The Innocent

Robie knew how he would do it. Head and neck. Pull right, pull left, the same method the U.S. Marines teach. Because the target was a child, no weapon would be required. No loss of blood either. Most people died silently. There was no melodramatic dying sequence. Folks just stopped breathing, gurgled, twitched, and then went quietly. People close by were clueless. But then most people were clueless.

The man tensed.

The girl shifted her book a bit, letting the wash from the overhead light hit the page more fully.

Robie eased forward. He checked his gun. The suppressor can was spun on as tight as it would go. But in the close confines of the bus there was no such thing as a silenced gun. He would worry about explanations later. He had watched two people tonight lose their lives, one a little boy. He did not intend to make it three.

The man set his weight on the balls of his feet. He lifted his hands, positioned them in a certain way.

Pull-pull, thought Robie. Head left, neck right. Snap.

Pull-pull.

Dead girl.

But not tonight.

CHAPTER 15

Robie could read a lot from a little. But what happened next was not something that he had anticipated at all.

The man screamed.

Robie would have too, since pepper spray stung like hell when it hit the eyes.

The girl was still gripping her paperback, keeping her current page. She had not even turned in her seat. She had just fired the spray backward over her head, nailing her attacker directly in the face.

However, the man was still moving forward, even as he screamed and clawed at his eyes with one of his hands. The other hand found purchase on the girl’s neck at about the time Robie’s pistol collided with the man’s skull, sending him crashing down to the floor of the bus.

The girl looked around at Robie as most of the other passengers, awakened now, stared at them. Then their gazes drifted to the fallen man. One old woman wearing a thick yellow robe started screaming. The driver stopped the bus, slammed it in park, turned to look at Robie standing there, and yelled, “Hey!”

The tone and the stare indicated to Robie that the driver thought he was the source of the problem. The driver, a heavyset black man of about fifty, rose and started down the aisle.

When he saw Robie’s gun, he stopped and put his hands in front of him.

The same old woman screamed and clutched at her robe.

“What the hell do you want?” exclaimed the driver to Robie.

Robie looked down at the unconscious man. “He was attacking the girl. I stopped him.”

He looked at the girl for support. She said nothing.

“Would you like to tell them?” Robie prompted.

She said nothing.

“He was trying to kill you. You nailed him with pepper spray.”

Robie reached over, and before she could stop him he’d ripped the canister from her hand and held it up.

“Pepper spray,” he said in a confirming tone.

The other passengers’ attention now turned to the girl.

She looked back at them, unfazed by their scrutiny.

“What’s going on?” asked the driver.

Robie said, “The guy was attacking the girl. She pepper-sprayed him and I finished him off when he didn’t back down.”

“And why do you have a gun?” asked the driver.

“I’ve got a permit for it.”

In the distance Robie heard sirens.

Was it for the two bodies back at the building?

The man on the floor groaned and started to stir. Robie put a foot on his back. “Stay down,” he ordered. He looked back at the driver. “You better call the cops.” He turned to the girl. “You have a problem with that?”

In response the girl rose, grabbed her backpack from the overhead bay, slipped it over her shoulders, and walked down the aisle toward the driver.

The driver put up his hands again. “You can’t leave, miss.”

She drew something from her jacket and held it in front of the man. From where he was standing behind the girl Robie was blocked from seeing what it was. The driver immediately retreated, looking terrified. The old woman screamed again.

Robie knelt down and used the fallen man’s belt to efficiently tie his hands and ankles together behind his back, completely immobilizing him. Then he followed the girl down the aisle. As he passed the driver he said, “Call the cops.”

“Who are you?” the driver called after Robie.

Robie didn’t answer, because he could hardly tell the man the truth.

The girl had worked the lever to open the bus door and stepped off.

Robie caught up to her as she reached the street.

“What did you show him?” he asked.

She turned and held up the grenade.

Robie didn’t blink. “It’s plastic.”

“Well, he didn’t seem to know that.”

Those were the first words she had spoken. Her voice was lower than Robie would have expected. More grown-up. They moved away from the bus.

“Who are you?” asked Robie.

She kept walking. The sirens drew closer and then started to fade away.

“Why did that guy want to kill you?”

She picked up her pace, moving ahead of him.

They reached the other side of the street. She slipped between two parked cars. Robie did the same. She hustled down the street. He picked up his pace and grabbed her arm. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”