The Night of the Flood Page 2

  The house was darker inside than outside so I turned on my flashlight, kept my gun in its holster. I figured people were less likely to shoot at an unarmed man. Besides, if I needed my gun, I could have it in my hand in two seconds, maybe less.

  I’d always been a fan of westerns and, for the last three years, I’d spent at least thirty minutes a night drawing my gun, trying to get faster. Not that I sought violence but, eventually, violence sought everybody. I wanted to be ready for the next James Whitlow to cross us.

  But I didn’t want to shoot a cop, and I had a feeling the police would be here soon. Especially once they found out the people down south had come up.

  Callie and I walked underneath two giant chandeliers, past furniture and even a silent fountain, and headed into the living room. Walking through the living room reminded me of a class trip I once took to some art museum in Philly. Like that museum, this living room had little sculptures on high tables, paintings behind glass, actual statues in the corners. But Callie and I didn’t care about any of that and didn’t bother examining it closely; I had no idea how to pawn that stuff without getting caught. And I figured that after tonight, all the cops in western Pennsylvania would be on the lookout for fenced valuables. Cash was the smart play.

  We checked the bedrooms and didn’t find anyone. “They’re probably on vacation,” Callie said bitterly, as she went through the closet in the biggest bedroom, pulled out different shirts, and tried them on.

  “Seems like it.”

  “So next house?”

  “Next house.”

  I felt like we had to take something, on principle, so I broke open a locked jewelry case. Callie draped a long necklace around her neck. I shoved some plain silver rings into my pocket.

  At the next house, a woman screamed when I broke a window to get in.

  Callie grinned.

  “Sounds like money.”

  This second house was about the same size as the first but, where the first house had a massive living room, this one had an expansive kitchen. There was an island in the middle long enough to house castaways, and two refrigerators. Callie and I looked in them and they were both stocked with food. We couldn’t tell the difference between them, couldn’t imagine why anyone would need two.

  We headed up a wide marble staircase. At the top, the hall stretched in either direction. All of the doors were closed.

  “I take one hall, you take the other?” Callie suggested.

  I shook my head. “Could be a gun waiting on the other side of one of those doors. And you just have your knife.”

  “Pretty sure I’ll be okay.” A few months ago some guy followed her into a restroom in a Pittsburgh bar, tried to move in on her. Callie left him unconscious on a toilet, cuts all over his stomach and chest, bleeding into the bowl. “I like using a knife,” she’d said nonchalantly on the drive back home. “Makes a point. Get it?”

  “I know you’ll be fine,” I told her now. “But I’d rather stick together.”

  Callie grunted.

  We went left. Callie reached for the first knob. I put a hand on her wrist, an ear to the door. Didn’t hear anything inside so we moved on. No sense making unnecessary noise. And after the scream we’d heard earlier, I didn’t think anyone hiding in one of those rooms could keep quiet.

  Callie grabbed my ear, pulled my head down close to her mouth.

  “Maybe they’re hiding in a panic room, like that movie.”

  I thought about it. “What’s your point?”

  “I’ve always wanted to see a panic room.”

  “Honestly, our odds of finding it aren’t great. If they even do have one.”

  “Don’t be a downer, dude.”

  We found her hiding in the last room in the left hall. An older woman, probably somewhere in her forties, standing in a corner of a study between a desk and a tall plant.

  “Please,” she said, speaking slowly, deliberately, “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”

  I wasn’t planning on hurting her, but no sense sharing that information. “We’re just here for money. We get that, we’re gone.”

  “I, I don’t have any money on me.”

  “Is it in your panic room?” Callie asked excitedly.

  “I don’t have a panic room.”

  “Damn.”

  I was disappointed too. Kind of wanted to see that.

  “Is this about Maggie Wilbourne?” the woman asked. “Because I support the Daughters.”

  Callie turned toward me. “Who’s Maggie Wilbourne?”

  I ignored her. “Where’s your money?”

  “I don’t keep cash on me. Everything’s credit.”

  I definitely didn’t want her credit cards. Figured the cops would arrest me the minute I used one.

  “You don’t have anything on you?” I asked. “And no cash in the house? Like, hidden behind a picture or something?”

  “Nothing. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “Well, I might,” Callie said.

  “She might,” I corrected myself. “What I meant was, we don’t want to hurt you.”

  “But we’re going to need something,” Callie added.

  “You can take anything you want,” the woman said. “Except my life.”

  Callie shook her head in disgust. “Christ lady. Over-dramatize much?”

  I gazed at the woman, wondering how much time we had before a neighbor or the Everton police stopped by to check on her. I figured the cops would be up here soon, making sure the rich people were safe.

  I knew this lady was lying about her money, and I hated the thought that Callie and I were going to leave this house empty-handed. Leave this lady thinking she’d pulled one over on us. Even if she begged for her life, she’d count it as a win. End up telling her friends at some dinner party years from now how she outsmarted a pair of looters. Like that’s all Callie and I were.

  I shined my flashlight on her left hand. Saw a glint.

  “Where’s your husband?” I asked.

  “He’s on the road. Traveling for work.”

  “How much is that ring worth?” Callie asked.

  The woman’s hand tightened. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, lady,” Callie pressed. “You didn’t have it insured?”

  “I think it was five thousand, maybe?”

  “Maybe, huh?”

  “Got anything else?” I asked.

  “Not in the house, I promise.”

  “I’m going to take a look around. My sister will keep you company.”

  She looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just closed her eyes.

  I left them there, the woman murmuring something, Callie smiling, her long knife at her side. I walked down the hall and peered into a couple of rooms. Didn’t see anything but an orderly office in one, an empty bedroom with no sheets on the bed in another.

  I found the boy in the third room I checked, a kid’s bedroom that looked like a zoo had stopped spending money on cages. Giant toy stuffed animals crowded it, their silhouettes visible as my flashlight’s beam darted around the room. A giraffe that was nearly my height, an elephant the size of a small car, monkeys hanging in different playful positions, a couple of zebras. If there was a bed or dresser in here, I couldn’t find them.

  The kid was huddled in a corner of the room.

  I walked over to him, knelt down.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Max.” His voice was faint.

  “You got some cool stuff in your room, Max.”

  He was terrified. Big eyes, breathing fast. I remembered I had the ski mask on and pulled it up. Showed him my face.

  “If I wasn’t robbing you,” I said, “I’d ask if I could come back and play.”

  “Is my mom okay?”

  I nodded. “You got any brothers or sisters, Max?”

  He shook his head.

  “Anyone else in the house?”
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  Another shake.

  He was trembling.

  I hated seeing the kid scared, hated even more that I was the one scaring him.

  I remembered being that afraid, and no adults had been there to make me feel better.

  “Hey buddy, I promise you’ll be safe.”

  “Is my mom really okay?”

  “Absolutely.” Callie wasn’t going to do anything to her, just scare her a little.

  Max and I stared at each other for a moment. Something about the way he looked at me reminded me of Callie at his age.

  “Let me ask you something, Max,” I said. “Your mom or dad, they ever hurt you? Do something to you that doesn’t feel right? Touch you someplace and ask you to keep it a secret?”

  He shook his head.

  “What about anyone else? A teacher, sitter? You can tell me.”

  “No, no one.”

  “If anyone ever does, you know what to do?”

  “Tell an adult?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea too. But you know what works even better?” I reached down, touched his Achilles heel. “Stabbing them right here. It’ll hurt so much they won’t be able to chase you. You stab them there and then you run. Run like hell, Max, because they’re going to try and catch you. Then you can tell someone, but do that first. Otherwise, you might not get to do it later. Don’t want to regret that later in life.”

  “I don’t have a knife.”

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out my keychain, took off the small folding knife I kept on it. I pressed the knife into his hand.

  “Oh, brother?” Callie sang from across the hall. “Where art thou?”

  “Come on,” I told Max. “Let’s go see your mom.”

  We headed back to the other room.

  I should have walked in first, made Max wait in the hall. Then he wouldn’t have seen what Callie had done to his mother.

  I pulled him out of the room, closed the door and left him in the hallway.

  “Who’s that?” Callie asked.

  I locked the door and hurried over to Max’s mother. She was still in the same corner of the room, but sitting. Her shirt was off and stuffed into her mouth. Her bare stomach was crisscrossed with bloody cuts.

  I pulled the shirt out.

  “Max?” she said, distantly.

  “He’s okay,” I told her. “I promise.”

  Max’s mother seemed like she was in shock. She didn’t try and stand, didn’t move at all. Just stayed sitting, staring.

  “She wouldn’t tell me where anything was,” Callie said. “Even when I started carving.”

  “That’s because she was hiding her son from us.”

  Callie was playing with something on her hand. She was wearing the woman’s wedding ring. “Maybe he can tell us.”

  “No,” his mother said. That seemed to snap her back to her senses. She looked at each of us, struggled to stand. “Is he okay?”

  “For now,” Callie said.

  “For good. We’re leaving.” I glanced at Callie. “Cops and robbers are probably on their way.”

  Callie wiped her knife on the carpet, sheathed it, shrugged. “Let’s go.”

  I took off my shirt, gave it to the woman. “Don’t let him see your stomach.”

  She pulled the shirt on.

  We opened the door, let Max in. He ran over to his mother, fell into her arms.

  We left them in the study. I stopped in the master bedroom, pulled out a man’s shirt from the closet. He was smaller than I was and the shirt was tight, but it’d do.

  Callie and I headed out into the night.

  “What happened with that kid?” Callie asked, as we walked down a dark winding street, the loud rush of water and fire in the distance.

  “Nothing. I gave him my knife.”

  “The Swiss Army one on your keychain?”

  “Yeah.”

  She nodded approvingly. “Every kid should have a knife.”

  “New plan. The houses up here aren’t going to have piles of cash lying around, and they’ll take forever to go through. And the cops will be up here quick. I’ve been thinking about those looters. They’re probably hitting the stores now.”

  “So you want go after the stores with them?”

  “Nope. Those looters left their own houses empty. Let’s rob them.”

  We rode my motorcycle back south, sticking to the outskirts of the town. Sirens from cop cars flashed red and white in the night sky. Even though the water hadn’t topped the banks, it was threatening. Callie and I finally reached the south side’s rough roads, the one-story houses stretched out like rows of dominos. We parked the bike and headed into the town, splashing through ankle-high water. I ditched the ski mask; figured there was no reason in looking suspicious when you’re walking around a neighborhood you’re planning to rob. We headed toward a home we knew, owned by a guy named Billy Johnson who Callie had gone on a few dates with. He’d been the most excited of anyone about looting the town, already had run-ins with the law, wasn’t opposed to having more. I figured he’d be out all night.

  We walked around the back. I boosted her to the top of a chain-link fence, then climbed over.

  “He probably took his money with him,” Callie said.

  “No chance. He’s not going to risk getting arrested and having the cops keep it, or getting jacked in the riot. Trust me, he left his roll here.”

  “Or in the bank.”

  I took out my gun, sized up a back window pane, smashed it open. I reached inside, undid the lock, lifted the window open. “Poor people don’t have banks.”

  This house couldn’t have been more different than the last one we’d broken into. We stood in one long room facing two closed doors, a hallway that led to a bathroom, a small separated kitchen, and a front door. That was it.

  “Where’s Billy’s room?” I asked.

  Callie headed to one of the doors, opened it.

  “Who’s there?” someone called out.

  My gun jumped into my hand. Callie looked at me.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  “That’s his grandfather in the other room,” she explained. “He’s ancient. Can’t even get out of bed on his own.”

  “You didn’t tell me his grandfather lived here.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Maybe I didn’t.”

  “Just hurry up.”

  I kept watch while Callie searched the bedroom. Billy’s grandfather called out a couple of more times, but otherwise the house was quiet. It took Callie five minutes, but she emerged from the bedroom with a handful of bills.

  “Two hundred,” she said, proudly. “Found it under the mattress.”

  “Not a bad start.”

  We left the way we came, headed to another house we figured would be empty. It was.

  An hour later Callie and I had a pretty good streak going. Ten houses and thirteen hundred dollars. But we ran out of homes owned by people we knew.

  “We need a big one,” I told her. “My goal’s to get two grand before we leave.”

  “So we hit the stores?”

  “Nah. We go to Woods.”

  Callie grinned.

  The owner of Woods Automotive and my boss, Ken Woods, was a walking, talking pile of vomit. Ripped off customers whenever he could, harassed any women that worked there, paid his employees shit wages. I didn’t fool myself into believing I was Robin Hood or anything, but I wouldn’t feel guilty at all about robbing his store.

  Callie and I approached the shop straight on. The street around us was silent, the water a distant hum. A massive F150 was parked in front.

  “The good thing is,” I told Callie, as I tugged my keychain back out of my pocket, “we don’t even have to break a window this time.”

  Woods Automotive was a giant garage, with two car lifts and the overpowering smell of rubber from stacks of tires lining the walls. We walked in, pu
shed over a couple of signs advertising car parts and cleaning supplies. Headed toward the payment desk in the back.

  “So we just empty the cash register, right?” Callie asked. “We don’t want to hock any of these shiny rims?”

  “Just the cash.”

  That’s when we heard a click.

  “Thought that was you, Vic.”

  Ken stepped out of the shadows.

  I saw the shotgun in his arms before I saw him.

  “You robbin’ me?” he asked.

  Ken Woods was a big man. Massively overweight with small black eyes and curly black hair, and he always wore jeans, a white shirt, and suspenders. The shotgun looked small with him holding it.

  “Just wanted to make sure everything here was okay,” I said.

  “Yeah, bullshit. Stay where you are. This shotgun could tear a hole in your faggot ass so wide your sister could step through it.”

  “That’s gross about the hole.” Callie turned toward me. “You’re gay?”

  “I don’t know where he got that.”

  “It’s okay if you are,” she said.

  “I’m not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I made out with another girl once.”

  “Hey,” Ken said. “Remember me? Man with the shotgun?”

  “What’s that behind you?” Callie asked.

  I hadn’t seen him at first, but now I did. A kid standing behind Ken, peering around his hip.

  “Christ, Ken,” I said. “You have your son with you?”

  “You think I’d leave him at home tonight?”

  It wasn’t a bad point.

  “We’ll go,” I told him. “This was a shitty idea. I get it.”

  “Knew the looters would be out tonight,” Ken said, as if he hadn’t heard me. “Knew I had to wait here. People want to step over boundaries, break rules. Just looking for an excuse. Tonight gave it to them.”

  Callie and I stared at him. I was trying to see his finger, see if he had it curled around the trigger. I didn’t think he’d shoot us in front of his son, but something seemed different about Ken tonight.

  “Everyone wants to rob, rape, kill,” Ken went on. “Deep down, that’s all they want to do. Just looking for an excuse.”