J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

“I need some time. I have business to take care of.”

“You had business to take care of five years ago!”

“This is different.”

“Where’s Brian?”

“He’s safe.”

“I didn’t ask how he was, I said ‘where.’” The car began to lose speed. I looked down with bafflement, pumping the accelerator as the car slowed. “Jesus, what’s this?”

“You out of gas?”

“I just filled the tank.” I steered toward the right curb as the car drifted to a halt.

He peered over at the dashboard. “Gas gauge says full.”

“What’d I just tell you? Of course it’s full. I just filled it!”

We had reached a full stop. The silence was profound, and then the underlying thrum of wind and surf filtered into my consciousness. Even with the moon obscured by storm clouds, I could see the whitecaps out in the water.

I hauled my handbag from the backseat and fumbled in the front pocket until I found my penlight. “Let me see what’s going on,” I said, as though I had a clue.

I got out of the car. Wendell got out on his side and moved around to the rear in concert with me. I was glad of his company. Maybe he knew something about cars that I didn’t—no big trick. In situations like this, I always like to take action. I opened the back flap and stared at the engine. Looked like it always did, about the size and shape of a sewing machine. I expected to see sprung parts, broken doohickies, the flapping ends of a fan belt, some evidence of rogue auto parts adrift from their moorings. “What do you think?”

He took the penlight and leaned closer, squinting. Boys know about these things: guns, cars, lawn mowers, garbage disposals, electric switches, baseball statistics. I’m scared to take the lid off the toilet tank because that ball thing always looks like it’s on the verge of exploding. I leaned over and peered with him. “Looks a little bit like a sewing machine, doesn’t it?” he remarked.

Behind us, a car backfired and a rock slammed into my rear fender. Wendell made sense of it a split second before I did. We both hit the pavement. Wendell grabbed me, and the two of us scrambled around to the side of the car. A second shot was fired, and the bullet pinged off the roof. We ducked, hunched together. Wendell’s arm had gone around me protectively. He flipped the switch on the penlight, making the pitch dark complete. I had a terrible desire to lift up to window level and peek out across the street. I knew there wouldn’t be much to see: dark, a dirt bank, swiftly passing cars on the freeway. Our assailant must have followed us from Michael’s house, first incapacitating Wendell’s car and then mine.

“This has got to be one of your pals. I’m not this unpopular in my set,” I said.

Another shot was fired. My rear window turned to cracked ice, though only one chunk fell out.

Wendell said, “Jesus.”

I said, “Amen.” Neither of us meant it as profanity.

He looked at me. His previous lethargy had vanished. At least his attention had been sharpened by the situation. “Someone’s been following me the last few days.”

“You have a theory?”

He shook his head. “I made some phone calls. I needed help.”

“Who knew you were going to Michael’s?”

“Just Renata.”

I thought about that one. I’d taken her gun, which I remembered now was in my handbag. In the car. “I have a gun in the car if you can reach it,” I said. “My handbag’s on the backseat.”

“Won’t the inside light come on?”

“In my car? Not a chance.”

Wendell opened the door on the passenger side. Sure enough, the interior light came on. The next bullet was swift and nearly caught him in the neck. We ducked down again, silent for a moment while we thought about Wendell’s carotid artery.

I said, “Carl must have known you’d be at Michael’s if you told him you’d meet him afterward.”

“That was before his plans changed. Anyway, he doesn’t know where Michael lives.”

“He says his plans changed, but you don’t know that for a fact. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to call Information. All he had to do was ask Dana. He’s kept in touch with her.”

“Hell, he’s in love with Dana. He’s always been in love with her. I’m sure he was delighted to have me out of the picture.”

“What about Harris Brown? He’d have a gun.”

“I told you before. I never heard of him.”