Chapter 2

This Isn’t Over

As his finger squeezed the trigger, a violent, snot-expelling sneeze wracked his body. The bullet zinged past my left shoulder and shattered the driver’s side window. He tried to fire off another round, but the weapon jammed. A snot-induced malfunction?

He jumped into the Toyota and sped from the parking lot onto Austin Highway. I was unable to get a good look at the plate number, but the last digit was a “Z”.

I needed a few seconds to regain my wits, or at least, try to. I saw the broken cone smashed to bits and my ice cream melting on the asphalt. Now I was scared and pissed. Legs still shaky, I circled the front of the car to check the passenger window.

“Oh my God!”

My chest clenched uncomfortably as I attempted to catch my breath. A lady lay sprawled on the asphalt, facedown, between my car and the green Honda parked next to it. I kneeled for a closer look.  I cringed as blood pooled around her right armpit. Shards of broken glass littered the area between the vehicles, numerous fragments scattered on the injured lady.

Sirens in the distance screamed louder by the second. A small crowd had gathered by the time two cop cars and an ambulance arrived. The red and blue lights were just short of hypnotic—and annoying.

The ambulance jerked to a stop directly behind my car. A couple of paramedics scrambled to the bleeding woman.

“Is she dead?” I asked.

“She's alive, but it doesn’t look good.”

My eyelids closed as the corners of my mouth sagged.

I tried to gather my emotions. Yet I agonized as they loaded her into the ambulance and drove off, lights flashing and siren wailing. I gave the cops all the information I could, which wasn't much. It all happened so quickly and with no warning. They said they might call me to the station for a more detailed interview.

I pulled into my drive, sweat dripping from my nose and brow. The hot, humid air blowing in through the broken windows rendered the air conditioner almost useless.

I was still rattled after my shower. I called Swamp and told him I might be a few minutes late and that I’d explain when I got there.

His apartment was a couple of miles away in Alamo Heights, near the intersection of Austin Highway and North New Braunfels. My watch indicated three-thirty when I walked through his door. I had a key to his apartment and he had a key to my house.

Swamp was okay most of the time, but his parents creeped me out. They gave me the heebie-jeebies—I’m talking super-duper heebie-jeebies. Like, goose-bumps so big you could fall off of and hurt yourself. His mother claimed to be a Voodoo priestess. Her purple-colored glass eye was freaky as all get out. Something about a spell gone wrong and a voodoo doll. His father was a retired alligator wrestler.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” he said after a quick kiss. “Good to see you.” I wasn’t sure which name I disliked more, Pumpkin or Flossie May.

He crooked his index finger over the top button of my blouse and nestled it in my minimal cleavage. When I didn't respond as anticipated, he withdrew his finger. “Something wrong?”

“It's been a horrible day. Someone shot at me about an hour ago. He said something about me being on a list and it was my turn to die. The gun looked more like a hand-held bazooka.”

“Someone tried to kill you? Holy shit! Are you sure? Why would anyone want to do that?”

He took my hand and guided me to the sofa.

“Of course I’m sure. But I have no idea why—or who. Maybe someone I wrote an unflattering piece on. I don’t know.”

“Thank God he missed.” Swamp pulled me closer as we huddled on the cushions.

“Yeah, really.”

“So, what did the cops have to say?”

“Not a lot. They just told me to keep my eyes open and let them know if I thought of anything else. Told me they might call me down to the station for another interview. The last thing they said was they’d let me know if they heard anything important. I'll probably find out more by watching the local news than I will from them.”

Swamp pulled me even closer as I rested my head on his shoulder. I nestled into the security of his arms around me.

“Maybe it wasn’t you he wanted to kill—have you thought about that?”

“He called me by name and apparently knew me by sight. Too many coincidences for it to be a mistake.”

“You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

I didn’t move my head from his shoulder as I spoke, ignoring his last comment. “He missed me, but he hit another lady. She's in bad shape and the paramedics indicated her chances of surviving aren’t good. She was bleeding real bad. It was horrible. If she dies from a bullet meant for me, I don't know how I'll handle it.”

“He missed you and that’s what’s important. I'm sure the other lady will be okay.”

I raised my head to look straight into his eyes. “He missed me this time; but what if he tries again? There has to be a reason he wanted to shoot me and that reason ain’t gonna magically disappear. This isn’t over.”

“I know you well enough to realize you won’t consider changing jobs. If nothing else, maybe you should sign up for some self-defense classes. Karate, or whatever.  Will you at least do that for me—please? And I know how you feel about guns, but maybe you should reconsider. ”

“Like I said, I’ll be real careful. No need to worry. And yes, I’ll check out a self-defense program in the next day or two. I remember seeing a martial arts place on Rittiman Road not long ago. I’ll think about the gun.” I knew I wouldn’t, but it was a convenient answer.

“Give me all the details. Think back—try to remember everything you can. Even the tiniest detail could …”

I drew my lips between my teeth and breathed in a little extra air through my nose. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s change the subject, okay? Anything you want, I don’t care. Anything but this.”

"The more you talk about it, the more you might remember. That's a pretty commom ..."

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?” I'd elevated my tone and pitch just a bit.

He ran his fingers through my shoulder-length, feathered-back hair. “Okay. So, what color blonde would you call this? It’s kinda hard to describe.”

“Pale golden blonde with hints of platinum, I guess.”

“That works. And you know, don’t you, that your eyes were the first thing to catch my attention? I’ve never seen such pale brown eyes; they’re like a soft shade of khaki. Pretty danged captivating.”

Captivating. Hmmm—I could run with that.  It’s a pretty kick-ass word. I rewarded him with a quick kiss. Keying into his awkwardness in making small talk, I suggested we order in something to eat. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but maybe it would change the mood. Hell, I don’t know. I just wanted to take my attention away from the incident.

When the Chinese food arrived, Swamp opened a bottle of wine as I brought two glasses from the kitchen. We were almost finished when my cell phone chirped the guitar intro to “Sweet Home Alabama”. I checked the readout.

“Hi, Mom. What's up?”

“What's this I hear about you getting shot at this afternoon?”

Mom was the mouthpiece of the neighborhood. Nothing went on she didn't know about. She had a police scanner in every room of her house and a semi-sophisticated network of blabbermouths in the neighborhood.

As my father once said, “You can't fart within five miles of her without her smelling it.”

I loved my mother, but she could be a royal pain in the tukus. Everyone knew to be careful what they said around Viola Evaline Campbell. It was a sure bet it would be repeated and embellished with her slant. Gossip has no pride and even less respect for the full truth, ya know.

She and Dad divorced the summer of my high school graduation. They had totally opposite personalities, and not in a good way.

“It's no big deal, Mom. I'm fine. Really, I am.”

“Say what? You get your ass shot at and you say it's no big deal? What's wrong with you, girl? Getting shot at is a big deal! Now tell me all about it.”

“How about I drop by your house tomorrow morning and I'll fill you in?”

“I guess that's okay. But don't you even try to weasel out of it by saying 'I forgot' or some other weak bullshit. This is big news! When I tell this story at the bridge club tomorrow night, I’ll be the big dog. The others will be so jealous they won’t be able stand it.”

“I'll be fine, Mom. And I promise to be there before noon.”

“You best not forget, girl, if you know what's good for you. I wanna know all the details. Everything. You got that?”

“Got it. Bye, Mom. Love ya.” I disconnected and returned the phone to my purse.

“I'll bet your mom is worried sick,” Swamp said

“Yeah, she's worried I might leave out some of the details when I tell her what happened, and she won't be a hit with her bridge cronies tomorrow night.”

“Where's the love?”

“She loves me. She's complicated. You have to read between the lines sometimes.”

“Glad my parents aren't weird like that.”

What? He thinks a juju-eyed fortuneteller and a gator-grabber are more normal than my mother? Sheesh!

Okay, Mom's known for her expertise with a BB gun. I guess that’s kind of weird. But just a little. It's a long story.

“So, what now?” Swamp asked.

“I need a little time to just chill out and process all this. I think I’ll head back home and turn in early.”

“You could stay here, ya know. In fact, I insist on it.”

“Thanks, but I really need the comfort and familiarity of my own place.”

“Are you sure? I mean, really sure? Do you think being alone is a good thing right now?”

“I’ll be okay—really, I will.”

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea. I don't think you should be alone.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Swamp. And you're not gonna change it. I’m going back to my own place and my own bed. Sorry, but that’s what I need more than anything right now. Your concern is flattering and endears you to me even more.” I rewarded him with a peck on the lips.

I pushed myself from the couch and he followed me to the door. When we stepped onto his front stoop, he hugged me and kissed me on the forehead.

“I really wish you’d stay here tonight.”

“I’ll be fine. No need to worry. Thanks for understanding.” I wasn’t sure he truly understood, but it was the best thing to say. I kissed him and then went to my car. We exchanged waves and I headed to my house.

As I drove home, I noticed the shimmering of the oblique rays from the sun reflecting off the car’s faded gray metal—kind of like the aura of a ghost. That’s it—The Gray Ghost. Cool name for the Caddy.

I grabbed my purse and slid from behind the steering wheel. Even with the windows busted out, as a matter of habit, I locked the car doors and walked to my front entrance. When I opened the screen door, I saw it—a hand-penned note, printed in block letters, taped to the entry door.

'I've changed my mind, Flossie May. No coffin for you just yet. I want to have a little fun with you first. The question is: when will I finally get bored and decide the game is over? Don’t you just love a good game?'

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