FORTY-ONE
• • •
An elderly man opened the door. Tall, thin, African American, with short dusty hair. Keeping one hand on the knob and the door open only a foot or so, he looked Jed up and down and said, “Help you?”
Jed tried to look past the man and into the home, but there wasn’t enough space between the door and jamb, and the man took up most of the height of the opening.
“Are you Joe Kennedy?”
“Nope.”
Jed had an uneasy feeling about this. What if they were wrong? What if Kennedy no longer lived there? What if he’d died or moved and the Internet database just hadn’t been updated yet? “Do you know him?”
The man didn’t move. He wore a solid green T-shirt and khakis with sneakers. And while he was thin, there was the hint of a very athletic, muscular build under his shirt. “Nope.”
Jed stood there for a few long moments feeling awkward and misplaced. He checked on the Acadia. Abernathy, Tiffany, and Lilly were still there, watching him. He turned back to the elderly man. “Well, look, I’m sorry for bothering you. I thought a gentleman named Joe Kennedy lived here, or did at one time.” He hesitated. The man stared at him silently, his face as still as stone. “I’m sorry.”
Jed made to leave and took only one step away from the door when the man stopped him. “Who’s looking for Kennedy?”
Jed turned back around. “I am.”
The man looked him up and down again. “Who are you?” He seemed unimpressed.
“Jed Patrick.”
For the first time, the man took his eyes off Jed. He looked past Jed at the Acadia. “They with you?”
“They are.”
“They have names too?”
“They do. Roger Abernathy. Tiffany Stockton. And my daughter, Lilly.”
The man studied the vehicle and its occupants again. “Lilly. That’s a nice name. Short for Lillian?”
“Yes.” Jed was beginning to understand what was going on.
“Lilly have a mother?”
“She does. Karen.”
He looked again at the Acadia. “Cute kid. She take after her mother?”
“Every bit of her.”
The man opened the door a little wider but kept his right hand out of sight. He glanced up and down the street, then motioned with his head for Jed to enter the home. As Jed stepped forward, the man eased back into the foyer area and revealed that he was holding a handgun in his right hand. He kept a distance of five feet between him and Jed at all times.
“Shut the door,” he said.
Jed turned and took one last look at the SUV. He made eye contact with Lilly and blinked. Then he closed the door behind him.
Inside the home, the man said, “You carrying?”
Jed reached behind his back and retrieved the pistol from his waistband.
“Give it here.”
He handed it to the man. “Is Karen here?”
“Yup.”
“Are you Kennedy?”
“Yup.”
“Can I see her? My wife?”
Kennedy led Jed into the rear of the house, where the kitchen was. “Sit here,” he said, motioning toward a barstool at the counter.
Jed did as Kennedy instructed. Kennedy crossed the kitchen and opened a door that led to the cellar. Karen emerged, made eye contact with Jed. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, and she ran toward him. “Jed!”
Jed stood and accepted her into his arms. The feel of her body against his, her hair on his face, her arms around his chest was enough to make his knees nearly buckle. He wanted to hold her and never let her go again.
After several seconds, Karen pulled away. “Where’s Lilly?”
“She’s outside waiting for you. Are you okay?”
Karen dragged her hands over her cheeks, mopping up tears. “I’m fine.” She ran her eyes over Jed and stopped at the incision just above his ear. “What did they do to you?”
“That’s a long story for later. Do you still have the drive?”
Karen shifted her eyes to Kennedy, then back to Jed and nodded. “We have a plan. But first I need to see Lilly.”
They walked through the house to the foyer and the front door, Jed holding Karen’s hand, liking how it felt in his. Kennedy opened the door, and Jed and Karen stepped onto the porch. Lilly was in the car, facing them. Almost instantly, the concussion of gunfire tore through the peacefulness of the neighborhood. The windshield of the Acadia exploded into a million shards while at the same time something hit Jed hard in the left shoulder, pushing him back and into Karen. He knew what it felt like to be shot. Instinct took over. Ignoring the pain like fire in his shoulder, Jed told Karen to stay down and rolled to his right. Kennedy was gone from the doorway but emerged only a second later and tossed Jed his weapon. The area was silent for the moment, and Jed wondered what the situation was in the Acadia.
Another shot sounded, and the porch light by the front door popped and rained glass onto Jed.
Just feet away, Kennedy knelt near Karen. He leaned over her and hollered to Jed, “She’s been hit, but I’m not sure where.”
With all the commotion and buzz caused by his own adrenaline rush, Jed hadn’t even noticed. Suddenly he felt nauseated and weak. Forcing himself to move, he rolled to his knees and came upright in time to see one of the shooters approaching the Acadia. Jed aimed, fired, and hit the gunman in the side of the head. But as he did so, another shot fired and another. Both missed Jed, but barely. Two other gunmen advanced across the small front lawn. Jed fired, clipped one in the right hip, knocking him to the grass, then squeezed off a shot at the other man, which missed its mark.
Kennedy continued working on Karen.
The gunman advanced quicker now, firing as he came. The shots pushed Jed to a prone position, and before he could right himself, the man was on the porch steps, pointing his gun at Jed. A shot fired. Jed flinched, expecting the shock of a bullet piercing his flesh, but it never came. The gunman’s face went slack, his arms lowered, and the gun slipped from his hand. He wavered back and forth in a strange marionette dance. Finally his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the steps.
Tiffany stood on the sidewalk, weapon drawn.
In the distance sirens sounded. One of the neighbors must have called the police.
Jed scrambled to his feet and crossed the porch to where Kennedy was frantically working on Karen. Her face had turned an odd shade of gray-blue and her lips were as pale as oysters. Kennedy held a cloth to her neck while at the same time applying compressions to her chest. Jed dropped to his knees beside her. The sirens grew louder. He didn’t care. Let them come. He thought of Lilly, turned, and found her in Tiffany’s arms, crying softly on the sidewalk.
The sirens arrived, their wails giving voice to the agony Jed felt. His left arm was heavy and ached, but he didn’t care. His head spun in a million different directions.
An ambulance stopped in the street, its lights blinking, flashing.
Cops drew close. Jed didn’t want to fight them. He was tired of fighting. Tired of the violence, the killing. Tired of the lies and conspiracies. It had cost him everything.
He willingly surrendered to the police as the medics swarmed around his wife.