Page 63 of Return of the Spider
“Think it was enough?” I said to Sampson as I shifted Damon in my arms.
“Yeah,” he said, his head slowly craning around. “If someone in there knew something, I think we’ll hear about—”
He stared past me, his eyes widening. “Gun!” he whispered. “Eleven o’clock on the street and coming at us, Alex!”
I snapped my head around, saw a black Suburban heading our way. The rear passenger-side window was down, and a rifle barrel was sticking out.
“Gun!” Sampson roared. “Everybody, down!”
The gunman in the Suburban opened up, firing in bursts. Damon began to scream. A woman next to Sampson was hit, and panic took over.
Ignoring my son’s screams, the shooting, and the people running, I took two steps, tackled Nana Mama to the ground, and used my body to shield her and Damon as bullets pinged off the concrete all around us. Then I heard shots coming from muchcloser, and I looked up to see Sampson squared off in a horse stance and pouring lead at the open rear window of the Suburban before it screeched off up the street.
“You okay, Nana?” I gasped over Damon’s screeches.
“If you get off me, I will be!”
Maria!
I jumped up with Damon still in my arms and looked around frantically. Sampson was gone, and several people who’d been standing close to us now lay bleeding on the sidewalk in front of the church.
“Alex!”
My terrified wife rushed toward me, blood spattered on her face and down the front of her maternity dress. She ran into my arms, sobbing. “They shot Father Barry! Right next to me. He’s dead!”
The three of us stood there shaking, arms wrapped around each other.
“I go home, Mama?” Damon cried. “I go home, Daddy?”
“Soon, buddy,” I said to my son, feeling more vulnerable than I ever had. To my wife, I said, “We need to help the wounded. We can cry afterward. Okay?”
Maria shuddered, then nodded and pulled away. I handed her Damon, whose crying had eased.
Sirens wailed toward us as the first of the ambulances arrived.
Sampson returned.
“What the hell was that about?” I asked.
“I think Prince got our message and decided to reply,” Sampson said.
“You think we were the targets?”
“Yeah, Alex, I do.”
CHAPTER
50
Hurrying back downtown toheadquarters later that afternoon, I knew I was late for a briefing with chief of detectives George Pittman, who had been horrified to hear that a Catholic priest had been gunned down in front of his own church and outraged that Sampson and I might have been the true targets.
While Pittman attended a sit-down with the chief of Metro about everything, I’d taken a walk with Ellen Bovers, the FBI agent who’d gotten us the CCTV footage of the white van.
When I returned, Sampson was already at his desk. “Where you been?”
“Out talking to my FBI friend. She tells me they’re becoming interested in Prince too.”
“Good, because we’ve got a big problem.”
