Page 93 of Bobby Green

“But that episode—right after Christmas—wouldn’t there have been more?”

Reg shook his head. “Not if she was trying to hide—”

The sound of the back door slamming was like a shot in the night.

“Oh shit!”

The two of them tore through the house, through the hallway, and through Reg’s bedroom, where the only back entrance sat.

Reg’s backyard was mostly mud and weeds, surrounded by a rickety fence that Bobby had put on his list of things to do when the weather got a little better. They heard Veronica swearing as she disappeared over that rickety fence, and Bobby hurried to vault over it while Reg ran through the side yard to intercept her coming out of the neighbor’s gate.

It was a good plan, and probably would have worked, but the fence—which could hold V’s weight just fine—crumbled under Bobby’s heavier bulk, and he slammed through three rotting boards and support struts, landing on the ground with a fuck-ton of familiar pain.

“Oh Christ!” he moaned, rolling over. “Oh Jesus. Fucking Jesus!” In the light from the neighbor’s yard he could see the nail sticking through the back of his hand. With a wrench, he grabbed the board at his palm and yanked, growling pain through the frosting night.

Reg was there in an instant. “Oh my God! Bobby! Are you okay!”

“Where’d she go?” Bobby looked around wildly and realized he had a pain in his shoulder too.

Reg shouted, “Hold still!” and a curiously queasy sensation rolled over him as Reg pulled a giant six-inch sliver out of the meat of his shoulder.

“Gah!Oh fuck! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!Jesus!”

“I’m sorry, Bobby!” Reg cried, staring at the bloody splinter in his hand. “I’m sorry. Man, I’m sorry. We need to get you to the ER—that’s a mess. You need a tetanus shot and some antibiotics and—”

“Reg, where’s your sister?” Bobby almost sobbed. “We’ve got to find her, man—she attacks people withknives!”

Reg wiped his bloody hand over his eyes. “Okay,” he said, nodding, like that all made sense. “Okay. Go get in the truck. I’ll take you to the ER and call the mental health people. They… they’ve dealt with this before.”

“Your sister has just up and taken off before?”

“Her medication wears off!” Reg shouted defensively. “I’m sorry! I don’t got a handbook! I got ‘V’s okay’ and ‘V’s batshit crazy’! Right now she’s batshit crazy, and you need a doctor, and having them come get her is all I got!” A sob tore loose from his chest. “And I’m sorry. Man, I’m fuckin’ sorry. You—you shouldn’t be getting this bullshit. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Bobby was going to throw up, or scream, or cry.

He reached out and grabbed Reg’s shoulder with his good hand instead. “It’s a plan,” he panted. “It’s a good plan. Don’t be sorry. Let’s get in the truck so you can call the doctors on your sister. But first, I gotta puke.”

Pain washed over him, and a wave of black nausea followed. Tossing his cookies on the frosty grass was almost a relief. They got to the truck right when a man ventured out of the house next door, skinny legs sticking out of his bathrobe, wispy hair scattered over his head, and a big scary gun in his hand.

“Who’s there?” the guy shouted. “What the hell’s going on in my backyard?”

“Sorry, Mr. Simpson!” Reg called, opening Bobby’s door for him. “My sister got away again. Keep everybody inside—the mental health people’ll be out!”

“If she’s not careful, she’s gonna get shot!” Mr. Simpson shouted back. “Crazy bitch—she needs to be put away!”

“So do you!” Reg shouted back, helping Bobby into the cab. “But we let you stay there with your fifty zillion cats and everything!”

The door slammed shut, and Bobby leaned his head against the window woozily, thinkingOh. That’s where the cat pee smell came from.It had been bothering him since he’d first been to Reg’s place, since Reg and V didn’t have a single goddamned cat.

Reg got into the driver’s side, and Bobby handed him the keys. The truck started right up, and Reg pulled out of the residential neighborhood, driving as fast as safety would allow.

Bobby regretted not putting his seat belt on, though, when the truck screeched to a halt.

Reg threw the thing in Park, leaped out the door, and made a flying tackle on the shadowy figure on the lawn next to them. He had a struggling V in a three-point restraint in short order, and Bobby made it out of the truck in time to watch him strip her shirt over her head and bind her wrists behind her back with it. He yanked her up, wearing her bra and her sweatpants, and hauled her into the truck while Bobby got back inside.

“You can’t fuckin’ keep me here!” she screeched. “You fuckin’ retard! You didn’t even know I was spitting those pills up! How in the fuck do you think you can keep me there, you faggot?”

She wiggled something awful, but Reg had bound her up tight, and Bobby had no choice. He leaned his head against the window and blanked her out, the fear, the pain, all of it, relegating it to a haze in the distance.