Chapter XCVII

I entered the woods behind the Michaud house with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as the rain came down. Among the trees was a woman armed with the ideal weapon for this kind of fight. At close range, say twelve feet or less, a 12-gauge loaded with No. 6 shell can cut straight through a four-inch telephone directory. It's a central, lethal blast, capable of carving a hole about six inches in diameter. The farther from the target the shooter is, the greater the diameter of the pellet spread. Up close, therefore, Eliza Michaud was sure to kill whoever she was aiming at, because few people hit with No. 6 buckshot at close range ever trouble a hospital. But I'd also come across one of her spent shells as I entered the woods, and its long brass base marked it as a magnum, which meant extra powder, so it could propel even more pellets. Louis and I had been lucky once. We weren't apt to be so fortunate again.

Well, relatively fortunate, because now I saw Louis. The left side of his face was perforated with splinters and his scalp was bleeding. The only positive thing that could be said was that none of the splinters had entered his eye.

"How does it look?"

"At least as bad as it probably feels," I said.

"It feels like I tried to head-butt a porcupine."

"I hate to tell you, but the porcupine won."

The sun was coming up, which gave me some light by which to remove the largest of the splinters. The rest would have to wait for the emergency room.

"What happened in the house?" asked Louis, as I worked at his head.

"We took one woman uninjured: the older sister, Aline. Angel has rendered her harmless. No sign of the brother, Ellar, and we know where the second sister is at, give or take a few acres of woodland."

"The fuck!"

"Sorry, that splinter wants to stay where it is."

"Lodged in my brain, you mean."

"By the law of averages, one of them had a chance of hitting the target, but it must have been a close-run thing."

"You're funny like fucking Patch Adams. Did you get anything out of the sister?"

"Not much more than saliva and a threat, but Reggio had been there."

"How do you know?"

"He left his gum stuck under the kitchen table."

"Smart," said Louis. "Unhygienic, but smart."

I tossed aside the last of the splinters I could get to.

"We could hold off until the cops arrive," said Louis.

"But where would be the fun in that?"

"Says the man without splinters in his head."

"Also, the police will be looking for the source of those explosions. By the time they get here, Eliza and her brother could be halfway to the next county."

"Point taken. But you know, I seem to be getting hurt a lot lately."

"You could always retire," I said. "Or learn to move quicker."

"I'm too young to retire, and too old to accelerate."

"Then you're screwed."

"I guess so. Left or right?"

"Right."

Louis sighed.

"You always pick the right," he said. "I don't know why I asked."

"This time, I had a reason."

"Yeah, what?"

"If we trap her between us, you won't get injured on the same side of the head."

"You're a good person," said Louis, after a long, thoughtful pause that was almost certainly punctuated by visions of me dying painfully.

"Not just good," I told him. "The best."