Chapter Four
Danny
ALMOST FIVE YEARS had passed since Mary Alice’s rape and murder, yet Danny’s resolve remained firm. One afternoon, heart pounding, he stepped into a small Milwaukee gun shop and strode across its worn linoleum floor. Behind an ancient glass and wooden counter, a wizened shopkeeper perched atop a tall stool.
Danny broached him. “Sir, I’m new at this. Can you recommend a gun for combat competition?”
Without blinking, the man tapped on the scratched glass. “Sure. You want one of these beauties. This is a Colt .45 Combat Commander. It’s got speed, a steel frame to absorb the recoil and a handy short length. The gun practically shoots by itself.”
“Could I handle it, please?”
The man nodded and pulled the instrument out.
The cold steel rested against Danny’s palm, sending shivers up his spine. Was he cut out for this?
His thumb tightened on the trigger. He felt the firmness of the barrel. He’d make himself be.
The old man drummed his fingers on the glass.
As if it were loaded, Danny gingerly replaced the instrument onto the counter. “Okay, you’ve sold me.”
He drew out a fake Wisconsin ID and gun permit, then handed the man cash. Before long he’d emerged outside, with the automatic hidden in a brown paper bag.
The cold February air caught Danny’s giant sigh of relief and turned it into a huge gunsmoke-like ring. Either the man hadn’t noticed Danny did not resemble the photo ID, or more likely, he didn’t care. Also, he hadn’t done a background check. It shouldn’t be that simple.
Why did it matter? He’d gotten what he wanted. That’s all he should care about. The automatic was a means to a bitter end.
When Danny arrived home, he wrapped it in a linen towel and placed it at the back of his closet next to his box of basketball cards.
The next morning he snuck out to the forest preserve and experimented with trigger finger pressure, kick back velocity and other elements he’d read about in the learner’s manuals.
On subsequent trips, he familiarized himself with setting sights and aiming at targets. First he used bull’s eyes, then cans. He threw high, low and sideways, trying to hit as many targets as possible. Each score was Kevin.
One spring afternoon Danny placed his towel-wrapped gun under the car seat and set out for practice. Within minutes the sky darkened. He could barely see the targets, yet when he inspected the decoys, he saw that he’d hit most of them. He wrapped the gun in his towel, satisfied he’d done a good job.
As he stepped into the old Buick, an unwelcome but familiar sensation stole over him. Frowning, he placed the deadly instrument under the seat. Would he always feel like a criminal?
To make matters worse, a mile after he’d exited the forest preserve, a patrol car flashed its lights and pulled up alongside the Buick. Cold sweat sprang to Danny’s forehead. His fingers slipped on the wheel. By transporting a concealed weapon he’d purchased with a fake ID, he was breaking the law. For sure he’d pay. How had they found out?
What would his parents think? They’d had enough to go through.
With heart skittering, he pulled to the side of the road, rolled down the window and watched the officer approach.
“I don’t know if you realize it, son, but your tail light’s out. I’ll give you a warning ticket this time, but you better get it fixed.”
With a shaky smile, Danny thanked him, then saluted a goodbye. That was close.
Later, after a cold shower, he calmed down. One near miss would not deter him. Actually, it had been good practice. He better get used to risk-taking.
Danny continued mastering his weapon in private, leading a normal life in public. He aced his classes. He continued to work at Dean’s. He played basketball every chance he could get. He kept himself so occupied, before he knew it he’d reached senior year.
ON THE FIRST day of math class, Danny slipped behind the third desk by the window. Sunlight streamed through the partially open blinds. Strands of long, strawberry curls cascaded in front of him, sparkling like a kaleidoscope. Fascinated, he eyed the glitter. His fingers itched to reach out and tweak just one curl to watch it spring back.
Call it intuition, but the owner of the sparkling locks somehow sensed he was staring. She turned and smiled at him. “Hi, I’m Cathy McGuire.”
He couldn’t look away. Almost in awe, he gazed into innocent azure eyes. Freckles dotted a perky nose and splashed over creamy cheeks. It was the face of an angel come to earth. He was lost.
“I’m Danny Callaway,” he said, as the voice inside of him shouted, “She’s the one.”
His attention was sidetracked by the math professor’s joke. Cathy’s laugh tinkled like piano notes, squishing Danny’s insides to mush.
He was hooked. Each day he looked forward to seeing Cathy. There was no harm in looking. He wanted her so badly he ached, but he’d never get this innocent involved in the dark side of his life.
Despite his resolve, when the guys swarmed all over her, alarm stabbed him. It didn’t help to remind himself he had no claim on her and she had every right to date whom she pleased. The thought of her doing so tore at his guts.
Surprisingly, she didn’t seem interested in the other guys. It was almost as if she was waiting for Danny to make a move. He could be conceited for thinking that, but deep inside he hoped he was right.
After a frustrating month, Cathy stopped him after class. “Danny, did the prof say chapters eight through ten or eight and nine?”
He gazed into the guileless blue eyes and noted that this time, instead of running down her shoulders, her bright strawberry locks were confined inside a tight braid. He hardened, picturing himself loosening the braid while Cathy lay beside him in bed.
“Only eight and nine,” he said, turning away, determined to resist.
He had to be strong and do the right thing. He’d look and not touch. Cathy deserved better.
Then fate stepped in.