Cat and Mouse

party, all that food and booze.
    It was late. It was already tomorrow. The wildflower garden had been there since we were little kids. The smell of bonemeal and fresh dirt seemed particularly ageless and reassuring that night.
    “You remember the first summer we met?” I asked John. “You called me watermelon-ass, which burned me, because it was complete bullshit. I had a tight butt, even then.”
    “We tangled good in Nana’s garden, right in the brier patch over yonder. I couldn’t believe you would tangle with me. Nobody else would do that, still don’t. Even back then you didn’t know your limitations.”
    I smiled at Sampson. He finally had taken off his shades. It always surprises me how sensitive and warm his eyes are. “You call me watermelon-ass, we’ll tangle again.”
    Sampson continued to nod and grin. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him smiling so much in a long while. Life was good tonight. The best it had been in a while.
    “You really like Ms. Christine. I think you’ve found yourself another special person. I’m sure of it. You’re down for the count, champ.”
    “You jealous?” I asked him.
    “Yeah, of course I am. Damn straight, Christine is all that and a bag of chips. But I would just fuck it up if I ever found somebody sweet and nice like that. You’re easy to be with, Sugar. Always have been, even when you had your little watermelon-ass. Tough when you have to be, but you can show your feelings, too. Whatever it is, Christine likes you a lot. Almost as much as you like her.”.
    Sampson pushed himself up off the sagging back porch step, which I needed to replace soon.
    “God willing, I’m going to walk on home. Actually, I’m going to Cee Walker’s house. The beautiful diva left the party a little early, but she was kind enough to give me a key. I’ll be back, pick up my car in the morning. Best not to drive when you can hardly walk.”
    “Best not to,” I agreed. “Thanks for the party.”
    Sampson waved good-bye, saluted, and then he went around the corner of the house, which he bumped on the way out.
    I was alone on the back porch steps, staring out over Nana’s moonlit garden, smiling like the fool I can be sometimes, but maybe not often enough.
    I heard Sampson call out. Then his deep laugh came from the front of the house.
    “Good night, watermelon-ass.”

Chapter 67

    I CAME FULLY awake, and I wondered what I was afraid of, what the hell was happening here. My first conscious fear was that
I was having a heart attack in my own bed
.
    I was spacey and woozy, still flying high from the party. My heart was beating loudly, thundering in my chest.
    I thought that I had heard a deep, low, pounding noise from somewhere inside the house. The noise was
close
. It sounded as if a heavy weight, maybe a club, had been striking something down the hallway.
    My eyes weren’t adjusted to the darkness yet. I listened for another noise.
    I was frightened. I couldn’t remember where I left my Glock last night. What could possibly make that heavy
pounding
sound inside the house?
    I listened with all the concentration I could command.
    The refrigerator purred down in the kitchen.
    A distant truck changed gears on the mean streets.
    Still, something about that sound, the pounding noise, bothered me a lot.
Had there even been a sound?
I wondered.
Was it just the first warnings of a powerful headache coming on?
    Before I realized what was happening, a shadowy figure rose from the other side of the bed.
    Soneji! He’s kept his promise. He’s here in the house!
    “Aaagghhgghh!” the attacker screamed and swung at me with a large club of some sort.
    I tried to roll, but my body and mind weren’t cooperating. I’d had too much to drink, too much party, too much fun.
    I felt a powerful blow to my shoulder! My whole body went numb. I tried to scream, but suddenly I had no voice. I couldn’t scream. I could barely move.
    The club descended swiftly again — this time it struck my lower back.
    Someone was trying to beat me to death. Jesus, God
. I thought of the loud pounding sounds.
Had he gone to Nana’s room first? Damon and Jannie’s? What was happening in our house?
    I reached for him and managed to grab his arm. I yanked hard and he shrieked again, a high-pitched sound, but definitely a man’s voice.
    Soneji? How could it be? I’d seen him die in the tunnels of Grand Central Station.
    What was happening to me? Who was in my bedroom? Who was upstairs in our