"What? Who? Miss Julia? What's going on?" Mr. Pickens, still spraddled out on his stomach, had risen to his elbows to stare at me.

"Sh-h-h," I cautioned. "Not so loud. They'll throw me out if they find me here." Then hurriedly speaking to give him as much information as I could, I went on. "Now listen, we want to know what's wrong with you. Coleman heard you got shot, so are you all right? What can we do? I've got Etta Mae Wiggins with me-she's out in the car-and we'll do whatever we can to get you some help. That sheriff here is bound and determined to keep you isolated, but you're not under arrest, except you soon might be if he decides you have anything to do with whatever they're raiding. Which they're doing as we speak, so he's out of commission for the moment as far as you're concerned. So if you want out of here, now's the time."

"Huh? Hold on ..." Mr. Pickens rested his face in his hands, like he needed a minute to think, which I completely understood because who would expect to be awakened by someone you thought was almost four hundred miles away?

He rubbed his face in his hands-I could see the movement, but little else except the uncombed mess his hair was in.

"Etta Mae's here?" he asked.

"She's waiting in the parking lot. But listen, Mr. Pickens, are you still wounded? Can you get up? We'll take you home if you want to go."

"Okay, let's go." His head dropped back down on the pillow. "Real sleepy," he mumbled. "Gimme a minute. Kinda messed up here."

"Oh, I understand. I've had dealings with Sheriff McAfee myself. But he's out of reach-Etta Mae saw them going on a raid, so they're all out in the hills somewhere. Now's your chance, if you want it."

"Oh, yeah. Jus' maybe... . Too tired."

"We'll help. Can you walk? Where were you shot? The sheriff said it wasn't life threatening and that you were getting better. We'll do whatever we can, but I don't want to cause any more damage. The first thing we have to decide is how to get you out of this room. Those nurses watch you like a hawk, but they have their hands full with Mr. Purvis. So if we hurry, we might be able to slip out the fire door, which is right next to yours. As quick as you are, Mr. Pickens, we could be outside in two seconds and n.o.body the wiser."

He gave a half laugh. "Not so quick. Can't get off the bed."

"How bad is it? Your wound, I mean. Is it in your leg? You can lean on me and hop. We don't have far to go. Or I can call Etta Mae and between us we'll get you out."

"Oh, Lord," he said in a despairing way as he rubbed his face again. "Head's buzzin'. Can't think. Had something for pain."

"Yes, I figured that," I said, getting a little exasperated with his slowness to be up and running. "We need to get a move on."

"Etta Mae's here? With a car?"

"Yes, and she's waiting for us. Now listen, it's good that you've had something for pain. Don't worry about thinking-just do what I tell you and jump out of this bed. We need to go."

"Miss Julia," he said, his words coming out m.u.f.fled as if his tongue were thick. "I got shot in a place that connects to every muscle I have. Can't jump. Can't hop. Uh-uh, jus' can't."

"Well, my goodness, what place is that?"

He lifted his head and turned toward me. I could almost feel those black eyes boring into mine as his words came out clear as a bell. "My rear end-both sides, through and through."

"Oh," I said as an image of Mr. Purvis's shriveled backside flashed in my mind. A bullet fired at him would hit bone or nothing, but there was a good deal more to Mr. Pickens, which I'm ashamed to admit I had occasionally admired, and I a.s.sumed he had two entrance wounds and two exit wounds on a bullet's way in and out. "My goodness. That would be painful."

"Yeah," he said, dropping his forehead to the pillow, "I can't sit and can't turn over. Can't lie on my back and can't walk. Can't make it to the car."

"I've always said that where there's a will, there's a way. So you just put your mind to it, Mr. Pickens, and endure about five minutes of discomfort, which that pain pill should take care of, and we'll have you out of here. I'm calling Etta Mae."

So I did, whispering so that she could barely hear me. "He was shot in the rear, Etta Mae, and with all those big muscles running down his legs, he's not walking too well. He wouldn't be fast enough to get out of the fire door. So it's the window or nothing."

"Oh, wow," she said, "bottom shot, huh? Well, you're right, it'll have to be the window. I'll come around and meet you outside if you can get him to it. If you need help, open the window and I'll crawl in. Just watch for the security guy."

We clicked off, and I felt my way around the bed to the window to unlock it, hoping that it wasn't hermetically sealed. It wasn't, but it wouldn't slide up, either. I finally found a crank near the sill, turned it while fighting the blinds and was relieved to see that the entire lower pane opened out for about a foot or so. Enough, I hoped, to slip Mr. Pickens and then myself out onto the ground.

Leaving the window open and hoping the security man was still busy with Mr. Purvis, I went back to the bed.

"Okay, Mr. Pickens, we're going out the window. Come on now, we have to go."

He didn't move. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Are you asleep? Come on, Mr. Pickens, wake up."

"Okay," he mumbled. "I'm comin'."

But he wasn't. I threw the covers off him, grabbed his ankles and swiveled his body around until his legs hung off the bed. That woke him up.

"My pants!" he yelped. "Get my pants."

"Oh, good grief," I said, then realized that I was dealing with another short hospital gown that opened in the back, revealing a good bit of Mr. Pickens's posterior, although most of it was covered by a wide, thick bandage. "Well, just hang there while I look for your clothes."

Leaving him half on and half off the bed, I felt my way to what I thought was a closet, but found a bathroom instead. Finally I found the closet and pulled a shirt and a pair of jeans off a hanger. s.n.a.t.c.hing up his boots, I stumbled back to the bed.

"I've got them, Mr. Pickens, but if these jeans are the kind you usually wear, they won't go on over that bandage." He didn't respond. "Mr. Pickens? You hear me, Mr. Pickens? Wake up. I've got your clothes. See? I'm putting them out the window."

As I threw them out, Etta Mae stuck her head through the window, rattling the blinds. "Miss Julia? What you want me to do with this stuff?"

"I don't care. We'll take them if we can, but right now I can't get him to stay awake." I shook Mr. Pickens again. "Etta Mae's here. We're ready to get you out of here. Move, Mr. Pickens, move."

He lifted his head, mumbling, "Can't. Need to sleep."

"Can't never did anything. Now you just raise yourself up and get to that window."

I pulled and tugged at him, got his feet firmly on the floor and pushed myself under him enough to lift his top half off the bed. He moaned as I tried to stand him upright.

"Not so loud," I hissed in his ear as he leaned on me. My knees were about to give way, but I slid and twisted and turned and edged him toward the window. "On your knees, Mr. Pickens," I ordered. "Get down on your knees and stick your head out the window."

I don't know how I got him down because he didn't like any of it, but I got his head and shoulders over the sill, then poked first one arm, then the other through the window.

"Pull him, Etta Mae," I whispered. "Pull him on out."

I lifted his feet, straightening out his legs-another move he didn't like-while I pushed with all my might.

Unfortunately, the window pane wasn't high enough to slide him through without his backside rubbing against the metal frame. Mr. Pickens treated us to some of that ugly talk that had so offended Sheriff McAfee.

"Put a sock in his mouth, Etta Mae," I hissed, fearing that he would bring the entire roster of hospital personnel down on us. "He's as drunk as a lord."

Finally, as she pulled and I pushed, he went through the window, sc.r.a.ping knees and rump on his way, until he fell on Etta Mae and just ruined some foundation plantings.

Relieved, I hurriedly put a pillow under the covers, found a black sock I'd dropped and put it where a nurse might think it was his hair. Then I grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed and threw it out the window. Then slipping under rattling blinds, I crawled through the window, a feat I will not recount, consisting as it did of some unladylike contortions and a little ugly talk of my own.

Chapter 22.

Mr. Pickens lay sprawled out over a couple of bushes, which would never again be the same, groaning and carrying on, and making no effort to get up. That white bandage of his glowed in the dark, so I s.n.a.t.c.hed the two sides of his gown and pulled them together.

"Need my pants," he mumbled.

"There's more to worry about than covering your privates," I snapped at him. "n.o.body's looking anyway. Etta Mae, you all right?"

She was sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up and her head hanging down. "Yeah, yes'm. Just knocked the breath out of me for a minute. Boy, is he heavy!"

"Tell me about it," I said, still unrecovered from manhandling him through the window. "Let's get him up and out of here." Then, surveying our situation, I went on. "My word, with all those security lights, it's brighter out here than in his room. Come on, we've got to hurry."

Between the two of us, Etta Mae and I hoisted Mr. Pickens to his feet, Etta Mae under one arm and I under the other. He was such a dead weight, I felt like slapping some life into him.

"Wait, Etta Mae," I said, as Mr. Pickens swayed between us. "You got him? Don't let him get off center or he'll fall on you again."

I hurriedly grabbed the blanket I'd thrown out the window and wrapped it around Mr. Pickens's body, hoping that would allay his concern about being half naked. Although, believe me, neither Etta Mae nor I had any desire to see what he was so anxious to cover. That done, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up his shirt, pants and boots, handing some to Etta Mae and keeping the rest.

Getting under Mr. Pickens's arm again, I said, "Walk, Mr. Pickens, walk. Put one foot in front of the other and move."

He groaned the whole way to the car, and don't ask me how we got him there. Every step was a trial, and how we were able to keep him from falling and dragging both of us down, I don't know. It's a flat wonder that we didn't draw the attention of every person in the place. Thank you, Mr. Purvis.

Etta Mae, puffing and blowing by this time, opened the back door of the car. "Crawl in, J.D. Crawl in and stretch out on the backseat."

Mr. Pickens just stood there. "Where are we now?" he mumbled.

"On the way home," I said. "To Hazel Marie and your baby girls, now get in the car."

We aimed him through the door, then pushed and shoved until he slid on his stomach across the backseat. Of course, it was too short for him even though I had the largest model, so he was half on the seat with his feet and most of his legs sticking out over the footwell.

Etta Mae opened the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. "Let's get out of here."

I hurried to my side, relieved not to be driving, and got my door closed just as she reversed out of the parking place and gunned it for the street.

"Careful, Etta Mae," I said, even though I was more than anxious to leave. "We don't want to attract attention now."

"Right," she said, her voice quavering. "Right. I'll slow down. I'll be careful."

Quickly and gratefully, I pulled Etta Mae's shoes off my cramped feet, wiggled my toes and hoped I hadn't maimed myself. I can't tell you how good my Ferragamos felt-worth every penny they'd cost.

When we reached the highway, she turned right, away from Pearl's cabins-bait and tackle shop, too-and I hoped I'd seen the last of them all. Etta Mae drove carefully through town, although at one point she giggled nervously and said, "I don't guess you want to drive by the sheriff's office, see if they're back, do you?"

"Keep going," I replied, my hand clutching the armrest, fearing we'd be discovered at any moment. "The sooner this town's behind us, the better I'll like it."

And soon it was and we were on the treacherous curves of the long downhill drive to flat country. We seemed to be all alone on the dark two-lane road-no pa.s.sing traffic, no lights behind or in front-just tree-covered mountains on one side and heart-stopping dropoffs on the other.

Etta Mae was a good driver, but even as we had climbed slowly upward on our way to Mill Run, so we were coasting steadily downward on our way out and occasionally the heavy car would take a mind of its own and almost get away from her. But she soon learned how to stay in control and I was able to turn loose the armrest.

Mr. Pickens had been quiet ever since we'd gotten him into the car, and I was thankful that he could now have the full benefit of his sleeping pill. Turning and glancing into the backseat, I was astounded at how he'd arranged himself.

"Look at him, Etta Mae! No, don't look. Keep driving, but he's on the seat with his knees drawn up under him and his back end sticking straight up. And he's sound asleep."

"Good grief," Etta Mae said, as she adjusted the rearview mirror to get a quick look. "He's in the knee-chest position. Just right," she giggled, "for a proctoscopic exam."

"From the looks of that bandage," I said wryly, "he's already had one."

Etta Mae started laughing. "We ought to put a sign on him: THIS END UP."

Then we both began laughing and couldn't stop-nervous relief, I guess-and kept on laughing until a deer bounded across the road in front of us and Etta Mae slammed on the brakes, throwing Mr. Pickens off the backseat onto the floor. He yelled out loud once, then set in with mumbling and groaning, until with a push from me, hanging between the front seats, he regained his upended position.

I kept looking over my shoulder, not only to check on Mr. Pickens, but also to see if there were any signs of pursuit. Each time I expected to see fast-gaining lights coming up behind us, but each time there was nothing to see. I sincerely hoped-in fact prayed a little-that the sheriff was fully occupied far from the reach of a nurse when a certain empty bed was discovered.

"Can you go a little faster, Etta Mae?"

"No'm, scared to on this road. Too many curves. I might lose it." She was intent on her driving, using the bright lights all the way because there were no other cars on the road. "We should hit a straightaway soon, then I'll speed up. Why don't you call Hazel Marie, let her know we have him."

"Oh, my, yes. I should've thought of that." I scrambled through my purse for the cell phone, hoping it was charged. It was, but it didn't work. "What's wrong with this thing? I'm not getting a dial tone."

"Oh, gosh, I bet you can't get reception with all these mountains. Well, we'll call her as soon as we get down."

About that time, Mr. Pickens started groaning and mumbling, and as I looked back, I saw him twisting and turning to find a comfortable position. He ended up on his side, facing the back, with his knees bent and his feet pushed against the back of my seat. Wedged in like that, he seemed to be in a less precarious position than the knee-chest one.

But he couldn't stay still. He kept trying to straighten out, kicking the back of my seat, then the door, all in an effort to relieve his discomfort.

"I wish we had some more of whatever they gave him," I said, feeling another kick in my back. "If he keeps on like this, he's going to be miserable by the time we get home."

"Look," Etta Mae said, "we've reached the main highway. Beckley's not far and it'll be easier driving from now on. Try Hazel Marie again, why don't you?"

So I did, and was pleased to hear the phone ring far away in Abbotsville. It was well after eleven o'clock, and I knew the sound of it would awaken and certainly frighten whoever heard it. Hazel Marie answered, but it took awhile because she dropped the phone in her haste.

"h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo? Who is it?"

"Hazel Marie? It's Julia, and we have him. Now, don't worry. He's all right. A little shot up, but not in any bad place. Well, it might be worrisome to him, but not to us. But I just wanted to relieve your mind. We're on the way home and should be there in five or six hours."

"You have him! Is he all right? Let me speak to him."

"Well, Hazel Marie, he's asleep, but he's all right. He had a sleeping pill before we left and he's out like a light. Hold on a minute." I got up on my knees and leaned over the seat, holding the phone next to Mr. Pickens's mouth so she could hear his steady soft snores. "Hear that?" I said, turning around.

"Oh, it is him!" Hazel Marie cried, literally, because I could hear the tears in her voice. "That's just the way he sleeps. Thank you, Miss Julia, thank you so much. And thank Etta Mae, too."

"All right. Now listen, Hazel Marie, we're going to need James's help getting him out of the car when we get there. You all need to get some sleep, but have James rest on the sofa in the living room. I'm going to be in no shape to climb those stairs to his apartment to wake him up."

"Are you going to drive all night? I hope you do. I can't wait to have my sweetheart home again."

"We're going to try to." I glanced at Etta Mae, wondering how tired she was. "It may be that we'll have to stop for the night, but I'll call and let you know if we do."

I was finally able to end the call, with Hazel Marie still thanking us and effusing over our having retrieved her husband.