a fitfully sleepless night. She awakened several times to check on whether Don had come home, each time finding his room empty. In the early dawn, when he had still not returned, she could not go back to sleep at all.

She unlocked the bathroom door and peeped in on her mother's husband, Gabe. He was still fast asleep. Relocking the door, she drew her bath, having decided that she would leave early for school, well before her stepfather would be awake. She knew that she would be safe at school, since Don would not be with her. Worry concerning him furrowed her brow. She couldn't understand why be had not returned home.

Oh, God... I hope he hasn't had an a-accident with his motorcycle... or something...

What that vague something was, she had no idea... but there was in her a feeling that something quite horrible had happened to Donnie. A feeling of frustrated helplessness swept over her. It seemed that life was crowding her, bearing down hard... and she didn't know what to do. Everything seemed so complicated... so difficult to find solutions.

She finished bathing, combed her hair, dressed carefully and applied a small amount of makeup to her face to hide the dark circles and the tiredness; then, she went quietly into the kitchen to get a bite of breakfast.

There was not much left in the kitchen cupboards. No one had done any shopping for food since their mother had left; however, she was able to improvise a meal, after ransacking all the cupboards for what they would yield.

She left for school, much earlier than necessary, walking slow, deep in her worry about Don. It was her hope that she would see him during the day... or at least, have some word from him.

A thought that flashed through her mind and stuck there was that he had left, too. He had spoken often of it; perhaps he had done it... not wanting her as a burden on him.

N-No... please don't let it be like that! Donnie's really all I have... now!

Her school classes were flat, dull; they held no interest for her... and she had had to accept an unexcused absence permit in order to attend classes.

It was right after her third period class had begun that an office runner brought a message requesting that she report to the administration unit. Reluctantly, the math teacher allowed her to go, reminding her that she now had two assignments to get caught up on, by tomorrow.

Her heart went wild. It must be something to do with Donnie! She hurried across the campus to the main office, and arrived there, breathless from the exertion.

As she approached the desk, she saw that Gabe Scott stood talking to the vice-principal. His back was to her, and she was flooded with a strong desire to run... turn around and leave, right then... anything but face him!

Mr. Graves, the vice-principal, looked up and saw her, "Ah, here she is, Mr. Scott..."

They both faced her; there was nothing she could do but walk up to them, where they stood. She was apprehensive... real fear began to build in her. Both men looked so grim and unsmiling. She ignored Gabe and concentrated her attention on Mr. Graves. He gave her a quick, reassuring smile.

"Charity... your father has asked that you go with him to see your brother, Donald. He... ah... has had an accident... and is in the county hospital..."

"OOooh, no!" she gasped, quick tears springing to her eyes. "What h-happened to h-him... ?"

"Your father will explain... as you drive along... right, Mr. Scott?"

"What... ? Oh! Yes... of course... I'll tell her all about it... at least, what I know... so far..." Gabe said.

"Well... Charity, you go along with your dad, now. You're officially excused for the rest of the day..." Mr. Graves said. "... And, I do hope your son is not too seriously injured..." His serious face reflected real concern.

The vice-principal might as well have been a judge passing sentence upon her. There was no way she could escape having to leave, now, with Gabriel Scott... but it was the only way she would learn about what happened to Don... the only way she could get to see him.