The Night Parade(55)

“Well, I don’t think we can wait around for Solomon,” David said. “Sorry.”

“Oh, man, no need to worry about that.” Turk smiled widely. Sharklike. “Solomon’s here.”

“Enough,” David said. “Thank you, but no.”

“Ain’t up to you,” said Turk. There was a forcefulness in his voice now. In that instant, David knew the man would physically try to stop him. Could he outrun him? Probably not. Especially not with Ellie in tow.

Cooper stepped forward. He withdrew a handgun from the rear of his pants and leveled it at David.

“You’re making this messy,” Turk said to David. It sounded like he was pleading with him now. “It ain’t necessary, Dave. We’ve had a pleasant afternoon, haven’t we? It don’t have to be all fights and struggles, you know. We can have a nice dinner first.”

Cooper walked down the length of the driveway, birdlike in the way his head bobbed, never taking the gun off David. That kiss-my-ass grin was still firmly seated on his ugly, pimple-ridden face. The gun looked too heavy for his broomstick arm with its knotty, bulging elbow.

“What do you mean ‘first’?” David said.

Turk paused midway down the lawn. He lifted both arms in a what-can-you-do? gesture but said nothing.

“Ouch,” Ellie said. David realized he was squeezing her shoulder.

“Get in the house,” Cooper said. There was no trace of jocularity in his voice now. When David didn’t respond, Cooper redirected the gun so that it pointed at Ellie and then repeated his request: “I said get in the house, man.”

He’ll kill you dead, David’s head-voice whispered. You and Ellie both. You can see it in his eyes. Hell, he’ll even enjoy it.

Briefly, David considered stepping between Ellie and the gun, shouting for her to run, to go, to get the hell out of here. But he’d no sooner get half the words out of his mouth before Cooper would drive a bullet into his gut. Or his head. David knew that with certainty. And a second or two after that, the lunatic would fire at Ellie, who probably wouldn’t even make it across the street.

“Okay,” David said, raising both hands. “I’ll go inside. But, please, let my daughter go.”

“No, Daddy,” Ellie said. She gripped a handful of his T-shirt, which had formerly been Turk’s T-shirt.

“Where would she go, Dave?” Turk said. “What good would that do? Besides, like I said, it ain’t up to us.”

“Right,” David said. “Solomon. Where is this guy, anyway?”

“Shit,” Cooper said, cracking that grin once more. “He’s right here with us, dude. So let’s go inside and meet him.”

That was when David heard a high-pitched, tittering sound. It was so coarse that it hurt his ears. And his first thought upon hearing it was, It’s a bird, Jesus Christ, a goddamn bird. They’re not all gone, not all dead. That is the sound of a bird shrieking nearby.

But it wasn’t.

It was Bronwyn.

She was laughing.





26


At Turk’s instruction, they were led back inside and into the living room. The talking teapot was still on the television, but now Sam was sitting up and rubbing his eyes, a groggy expression on his chubby face. Pauline was here, too, and when she saw Cooper pointing the gun at David, she knelt down beside her son and said, “Go outside and play, Sammy.”

“He’s old enough to be here, Pauline,” Turk said. Then he gestured toward the couch. “Sit.”

David sat. Ellie remained standing a moment longer, gazing at Cooper’s gun, then at her father. Then she sat beside him on the couch.

The rest of them crowded into the tight living room, the smell of them—stale perspiration mingled with marijuana—suddenly overpowering. The sight of Cooper’s gun set against the Disney score coming from the TV made David feel like he was in a dream.

Cooper stood directly in front of David, the handgun pivoting between him and Ellie. David wanted to spring up from the couch and clobber the *. He still might; if it came down to Ellie’s safety, he’d tackle the son of a bitch and hope for the best. It was all he could do.

“Don’t point that thing at my daughter.”

Smirking, Cooper let the gun hang on Ellie. Yet his eyes stayed with David.

Turk dug something out of his pants pocket as he stepped up beside Cooper. He looked down at David, his eyes full and brown and creased at the corners. A film of sweat glistened across the saddle of his nose.

“Roll it,” Turk said, extending his hand to David. Pinched between Turk’s thumb and forefinger was a die.

David shook his head.

“Don’t be a fool,” Turk said. “Do as I say and you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance the girl lives. Best odds in the house.”

Against the far wall, Bronwyn tittered laughter again. She had her cowboy hat perched back far enough on her head so that David could see her sunburned scalp where her hair was parted.

“Take it,” Turk said. He held the die three inches from David’s face, pinched now between thumb and forefinger.

David took the die. It felt almost nonexistent as he closed his hand around it.

There was a scuffed coffee table beside the couch. Turk pointed to it now and said, “Roll it, David.”