Sophie Hawkins would later give God all of the credit for saving her from a sniper’s bullet, if not a sprained ankle.
Sophie had exited the car, taking a few steps before slipping on the ice just below the streetlight. As she went down, her ankle painfully twisted, the bullet from the Bushmaster missed her, ricocheting against the light post and into a car door. She had screamed at the sound. Garcia had recognized the Monte Carlo just moments before, and was approaching the car, weapon drawn.
The old church doors swung open, Pastor Matt and a few congregants looking out. Seeing his mother on the ground, the pastor wanted to run to her, but the officers told him to stay inside. Sophie called out, assuring her son she was all right, Lance at her side.
Garcia got back in his car to follow Timothy.
Toon had reached the church just minutes after Garcia and the escort. He did not see Sophie get shot at, but he caught Timothy Union trying to escape in the Chevy.
Toon also recognized Detective Garcia, who was running towards his car. Toon drove past them all, ready to follow the Monte Carlo. The tires on Popcorn’s truck also slid along with Timothy’s car, which managed to go straight down the lane. Downtown Marine boasted many one-way streets, neither man familiar with the area.
Timothy turned on to busy Farm Road, the windshield still thick with snow. The traffic light turned from yellow to red at an intersection and he slammed into another vehicle. He kept his foot on the gas, pushing the other car before realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere. He opened the driver’s side door, ready to run. He left his rifle and stepped out into the night. He glanced at the other car; a woman slumped over the wheel. He saw vehicles coming the other way. He started to run through the ankle-deep snow. He slid and fell a few times, heading for Pine Street, the area of old shops and decaying apartments, once grand Victorian houses. He did not look behind him, but heard brakes squeal.
Toon stopped at the accident scene. He watched Timothy try to run as he reached for his pistol.
He only had minutes before Garcia caught up with him.
Aron parked at The Dockside Motel. He went inside the office with Sonya and Bill, asking about Archie. The manager took them to the room, knocking at the door.
Bobby answered. He was alone in the room. Sonya gave him a quick hug, which he returned.
“Where’s Archie?” she asked.
“He’s gone,” Bobby said. “He was scared, so he took his bags and left in the truck.”
“What is he afraid of?” Aron asked.
Bobby explained about Toon looking for the sniper, how the biker was probably on his way to the downtown church.
“Wait a minute. Toon came after you?” Sonya asked.
“Yeah. Scared Archie half to death. The Diamonds sent him to find the sniper.”
“If Timothy Union shows up at the church,” Aron said, “they’re all in danger over there. I’ll try to call Garcia, but we need to take you home, Bobby.”
“Did Archie say where he was going?” Sonya asked.
“No. He wants to disappear until he turns eighteen. By the way, Archie’s my half-brother.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain on the way home.”
Toon followed Timothy on foot, almost sliding into the worn statue of some long-dead lumber baron. Timothy made it across Pine Street and Toon found himself almost crawling through a snow drift. He rolled over on to the sidewalk, keeping a grip on his pistol. Timothy slipped again and fell forward in front of a long-closed furniture store.
Toon realized he was close enough. He took aim, his breath coming as a thick cloud. Timothy was getting on his feet when Toon fired.
Garcia caught up minutes later, coming upon the accident first. The driver had regained consciousness and he was tending to her when he heard two shots. He left the woman for a moment to check out the Pine St. storefront area, the ambulance on the way. Garcia stepped carefully, making it to the sidewalk. He found a body, blood spattered against the snow, pavement, and glass. He came closer, seeing where the bullets did their damage to Timothy Union’s head. Garcia made out the two sets of boot-prints in the snow. He did not get a good look at the driver in the truck as it had passed him at the church, following Timothy Union. At the accident scene, the Chevy and the woman’s Toyota were the only two vehicles Garcia saw besides his own.
Whoever shot Union, Garcia thought, made it back to his truck and took off. An angel of death. Well, more like a Hell’s Angel.
Garcia turned around, hearing the ambulance in the distance.