The Night Parade(53)

When he returned to the kitchen, Turk and Pauline were talking in low voices.

“I’m sorry,” David said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Ain’t interrupting,” Turk said, clearing his throat. “Just discussing what’s on the menu tonight.”

“I guess we’ll be having more mouths to feed once your friends show up,” David said.

Turk gave him a wide smile. “That’s right. It’ll be a regular celebration.”

“I just hope we’re not intruding. If we are, we can—”

“Nonsense,” Pauline said. “We’re just gonna throw some burgers on the grill. You and your little girl like hamburgers?”

“Absolutely.”

“And beer,” Turk said. He sauntered over to the fridge and grabbed two more cans of Bud. He held one out to David.

“I think I’ll pass. In fact, I left some stuff back at the place we’re . . . well, where we stayed last night. I think I might head over and pick it up.”

“Well, now, I can’t say I’d recommend that.” Turk popped the tab on the beer. “Remember what I said about wandering around out here? It ain’t safe.”

“Turk would drive you, but we try not to waste gas,” Pauline added.

“It was only a few blocks,” David said. “It won’t take me long. And I know how to be careful.”

“How ’bout this,” Turk said. “You tell me where your stuff is and I’ll see if I can raise ol’ Coop on his cell, tell him to stop by and grab it for you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“It’s no bother. He’ll be coming back into town within the next hour or so anyway.”

Something—some twinge deep within the animal part of him—didn’t feel right. This realization struck him all of a sudden, like a slap across the face, and despite the Powells’ hospitality all morning and afternoon, David reminded himself that he’d met Turk staring down the business end of the man’s shotgun. He recalled what Ellie had said to him earlier that morning, too, as they stood in the bathroom together—I don’t like it here. It’s the same feeling I had last night, when we first got here.

Suddenly, David didn’t like it, either.





25


In the end, David decided it was best to try to sneak out of the house before the others arrived and while the rest of the Powell clan was busy, even without the gun. While Turk went outside to clean off the grill and Pauline was busy excavating a packet of ground beef from the freezer, David crept into the living room. The TV was still on, an encore performance of Beauty and the Beast. But Ellie had lost all interest in the film this time around, and was instead seated on the sofa with a book opened up in her lap. Sprawled out on the floor with a thumb jammed in his mouth was Sam, snoring like a locomotive in his sleep.

“We’re getting out of here,” David said.

Ellie closed the book, slid off the sofa, and followed him to the front door. David turned the knob and opened it, just as he heard the back door slap against its wooden frame at the far end of the house. Turk began whistling, then stopped and said something to Pauline in the kitchen. David couldn’t make out a word of it.

“Let’s go,” he whispered, and shoved Ellie out onto the front steps.

“Are we going back to the car?”

“Yes.”

“Good idea. I don’t like this place. Something bad’s gonna happen.”

They were halfway across the front lawn when a gold Silverado appeared at the end of the block, its subwoofers thumping. David paused and watched it progress up the street. He felt his testicles retreat into his abdomen when it pulled up into the Powells’ driveway. The truck looked too new, too expensive, for this area. The driver revved the engine, then laid on the horn.

“Ouch,” Ellie said, covering her ears.

That must be Solomon and the rest of the gang. So either we run now, cut through the yards so they can’t chase us in that monstrous truck, or we play along.

Instinct told him to run, and he would have if he’d been alone. But he knew Ellie wouldn’t be able to keep up, and he certainly couldn’t carry her all that way. Yet what truly prevented him from taking off was the fear that the people in that truck had guns, just as Turk had, and that they’d climb out and start firing at them before they even made it across the street.

The driver’s door popped open just as the engine died. A lanky guy in his twenties got out. He had a clump of greasy hair that hung in his eyes and a face decimated by acne. He wore a ratty tank top and his boxer shorts mushroomed over the waistband of his cargo pants. There was some sort of strange, flat hat on his head.

“Heck,” the guy said. He smiled and raised one hand. “Hi! You Dave?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Cooper. Spoke to Turk on the phone earlier, said we had a couple visitors from outta town.” He sauntered over to them, his hand extended in anticipation of a handshake the entire time. Cooper was maybe six-three or six-four, and skinny as a rail. He had the pinched, beaky face of a rodent. The thing on his head wasn’t a hat, but a plastic dime-store Halloween mask, held in place by a band of elastic that cut into the flesh beneath his chin. From what David could tell, it was the Incredible Hulk.