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'I think this is it,' Trev said. |
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'Well, is it or isn't it?' Sandy asked. |
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He'd checked the street sign at the corner. This was Fairmont, all right. Crouching, he looked more closely at the house number painted on the curb. 4538. Back at O'Casey's, he had memorized Chidi's address. He was pretty sure it was 4538 Fairmont. |
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He'd had to struggle so hard to remember the address. As if the rain had sumberged it, hidden it at the bottom of a deep and murky pool, forcing him to go down through the dark heat and search. |
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'I'm pretty sure,' he said. |
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'Well,' Sandy said, 'I reckon we'll know soon enough.' She waved his revolver, gesturing him toward the house. 'Come on along, Rhonda,' she said to the girl from the trunk. |
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Trev stepped over the curb, crossed the strip of grass and then the sidewalk. Looking back, he saw Sandy and Rhonda a few strides behind him. Sandy had her left hand on the girl's good shoulder. As if Rhonda were her kid sister, or something. |
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Weird how she'd started acting. |
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She'd been like an animal in heat before the shoot-out. Then, all at once, she was different. She got serious. Trev didn't understand. Mostly, it pissed him off. But part of him, far down under the churning new desires, was glad she'd taken command. Down |
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