Page 9 of Cooper

He hangs up before he answers. And I realize that he’s at least fifteen minutes away, but I'll assume that he drives like a maniac if it’s called for.

The streets are littered with people. Some hanging around their porches, looking as guilty as ever, some drinking from beer cans. One guy is walking around with an old, beat-up shopping cart, full of what looks like garbage, but is likely his worldly possessions. As I look around, I see no inconspicuous cars, no vehicles with tinted windows, and nobody peeling away from a distance. As sure as the nose on my face, that was a gunshot. I've heard enough to know the difference. That was no car backfiring. It was not a child’s pop gun or even a BeeBee gun.

That shit was real.

Faces that stare back at me as I scan the neighborhood look anything but innocent, and I look back at London’s house, hoping like hell that she had the sense to lock her door behind me. I decide to put on my big boy pants. A pair of drunken old men sit on a creaky wooden porch on the same block as London, so I approach. “Who’s got the gun, man?”

The fatter one scoffs. “Who doesn’t?”

I try again. “You see anyone around here that doesn’t belong?”

The skinnier one chimes in, just as condescending as the fatter one. “Besides you?”

“That pretty blonde you’re fucking brought some trouble with her.” The fatter one comments, bringing his cigarette filter to his mouth.

I let the insult slide. “What sort of trouble do you reckon she brought?”

The skinny one smiles too sweetly. “The kid’s cute.”

My fist balls up, my teeth grate together, but I don’t let them know that I'm rattled. “You see anyone else around here that don’t belong?”

Fat one’s face sobers. “Who’re you looking for?”

“I’m not sure. But I heard the gunshot, and unless either of you know where it came from, I can only assume that the person shooting is after her.” I say, gesturing with my head to London’s house.

I see Wade’s car pull up. Behind him is Dalton’s escalade. Both the skinny and the fat man look. “Now, there’s someone that don’t belong.”

“They’re with me.” I explain.

“You a cop?” Skinny one asks.

“A drummer, actually. But these guys are former military.”

“Whoopee shit. So are we.” Fat one states.

“If you are, then you’ll know where the shot came from.” I state, as Wade and Dalton approach. I nod hello to them.

“She alone in the house?” Wade asks.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll go check on her.” Wade offers, knowing that London will recognize him, not Dalton.

The dude with the shopping cart walks by, looking like he hasn’t bathed since Bean was born. “The shot was Santa Claus, man.” He chuckles drunkenly. London’s house is the only one on the street with any semblance of the holidays. These houses are more dilapidated than hers, so having a stable roof or porch likely trumps a Christmas tree on the front lawn, or lights hanging from the windows.

I ignore the vagrant. “Look, she called the police, so you might as well tell me what you know, because you’re going to have to do that, anyway, when they get here.”

Dalton stands next to me, arms crossed over his chest, in a stance that makes him look every bit as imposing as Colton does, when he bounces.

“You don’t scare me.” Skinny one says, unconvincingly, looking him up and down. Sure, I'm no slouch, either, but Dalton is taller, and his muscles are truly akin to military, whereas mine are leaner, achieved through years of drumming and hauling said drum kits around. Plus, I work out, sometimes with Wade, sometimes alone.

“Besides,” Fat one says. “By the time the sheriff gets here, we’ll all be asleep, and that noise your pussy heard will be long forgotten.”

My nostrils flare. “I suggest you stop referring to the lady like that.”

“Where’d the shot come from, partner?” Dalton asks, his tone flat, like he’s not taking any bullshit.

“It was close.” I add. “It was on this street for sure.”

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