She hopped out of the car, dropped to one knee, took aim. Blam. Direct hit. In the leg. Which, being compassionate, she’d intended. Amazing how good a shot she was. Never having shot before. Well, she’d always been athletic. Down he went. Wounded, he confessed. Begged for mercy. But didn’t really seem all that sorry. Was he messing with her? Was there a trace of mockery in his eyes as he fake-apologized? She pressed the gun against his sweaty forehead.

Jeez, Jesus, what was she—­

They were driving along the river. A kayaker was paddling against the current, shouting, either nuts or on his phone. Derek was in the back, slumped against the door, looking pensive and deflated, feeling bad, she could tell, for not being sure which guy it had been, for causing this weird silent tension in the car.

Which, she suddenly realized, was still going on.

I think you did perfect, she said. That was not easy, and you handled it beautifully.

Amen, Keith said.

I just wish I could remember, he said. I keep going over it in my mind.

And? Keith said.

Well, he was definitely wearing jeans, Derek said.

The car pulled up to their same old house. Which now seemed sad. The House of the Victims. The past year, they’d re-roofed it, put on a new porch. For what? What was the big thing they were striving to be part of? Was it good? Did it make any sense? They’d done all that for what? So their kid could get pushed down by some freak? This was, so far, the biggest thing that had ever happened to them as a family.

The other houses in the neighborhood blinked the eyes that were their windows.

Better you than us, they thought.

“The House That Found Itself Suddenly Ostracized.”

“The House Made Lonely Through No Fault of Its—”

Crap. Blah. Stupid.

The three of them sat there a bit in the ticking car.

I know I wasn’t supposed to be downtown, Derek said. I just wanted to try it.

Fair enough, Keith said.

Such a good dad. Reasonable man. Dear heart. Always fine with—well, everything. Even this, apparently. Fine with Derek breaking his promise. Fine with some random creep assaulting their kid and walking away scot-free.

She felt—if she was being totally honest?—that, back at the station, Keith had, well, not failed them, exactly. She wouldn’t go that far. But hadn’t there been a time, back in the old days, when Keith, the powerful man of the house, would’ve pulled aside the other powerful man, the cop, and, between them, a deal would have been struck, and the two freaks would’ve been quietly led outside for a little “talk” and, oops, while out there, had the living shit beat out of them?

Both of them?

Just to be sure?

Well, that wasn’t the best.

That wasn’t, you know, fair.