Richard got up without enthusiasm. He put what had to be kept cold in the refrigerator and the ice cream in the freezer. Then he placed the cans of soup in the cupboard. In the bottom of the bag he found aspirin and a bunch of small cellophane-wrapped packages of peanut-butter crackers.
“You might give some of the crackers to Jack,” Terese said.
Richard looked down at Jack. “You want some?” he asked.
Jack nodded. Although he still felt ill, his appetite had returned. He’d not eaten anything since the dell food in the van.
Richard fed Jack peanut butter crackers whole, like a mother bird dropping food into a waiting chick’s gaping mouth. Jack hungrily devoured five of them and then asked for water.
“For chrissake!” Richard voiced. He was annoyed this job had fallen to him.
“Give it to him,” Terese said.
Reluctantly Richard did as he was told. After a long drink Jack thanked him. Richard told Jack to thank Terese, not him.
“Bring me a couple of aspirin and some water,” Terese said.
Richard rolled his eyes. “What am I, the servant?”
“Just do it,” Terese said petulantly.
Three-quarters of an hour later another car could be heard coming up the driveway.
“Finally,” Richard said as he tossed a magazine aside and heaved himself off the couch. “They must have driven by way of Philadelphia, for chrissake.” He headed for the door while Terese pushed herself up to a sitting position.
Jack swallowed nervously. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. He realized he didn’t have long to live.
Richard pulled open the door. “Shit!” he voiced.
Terese sat bolt upright. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s Henry, the goddamn caretaker!” Richard croaked. “What are we going to do?”
“You cover Jack!” Terese barked in panic. “I’ll talk to Henry.” She stood up and swayed for a moment as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Then she went out the door.
Richard dashed over to Jack. En route he’d picked up the gun, which he now held by the barrel as if it were a hatchet. “One word and so help me I’ll bash your head in,” he growled.
Jack looked up at Richard. He could see the man’s determination. Outside he could hear a car come to a stop followed by the muffled sound of Terese’s voice.
Jack was faced with an unreasonable quandary. He could yell, but how much sound he could make before being incapacitated by Richard was questionable. Yet if he didn’t try, he’d soon be facing the Black Kings and certain death. He decided to go for it.
Jack put his head back and started to scream for help. As expected, Richard brought the handle of his gun crashing down on Jack’s forehead.
Jack’s scream was cut off before he could form any words. A merciful darkness intervened with the suddenness of a light being switched off.
Jack regained consciousness in stages. The first thing he was aware of was that his eyes wouldn’t open. But after a struggle the right one did, and a minute later so did the left. When he wiped his face on his sleeve he realized that his lids had been sealed together with coagulated blood.
With his forearm, Jack could feel that he had a sizable lump centered at his hairline. He knew it was a good place to be hit if you had to take a wallop. That part of the skull was by far the thickest.
He blinked to clear his vision and looked at his watch. It was just after four, a fact confirmed by the anemic quality of the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window over the sink.
Jack glanced around the living room, which he could see from under the kitchen table. The fire had burned down significantly. Terese and Richard were sprawled on their respective couches. Jack changed his position and in the process tipped over a container of window cleaner.
“What’s he doing now?” Richard asked.
“Who the hell cares,” Terese said. “What time is it?”
“It’s after four,” Richard said.
“Where are these gang friends of yours?” Terese demanded. “Are they coming by bicycle?”
“Should I call and check?” Richard asked.