Winter Moon

seemed to be far older than eight. Maybe cops' kids grew up faster than others, faster than they should.
        "You're sure?" he said.
        "Yes. I'm sure."
        "Where was he shot?"
        "In the leg."
        Not a lie. It was one of the places he was shot. In the leg and two hits in the torso, Crawford had said. Two hits in the torso. Jesus.
        What did that mean? Take out a lung? Gutshot? The heart? At least.he hadn't sustained head wounds. Tommy Fernandez had been shot in the head, no chance.
        She felt a sob of anguish rising in her, and she strained to force it down, didn't dare give voice to it, not in front of Toby.
        "That's not so bad, in the leg," Toby said, but his lower lip was trembling.
        "What about the bad guy?"
        "He's dead."
        "Daddy got him?"
        "Yes, he got him."
        "Good," Toby said solemnly.
        "Daddy did what was right, and now we have to do what's right too, we have to be strong. Okay?"
        "Yeah."
        He was so small. It wasn't fair to put such a weight on a boy so small.
        She said, "Daddy needs to know we're okay, that we're strong, so he doesn't have to worry about us and can concentrate on getting well."
        "Sure."
        "That's my boy." She squeezed his hands. "I'm real proud of you, do you know that?"
        Suddenly shy, he looked at the floor. "Well… I'm… I'm proud of Daddy."
        "You should be, Toby. Your dad's a hero."
        He nodded but couldn't speak. His face was screwed up as he strained to avoid tears.
        "You be good for Mae."
        "Yeah."
        "I'll be back as soon as I can."
        "When?"
        "As soon as I can."
        He sprang off the chair, into her arms, so fast and with such force he almost knocked her off the stool. She hugged him fiercely. He was shuddering as if with fever chills, though that stage of his illness had passed almost two days ago. Heather squeezed her eyes shut, bit.down on her tongue almost hard enough to draw blood, being strong, being strong even if, damn it, no one should ever have to be so strong.
        "Gotta go," she said softly.
        Toby pulled back from her.
        She smiled at him, smoothed his tousled hair.
        He settled into the armchair and propped his legs on the stool again.
        She tucked the blankets around him, then turned the sound up on the television once more.
        Elmer Fudd trying to terminate Bugs Bunny. Cwazy wabbit. Boom-boom, bang-bang, whapitta-whapittawhap, thud, clunk, hoo-ha, around and around in perpetual pursuit.
        In the kitchen, Heather hugged Mae Hong and whispered, "Don't let him watch any regular channels, where he might see a news brief."
        Mae nodded. "If he gets tired of cartoons, we'll play games."
        "Those bastards on the TV news, they always have to show you the blood, get the ratings. I don't want him seeing his father's blood on the ground."
        The storm washed all the color out of the day. The sky was as charry as burned-out ruins, and from a distance of even half a block, the palm trees looked black. Wind-driven rain, gray as iron nails, hammered every surface, and gutters overflowed with filthy water.
        Louie Silverman was in uniform, driving a squad car, so he used the emergency beacons and siren to clear the surface streets ahead of them, staying off the freeways.
        Sitting in the shotgun seat beside Louie, hands clasped between her thighs, shoulders hunched, shivering, Heather said, "Okay, it's just us now, Toby can't overhear, so tell me straight."
        "It's bad. Left leg, lower right abdomen, upper right side of the chest. The perp was armed with a Micro Uzi, nine-millimeter ammunition, so they weren't light rounds. Jack was unconscious when we hit the scene, paramedics couldn't bring him around."
        "And Luther's dead."
        "Yeah."
        "Luther always seemed…"
        "Like a rock."
        "Yeah. Always going to be there. Like a mountain."
        They rode in silence for a block..Then she asked, "How many others?"
        "Three. One of the station owners, mechanic, pump jockey. But because of Jack, the other owner, Mrs. Arkadian, she's alive."
        They were still a mile or so from the hospital when a Pontiac ahead of them refused to pull over to let the black-and-white pass. It had oversize tires, a jacked-up front end, and air scoops front and