I still had half a hard-on so I turned my back to the child and grabbed for my pants. Alma spoke to her daughter angrily. “I told you never to follow me!” “I didn’t follow you, Mama,” Angela said quietly. “I just wanted to tell you that the guard in the hall is dead.” “You were watching television again,” Alma snapped. The child was still calm. Quietly she opened the door wide. “Look,” she said. Angela was right. It wasn’t television. The guard was still sitting in his chair, a look of surprise on his face, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead, his gun lying on the floor underneath his outstretched hand. “What else did you see?” I whispered to Angela, quickly crossing the room and pulling her inside. “I peeked through my door. There were two men. They ran up the steps toward Grandpa’s,” she answered. “Take her with you to my bathroom and lock the door,” I said to Alma. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “First I’m going to get the guard’s gun.
