As Manfred and Bobo walked home around ten o’clock, conversation was sparse. “Nice dinner,” Manfred said, and after Bobo replied, “Man, those chicken enchiladas . . .” they were both done with talk, but in a content way. Manfred thought the evening had accomplished part of its goal, in getting Bobo out of his shell. Manfred himself had enjoyed the company because it was not one of his “sensitive” nights, when he learned more than he wanted to know about his companions.
But he was the one who noticed the car parked across Witch Light Road between the empty two-story building (its ghost of a sign read RÍO ROCA FRÍA HOTEL 1920) and the Home Cookin Restaurant. The car was deep in a shadow. Even as he recognized the shape of an automobile roof, Manfred was reluctant to emerge from the haze of well-being, but he couldn’t ignore the alarm bells going off in his head. He grabbed Bobo’s jacket sleeve and yanked him into the alley behind Gas N Go.
“What the hell?” Bobo protested, but mildly.
“Someone’s parked over there in the shadows,” Manfred whispered. Bobo appeared to hear that silent alarm signal, too, because he instantly moved farther back into the shadows. “Do you see any people?” he asked. He didn’t whisper, but his voice was very quiet.
“No, and that worries me even more,” Manfred said.
“’Cause we’re right behind you,” a man’s voice said from the shadows.
Manfred wasn’t ashamed to tell Fiji the next day that he screamed like a teenage girl in a horror movie.
But even as he screamed, he jumped toward danger, not away from it. So did Bobo. Manfred hadn’t been in many fistfights—or fights of any sort—but he figured if he kept punching he’d hit something, and he swung away like a wiry windmill. Bobo gave a more practiced exhibit of self-defense.
“Help!” yelled Manfred, which was probably the most useful thing he could have done. He had no idea who might hear him in Midnight, but he had to try. To his astonishment, a light came on as the back door of Gas N Go flew open, and Creek Lovell charged out swinging a baseball bat.
It took her a second to identify the combatants, but when she did, she got behind the man Manfred was fighting and laid into the middle of his back with a formidable swing. He screamed and staggered, and Manfred actually got in a good hit on the man’s jaw. Down he went, in a most gratifying way, leaving Manfred shaking his bruised and battered hand.
By then Shawn Lovell had pelted from the store to join in the fight, and he grabbed Bobo’s assailant around the arms in a bear hug. Bobo socked the pinned man in the stomach, and the air left the man’s lungs in a whoosh. He sagged.
By that time, Lemuel was there.
Manfred, bending over with his hands on his knees and panting for all he was worth, took a second to marvel that Lemuel had heard him call for help from the pawnshop.
“Uncle Lem, they were trying to beat up Manfred and Bobo!” Creek yelled. She didn’t seem to notice her voice was raised. Her eyes were wide, and she was still gripping the bat. “Dad! They were hiding behind our store!” She was all over the place, her gaze skittering from one man to the other, her body tense and ready to swing the bat again.
“Deep breaths, little lady,” Lemuel said. “You have done a good thing tonight, and I’m sure Manfred and Bobo are most grateful.”
“I am so grateful,” Manfred gasped, and when Creek looked at him sharply, thinking he was teasing her, he said, “Believe me, Creek.” After a couple of more wheezes, he was able to straighten up and look more manly; or at least he hoped so.
“Pretty funny,” Bobo said. He leaned against the back wall of Gas N Go. “That we were trying to get away from them and instead we hid where they were hiding.”
“Hilarious,” Manfred agreed.
“I’ve called the police,” Shawn said. He didn’t sound pleased at all; he sounded very angry. “Creek, please go in the store and put the bat back where we keep it. Tell Connor everything’s okay. I don’t want you to have to talk to the cops.”
“But . . . Dad! I did so good!” Creek was half indignant woman, half floored child.
“You sure did, honey, but I don’t want our name anywhere in a police report.” Shawn’s voice was even, but you could tell he meant every word.
As soon as Manfred’s brain began working again, he absorbed the idea that the Lovell family had a complicated back history.
That didn’t surprise him at all.
The two attackers were conscious, and the one Creek had swung on was groaning. “That bitch broke my back,” he said. Manfred knelt by him and made sure the man was looking into his eyes. “You say that again, I’ll jump on you with both feet,” Manfred told him.
There was a rusty sawing noise, and Manfred looked up to discover that that was what Lemuel sounded like when he laughed. The other prisoner, firmly caught by Lemuel’s cold grip, was looking feebler by the moment. The Lemuel effect, Manfred thought, and almost smiled.
“I don’t know what you said on the phone, Shawn, but I can hear the lawmen coming from Davy already,” Lemuel said, his head cocked to the right side.
After a few more seconds, they all heard the sirens, but the first car to get there was a private car with a blue light stuck on top. It was Arthur Smith’s car, and he was out of it and among them with a speed the much younger Manfred envied. Oddly, Manfred didn’t realize his opponent had landed some good blows until he saw the sheriff. When Smith’s eyes met his, Manfred became sharply aware that his jaw hurt, and his ribs, too.
“These two men jumped us,” Bobo said, paring the story down. “It was lucky our friends came when we called.”
“Yelled like a banshee,” Manfred muttered.
By then a patrol officer was moving in right behind the sheriff, and Smith said, “Cuff this one and that one,” pointing to the two assailants. He looked from Bobo to Manfred. “I’m taking your word for it because you live here and I’ve never seen these men, so it doesn’t make sense that you attacked them.”
The one on the ground said, “Ask them where Curtis and Seth are, you think they’re so innocent.”
“Who?” Manfred said blankly.
“I don’t know a Curtis or Seth,” Shawn said. “You, Bobo?”
Bobo spread his hands, and Manfred saw that the knuckles were bleeding. “Not me.”
Lemuel said, “I don’t know them.”