Out There in the Darkness by Ed Gorman Page B

mentality.
    â€œPlay cards,” Mike said, “and leave the debate society crap till later.”
    Good idea.
    We played cards.
    In forty-five minutes, I lost $63.82.   Mike and Neil always played as if their lives were at stake.   All you had to do was watch their faces.   Gunfighters couldn’t have looked more serious or determined.
    The first pit stop came just after ten o’clock and Neil took it.   There was a john on the second floor between the bedrooms, and another john on the first floor.
    Neil said, “The good Doctor Gottesfeld had to give me a finger-wave this afternoon, gents, so this may take a while.”
    â€œYou should trade that prostate of yours in for a new one,” Mike said.
    â€œBelieve me, I’d like to.”
    While Neil was gone, the three of us started talking about the Patrol again, and whether we should go armed.
    We made the same old arguments.   The passion was gone.   We were just marking time waiting for Neil and we knew it.
    Finally, Mike said, “Let me see some of those magazines again.”
    â€œYou got some identification?” I said.
    â€œI’ll show you some identification,” Mike said.
    â€œSpare me,” I said, “I’ll just give you the magazines.”
    â€œYou mind if I use the john on the first floor?” Bob said.
    â€œYeah, it would really piss me off,” I said.
    â€œReally?”
    That was one thing about Bob.   He always fell for deadpan humor.  
    â€œNo, not ‘really,’” I said.   “Why would I care if you used the john on the first floor?”
    He grinned.   “Thought maybe they were segregated facilities or something.”
    He left.
    Mike said, “We’re lucky, you know that?”
    â€œYou mean me and you?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œLucky how?”
    â€œThose two guys.   They’re great guys.   I wish I had them at work.”   He shook his head.   “Treacherous bastards.   That’s all I’m around all day long.”
    â€œNo offense, but I’ll bet you can be pretty treacherous yourself.”
He smiled.   “Look who’s talking.”
    The first time I heard it, I thought it was some kind of animal noise from outside, a dog or a cat in some kind of discomfort maybe.   Mike, who was dealing himself a hand of solitaire, didn’t even look up from his cards.
    But the second time I heard the sound, Mike and I both looked up.   And then we heard the exploding sound of breaking glass.
    â€œWhat the hell is that?” Mike said.
    â€œLet’s go find out.”
    Just about the time we reached the bottom of the attic steps, we saw Neil coming out of the second-floor john.   “You hear that?”
    â€œSure as hell did,” I said.
    We reached the staircase leading to the first floor.   Everything was dark.   Mike reached for the light switch but I brushed his hand away.
    I put a ssshing finger to my lips and then showed him that Louisville Slugger I’d grabbed from Tim’s room.   He’s my nine-year-old and his most devout wish is to be a good baseball player.   His mother has convinced him that just because I went to college on a baseball scholarship, I was a good player.   I wasn’t.   I was a lucky player.
    I led the way downstairs, keeping the bat ready at all times.
    â€œYou sonofabitch!”
    The voice belonged to Bob.
    More smashing glass.
    I listened to the passage of the sound.   Kitchen.   Had to be the kitchen.
    In the shadowy light from the street, I saw their faces, Mike and Neil’s.   They looked scared.
    I hefted the bat some more and then started moving fast to the kitchen.
    Just as we passed through the dining room, I heard something heavy hit the kitchen floor.   Something human and heavy.
    I got the kitchen light on.
    He was at the back door.   White.   Tall.   Blond shoulder-length hair.