HELLz BELLz (17 page)

James tried to get up, but his arms and legs were numb and wouldn’t obey his wishes. Someone ran up and kicked his shoulder. Then his right arm moved of its own accord and he grabbed the kicker’s ankle and yanked it, and the kicker, Big Tits, fell on her ass and James was suddenly on his feet and hobbling toward the open door of the Poon Tang Cruiser. The can of spray paint hit the back of his head and bounced off, but it didn’t slow his escape to the car’s back seat. He dove on top of Barbra as the vehicle lurched forward and struck the fat guy who’d broken James’s rib. The fat guy fell across the hood with his arms spread, panic in his wide eyes. Then he slid off and disappeared beneath the Cruiser’s front end. The right rear tire bumped over him as Josh gunned it toward the street. They bounced over the curb and sped down the hill.

“You all right?” asked Brenda, squirming in her seat.

“I can’t tell if that’s blood or paint,” said Barb, uncharacteristically sympathetic.

“Both,” said James with lips already swollen.

“Man, I cleaned that motherfucker’s clock,” said Josh. “Did you see that shit?”

“Yeh, thanks, man, you saved my ass. I thought I was dead.”

“Damn right I did. Let’s get your guns and go back for the rest of ’em.”

“Hell no!” said Barb. “We’re going home.”

“I’m driving, bitch.”

“Fuck you. Pull over.”

“What’re ya gonna do? Call a cop?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Brenda said. “We have to take James to the hospital.”

“Oh, sure,” said Barb, “and what makes you think the hospital’s not full of crazies who want to kill us?”

“She’s right,” said James. “And anyway, I’m not hurt that bad. Not much they can do for a busted rib. I just wanna get this paint off my face.”

Josh laughed as he turned onto Hawthorn Avenue. “
Hellz Bellz.
That was cool, dude. Those assholes hated that shit.”

“Who were those bikers?” asked Brenda. “It was like those freaks knew ’em or something.”

“Fuck if I know,” Josh said. “Night Riders, that’s what they called ’em.
Lord of the Rings
bullshit. If I see any of those little Hobbit dudes with big feet, I’ll run ’em over.”

James laughed, sending a sharp pain through his rib cage.

“I wanna go home,” Barb said. Then she turned to look out the back window.

James said, “Drop me off at my house. I gotta see if my mom’s back.”

“What, with those assholes right across the street? Naw, man, that ain’t smart.”

“That’s why I gotta go home. Spoze they decide to break in and wreck the place. My grandmother’s there. Have to defend the old homestead and all that.”

“Yeah, right, okay, dude. Shit, I’ll help you. You got a shotgun and a twenty-two, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Gangbusters.”

“You guys are so macho,” said Brenda, teasing her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.

“It’s just common sense,” James told her. “Nothing macho about defending your family.”

Josh made a U-turn in front of the Jiffy-Quick Mini-Mart, taking in the cop cars with blue lights flashing parked in front of it. “What’s up with that shit?”

“We should tell the cops about those naked psychos,” said Brenda.

“They got their hands full,” said James. “Besides, how do we know the cops ain’t buggin’?”

“Whole fucking town be buggin’,” Josh said in his whiteboy hip-hop gangsta voice.

“We’re not,” Brenda said.

“Don’t be too sure,” said James.

“I just wanna go home,” Barb said.

James noticed that she was shivering and hugging herself. “You can’t be cold,” he said to her.

“Chills,” she said, teeth chattering now. “Bell’s making me sick.”

James said, “Turn left here and go up Sycamore Street. We’ll go in the back way so those fuckers don’t see us.”

“What do you mean, you’re sick?” Brenda asked her sister. “What’s wrong?”

“Chills, aching like the flu, lightheaded.”

“All in your head, if it’s the bell,” offered Josh. “You can’t really be sick.”

“You’re not gonna hurl, are you?” asked James, inching away from her.

She shook her head.

“Hey, why don’t we just stop the fucking bell from ringing?” Josh looked back over his shoulder at James. “Shit, we’d be heroes.”

“How?”

“I dunno. Shoot it down? Shoot the rope?”

“It’s not on a rope, dumb-ass. An iron rocker bar or something holds it up. I think it’s motorized. Can’t shoot it down.”

“Must be some way to stop it. Hey, if it’s motorized, how can it be ringing without electricity?”

“Fuck if I know. Some kind of supernatural deal, maybe.”

“Bullshit.” Josh pulled into the driveway of a small house directly behind James’s home.

“Think about it,” said James. “There ain’t nothing natural about any of the crazy shit we’ve seen tonight. It’s
all
Twilight Zone stuff.”

Josh put the car in park. “You girls coming with us?”

“I wanna go home,” Barb repeated, teeth clicking hard between words.

“I better get her home,” Brenda said, opening the door so she could walk around to the driver’s side.

Josh left the engine running, got out and let her slide in behind the wheel. James eased out carefully, protecting his sore rib with his arm held close. “Hope you feel better,” he told Barb. She’d been a bitch all night, but now he felt sorry for her.

“You guys don’t go and get your dumb asses killed,” said Brenda.

“Not us,” Josh said.

James put his head through the window and kissed her cheek. “Let’s get together when all this wild shit is over.”

She batted her lashes at him and smiled. “Call me.” Then she threw the Cruiser in reverse and backed into the street.

“Be careful!” James shouted.

She waggled her fingers at him and drove off down Sycamore.

“Man,” said Josh, “I can’t believe you were sticking it to her right there on the floor.”

“Shut up. It was the fucking bell.”

Josh guffawed. “
Fucking
bell is right. Hadn’t been for her cunt sister, you woulda nailed that pussy. And I coulda had sloppy seconds.”

“C’mon. Let’s go arm ourselves. If those assholes try some shit, we’ll give ’em some real wounds to wear.”

“I feel ya, dude. Let’s do it.”

* * *

Joe turned off on a narrow side street and sped past a row of cramped houses with tiny yards. He turned right at the next intersection, checking the rearview to see if the truck was still on their tail. A set of headlights came into view just as he rounded the corner; he couldn’t tell if the lights belonged to their armed pursuers.

Suzie and Sara were quiet, probably stunned by the fact that somebody had tried to shoot them. Joe was scared. His intestines churned. Fear was visceral. Fear was a coppery taste on his tongue. He was sweating in the cold air blowing from the AC vents. He shivered. He wanted this nightmare to be over. But he was also angry. A stranger with a rifle had shot his car and could’ve killed him, his wife or Suzie. Joe wanted to retaliate. Revenge was a powerful motivator; the need for vengeance was as raw an emotion as there was. He slowed up, stopped and backed into an empty driveway partially concealed by a high wall of shrubbery. He shut off the headlights.

“What are you doing?” asked Sara.

“Hiding,” Suzie answered for him. She was only half right.

He was setting an ambush.

Sliding out of the seat, he said, “Stay here.”

“Joseph…?” Sara called after him.

He ignored her and walked to the end of the wall of shrubbery. Opposite him on the other side of the pavement a hazy cone of light streamed down from a streetlight. When the truck entered the funnel of light, he would have a few seconds to aim and fire.

His hand was sweaty against the butt of the gun. Sweat dripped from his brow and burned his eye. He wiped at the burning. He heard the pickup rumbling his way. He raised the pistol, holding the wrist of his gun hand with his opposite hand to steady the piece.

His heart thudded in his chest. He felt an excitement in his belly that wasn’t quite fear. He could feel power emanating from the pistol and moving up his arm and into his heart. He remembered the game he and his childhood friends played on certain summer nights so long ago. Using flashlights as imaginary weapons, the boys divided up into two teams and stalked each other in the darkness. You hid and waited for the “enemy” to stumble into your ambush, and then you blasted them with your ray-gun flashlight before they could zap you. It was great boyhood fun, and as it was turning out now, it had been perfect preparation for this moment of real-life nighttime warfare.

A bat swooped down to take a moth fluttering beneath the streetlight.

The truck entered the cone of light.

Squared in a shooter’s stance, Joe found the driver’s head in the gun sight, then moved the barrel a few inches ahead of the target, leading it, so that the slug and the driver’s head would arrive at the same place at the same time.

Holding his breath, Joe squeezed the trigger.

The gun barked.

Glass shattered.

The driver twitched, then fell forward over the steering wheel. The truck swerved left.

The man in the truck bed with the rifle fell against the pickup’s cab, trying to steady himself.

Joe stepped into the street, aimed and fired just as the truck veered from the cone of light.

The rifleman’s body twisted to the left, straightened up and then toppled over the side of the truck and into the street.

The truck bumped up over the curb and crashed into a tree.

“Got you, you son of a bitch,” Joe said as he lowered his weapon.

The man he’d just shot was crawling toward the curb, leaving his rifle behind, nothing more than a wounded animal now. Joe raised the pistol and aimed at the man’s head, intending one more shot to put him down and end his suffering.

Before he could shoot again, a booming blast echoed behind him and Sara or Suzie shrieked. Joe spun around, ready to confront the new enemy.

“Get outta my yard, you heathens,” said a rough deep voice.

There was movement within the Toyota. Joe looked past the car and saw the silhouette of a big man on the front porch of the A-frame house. Backlit by soft yellow light from a front window, the dark shape came forward, raising what was probably a shotgun to his shoulder.

“Okay!” Joe shouted. “We’re going. Don’t shoot.”

The Toyota jumped forward and Joe had to sidestep out of its path. Sara was behind the wheel. “Get in!” she yelled.

Joe jerked open the passenger door and jumped in as Sara floored the gas and the tires squealed against the driveway and the car lurched into the street.

The shotgun boomed once more and a load of buckshot pelted the Toyota’s trunk.

Sara kept her foot on the pedal and the tires peeled rubber all the way to the next corner, where she wrenched the wheel into a hard right to get them off the street of death.

“You nailed those fuckers,” said Suzie with an odd laugh.

“I had to.”

“Jesus, Joey,” said his wife.

“What?” His blood was up and the gun was still in his hand and he didn’t want any shit from her about shooting those two bastards who’d tried to shoot them. “You got something to say about it?”

She heard the edge of warning in his voice and shook her head, keeping her eyes on the street ahead.

“We ought to go back and shoot that asshole with the shotgun,” Suzie said. “He didn’t have to shoot the damn car.”

Joe looked back at her and said, “I wouldn’t mind shooting him, but we need to get out of here. Next time we might not be so lucky.”

“Lucky?” Sara said, snatching off the earmuffs and flinging them to the floorboard. “Men with guns are trying to kill us and you call that lucky?”

“Shit, just shut up and drive, okay?” Suzie said to the back of Sara’s head. “Jesus.”

Sara hit the brakes hard and the wheels grabbed to the right, whip-lashing the three passengers. The car stopped against the curb. “I’ve had it with you,” she said, twisting in the seat to confront Suzie. “Get out! Get out right now!”

“Fuck you,” Suzie replied.

Joe was about to intervene once more when Sara surprised him by yanking the pistol out of his hand and sticking it in Suzie’s face.

“Fuck
you,
” she said. “Get out right this minute or I’ll shoot your skanky ass.”

Joe had never heard her say “skanky” before, and it sounded so funny coming from her that he almost laughed, but he was afraid she might not like being laughed at and might make good on her threat, so he didn’t. Instead, he tried to reason with her. “Sara, honey, please, don’t point that at her. Let’s all just calm down and—”

Without warning she thrust the pistol in his face, inches from his nose. “Shut up or you can get out with her. I’m tired of you bossing me around like you’re some goddamn army sergeant. Who died and made you king, anyway? Prick. I’ve had it! Get out, both of you!”

“Sara, don’t—”

She jabbed the muzzle against his mouth, busting his upper lip and chipping a tooth. “Out! You know I can shoot this thing. And by God I will.”

Joe saw the steel in her eyes and believed she would do it. He licked blood off his lip. His mouth hurt and he wanted to slug her upside the head, but he didn’t want to die, so he turned away from her, threw the door open and slid off the seat.

Sara turned the gun on Suzie. “Move it, slut. Now.”

Suzie gave her a scalding look, then got out of the back seat.

Sara said, “Now you two can go fuck yourselves or each other. I don’t give a goddamn.”

Then she drove off, peeling rubber again.

When the Toyota was out of sight, Joe said, “We’re fucked.”

Suzie said, “That fucking bitch.”

“Hey, that’s my wife.”

She cut her eyes at him.

The unrelenting bell mocked him from the other side of the city.

“She looks dead to me.”

“No, she’s breathing,” said James. “She just won’t wake up.”

Josh stuck his finger close to the old woman’s throat and said, “What’s that?”

“Bruises. But how’d they get there?”

“Maybe she stroked out.”

“But that wouldn’t make those marks on her. It’s like somebody tried to strangle her.”