The Night Parade(44)

David placed his hands atop his head, then turned around. He looked down at Ellie, who looked more curious now than frightened. Her gaze volleyed between David and the man with the shotgun, finally settling on the shotgun man because, presumably, he was more interesting.

“You run if I tell you,” David whispered to her.

Ellie nodded but did not take her eyes from the man with the gun.

David heard the man’s footsteps approach. He saw the guy’s shadow ahead of him on the sidewalk, which meant he saw when the gun was lowered, but he didn’t feel right about turning on the guy and trying to fight. He doubted he’d be quick enough to knock the shotgun from his hands.

The Glock was yanked from his waistband. A second later, one of the man’s hands began patting around his waist, his thighs, both his ankles.

“I’ve got no other weapons,” he assured the man.

“Okay,” the man said. “You can turn around.”

David did. Slowly. He still held his hands atop his head, but when Ellie came up beside him, he reached down and stopped her with a hand across her chest.

“It’s all right,” said the man. “You can put your hands down.”

“Can you lower your gun?”

“Shit. Sorry.” The man lowered the shotgun. He looked to be about David’s age, but in better shape: Pectoral muscles pulled taut the fabric of the plain blue T-shirt he wore. His head was shaved, though David could tell by the darkened widow’s peak of stubble that he had already started losing his hair. Drops of sweat glistened in the man’s beard. “What’s your name?”

“David. This is Eleanor. My daughter.” It was just after he said this that he realized his carelessness. Their names had been on the news. People were looking for them. If this guy made the connection, the game was over.

Ellie grabbed David’s right hand. Squeezed.

“Where’d you folks come from?”

“Back East. We got a bit turned around on our way to see my brother. We didn’t think . . .” He trailed off, unsure what to say.

“You didn’t see the signs posted? The crosses and the what-have-you?” To David’s surprise, the man laughed. It wasn’t an aggressive or humorless laugh, but a good, hearty country laugh. “Jesus, boy, this place is a ghost town. Who’s your brother? Maybe I know him.”

“He doesn’t live around here. We’re headed to Texas.” He thought up the state at the last second, reluctant to give this guy any additional information that might prove useful to the police or anyone else who might be looking for them later on.

“He’s my stepuncle,” Ellie volunteered.

“Is that right?” The man smiled at her. There was genuine goodness there, David decided . . . though he’d been wrong about people in the past. “My name’s Turk.” The smile fell from his lips as he looked up and down the street. “We should probably get back indoors. You folks hungry?”

“We’re okay,” David said.

“Nonsense. We got food back at the house. Seriously. That little gal of yours looks about famished.”

“I’m supposed to be a boy,” Ellie said, though low enough so that David didn’t think the man had understood.

“We should really get on the road,” David said.

“Just a bite,” Turk said. Smiling.

“What if I asked for my gun back and for you to just leave us alone?”

Turk’s smile faltered. “Well, now, this ain’t a hostage situation, Dave. Can I call you Dave?”

“Sure.”

“You’re both welcome to leave. It’s still a free country, last I checked. A f*cked-up one at the moment, but a free one. Oops.” He covered his mouth and made bug eyes at Ellie. “Sorry for the profanity, darling.”

Ellie just stared at him.

“Couldn’t give you the gun back, though,” Turk said. “Don’t rightly know who you are or what you plan to do with it.”

“I plan on leaving with it. That’s all.”

“Sure, sure. But, you see, we’ve got to protect our own. Ain’t no one ’round to do it for us no more.” He nodded at the sandwich board farther down the street, the sign that said there was no longer a police presence in Goodwin.

“So, I’m never going to get my gun back?”

“We’ll let Solomon make that call. It’s his to make, not mine. He’s runnin’ the show now. In the meantime, Pauline can whip you folks up some breakfast. I’m starved myself.”

He’s got my gun. I’m defenseless. Should we leave it with him and get out of here? Would he really just let us leave?

Just then, a chubby boy of about seven or eight appeared around the corner of the row of buildings at the end of the block. He wore a striped polo shirt and khaki shorts. He froze when he saw David and Ellie, his full cheeks flushed and red, his eyes squinting and piggish.

“Pop?” the kid said.

Turk turned and waved to the boy. “Get on back now, Sam. Tell Mom these nice folks will be joining us for breakfast.”

There was no acknowledgment in the boy’s expression; he simply pivoted right there on his heels and took off in a labored trot in the direction he had come.

He’s got a son. Can this guy be that bad if he’s got a son?