Big Trouble (17 page)

“I picked it up back there,” Andrew said, gesturing toward the alley. “Some guy was shooting at us, and he dropped it, and I picked it up and ran.”

Walter snorted, to indicate that he, for one, was not buying this load of bullshit.

“Who was shooting at you, Andrew?” asked Monica.

“I don't know. Some weird fat guy, he kept yelling ‘
Freeze
' and shooting at us.”

“Who was with you?”

“My friends Matt and Jenny.”

A synapse fired in Monica's brain.
Andrew, Matt, and Jenny
. She couldn't quite remember where she'd heard those names, but she knew she had.

“What were you doing back there?”

“Matt was gonna kill Jenny,” said Andrew.

“He was gonna
what?
”

“With a
squirt gun,
” said Andrew. “It's just a
game
.”

“Oh Jesus,” said Monica, remembering now who Andrew, Matt, and Jenny were. “Are you talking about that, whaddyacallit, Killer?”

“Yeah!” said Andrew. “That's it! Killer!”

Monica sighed, wondering why these kids couldn't settle for the innocent diversions of her youth, such as drinking beer and groping each other.

A backup police cruiser arrived, siren yelping. Monica took Walter aside and said, “Let's leave the kid with these officers and check behind the five-and-dime, see if there's a shooter back there.”

Walter snorted again. “You
believe
this punk?” he asked.

“I just wanna look, OK?” said Monica.

“OK,” said Walter, “but all you're gonna find back there is . . .”

“POLICE! HELP POLICE!”

The hoarse shout came from the thick figure of Jack Pendick, Crime Fighter, stumbling out of the alley. Seeing the police cruiser, he lurched toward it.

“POLICE!” he shouted. “POLICE!” He kept shouting it as he approached, until he was shouting it directly into Monica's face, thus giving her a strong whiff of rum fumes.

“POLICE!” he shouted, yet again.

“That's correct,” said Monica, putting her hand on his chest and gently pushing him back a step, which nearly caused him to fall down. “We are the police. And who might you be?”

“They were gonna shoot her!” said Pendick.

“Who was?” asked Monica.

“Perpetrators!” explained Pendick. “They took her back there with a gun and . . . Hey! That's one a them!”

Pendick was squinting at Andrew.

“That's one a the perpetrators!” he said.

“It was a
squirt gun,
dork,” said Andrew.

“And so you . . . what's your name, please?” said Monica.

“Jack Pendick,” he said.

“So, Mr. Pendick,” said Monica, “you saw these people with the gun, and then what?”

“I tailed 'em,” said Pendick, proudly. “I was gonna be in lawn forcement.”

“Good for you,” said Monica. “Did you have a gun with you?”

“I got a gun,” said Pendick. “Need it for my line a work.”

“And that is?” asked Monica.

“Sunglasses,” said Pendick.

“Sunglasses?” asked Monica.

“I got fired,” explained Pendick.

“I see,” said Monica, rubbing her temple. “And where is your gun now?”

“I lost it back there,” said Pendick, gesturing toward the alley and almost falling down as a result.

Monica got the .38 out of the cruiser and showed it to him.

“Is this your gun?” she asked.

Pendick squinted at it.

“'At's it!” he said. “Can I have it back? I need it for my line a work.”

“Not right now,” said Monica. “So, so you followed the perpetrators into the alley, and then what?”

“He was gonna shoot her!” said Pendick. “The perpetrooter! He was pointin' his gun at her!”

“His
squirt gun,
” said Andrew.

“An' so I, I yelled, ‘FREEZE!'” said Pendick.

“And then what?” asked Monica.

“And then . . .” Pendick paused. For the first time, in his small, alcohol-drenched brain, he began to sense that perhaps he should be careful about what he said.

“And then what?” asked Monica.

“I don't remember,” Pendick said.

“You
don't remember?
” asked Monica.

“No,” said Pendick, shaking his head hard enough to make himself stagger. “No no no no.”

A dozen or so tourists, lured by the flashing lights of the police cruiser, had drifted over from CocoWalk to watch the action. One was shooting video. Cops, criminals, guns—
this
was the Miami they had heard so much about.
This
would be something to tell them about, back home.

A Human Barbie Doll with long legs, tight shorts, and a tiny halter top being overwhelmed by exuberant, 94 percent silicone breasts came up to Walter and said, “Officer, what's going on?”

“We had a little shooting,” said Walter, in a tone of voice intended to convey that he could not count the number of times he had been around shootings. “But we got it under control.”

“Is that the one who did it?” the Human Barbie Doll asked, pointing to Pendick.

“We're trying to ascertain that now,” said Walter. He made his biceps as big as possible without audibly grunting. The Human Barbie Doll gave him a look that clearly indicated that she understood and appreciated the effort he was making. She thrust her twin balloons at him. Love was in the air.

“Officer Kramitz,” said Monica.

“What?” he said, reluctantly tearing his eyeballs away from the HBD.

“Do you think you can keep things under control here while I take a look in the alley?” asked Monica.

“I can handle it,” said Walter, his eyes back on the balloons.

Monica and two other officers went through the alley and spent ten minutes looking around the parking lot. They found one fractured car windshield with a bullet-sized hole in it; they found another car with what looked like a bullet hole in the door panel. They found no people.

By the time they returned to Grand Avenue, the tourist crowd had grown to around one hundred. A dozen Hare Krishnas had shown up and were expressing their spirituality by beating drums and jumping up and down. The HBD was still standing close to Walter, whose face had reddened from the effort of keeping his biceps at full flex for such an extended period. Several more police cruisers had arrived. So had Miami police detective Harvey Baker, for whom Monica summarized the situation.

“So,” said Baker, “what you're saying is, for the second time, these three kids are playing this squirt-gun game, and for the second time, a real shooter shows up? ”

“That's what it looks like,” said Monica. “Except this shooter”—she nodded toward Pendick—“couldn't hit the planet he's standing on.”

“Still,” said Baker, “it's quite a coincidence, don't you think? A real shooter showing up both times?”

“This is Miami,” noted Monica.

“Good point,” agreed Baker. “OK, here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna take him”—he pointed at Pendick—“and him”—he pointed at Andrew—“downtown to get this straightened out.”

“Can I call my mom?” asked Andrew.

“Yes,” said Baker.

“I wanna call whashisname,” said Pendick, picturing a lawyer he'd seen on a local TV commercial, standing in front of a shelf full of law books and basically suggesting that anybody who had ever fallen down was entitled to compensation.

“Who?” asked Baker.

“I don't remember,” said Pendick.

“Absolutely, you can call him,” said Baker.

“Good,” said Pendick, “ 'cause I got rights.”

“You surely do,” agreed Baker. To Andrew, he said, “I also want to talk to your two friends. Any idea where they are?”

“They ran when he started shooting,” said Andrew.

“Any idea where they ran to?”

Andrew thought about it. “Probably they got Matt's car and went to . . . I guess either his dad's apartment or Jenny's house.”

“Jenny's house,” said Monica. “That's where somebody shot the TV, right? And you were in the backyard, with Matt?”

“Yeah,” said Andrew. “I mean, no.”

“The imaginary friend,” said Monica, nodding. To Detective Baker, she said, “How about I swing over to Jenny's house, see if the kids went there?”

“Sounds good,” said Baker.

Monica looked over at Walter, who was in Deep Lust Eyeball Lock with the HBD.

“Officer Kramitz,” she said, “you ready to roll?”

“Yeah,” said Walter. He told the HBD, “We gotta take care of somethin'. See you in a while.” Walter had determined, throught investigative techniques, that the HBD was staying in the Doubletree Hotel, room 312, and that she had two girlfriends with her, but they would not be a problem because they planned to spend the evening at a South Beach nightclub called Orgasm.

“Be careful,” said the HBD, resting her hand on his forearm.

“Don't worry,” he said, shifting his flex effort from biceps to triceps. “We're professionals.” He turned and strode in a professional manner toward the cruiser. As he reached Monica, he whispered,
“Lemme drive, OK?”

Monica, rolling her eyes, handed him the keys and got into the passenger seat. Walter gave the HBD one last view of his arm muscles, swung into the driver's seat, started the cruiser, and gunned the engine. He fired up the siren and, with a totally unnecessary squeal of the tires, roared off down Grand Avenue.

After a minute, Monica said, “Walter, turn off the damn siren.”

Glancing into the rearview to make sure they were far enough from the HBD, he switched it off. “Hey,” he said, “where're we goin'?”

“The house over on Garbanzo Street that we went to the other night, where the kid had the squirt gun and somebody shot the TV.”

“Why the hell're we going
there?
” he asked.

“To see if the other two kids are there, Matt and Jenny,” said Monica. “The detective wants to talk to them.”

“What, we're a
school bus
now?” said Walter. “Jesus.”

Walter could not believe he was being pulled away from an actual crime scene, featuring a hot babe, to be sent on this lame errand. Walter did not get into police work to fart around with kids and squirt guns. Walter wanted
action
.

MATT punched in the code Jenny had given him, and the electronic gate blocking the Herk driveway—which had just been repaired after having been broken open by the police—slid open. Matt pulled into the parking area in front of the garage, and he and Jenny got out and went to the front door. Jenny, who had held it together pretty well on the ride over, was shaking badly now, fumbling with her key. She finally got the lock open and burst into the foyer.

“Mom!” she shouted. “Mom, where are you?”

“Jenny?” Anna's voice came from the living room. “Are you OK, honey?”

“Mom!” said Jenny, running to Anna. “Somebody shot at us! He kept shooting and shooting!” She wrapped her arms around Anna, sobbing violently.

“Who?” said Anna, hugging her. “Who was shooting at you, honey? Where?”

Jenny was sobbing too hard into Anna's shoulder to answer. Matt entered the living room. “What happened?” Anna asked him. “What's going on?”

“We were in the Grove?” said Matt. “Playing Killer? And I was gonna shoot Jenny? But somebody started shooting at us.”

“You mean with a squirt gun?” asked Anna.

“No,” said Matt. “It was a
gun
gun. With bullets.”

“Oh my God!” said Anna, horrified.
“Who?”

“We don't know,” said Matt. “He was, like, this
crazy
person.”

“Oh my God!” said Anna, hugging Jenny tighter.

“So we ran away, and we don't know where Andrew is,” said Matt. “We came here to call the police.”

“OK, right,” said Anna, fighting to calm herself. “We'll call the police.”

“Can I call my dad first?” asked Matt.

“Right,” said Anna, “call your dad, let him know you're here, then we'll call the police.”

“Mom,” sobbed Jenny, “I was
so scared.
”

“It's OK, honey,” said Anna, stroking her daughter's hair. “It's OK. You're home now. You're safe here.”