Rescue

after my shift. They were coming out the door, guns still in their hands, when I was closing the door to the cruiser. I look up at the first guy—the shorter of the two was in front—and I was lucky.“
    Pettengill watched me. I said, “Because the instructor was right.“
    A nod. “He was. The shorter guy brought his gun up and closed his eyes, and I dived and rolled against the cruiser and popped him with three in the chest as he got off one. Then his partner swung onto me, and I gave him the rest of the rounds in the cylinder the same way. Three bullets, chest.“
    That was the story, now for the point. Maybe.
    Pettengill said, “Taller guy comes out first, I’m dead, because he probably wouldn’t be closing his eyes before opening up. Three guys instead of two, and I’m dead again, because back then I was carrying just the revolver.“
    I let my eyes fall toward his waist, which I couldn’t see through the table. “And now?“
    “Nine mil, Sig Sauer. Enough for five of them, almost six, if they come in bunches.“
    I didn’t say anything.
    Pettengill played with his glass some more without drinking any- “You’re a pretty fair listener, Cuddy.“
    “When I can learn something/’
    “What’d you learn from my carrying on like that?“
    “I’m hoping you’re going to tell me.“
    Almost a grin as the waitress arrived with our plates. The roast beef looked to be trimmed and lean, the bread fresh and home-baked, the salad from new red potatoes, the onion stock in a bowl big enough for easy dipping.
    Pettengill waited until she was gone. “I wasn’t sober that afternoon, I’d have been dead. Made me realize something. I liked the job a hell of a lot better than the booze. I came out of that a hero, but the next wrong thing I do, people will forget about the afternoon outside the convenience store and start remembering all the other things they don’t like about me, and pretty soon the nephew of one of the town’s elected officials is sitting in my chair with his feet up, talking to lonely people on my telephone.“
    “And therefore, while you’re happy to help me if you can, you’re not about to start a civil war here to do it.“
    “Like I said, a pretty fair listener.“
    We ate in silence for five minutes, politely dipping the receding edges of our French bread into our respective bowls of onion stock. Every part of the meal was what it should have been.
    Pettengill was more proficient at the dipping part and finished one bite ahead of me. Wiping his lips with the napkin, he said, “Haldon.“
    “Haldon?“
    “The last name of Eddie’s parents. Polly and Thomas Haldon. You about done here?“
    “Except for paying the check.“
    “They like cash fine, you want to just leave some on the table.“

    We drove two or three miles before turning into a gravel driveway that wound through scrub evergreens to a small and weathered saltbox Cape. A man was standing off to one side near a lean-to shed that seemed more weathered than the house. About thirty and slim, with short black hair, no mustache or beard. He was sweating, a long-handled maul resting over one shoulder, as though he’d been splitting firewood and stopped when he heard my engine. His work pants were green and his plain T-shirt white, the shirt looking clean except for the sweat stains.
    Pettengill got out of the car first. “Thomas.“
    “Chief.“
    I closed the driver’s side door, not bothering to lock it. “Mr. Haldon.“
    The man watched me, that steady, stony look you see in some country people. “Don’t believe I know you.“
    Pettengill walked toward him. “This is John Cuddy, Thomas. A detective from Boston. He’s working on a case, like to ask you some questions.“
    Haldon looked at Pettengill the same way he’d looked at me. “He police, too, Chief?“
    “No, just private.“
    Haldon seemed to consider that. “Long as he’s with you, we can talk to him. Wife’s in the house. Let me just change into a shirt won’t ruin her furniture.“
    Pettengill nodded. “We’ll wait for you.“
    Haldon set the maul on top of a piece of firewood against the wall of the shed. Then he walked around his house, and I heard a screened door slap closed. Every move was deliber-. ate, unhurried, as though he’d had the idea to go in himself and wasn’t in any rush to get there.
    I joined Pettengill. “Is the word ‘standoffish’?“
    The chief turned his head to spit onto the brown grass. “For Thomas, that was