Page 62 of Everest

“Ready?” Catcher sticks his head in my office.

“Yep. Just let me grab my purse.” I open the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieve my things. “Mind if we stop by Jonny’s on the way? I want to pick up a bottle of wine.”

Catcher pulls out his phone. “Yeah. I’ll give Everest a heads up.” And we head out.

The drive to Jonny’s Liquor is out of the way, but he always has my favorite wine in stock, so it’s worth the drive. On the way, Catcher follows close behind on his bike. When we pull into the parking lot, Catcher parks beside my driver's side door. As I climb out, I watch him scan our surroundings. Not only is Jonny’s in the opposite direction of the clubhouse, but it’s in a bad part of town—I’m talking bars on the windows, bad part of town—however, like I said, he carries the good stuff. Also, I like Jonny. He’s a good guy. Jonny was due to retire last year, but his wife of thirty-two years was diagnosed with breast cancer. Their social security and retirement alone wouldn’t cover her treatments, so he stays open in order to care for her. I suppose I could shop at another store and simply request they carry my favorite wine, but my loyalty lies with Jonny.

As we walk up to the store, I notice Catcher’s attention is elsewhere, and I follow his gaze to the empty parking lot across the street. A silver four-door sedan with tinted windows is parked in front of a closed dry cleaner. I can’t see who is in the car, but I know someone is there by the cigarette smokebillowing through the cracked driver’s side window. “Everything okay?” I ask.

Catcher jerks his chin, motioning me to keep moving, but he doesn’t say anything. I shrug my shoulders and take that as a sign not to worry. A bell chimes when we walk through the store door, alerting Jonny to our arrival. I spot him sitting on a stool behind the cash register. A television with the local news playing is mounted on a wall above his head.

A huge grin stretches across his weathered face when he sees me. “London! How come you haven’t been by to see me? How have you been?”

“Hey, Mr. Jonny. Work has been keeping me busy. How’s Sherlene?”

“Sherlene is hangin’ in there.” Mr. Jonny’s face lights up at the mention of his wife. “She just started takin’ a water aerobics class down at the Y. My Sherlene is keepin’ those kids down there on their toes.”

I laugh. “I have no doubt about that. I'm glad to hear she’s doing well.” I move to the back of the store, where the wine is stocked. “You got the good stuff!” I call out.

“You know it. Top shelf, darlin’.”

I spot what I’m looking for and snag two bottles off the shelf. When I return to the front, Catcher still hovers by the door. Only now, his face is hard, and he’s holding his gun.

“Catcher, what’s going on?” I can’t help the tremble in my voice.

“We need to gonow,” he clips.

I nod and, with shaky hands, reach into my purse and pull out some cash. “Here, Mr. Jonny. Keep the change.” I set the money down on the counter.

Mr. Jonny looks from me to Catcher. “You all right, dear?”

I swallow. “I’ll be okay.”

Mr. Jonny has lived in New Orleans his whole life. He knows who Catcher is and who the Kings are, so he knows I’m in no danger with Catcher. But when I see him pull his shotgun out from under the counter, I realize he also senses danger. Jonny is no stranger to being robbed. However, whatever has Catcher on high alert has nothing to do with a robbery. When I peek over Catcher’s shoulder, I glimpse that car we saw parked across the street when we first arrived, only now it’s rolling into the liquor store parking lot.

“Do you know who that is?” I ask Catcher.

He shakes his head. “No. But I don’t like his looks.” Catcher pulls out his phone.

Mr. Jonny walks out from behind the counter, shotgun in hand. “Want me to call the police?”

As soon as the words spill from Mr. Jonny’s mouth, a hail of gunfire rips through the storefront window. Shards of broken glass fly all around me, and I scream. The wind is knocked out of my lungs when Catcher’s large body slams into me. On the debris-riddled floor, he uses his body to shield mine while whoever is outside continues to shoot. Bullets rip through Jonny’s store for what feels like forever until suddenly the shooting stops and is replaced by deathly silence. The only thing I can hear is the rapid beating of my heart and Catcher’s heavy breathing.

“Oh my God. What the fuck?” I start to panic, and then I remember Mr. Jonny. “Mr. Jonny!” I call out as I try to push Catcher off me.

“He’s good,” Catcher rumbles, shifting slightly.

I look to my left and see Mr. Jonny crouched down behind a display shelf. He has a cut on his forearm that’s bleeding, but otherwise appears unharmed. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Stay low,” Catcher orders. Gun in hand, he slowly and cautiously creeps over to the window, stretches his neck, and peeks out. “Fuck.” He drops back down.

“What did you see?” I whisper.

“Four men,” he tells me. “One in the car, driver’s side, two standing out front, and one approaching the building on the right.”

“Here.” Mr. Jonny digs in his front pocket, pulls out a set of keys, and slides them across the floor toward Catcher. “My truck is parked out back. I’ll hold them sons of bitches off while you get London out of here.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No. You have to come with us. We are not leaving you here.” I look at Catcher. “We arenotleaving him here.”

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