Free Execution of Innocence by Christopher Pike Page B

away.
    Hannah sprang out of her seat. “I'll talk to him, Mary. You stay here.”
    “I don't want to stay here,” Mary said. She could taste the pizza in her throat and it was not inspiring. Hannah paused to stare at her. Mary wondered if she was looking at her in a sexual way. It was just a thought.
    “I’ll meet you in an hour in the center of the square,” Hannah said finally.
    “I don’t like this,” Mary said.
    Hannah smiled. “You're going to love it.”
    An hour later, sitting in the center of the square, Mary chatted with Deputy Howard when he pulled up in his cruiser. He was not much older than she was—three years—but there was a sad inevitability about him that said he was already beat. Howard had a gut and bad heartburn and slouched when he thought he was standing tall. Seldom was his shirt tucked in all the way. His greatest hope for this particular incarnation was to be a good cop. Not that Mary had anything against cops, it was just that Howard would never be very good at that either. Howard was kind of slow, his brain was, and there was a clumsiness to his movements that made even strangers yawn. Married to the first girl he had ever slept with—the equally cerebral JoDean Jones—they had already made three little babies that cried all the time. When he was not being a deputy, he worked as a fryer at Harvey’s, just to be able to feed the munchkins. Mary liked him, even though she felt sorry for him. He asked how she was doing, and they chatted about the weather and other such Howard-like subjects. Then he moved on in a black and white cruising the cold night.
    Mary hoped he wouldn't hear the gunshots.
    Yet she wished she had asked Howard where one bought blanks.
    Hannah finally showed up and she was in a cheery mood.
    “Dick is fine, he'll be there on time,” Hannah said.
    “I forgot to ask, where are you going to be at midnight?” Mary asked.
    “I want to watch. I’ll be in the woods, out of sight. Drop me off before you get to the Crossroads.”
    “Do you think that’s wise?” Mary asked.
    “What does wisdom have to do with any of this? Why are you in such a bad mood?”
    “Because I don't like guns. I don't like any form of revenge. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”
    Hannah knelt in front of Mary and brushed her own blond hair back. The move was not necessary because Hannah had recently taken to wearing her hair shortish, sort of butch-like. Yet she wore thick red lipstick and mascara, odd. Hannah rested her elbows on Mary’s knees.
    “What are you thinking?” Hannah asked.
    “I told you.”
    “Nah. You're wondering if I'm a lesbian.”
    “No.” A pause. “Are you?” Mary asked.
    “Does it matter?”
    “No. Are you?”
    Hannah considered seriously. “I don't know what I am. I think I'm bi.” She paused. “Does that gross you out?”
    “No. Not as long as you don't want to undress me.”
    Hannah was thoughtful, her unfocused gaze shifted to a distant point.
    “I just want to do this to Charlie,” she muttered.
    “I love Charlie,” Mary said.
    Hannah appraised her. “Honestly? I don't think so, Mary.”
    “You don't know me.”
    “You don't know yourself. You don't know what you’re capable of.”
    Mary stood. “I’m getting cold.”
    They got in the car, Mary’s car, the one Charlie had fixed. They turned on the heat and drove around. They ran into Deputy Howard again—that part of what Mary later told Riles and Sharp was true. Yet it was the second time Mary had seen Howard that night, and the first time she had been alone when she was supposed to be with Hannah. These pesky details—they had buried wiser people than Mary and Hannah.
    Closing on midnight, they drove toward the Crossroads. Two hundred yards from the spot, Mary slowed and let Hannah out. The snow was deep except under the still and silent trees. Hannah wished her good luck. Mary thought it an odd remark. Alone, she drove to the Crossroads, parked, and got out. The chill from the