Read Online Hardware by Linda Barnes - Free Book Online Page A

It should have had its headlights on. It shouldn’t have been going so fast, I thought as Sam crashed into me, shoving me to the ground, yelling at Frank to get down, get down. I was falling by the time I heard shots. Instinctively I turned my head, too late to keep my gaping mouth from filling with slush. I spat and felt Sam’s weight on top of me. I saw the flash, coming from the passenger side of the black van. Flash and flash again. Automatic fire lit the sky like lightning.
    I could feel Sam’s heart beating furiously. I tried to shift him off me, but he raised his hand, covering my mouth. With both hands trapped underneath me there wasn’t much I could do about the imposed hush. I breathed deeply, flexed my arms and legs, found them in working order.
    What struck me was the silence. If I could have, I would have screamed, just to release tension. Nobody cracked a window, nobody yelled.
    I couldn’t expect much from the graveyard residents, but one of the living neighbors might have roused himself from TV-induced stupor or drug-dealer-bred fear, inquired if we were living or dead.
    Mush fell.

EIGHT
    The first noise, other than my rasping breath, was cop cars, sirens pulsing.
    Sam’s bulk shifted and moved. “Get in the car!” His voice seemed too loud.
    â€œWe’ve gotta wait—”
    â€œGet in, Carlotta.”
    â€œDammit, how’s Frank? Are you okay? Am I okay?”
    â€œFrank’s gone. We’re gone.” He yanked me to my feet and pushed me toward the Nova.
    I found myself unceremoniously shoved inside. “What the hell?” I could have invited a broken shoulder by butting against the slamming door. Instead I wriggled closer to the steering wheel, my teeth chattering.
    Sam gunned the motor before he shut the door. He didn’t burn rubber taking off; neither did he imitate a Sunday driver heading to church.
    I kept my voice under control with effort. “What do you mean, Frank’s gone? Dead?”
    â€œHe can take care of himself. He’s … resourceful.”
    I breathed. In and out. In and out. Counted to twenty twice. My left hand was shaking and I stuck it between my thighs to steady it.
    â€œWhat was that about, Sam?” My breathing was screwed up. It took me three tries to get the words out.
    â€œA drive-by. What’s the matter? Don’t you read the papers anymore?”
    â€œA drive-by,” I repeated. “And what else?”
    â€œNothing else. You hear them?”
    â€œI heard you yell and I got tackled.”
    â€œFuckers. Leaning out the windows, screaming that ‘kill honky’ bullshit. We are not exactly in an integrated area. One of the neighbors is probably chief whitey watcher for some street gang.”
    â€œAnd they never spotted Frank before?”
    â€œHe doesn’t go out.”
    â€œDid you get a look at them? Were they wearing colors?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGang colors, Sam. Could you pick ’em out? Bromley-Heath? Academy Homes? Goyas?”
    â€œNo, Carlotta. I did not concentrate on what the fuck they were wearing.”
    â€œSam, where are you going?”
    It took him a while to admit that he didn’t exactly know.
    â€œPull over. Let me drive.”
    He squealed the brakes and yanked the wheel. We came to a stop under an ailanthus tree. “You know where we are?”
    â€œGet out and do a fast runaround. I’ll slide over, get us into Franklin Park and back to the Arboretum and we can—”
    â€œDon’t drive to a police station,” he warned as soon as he hit the passenger seat.
    â€œI’ll park someplace in J.P.,” I promised. Jamaica Plain is a residential neighborhood where they allow on-street overnight parking. The Nova wouldn’t stick out.
    â€œAbandon the car,” Sam agreed eagerly.
    â€œAt least check to see if it’s wearing bullet holes. We could be leaking gas or transmission