the door in a neat triangle. TJ came instantly awake, screaming bloody murder and clutching at my shirt. Something on the back steps went tumble and thud.
Shouts outside, in Spanish.
I ran down the hall, and a blaze of bullets ripped through the trailer, tearing through the walls like they were aluminum foil. I dove for the floor, twisted at the last second to land on my back and avoid crushing the boy. He screamed louder. I hunched over him turtle style, more bullets shredding the trailer, some kind of hellfire machine-gun rattle outside the trailer. The gunfire obliterated a lamp, blasted the television, battered the clock off the wall.
The next burst of fire shattered the living room windows. If they were out front, then I sure as hell was going out the back.
I crawled on two knees and one elbow toward the back door. I held TJ hysterical in the other arm. I stood, revolver ready, and kicked the back door open just as I heard somebody do the same to the front.
I jumped down the three steps and landed next to a dead Mexican in a red shirt, the one who’d kicked me in the ribs, I think. Good.
I ran. Lights came on in some of the other mobile homes, dogs barking insanity. Halfway to the Nova, I turned, looked back at the trailer. A face appeared in the back door. I paused and squeezed off two shots, and the face ducked back inside.
By the time I reached the Nova I saw the Mustang parked right behind me. I shot one of the front tires and the boy jumped in my arms. He was gulping air now, big sobs wracking his whole body. I would never forgive myself. No matter what happened from now forward, I had failed. No child should ever have to go through this.
I got into the Nova and cranked the engine, fishtailed a U-turn and squealed the tires putting the trailer behind me. More gun shots but growing distant. I remembered Doris had TJ’s car seat in her car.
Fuckingbitchfuckingbitchfuckingbitchfuckingbitch…
“D-daddy.” He was reaching for me, eyes so blurred with tears he couldn’t see.
I pulled him into my lap, kissed the top of his head. “You’re going to be okay, buddy. It’s going to be okay.” He rested his head against my chest, still crying but more evenly, not so panicked and out of control.
I uttered some kind of brief prayer. I wasn’t sure about my relationship with God. I was in eighth grade the last time I went to the Methodist Church with my mother. But now seemed like a good time to take it up again. I asked for help. I made promises. I hoped He was listening.
I left the trailer park, drove straight and fast toward town and didn’t see anything in the rearview mirror.
CHAPTER NINE
I parked in front of Molly’s house, behind her dad’s Peterbilt.
I rocked the boy in my arms until he quieted down some. I didn’t like what I was about to do. This wasn’t really Molly’s thing, but I trusted her to be a good person when all was said and done. And I didn’t exactly have a whole lot of choices.
I climbed her front steps, the boy on one hip, and knocked. It took a while, and I knocked again. Molly wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight. I worried briefly that Roy might’ve snuck home after I left. I’d shoot him. Swear to God, I would shoot him.
But Roy wasn’t home. The door swung open, and Molly stood there in panties and a t-shirt. She rubbed her eyes.
“I need help, Molly.”
“What?”
I pushed in past her.
She closed the door. “Is that Toby Junior?”
She’d never seen the boy. They’d both been in my life so thick, it hadn’t occurred to me how separate they were. Of course she’d never seen him. “Yes. He’s had a scare.”
She looked me over. “What happened to you?”
“I’m in a lot of trouble, Molly.”
“Tell me.”
“I killed Billy Banks.” She’d hear about it soon enough anyway.
She gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
“It was self defense,” I said too quickly.
“Why?”
“I think Billy was smuggling illegals. Or working with some