Read Online Hard Road by Barbara D'Amato - Free Book Online Page A

sort of grabbing my dad. And then the guy fell down. And, no, wait, we started walking over to Dad and then the guy fell down, I think. And Aunt Cat and Jennifer went over to look at the guy who fell down but Dad said, Get Jeremy away, because you know how grown-ups always think things with blood are gonna be bad for kids."
     
     
"Yes, I know. Grown-ups are like that."
     
     
"And so we went to the monkey merry-go-round. And Jennifer went back to see. She could tell you about that part."
     
     
"Um. Yes. She did tell one of the officers about it."
     
     
"Okay."
     
     
So Jeremy didn't know that Jennifer was dead. I had felt fairly sure that he didn't. He could find that out later, if he had to. There had been enough emotional stress for him for one night.
     
     
McCoo said, "So now tell me about what you did next."
     
     
Jeremy picked up the cat and held it in his lap. Surprisingly, it didn't struggle or claw, but just settled down and closed its eyes. "Well, Aunt Cat said run. I didn't know why, but I figured it had to be important, so we ran. And she saw something bad, I guess, because there were all these gunshots !"
     
     
"That's very scary."
     
     
"So she said, Let's go down this thing like a slide, but made of cement, see, and we did, into the ground. And we thought we were safe, but then—"
     
     
Jeremy went on at some length, explaining everything we had done. He indulged in a bit of dramatization, but not much. He dwelled a long time on how bad the tunnels smelled, and he had been quite impressed by, as he put it, "coming right up out of the street."
     
     
McCoo said, "I'll bet you're not allowed to go out in the street by yourself."
     
     
He was right, of course. I hadn't thought about it at the time, but that was one reason why Jeremy had been so thrilled about climbing up out of the manhole.
     
     
"So, Jeremy, tell me about this guy who was chasing you."
     
     
He stroked the cat. "Well, he was 'normously huge. "
     
     
"How huge?"
     
     
"Very, very, very, very, very."
     
     
"Did you see him up close? Or from the front?"
     
     
"Not up close. He was in the— where the tunnel opened. I saw him when he came to the entrance."
     
     
"The entrance to the tunnel? Did you recognize him?"
     
     
This was the big question, of course. Jeremy drew in a deep breath. "He was like a shadow. Because— because— we were where it was dark."
     
     
"The light was behind him? So you couldn't see him well?"
     
     
"Yes. Only I saw he was huge ."
     
     
"You saw a silhouette?"
     
     
"That's like an outline?"
     
     
"Pretty much. More like you cut the person out of a piece of paper. So, maybe you could see whether he was fat or skinny?"
     
     
"Sort of medium."
     
     
"Mmm. Anything in his hands? No? Didn't see? Any hat on his head?"
     
     
But Jeremy just didn't know. And I was glad at least that he didn't make anything up. A lot of adults couldn't have resisted adding details. Finally he said, "All I know is he was huge ."
     
     
    * * *
The door crashed open and Barry came rushing in, trailed by a short Asian police officer, who said, "I couldn't stop him, Chief."
     
     
"It's okay," McCoo said, no doubt greatly relieving the mind of the worried cop, who had begun to sweat at the idea of screwing up in front of the chief of detectives.
     
     
Barry paid no attention to either of them, running to Jeremy and sweeping him up into his arms. "Are you okay?"
     
     
Jeremy squirmed. "Yeah, Dad."
     
     
"They said somebody shot at you!"
     
     
"Well, yeah. But Aunt Cat escaped us."
     
     
Barry set Jeremy back down in a chair and felt his arms and legs as if he were looking for broken bones. "I thought you were home. I thought you were safe."
     
     
"He is safe, Mr. Marsala," McCoo said.
     
     
Barry looked around, apparently realizing for the first time that McCoo was there. "Harold McCoo," McCoo said, holding out his hand.
     
     
"Chief of detectives," I added.
     
     
"Why wasn't I