I shot two rounds into each tire, Lula and I hustled into the Firebird, and she drove out of the lot onto the road and sat at idle. I called Berger and got him on his cell. I told him Raz was in the cemetery, and his car was disabled.
“You gotta admit, he did sort of look like Satan in the beginning there,” Lula said.
“You freaked. You were squealing like a little girl.”
“I got caught by surprise. And I was affected by the atmosphere. You know how I’m all sensitive to that shit.”
“You yelled run for it! What the heck was that?”
“That was smart,” Lula said. “He was gonna make me into bacon. He’s a maniac. Good thing he can’t shoot for snot with his left hand.”
I agreed. He was definitely a maniac. And he definitely couldn’t shoot left-handed.
“I want to stay here and wait for the police to arrive,” I said. “I don’t want to chance Raz somehow driving away. I want him caught.”
“Sure. Just keep your eyes open for him sneaking up on us. And keep your gun out. I’m not bein’ no breakfast meat.”
After a couple minutes, I thought I saw Raz navigate the open grass to his car. I was sure he’d heard the shots. If it was me, I’d immediately check the tires. I couldn’t see him in the dark lot. We had the window down, listening for footfalls. Lula and I had guns drawn.
“Bitching bitches” carried out to us.
“He looked at the tires,” Lula said.
I saw lights on the road behind us, and a cop car drove up and turned into the lot. It was followed by two more police cars and a sedan with a Kojak light.
My cell phone rang. It was Berger.
“Is that you sitting out on the road in a Firebird?” he asked.
“Yes. I put a couple rounds in his tires, so he’s on foot. He’s not far away. I saw him go to his car a couple minutes ago. He’s armed.”
“Thanks,” Berger said. “We’ll take it from here.”
“Do you want to stay around and see what happens?” Lula asked.
“No. I want to go home.”
Truth is, I was afraid if I stayed in the area, Raz might circle around and come back and shoot me.
TWENTY-FIVE
LULA PULLED INTO MY LOT to drop me off, and we spotted Brenda’s car.
“That’s Brenda’s toaster,” she said. “And it looks like Brenda waiting for you at the door. And she don’t look good.”
Brenda was hunched, arms wrapped around herself, head down.
Lula cut the engine, and we went to where Brenda was standing and chain-smoking, the butts littering the ground around her.
“What’s up?” I asked her.
“I have terrible problems. I need you to help me. I don’t know who else to ask. It’s my son, Jason. He’s been kidnapped. I was there when they grabbed him and dragged him away.”
“Omigosh,” I said. “That’s serious. Did you call the police?”
“I can’t. There are circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“The police are sort of looking for Jason,” Brenda said. “It’s not like he’s done anything bad. I mean, he hasn’t killed anyone or anything.”
“What has he done?”
Brenda lit up another cigarette. Now she had two going at the same time.
“He’s a hacker,” she said.
“I know about them,” Lula said. “They go around giving people a virus. And they steal Sarah Palin’s email.”
“Jason isn’t that kind of a hacker,” Brenda said. “He would never do anything mean. He’s just interested in the technology. He says it’s like a chess game, and he’s playing the computer. He’s really smart. He’s a genius.”
“So why do the police want him if he hasn’t done anything wrong?” I asked.
“He has a couple friends who are just like him. It’s, like, a geek club. I guess for giggles they break into government computers and leave funny messages. They don’t take information out, but the government doesn’t like when their systems get hacked.”
“The government got no sense of humor,” Lula said.
“Anyway, Jason and his friends went underground a year ago. Jason says they aren’t leaving any more funny messages, but the FBI is still looking for them. The thing is, the FBI doesn’t know who they are or what they look like, so if Jason keeps a low profile, he might be okay.”
I took a step back to get away from the smoke cloud surrounding Brenda. “Jason is the friend who sent you the photograph from Hawaii, isn’t he?”
“He was trying to help me get my car. He’s such a good boy.”
“Do you know enough about computers to use the photograph?” I asked her.