The Drifter (Peter Ash #1)(95)

The circuit closed. The vibrator hummed.

But the wiring hung torn from the big battery like a broken spiderweb.

Peter remained miraculously alive.

“Go go go,” he said as he pulled his feet from under the conduit and jumped to the plank floor. Midden was kicking the twisted roll-up door free of its broken latch, sheared off by the impact of the collisions.

Together they hauled up the door and saw the scarred man standing outside the Ford SUV, pressing a button on his cell phone again and again. Midden took a target pistol from his coat pocket and shot out two tires on the Ford without appearing to aim. Boomer looked up from his phone, startled.

A dog growled low and deep.

Peter knew that growl.

The growl sounded like his white static felt. Like overwhelming fury harnessed to an unrelenting will.

“Mingus, get him.”

Not that the dog was waiting for permission. He bolted past the open roll-up door, all fluid muscle and flashing teeth and orange polka-dotted fur that shone somehow bright under the pale November sky.

Boomer’s eyes grew wide, and he turned to run. Mingus growled happily at the sight.

Mingus wouldn’t actually eat the man, would he? Although Peter hoped the dog would at least chew on him some.

Behind the big Ford, a black unmarked police car glided to a halt, a cockeyed gumball flashing red on its roof. Lipsky unfolded himself from behind the wheel with his pistol in one hand and his badge in the other.

“Nobody move!” he shouted. “You’re all under arrest!”

Lipsky looked good, Peter had to admit. The detective clearly had his survival strategy worked out. He’d be the good guy. The savior of the city.

But the man in the black canvas chore coat reached out his hand, the target pistol like a pointing finger. The single report was surprisingly quiet in the still air.

A faint red hole appeared in Lipsky’s forehead.

He looked vaguely surprised, just for a moment. Then he dropped like a stone.

Peter jumped to the ground and ran around to the cab of the truck. Thinking of Dinah up there with Felix.

But Peter was too late.

Felix lay curled into a ball on the median. Lewis held Miles securely in his arms, grinning wide while Charlie helped his mom out of the truck.

As it turned out, Lewis was a hero after all.

“The cop is dead, and the bomb’s out of commission,” said Peter.

“That’s good,” said Lewis, “’cause this kid’s heavy.” Although the way he held the boy, hands locked tight together, face half buried in his hair, it looked like he’d never let Miles go.

Peter had wondered what Lewis would do if he had the chance. If Lewis would step into that empty space.

He felt happy for Lewis, and for Dinah. This might be the best possible result.

For himself, he felt only relief as the pressure began to ease in his head. The white static deflating like spent foam from a fire extinguisher, leaving behind it only the shakes, the beginning of a killer headache.

He went to find the man in the black barn coat.

Midden stood in the open cargo bay of the Mitsubishi, with his target pistol pressed into the soft flesh under his own chin. Finger on the trigger, knuckle gone white with pressure.

“I think you’d better give me that,” said Peter, reaching out his hand.

Midden stared at him, dark eyes swimming in unwept tears. “I’ve done so much,” he said. “You’ll never know.”

“I do know,” said Peter gently. “Really, I do. Give me the weapon.”

But he didn’t wait for the other man to move. He extended his hand with infinite care and took the pistol from the other man’s hand. Then looped an arm around the man’s shoulder and pulled him in close.

“You’re okay,” he said. “It’s all okay. My name’s Peter.”

The sound of sirens rose up around them as they stood, coming no doubt from the Veterans Day parade less than a mile away.

Peter had another thought. “Lewis,” he called out. “Hey, Lewis.” He stuck his head around the corner of the truck.

Lewis stood watching Dinah with a dopey grin on his face. Dinah looked deeply confused but not entirely unhappy. The boys jumped up and down like maniacs.

“Lewis, you better get out of here before the cops come,” said Peter. “And take this guy with you. He’s a friend of ours.”

Lewis opened his mouth to talk, but Peter shook his head.

“He’s a friend. And I’ll deal with the cops,” he said. “I’ll find you in a few days. You know we’re still missing one asshole. Skinner’s still going to make out like a bandit on this.”

Lewis nodded. Then ducked in cautiously to peck Dinah on the cheek. Dinah didn’t lean in to the kiss, but she didn’t move away, either. Her eyes were shining.

The sound of the sirens grew louder, and came from all directions.

“Come on,” said Lewis to Midden. “We gotta skate.”

As the two men jogged across the bridge to disappear into the tangled streets of Brewer’s Hill, Peter turned to Dinah. “You’re okay?”

“Oh, hell, no,” she said, tears streaming down her face. She pulled her boys close with a ferocious smile. “But I’m good.”

“I’m going to take off for a few minutes,” said Peter. “Get hold of my dog. I don’t want the cops to shoot him. But I’ll be right back.”