EIGHT

D'Angelo Spencer was first out through the door for a number of reasons. A number of stupid, bloody reasons. Normally, he might have let Kathryn go out ahead of him, and then, eventually, he would push her and laugh. But that would be giving away that he had manners on actually letting her go first. So, he went first for some stupid reason.

But that stupid reason seemed to save their lives.

So for all those stupid reasons, he was first to step out onto the porch, and so he was the first person the two men saw. Okay, since you followed me -which was very obvious because your car tends to have the effect on saying, "LOOK AT ME! I'M FOLLOWING YOU BECAUSE MY OTHER BOSS TOLD ME TO, AND I LIKE KISSING HIS ASS BECAUSE I'M A GOOD SLAVE."- I'm gonna let you waste your life and time on trying to kill him for me. Go on, skip if you must! Skip! , That was what Mr. Nightshade had told them.

What a 'wonderful' boss.

Carl was on the left, tensed up and ready, so it took his brain a lot less than a second to process what his optic nerve was feeding it. He felt the front door open, he saw the screen swinging out, he saw somebody stepping onto the porch, he saw it was the guy coming first and he fired.

Brandon was on the right, the screen creaked open right in his face. That made him hesitate fractionally and then scramble up and forward around the arc of the frame. He grabbed it backhanded with his left and pulled it into his body and folded himself around it with his right hand swinging up and into position.

"Wake up Dr. Spencer and pay attention!"

Angelo knew in an instant. He was in his early thirties and his memory stretched back through maybe thirty of those years to the dimmest early fragments of his childhood, and that memory was filled with absolutely nothing except his mom and dad. He remembered them arguing. And he somehow remembered this little boy. He knew the boy but in another way, he didn't know him. When he first saw the two men with guns, there was no shock, no surprise, no gasping, freezing fear of panic. No pausing, no hesitation, no inhabitations.

Just instant reaction to something like being back in the hospital. Knowing instantly what to do when something goes wrong. Kathryn's heavy suitcase was in his left hand, swinging forward as he laboured with it over the threshold. He did a lot of things at once. First, he kept the swing going, using all the new strength in his left shoulder to kick the case onward and outward.

In unbearable slow motion, he looked from left to right at the two men. And then, that's when things returned to reality. There was the bullet. Nothing but metal. He wind milled his right arm backward and shoved Kathryn in the chest, pushing her back inside the hallway.

She staggered a step back and the moving suitcase caught the first bullet. He felt the kick and shock in his hand. It slowed him down, he jerked it right to the end of the swing, leaning out into the porch, and it hit Carl a glancing blow in the face.

Carl was half up and half down, crouching, unstable, and the blow form the case rolled him over backward and out of the picture. But Angelo didn't seem him go down, because his attention was already to the source of the noise. That noise was a gunshot. He heard Kathryn yell. Angelo used the momentum of the swinging suitcase to turn himself to his left. He let the handle pull out through his hooked fingertips and it flew in the air, smashing into Brandon's face. The shock wave went back and up through the hinge of Brandon's jaw, which is a sturdy enough joint that the force was carried undiminished up into the guy's brain.

Angelo could tell from the rubbery way he fell across his back that he was out for a spell. Then, the screen door was creaking shut against its spring and Carl was scrambling sideways across the porch floorboards for his gun, which was skittering away from him. Kathryn was framed in the doorway, gasping for breath. The suitcase was toppling end over end out on to the front lawn.

He was quickly out of breath. And he felt numb but he wasn't fucking stupid. He looked at the guy scrambling for the gun and then back at Kathryn. She was separated from him by about nine feet, and Carl was right between the two of them. If he grabbed the gun and lined it up to his right, he would be lined up on her. Angelo threw himself at the door, batten the screen back and fell inside. "Fucking move it, Katy!" he dragged Kathryn a yard into the hallway and slammed the door shut.

It kicked and banged three times as Carl fired after him and dust and wood splinters blasted out into the air. He clicked the lock, crouching and then pulling Kathryn across the floor to the kitchen. "Where's the fucking garage?"

"Through the kitchen door, there's a…backyard. You'll see it." she gasped.

As they passed the kitchen, he snatched something from the wall. He closed it into his fist. He shoved the kitchen door open. He saw the garage. It was one of those doors you needed to pull up. But this one was wooden. He sprinted and opened his fist, using the keys he took. He slammed one into the hole and turned it and yanked it up. Kathryn was running after him. She fell into the garage and he slammed the door behind her. Locked it and listened. They were leaning sideways to the door, facing each other.

There was no sound. Angelo listened hard. He was starting to sweat. Kathryn looked at him, they both tried to catch their breath. But Angelo's was more ragged and slow. Kathryn looked at him and her eyes widened with horror. "Your…your bleeding." Angelo looked down, his hand moved up to his side. He held his hand in front of his face, it was red with blood. "Yeah." he said, sounding very confused and bewildered. "People…people tend to do that when they get shot, Katy."

He looked around the garage. It was dark space, open rafters, open framing, smelling of old motor oil and creosote. It was full of garage things, mowers and hoses and law chairs, but they were very old things, the belongings of a woman who stopped buying new stuff years ago. The floor was smooth poured concrete, aged and swept to a shine. Kathryn's car was a new Ferrari 360 Modena.It is a car synonymous with power, performance, and speed. When many think of their "dream car" it's a sleek, rumbling Ferrari going 180 miles per hour down the highway.Since it's humble beginnings in 1947, the Ferrari stable has always been stocked with some magnificent machines. It was a fast car. Beautiful, too. It was coated silver. The engine was V8 40 valve. Horsepower: 400 bhp at 8,500 rpm. Torque: 275 lb-ft at 4,750 rpm. Performance was 0-60 mph - 4.3 seconds. Top speed was 186 mph. Transmission, Manual or Semi Auto, was 6 Speed. Brakes: Brembo Vented Discs. Displacement: 3,586 cc and weight was 3,100 lbs. He whistled. But this was no time to admire the car. It was a car he really liked. But still, like he said- Not the time.

"Get in the back. Down on the floor…" he breathed. Kathryn looked at him, concerned. "Down to the floor, Okay?" he asked her. She nodded, not looking away from him. They looked at each other for a while, Angelo's breathing slowed again. "…I'm sorry." he said. He looked away. "Get in the car." She walked away and opened the car door, crawling in head first, she laid down across the transmission hump. Angelo peered out of the garage. No movement, no sound.

He came back to the car and slid the key in and switched on the ignition so he could rack the electric seat all the way back to the end of its runners. Then, he got out of the car. He went to the tool area of garage and to the desk. There was an eight-by-four pegboard with a full set of household tools neatly arranged on it. Angelo selected a heavy carpenter's hammer and lifted it down. He opened the side door of the garage and stepped out to the yard. Angelo threw the hammer over arm, wincing at the pain, diagonally right over the house, to send it crashing into the undergrowth he had seen at the front.

"One…Two…Three…Fou--" he didn't finish up to four because he was already getting reaction from the guy. There was a yell. Funny if the guy got hit. Angelo ran back inside the garage and ducked inside the car. Stood alongside the open door and turned the key, arm's length. He fired it up, looking at the garage door. The engine started instantly. "Say, Kathryn? How strong is that garage door?"

Kathryn realised what he was talking about and buried her head under her hands. "Ohh shit." came the muffled reply. He threw himself into the driver's seat. Kathryn shut her eyes but nothing happened. She opened them again. Angelo sat there, laughing slightly, amused. That wild grin in his face. "Don't you just miss the old times?"

"Fuck you." she shouted at him, as he smashed the selector into reverse and stamped on the pedal. All four tyres howled and then bit on the smooth concrete.

The vehicle shot forward into the garage, breaking through the wooden door. The guy with the Berretta was way off to his left on the front lawn, spinning to look at them, surprised. He accelerated all the way up the driveway and lurched backward into the road. Braked fiercely and spun the wheel, all the while, Kathryn was screaming, "G'dammit! I hate you! I fucking hate you!", he found drive and took off in a haze of blue tyre smoke. He accelerated hard for thirty yards, passing the trees where Danny's car was hidden.

Danny watched the silver Ferrari pass and smiled to himself- laughing, actually -at Carl who almost got hit my the hammer. "Oh fuck…" he laughed. He did, after all, say that someone will get hurt… "Fuck, God help me, I fucking love this job!" he laughed again, "…Conan's gonna be sooo pissed."
He coasted to a gentle stop just beyond the neighbour's driveway. He selected reverse again and idled backward into it and down into the plantings. He killed the motor. Kathryn struggled up off the floor, her hand on her chest, gasping for breath. "What are we doing here?" she said. "We're waiting until they fuck off." She gasped, halfway between outrage and astonishment. "We are not waiting, Spencer. We're going straight to the police." she stuttered looking at the blood seeping through his shirt. "…or…or…to the hospital."

"No we're not."

"Your fucking bleeding to death! We are going to that hospital." she said sternly.

"Why?"

Why? Kathryn thought, surprised. Why not? He was bleeding to deathHe should get to a hospital. Fuckin idiot. Fuckin idiot's ego. He was so worked up on trying to save people that he forgot to save himself. "Oh, let me think. There are two men after us, I'm pretty fucking scared, aaanndd you just got fucking shot!" she said, the last part she was screaming.

"Please." she pleaded. "Come on."

"No." he said. "I can't go to the police with this. Not even the hospital." he breathed. Leaning back in his seat. Closing his eyes. "We'll go to your apartment…but we'll need the suitcase back."

She saw his chest rise up and down slowly. She saw all the blood. His shirt that was earlier white, turned red. "Damn it, Spence. Would you just tell me why?"

"Because they'll start looking at me for Hardway." Angelo replied.

"You didn't kill him."

"Sure. And they'll believe me as much as they believed pigs could fly."

"But they have to…Because it wasn't you. Simple as that."

"All the evidence points to me. So basically, in their eyes, I fucking murdered Hardway." he said. "Simple as that." he added, with much effort and strain. "Would you at least go to a hospital? Have them take the bullet out?" she argued.

"And have them ask about how I got shot? No." he said.

"Your totally unbelievable, you know that? We should go to the police, Spence--"

"You remember when we first met, Katy?" he interrupted. She trailed off and nodded. "Yeah…" she said. "I do…" Actually, she remembered it like it was yesterday. Sooo, not so much. But still, she remembered it…She was being teased by a couple of boys when she was a kid and Spence helped her out. She was grateful for that.

"We tried to tell your mom, remember? And their parents…but they wouldn't listen." he said. She continued for him, "Yeah. And so we had to do things ourselves. You kicked ass."

Crafty Veteran, was what they called him. Lies, excuses, pranks, all of it was genius. And let's just say, the bullies didn't smell good for a couple of weeks.

We had to do things ourselves…

"Okay." she said, slowly. "If…if your okay."

He nodded. "I am." he paused and listened. There was the sound of a motor starting up. Maybe a big V-8, maybe a hundred yards away. There was the rattle of big tyres on a distant stony driveway. The burble of acceleration. Then a black shape flashed across their view, two guys were in it, dark suits, one of them driving and the other slumped back in his seat. Soon, there was another car. Like any other car. Driving slow and normal. No haste.

Probably just a civilian…Angelo stuck his head all the way out of the window and listened to the sound as it died to silence in the direction of town.

"Are they gone?"

"For our sake, I hope so…"