KnockOut

The young man looked straight up at the plane, and Buzz would swear the young guy looked straight at him, although Buzz doubted that was possible. He saw something change in the boy’s expression. He turned to speak to someone still inside, and suddenly Buzz clearly saw Lissy Smiley come out from behind him. He’d seen her up close the day of the robbery when Savich had pulled her ski mask off, stared at her for some time. No doubt in his mind it was her, even though he couldn’t see her crazy dark eyes from here.
    He knew why the two of them were here. They’d come to kill him. But they were too late.
    He wanted to wave his fist at them, yell and laugh at them that he was safe. Then Buzz wondered how they followed him here, remembered the trouble with his car. Had they rigged it to break down on the side of the road? Or to blow up? Had that taxi arriving early saved his life? He quickly turned his cell back on and dialed Dillon Savich, but there was no answer. He left a message.
    Buzz watched the two young people fade back into the terminal, watched the utility door automatically close. He continued to ignore the flight attendant and dialed Mr. Maitland. He didn’t want to take a chance of Honest Abe’s blowing up, Jimmy along with it.

16
    TITUSVILLE, VIRGINIA
    Sunday evening
    Joanna and Autumn wore clean jeans and T-shirts, and probably clean socks on their feet. Ethan thanked the Lord he had convinced them to unpack, to stay with him at least while his deputies were out searching for Blessed. But he hated waiting. He hated not knowing what he was up against.
    After a dinner of macaroni and cheese with a side of peas and a salad Joanna made without anyone asking for one, he set Autumn in front of the TV in his bedroom and took Joanna to the living room. “Sit down.”
    She said, “Why don’t you throw that sweatshirt away? It’s got a hole under the right arm and it’s all frayed around the neck. I know, I know, you’re a guy and you’ve worn that sweatshirt since you were sixteen.”
    “Seventeen, actually.”
    “And why don’t you have shoes and socks on? You’ll get splinters.”
    Ethan put his feet up on the coffee table, arched an eyebrow at her.
    She said, “I finally tossed a Fort Lauderdale T-shirt last year a boy brought me when I was eighteen.”
    “There you go. Tell you what, I’ll be strong and toss my sweatshirt if you tell me everything you know about these people.”
    “That’s a beautiful piano. Do you play?”
    Anything to divert him. He nodded. “Thank you. It was my grand-mother’s piano. I’ll play some jazz for you later if you like. You know, Joanna, I’ve been patient with you, but now it’s time. I’m worried about my deputies as much as I’m worried about you and Autumn. What if they get close to Blessed? What will he do to them? Tell them to run off a cliff? You have to tell me what you know about him. I think you owe it to us, don’t you?”
    She chewed on her lip, studied the inch of cold coffee at the bottom of the mug, then said, “I don’t want anyone to be hurt, I really don’t.”
    He nodded. “Go on, then. Talk to me. Please.”
    She put her feet up on the coffee table next to his, frowned at those two pairs of feet, put hers back on the floor, and said finally, “We were in the cemetery at my husband’s funeral, just a week ago. Blessed caught a young man hiding behind a gravestone. He had a camera and was taking pictures, like a Jimmy Olsen cub reporter. Blessed went into a rage, screamed at the kid, ‘Well, if it isn’t little snotty-nosed Nat Hodges,’ and jerked him to his feet, looked into his eyes —the young man never said a word. Blessed told him to drop his camera and stomp on it. Nat Hodges did it, no hesitation at all. At first I thought he was just scared to death, but then he simply stood there, all still and quiet. Blessed laughed at him and started making him do things, like elbow-crawl on his chest, rip off his shirt, rub dirt in his hair, humiliating things. The boy didn’t seem to be there any-more. He was completely in Blessed’s control, just like Ox was last night.
    “Then Grace said, ‘Stop it, Blessed, we’ve got guests and we’re burying Martin,’ and Blessed huffed out in a pissed voice, ‘Can’t have the little scheiss taking pictures.’ Then he shook the kid until his head snapped back. I remember I took a step toward them, but Grace said in my ear not to worry, that Blessed was just bringing the boy