Page 94 of Slow Burn

Robby

Robby started to feel warm again after five minutes or so; the blast of the car heater made her sick and dizzy. The cops had given up talking to her, and she’d given up pleading. They didn’t understand.

They didn’t believe her.

“Oh, hell, what the—” The car slowed; the back tires slid gently, and the cop corrected without even noticing. “Great. Looters. That’s just what we need tonight.”

The car coasted to a stop. Robby opened her eyes and saw a hissing curtain of ice; it was falling faster now, building to a hard-packed surface on the street. A truck was overturned in the road, its load of boxes spilled out and broken. People scattered at the sight of the police car, arms full of what looked like shirts.

Beyond the truck was a dark blue sedan. It was crushed like a beer can. As she watched, paramedics lifted a man onto a gurney. His face was covered with blood. His blue scarf dragged on the pavement behind him.

“Let me out,” she whispered. Her shoulders ached with the strain of the handcuffs. “I’m serious. Lemme out or I’ll burn up.

“Yeah, sure, honey. Just sleep it off or something.” The older cop didn’t even look back at her as he got out. A welcome puff of cold air blew back toward her, but it wasn’t enough, she was drying off, she was getting hot again.

The younger cop turned toward her.

“You okay?” he asked. She burst into tears. “We’ll be on our way in just a few minutes. Just sit tight.”

She lay down on the seat, gasping for breath. So hot. She could feel the fire starting where she’d begun to sweat under the leather.

“Hey!” The younger cop tried to pull her upright. “Hey—”

He got out and opened the back door.

She slammed her feet into the door and threw him out of the way, slithered out onto the pavement and launched into a stumbling weaving run. Her boots slipped and slid on the ice, her lungs ached from the shock of freezing air. Ice crystals stung at her face and neck.

The young cop got up and chased her, shouting. She heard him fall and scream.

“My leg! I broke my leg!”

She made it to the opposite side of the street and into the shadows of an alley, charged past a Dumpster and around another corner, another alley, this one littered with paper sacks of garbage. The air stank of urine and rotting fish.

She stumbled out onto another street, deserted except for a few parked cars. The waving curtain of icy rain swept toward her, and she slumped against a wall and let it soak her.

She had to get out of the clothes.Hadto.

In the shadow of a boarded-up doorway, three homeless men warmed themselves over a hibachi fueled with old newspapers and magazines. She weaved toward them and stopped, gasping. They didn’t even look up.

“Help me,” she managed. One of them glanced at her, then back down in to the fire. He added a curlingTV Guideto the flames. “Please! Please, you—you—”

“Can’t hep you,” he said in a high thin voice. “Can’t hep nobody. Git.”

“I need—do you have—a knife—or—”

The second homeless man looked up, frowning.

“I got a knife,” he said, and grinned. His front teeth were worn to thin pegs. “Good knife. Sharp.”

“Help me get my clothes off.”

The third man added torn-up strips ofUSA Todayto the hibachi, as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

“Help me take my clothes off!” she screamed. “Don’t you understand? Take my clothes off!”

“Been a long time since anybody asked for that,” the second man said to the first. The first nodded thoughtfully. “Been, oh, two year. Yeah?”

“Yah. Two year. Maybe two an a haf. ’Member, was over on Ellum—”

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