“Don’t move!” Kevin screamed.
Camarillo spun around, and Kevin aimed the gun right at his chest. The boy’s hand shook, the boy’s arm shook, the boy’s shoulder shook.
The corners of Camarillo’s mouth turned upward. “It takes a big man to shoot someone, kid.”
“Get out of here,” Kevin said to Camarillo. “Or I’ll pull the trigger.”
Camarillo didn’t move; Z-Ray had shoved Payton to the ground and was now leveling his gun at Kevin.
Shootout at the Fairfax Manor Inn wasn’t a headline I wanted to see. I eased into the middle of the standoff, eyes glued to Kevin’s wobbly hand. His gun pointed at me from one side, and Z-Ray’s gun pointed at me from the other. Harm’s way, all right.
But neither really had a beef with me. At least that’s what I told myself.
“Look, nobody wants to shoot anybody, so why don’t we put the guns down?” I smiled, as if I were asking for the time of day.
The guns didn’t move. Still trained on me.
“Just give me my money, and we’ll be on our way,” Camarillo said.
“I called the cops, you know,” I said.
“Then we’d better settle this quickly.” Camarillo took a step toward me.
As if on cue, the faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. Ostervale and company, to the rescue.
Camarillo took another step toward me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Payton, still on his knees, grab Z-Ray’s legs and try to topple him. Z-Ray didn’t fall, so Vell entered the fray, whirling and nailing him with a crazy roundhouse kick to the side of the head, sending the gun flying and knocking him over, right on top of Payton.
Camarillo dove into the melee.
Chaos had descended on the Fairfax Manor Inn.
I quickly retrieved Z-Ray’s gun, and while the others wrestled, I engulfed Kevin in a bear hug, careful to pin the arm holding the gun to his side. He fought me, but I held tight and whispered in his ear, “We got your mom back. Don’t do anything that will wreck your life. For your information, shooting someone will do that. Do you hear me?”
He stopped resisting and nodded. I let go and focused my attention on the scrum, which had all but settled down. Z-Ray had Payton neutralized in a headlock, and Vell had Camarillo’s arm twisted behind his back, face mashed against the wall. A double stalemate.
Except now I had the gun.
I walked over to Z-Ray and pointed it at his sweat-slicked forehead. “Enough.”
His skull wasn’t too thick to get the message, so he released Payton. Next to him, Vell relaxed his hold on Camarillo. I motioned for Camarillo and Z-Ray to stand together so I could cover them more easily. “And now, we wait for the cops.”
At the mention of cops, Kevin bolted. A flat-out dash away from us. His mom yelled for him to stop, but he kept right on going. Twenty seconds later, Payton took off in pursuit. I couldn’t very well shoot him in the back as he ran, and I doubted he’d listen to me if I yelled for him to stop any more than Kevin listened to Nicole.
“Well?” Vell asked.
Shit. I handed the gun to him.
Vell didn’t take it from me. “I don’t want this thing.”
I pressed it into his hands. “Think of the greater good. And keep an eye on these clowns. Ostervale should be here any second. Make sure he knows it’s you, okay?” I worried about Vell, a Black man, holding a gun in a motel parking lot when the cops arrived. But I trusted Ostervale to make sure things didn’t go sideways. I needed to make sure things didn’t go sideways with Kevin and Payton. The last thing I wanted was for Payton to get his hands on Kevin, especially if he thought the kid had stolen his money.
I took off. Kevin was long gone, but Payton was just rounding the corner of the motel, gaining steam.
Behind the motel was a paved access way, wide enough to allow garbage trucks to reach the dumpsters. When Kevin got back there, he could either go right toward the Toyota dealership and the Denny’s beyond, or he could loop around behind the motel and the office. Once he decided to loop around, he wouldn’t have any options; a tall fence ran the entire length of the property, which kept trespassers away. And fleeing teenagers from escaping that way, too. In this case, a good thing.
The sirens grew louder, closer.
I needed to catch Kevin and disarm him before the police arrived. If they saw a boy running with a gun, bad things—very bad things—were liable to happen. I also needed to catch up to him before Payton did. Kevin didn’t stand a chance going up against his stepfather, and I was afraid the gun he wielded would only make things worse.
And irrevocable.
I barreled around the near corner and eased up a bit, hoping to spot Payton, if not Kevin, too, but they’d left me in the dust. I fought to catch my breath as I increased my pace. I really needed to get into better shape.
When I got to the rear of the building, I stopped. Glanced right. Nothing. Glanced left along the rear of the motel and saw Payton, just disappearing around the far end, where Kevin had been smoking the first night he’d come to the motel.
Seemed like ages ago.
I continued my pursuit. Once Kevin got in the clear, back on Route 50, he could go in a dozen directions. Payton might be close enough to track him, but if I lost him, I’d have little hope of catching them.
Although I’d run probably only about a hundred yards, my lungs burned, and my right hamstring was screaming at me. I ran through the pain.
As kids, Izzy and I used to run laps around the motel, with our mother timing us. I used to give Izzy a huge head start, but I’d always manage to catch her by the finish line. Then, it was for fun, exercise, and bragging rights. Now, I had a strong feeling that Kevin’s life was at stake, and I harbored no illusions I’d beat him to the finish line.
I kicked it into overdrive.
When I reached the far end of the motel, I’d lost Payton. But the gate to the mini-golf course hung open. And it was still swaying, as if it had just been opened.
I jogged over and stepped through the gate, pulling it shut behind me. If they were on the grounds, they’d have to go through me to get out. I called out, “Kevin. Payton. I know you’re in here. Come on, let’s talk this through.”
No answer.
Slowly, I walked toward the starter’s hut and the first hole. Nothing there but the Eiffel Tower. Moving toward the center of the course, I called out again. “Let’s settle this thing like adults. Calmly. Coolly. Kevin, I know your mother would want that.”
Again, no answer, but I thought I heard some scuffling behind the Statue of Liberty, which stood about fifteen feet directly in front of me. Sixty yards away in the motel parking lot, I could hear the shouts of the cops, who’d just arrived. I thought about yelling out to them, letting them come over and defuse the situation, but, again, I didn’t want to take the chance that they’d just throw kerosene on the fire instead.
Better handle this myself.
I crept up to the Statue of Liberty and peered around it.
The first thing I saw was Payton, arms up. Then I saw Kevin, pointing the gun right at his stepfather’s heart.
I came out into plain sight. Held up my hands, too. “Okay, Kevin. Time to put the gun down. You’ve made your point.”
Kevin didn’t put the gun down, though. He held it straight out and sideways, like in a stylized action flick, and the strain was making his entire arm shake.
I kept advancing, hands held in front of me, careful not to make any sudden moves. “Kevin. Your mom is worried about you. She sent me to make sure you’re okay.” I smiled. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”
His eyes burned with hatred. Pretty far from okay.
He still had the gun trained on Payton—who hadn’t moved—and I wasn’t even sure he was hearing a word I said, but I kept up my patter. “Well, I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But the best thing we can do is talk about it. Get everything out in the open. You, your mom, your stepdad. Clear the air. Getting violent isn’t going to help anyone.”
He glanced my way for a split-second, then re-focused on Payton. The arm holding the gun wavered.
What would Kevin do when the cops realized we were here and came over to investigate? Would that force him into making a rash decision? “Kevin, let’s take a deep breath and talk about this.”
Kevin continued to ignore me. He inched forward, emboldened by the gun. He screamed at his father. “You beat Mom. Hurt her so bad I could hear her crying herself to sleep.”
Payton didn’t answer.
“You forced us to leave. You ruined our lives.”
I tried again. “Kevin. Please. What am I going to tell your mom? She asked me to bring you back unharmed. She wants to make sure you don’t do anything that would ruin your own life. She loves you.”
“Where’s my money?” Payton asked.
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” A few spit bubbles gathered at the side of Kevin’s mouth. “You never cared about Mom. Or me. All you care about is yourself.”
Payton took a small step forward. “Not true. I love your mother. She walked out on me, you know.”
Kevin waved the gun. “Bullshit. We had no choice. Remember that night last week. You came home shit-faced and called one of your stupid friends from the kitchen. I heard you. Bragging about some job you pulled. Said you made enough money from that ‘deal’ to solve all your problems, set yourself up for good.” Kevin’s voice broke. “And then you said you were going to dump my mom and find someone else.”
“I never—”
“Shut up! I heard you. I fucking heard you!”
Payton shuffled forward.
Kevin instinctively took a half step backward. “The next day, you came home, pissed about something, hit her. It was the worst time ever. Later that night, I begged Mom—begged her—to leave you. So, when you went off to work the next morning—Mom and I packed up and took off.”
Payton’s hands balled into fists. He tensed, and I had the feeling he was exercising every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from charging Kevin.
“You were always snooping around the apartment, sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. You found my money, and you stole it. I want it back,” Payton said. “Now.”
“I don’t have your money! And even if I did, what good would it do you?” Kevin’s eyes grew wide, and his maniacal grin rivaled the Joker’s. He steadied his gun hand. “Dead men don’t need money.”
I edged closer. “Kevin! Don’t shoot!”
He cut his eyes in my direction, and the gun dipped. Payton leaped forward and grabbed Kevin’s arm. The gun went off, but neither one stopped struggling. I put my shoulder down and threw myself at them, linebacker-style, just as I’d laid Payton out in Gerry’s parking lot.
The three of us fell in a heap onto the remnants of the 12th hole. A pile of thrashing knees and elbows. Payton managed to wrest the gun from Kevin, but I grabbed Payton’s wrist with both hands and twisted, twisted, twisted until he let go. With the combined weight of Kevin and me on top—and with Kevin flailing away at him—Payton couldn’t do much more than cover up and try to protect himself.
Kevin kneed Payton in the groin, and I picked up the gun. I didn’t have to say anything; Payton flopped back on the faded green felt and closed his eyes. Defeated.
Next to him, Kevin cried, no longer an adult in a teen’s body.