J is for Judgement

at the engine. Looked like it always did, about the size and shape of a sewing machine. I expected to see sprung parts, broken doohickies, the flapping ends of a fan belt, some evidence of rogue auto parts adrift from their moorings. "What do you think?"
    He took the penlight and leaned closer, squinting. Boys know about these things: guns, cars, lawn mowers, garbage disposals, electric switches, baseball statistics. I'm scared to take the lid off the toilet tank because that ball thing always looks like it's on the verge of exploding. I leaned over and peered with him. "Looks a little bit like a sewing machine, doesn't it?" he remarked.
    Behind us, a car backfired and a rock slammed into my rear fender. Wendell made sense of it a split second before I did. We both hit the pavement. Wendell grabbed me, and the two of us scrambled around to the side of the car. A second shot was fired, and the bullet pinged off the roof. We ducked, hunched together. Wendell's arm had gone around me protectively. He flipped the switch on the penlight, making the pitch dark complete. I had a terrible desire to lift up to window level and peek out across the street. I knew there wouldn't be much to see: dark, a dirt bank, swiftly passing cars on the freeway. Our assailant must have followed us from Michael's house, first incapacitating Wendell's car and then mine.
    "This has got to be one of your pals. I'm not this unpopular in my set," I said.
    Another shot was fired. My rear window turned to cracked ice, though only one chunk fell out.
    Wendell said, "Jesus."
    I said, "Amen." Neither of us meant it as profanity. He looked at me. His previous lethargy had vanished.
    At least his attention had been sharpened by the situation. "Someone's been following me the last few days."
    "You have a theory?"
    He shook his head. "I made some phone calls. I needed help."
    "Who knew you were going to Michael's?"
    "Just Renata."
    I thought about that one. I'd taken her gun, which I remembered now was in my handbag. In the car. "I have a gun in the car if you can reach it," I said. "My handbag's on the backseat."
    "Won't the inside light come on?"
    "In my car? Not a chance."
    Wendell opened the door on the passenger side. Sure enough, the interior light came on. The next bullet was swift and nearly caught him in the neck. We ducked down again, silent for a moment while we thought about Wendell's carotid artery.
    I said, "Carl must have known you'd be at Michael's if you told him you'd meet him afterward."
    "That was before his plans changed. Anyway, he doesn't know where Michael lives."
    "He says his plans changed, but you don't know that for a fact. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to call Information. All he had to do was ask Dana. He's kept in touch with her."
    "Hell, he's in love with Dana. He's always been in love with her. I'm sure he was delighted to have me out of the picture."
    "What about Harris Brown? He'd have a gun."
    "I told you before. I never heard of him."
    "Wendell, quit bullshitting. I need some answers here."
    "I'm telling you the truth!"
    "Stay down. I'm going to try the car door again." Wendell flattened himself as I gave the door a yank. The next shot thunked into the sand close by. I flipped the seat forward and grabbed my bag, hauled it out of the backseat, and slammed the door again. My heart had rocketed. Anxiety was coursing through my body as if a sluice gate had opened. I needed to pee like crazy, except for the fact that my kidneys had shriveled. All my other internal organs had circled, like wagons under serious attack. I pulled out the revolver, with its white pearlite grips. "Gimme some light over here." Wendell flipped on the penlight, shielding it like a match.
    I was looking at the sort of single-action six-shooter John Wayne might have favored. I popped open the cylinder and checked the load, which was full. I snapped the cylinder shut. The gun must have weighed three pounds.
    "Where'd you get that?"
    "I stole it from Renata. Wait here. I'll be back."
    He said something to me, but I was already duck- walking my way out into the darkness, angling toward the beach and away from our assailant. I cut left, circling out a hundred yards around the front of the car, hoping I wasn't visible to anybody interested in target practice. My eyes were fully adjusted to the dark by now, and I felt conspicuous. I looked back, trying to measure the distance I'd come. My pale blue VW looked like some kind of ghostly igloo or a giant