I was standing out in the street by the motor pool Ford; while Jack went up to the house to check some of the evidence.
I'm letting my head wobble around whatever it wants; be completely blank; as it's sometimes the best way to get an early intuition in these cases.
I think about groceries, and the sun on the back of my white shirt, and I look down at my shoes, one flat on the asphalt and the other crossed up over on its toe; and I see my folded arms as I lean against the car. I don't really know where I am, in this short daydream.
It's a corner house, with an alley at the back to my left, and
across the alley are bushes and maybe more houses; and there's a chain link fence all around the house's yard.
I'm scuffing my shoe, tip, when Jack comes around to my side of the front porch and stops and kind of growls, in a deduction panic, "Harris has been back, and he gave them the key!"
Jack stands there, tapping the key unconsciously into his palm, putting the revelation all together, like arranging beans on a paper, and Compton runs up to the door from my right with his gun, and straight into the house.
Jack pulls his and follows, flattened against the door jamb and then into the house.
Oh boy, I don't like this.
I'm leaning against the car.
When Jack yelled at me, "Harris gave them the key," I thought, "I'm supposed to make sense of this?"
I stiffen up and drop my arms, trying to put this together.
Who the heck is Harris?
Does he work for us?
Does he work for them?
I have no idea what he's talking about. But now he and Jack are all excited, and it can't be good, because they've run into the house yelling to each other with their weapons in front.
Well, the more I think about this, the more I realize I don't know who Harris is, or what I'm doing, or who even Jack and Compton are, but I start thinking to think about that later, "I better not lean against this car."
I don't know where my goddam holster is, but I think it's on the seat, because I hate carrying these things around.
In the upper half of the side-door to the house , through the glass, I see Jack flip the door handle, and he and Comp leap out and run along the narrow concrete walk, inside the chain link fence. Toward the side alley. I see Jack's tie flap beneath his clip. They're just across the pavement and grass from me. I start backing up along the car, toward the trunk, in the direction they're going, to try to get something between me, because that's the way I started when I realized I was open.
Get behind the car.
I hate when you don't know who anyone is, you don't have your weapon, and the action is headed right by you.
Jack is definitely not happy about this, and his jumpy canter and badassed frown tell me immediately, whoever was here might still be here.
Move!
As I feel my left hand slide along the trunk fender and I lean into my turn that way, I see Jack and Comp get to the back gate. There is a cracking bang, like the steel gate latch, and my head and eyes shake, and I hear the shot, and a heavy fucking bullet has hit me hard, above the ear, in the head, and it hurts, and I'm spun back toward the trunk, and parts are on my hand and the car, and I see my fingertips lose touch of the blue metal as I'm falling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was the end of that, all righty.
I think I can guarantee that was a fatal head wound.
But the part that pisses me off, is that the Dream Board sticks you in these dreams, where you don't know who any of these people are; sticks you on the police force like a temp; and gets you killed, because you don't know what's going on or who these people are or where your gun is.
You know ~ just like Life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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