Midnight Crossroad

Bobo had a bitter moment. He’d been sitting in his own store, comfortable in his usual jeans and T-shirt, and he’d just set down a mug of instant hot chocolate. He’d been reading a Lee Child novel in the moments between customers. Jack Reacher was his hero. Bobo sadly wished Jack Reacher were there with him now.

Bobo was aware that he had relaxed into complacency, under the mistaken assumption that Aubrey’s disappearance was his crisis for the year. He had been foolish to believe there was a term limit on bad-shit-happening-to-Bobo-Winthrop.

The import of the shorter man’s words sank into him. If there was anything in the world Bobo disliked more than being interrupted on a pleasant day, it was hearing his own history told back to him. He understood that he was in for another hard time—probably a beating—and he sighed. He put his mug in a safer place, and he prepared himself for what was surely to come.

Bobo was a big man, and a fit one. He ran three times a week, and he did his martial arts warmups and katas every day. He didn’t actually enjoy hitting people, but he figured he was going to have to this evening. “I don’t know anything about my grandfather’s secrets, and I don’t believe in his racist, homophobic hogwash,” he told his unwelcome visitors. “You might as well shove off.” Bobo knew he was wasting his breath.

“No,” said the shorter man. “I don’t think we will.”

Predictable, Bobo thought.

“We need those rifles, and we need those explosives. I think we’re going to have to talk about this some more.” The short man sounded certain he could make Bobo talk. He produced a knife. It looked very sharp. “You need to change your attitude, or we’re going to have to change it for you.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” said a new voice, and the two strangers tensed visibly, their eyes searching the shadowy depths of the pawnshop, the deep interior where the sun didn’t reach even during the day. From behind some shelves that held a memory lane of blenders, Olivia Charity appeared. Bobo’s face relaxed in a smile. It was two on two, now.

When they saw a woman (a woman clad in a black bra and black bikini panties), the two men relaxed their vigilance, though Olivia was armed with a longbow, arrow nocked and ready. The taller man, the one with the trimmed mustache and beard, sneered, “You think you’re Robin Hood’s little girlfriend or something?” He pulled a gun with his right hand and seemed to feel that put him in charge of Bobo and Olivia.

Olivia shot him.

It was almost funny how surprised the taller man was when he saw the feathered shaft sticking out of his right shoulder. After a second of horrified astonishment, he screamed, and the gun clattered to the wooden floor from his useless right hand. His boss, the brown-haired man, dropped his own knife as insufficient. He pulled a pistol from under his jacket and fired at Olivia in a very smooth move.

But she wasn’t there. Neither was Bobo, who’d moved into a shadow and crouched down the instant he’d heard the bow twang. The short man looked around, confused, trying to locate someone to shoot.

Instead, there was a quick motion and a noise from the floor to the short man’s right, the motion and sound in such quick sequence they were almost simultaneous, and from a white blur that appeared by the short man’s side two hands reached out, seized the shorter man’s head, and twisted. There was a particularly nauseating meaty snap, and the short man folded onto the dusty floor. Bobo jumped up to see what had happened.

“Jesus, Lem,” said Bobo, startled but not surprised. “That was pretty extreme.” Olivia rose from the floor with a groan, shaking her head; Lem had knocked her down as he sped past, and she’d hit the floor hard.

The taller man, his sleeve soaked with blood, opened his mouth to scream again, but Lemuel was there before the sound could escape the man’s lips. He did not break the man’s neck. He clapped his hand over the man’s mouth.

“Bobo,” Lem said, in his deep, antique voice, “I’m taking this one downstairs so’s I can ask him a few questions in the privacy of my room. Then I’ll be up to work. Olivia?”

“Yes, Mr. Domination?” Olivia was scowling. She clearly felt she’d had the situation under control.

“Can you find a good spot for the dead gentleman? I can bury him tonight. There might be a customer here at any moment.”

That was quite true. It was often the case that if one customer showed up late, the whole night was filled with a steady trickle of people bearing the oddest items. “Okay,” Olivia said, though it was clear she wasn’t appeased. “I can do that. The usual place, I guess.”

“Should be fine,” Lem said. He’d come up through the trapdoor in the floor, rather than take the conventional route of exiting his apartment door, going up the half flight of stairs to the common landing, and entering the store from the landing door. Only Lemuel and Olivia knew the trapdoor existed, it was so unobtrusive. “I know you can handle it.” He began dragging the struggling man over to the trapdoor. Though his captive was several inches taller than Lemuel, and pounds heavier, the pale man handled him with ease.

“Thanks,” Bobo called, reminded of his manners. “I should have said that right away. You two are the Speedy Rescue Team.”

“Glad to help,” Lem said. “Lucky you’ve got the foot alarm buzzer in here.” Lem had installed it himself, with Bobo’s help.

“Good thing Lem was awake,” Olivia said. Bobo finally noted Olivia’s state of undress and realized that Lemuel was absolutely naked. Since Bobo hadn’t noticed those interesting facts until this moment, he’d been more upset than he’d realized.

“Yeah, I’m real lucky,” Bobo said drily. “Sorry you two got interrupted.”

“We don’t speak of private things,” Lemuel said reprovingly. “You might want to put the CLOSED sign up, Bobo.” His voice floated up from the foot of the ladder. Bobo, at the top, could hear the sounds of Lem’s feet as he went to his own door with the bleeding man tossed over his shoulder.

“Right,” Bobo said. The door down below opened and closed. “Olivia, you need my help?”

“You better stay here and straighten up the mess,” she said. “I can take care of this.” “This” was the body of the short man.

Bobo knew better than to argue with her, especially since Lem had already rained on her parade by killing the short guy. Instead, he flipped the trapdoor shut, ignoring the subdued shriek he heard from Lem’s apartment. He hoped Lem was getting some good information, and he hoped Lem was well fed afterward. If it had been up to him, he would have called the police . . . but with Lem, some things you just couldn’t stop.