few black faces in the crowd—and the student-body president two years in a row. Which said a lot about his ability to get along with others and his determination to excel. “Better leave ’em parked or I might have to run you in for impersonating an angel. Not that anyone would believe it, between that ugly face of yours and those goose bumps you’re sprouting instead of a halo. You going to let me buy you a cup of coffee?”
Duncan eyed him. Jeff’s dark eyes were friendly and incurious. What a crock. The man was nosier than a hound on a scent and just as hard to sidetrack. It had been a huge mistake to take Jeff up on his offer of using the police firing range to keep in practice.
Still, he supposed he might as well see how long it took Jeff to get to the point this time. He didn’t have anywhere else he needed to be. “Sure.”
Jeff introduced him to the young clerk, Lorna, claiming she made the best coffee in Highpoint—an exaggeration bordering on outright falsehood, Duncan thought as he sipped the industrial-strength brew. His old friend kept up a steady stream of chatter that included the shy young woman. He was good at that sort of thing, never at a loss for words. People relaxed with him.
Probably a good trait in a cop, Duncan thought, watching.
“Well, how about that,” Jeff said as they left the store, stopping to stare in mock surprise at the bike rack by the curb. “Someone must have run off with those wings of yours.” He shook his head. “Criminals are sure getting bold these days.”
Duncan smiled slightly. Here it comes. The Highpoint police are looking for a few good men…
“That Lorna….” Jeff nodded at the clerk on the other side of the brightly lit window. “She’s nineteen, lives with her mom. Got a little girl her mother watches while she’s at work. Can’t afford day care, you know? She has to work nights because her mother works days down at Jenkin’s Drug.”
Duncan’s eyebrows lifted. Where was Jeff going with this? “No support from the father?”
“Bastard skipped town a couple years back when Lorna turned up pregnant.”
“That’s rough. She’s in school?” Jeff had asked her how her classes were going.
“She goes to community college two nights a week, works here the other five. Got her GED last year.” Jeff pulled a package of gum out of his pocket and offered Duncan a stick. Duncan shook his head. “We don’t have a lot of crime here, compared to L.A. or Houston. But Highpoint isn’t Mayberry, either. We’ve had two convenience stores hit in the past three weeks.”
Duncan glanced into the 7-11. Lorna was stuffing bills into a narrow white envelope. She had a pimple on her chin and pretty brown eyes bare of makeup. When she bent to slide the envelope through the slot into the safe, her hair fell forward. It was long, brown and shiny clean. She brushed it impatiently behind her ear, revealing a tiny gold earring in the shape of a cross.
The girl—little more than a child herself—had a baby girl waiting at home for her. Duncan looked back at Jeff. “Looks like she follows the rules, doesn’t keep much cash in the register.”
“She doesn’t. But that’s no guarantee.” Jeff peeled the foil from a stick of gum. “I stop by every night and the black-and-whites keep an eye on her when they can. That’s no guarantee, either, but this perp picks his times. He hit the other stores when they were empty except for the clerk. First thing he does is shoot out the security camera. Hits the lens square on, single shot with a .22 handgun.”
Duncan frowned. A .22 pistol was a couple of notches above a water pistol for accuracy. Maybe. “Where’s the camera?”
“Far left corner.”
He glanced back into the store, automatically calculating the angle. “Does he come in with his weapon drawn?”
Jeff shook his head, popped the gum in his mouth. “Draws from inside his jacket as he pushes the door open.”
“Then he’s a helluva shot.” Duncan could have made the shot himself. Not many others could.
“Yeah. He’s good, but jumpy. Killed a dog.”
“A dog?”
“When he was headed out of the last place he hit. A stray came around the corner of the store, startled him. He shot it and ran.” Jeff stuffed the empty gum wrapper in the trash can next to the door. “So we’ve got bullets, but not much more. We know he’s male, around five-seven, average build. He wore jeans, a dark jacket, gloves and a ski mask both times. No skin showed. We don’t know if he’s white, brown, black or yellow with blue polka dots.”
“No one made the vehicle?”
“One of the clerks thinks it was a dark compact, not new. She didn’t get much of a look at it. He makes ’em lie on the floor once they empty the register.”
“Did he…” Duncan stopped, shook his head. Damned if Jeff hadn’t gotten sneakier with his pitch. He’d nearly reeled Duncan in this time, gotten him involved enough to ask questions. “You’ll catch him sooner or later. If this guy was really bright, he wouldn’t be hitting convenience stores. They don’t have much cash.”
“Sooner’s better than later. A jumpy, not-so-bright gunman makes mistakes. People get hurt then.” Jeff started for his car. “You going to let me give you a ride?”
“I need to finish my run.”
Jeff nodded, reached for the handle, then gave Duncan a steady look. “What you’ve been doing—that’s important. No doubt about that. A cop doesn’t get much chance to save the world the way you army types do. Sometimes all we can do is drop in on a nineteen-year-old mother who works nights when she isn’t trying to learn bookkeeping. Maybe that will keep this perp from hitting this store, maybe not. We don’t get a lot of sure things in our line of work.”
Duncan’s mouth quirked up. “I remember when you used to try to get me to volunteer for some damned committee or other. Roped me in a few times, too. If you’d had the good sense to go into the army instead of the police force, you’d be their ace recruiter by now.”
A grin lit Jeff’s face. “I’m getting to you. Duncan, we need you. I know it wouldn’t be fun to be a rookie, not when you’re used to being a big-deal sergeant, but if you take some courses, you can move up quick. The chief’s keen on getting a sharpshooter.”
Duncan’s smile slid away. He gave a single shake of his head that combined refusal and warning.
“Okay, okay.” Jeff held up his hand as if to stop a flow of protests. “But you’ll think about it.”
Duncan watched his friend pull out of the parking lot and didn’t think about anything except whether he needed to stretch again. No, he decided. His muscles were still loose and warm.
He’d just started running again when a shot rang out.
He dropped and rolled, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Then lay on his stomach on the cold concrete, his arm throbbing fiercely. Little by little, understanding seeped in. Along with humiliation.
Not a gunshot. A backfire. From a ’92 Chevy packed front and back with teenage boys, some of whom were staring and laughing. Yeah, pretty funny, all right, he thought as he pushed to his feet
