“We were just coming back up the alley when there was the sound of breaking glass and then a big flash of fire at the front of the building.”

Danny Ray nodded again.

“We ran out to the edge of the street, and in the light of the flames, saw a huge man—he was bald-headed—just as he lit what can only be a Molotov cocktail—it was a rag fuse stuck in the neck of a bottle—and threw it through another window of the shop.”

Leon Wren, I thought.

Parker reached up and wiped his forehead, leaving a white streak where the soot rubbed off.

“We yelled at him, but he just pulled out another bottle, lit the fuse, and threw it at us. It landed on the sidewalk, over there, just barely missing us. We ran back down the alley to avoid the flames, and when we came back to the street again we saw him climb into a truck and take off. We then ran to the store at the corner and got them to call the fire department. When we returned—it was only a couple of minutes later—the fire was already out of control. We went to Danny’s trailer to try to salvage what we could, but it was too late. The fire had spread to the back of the building. It was all gone.”

I reached out and gripped Danny’s shoulder again.

“Your garden, too, Danny Ray?” I asked in a sympathetic voice.

Danny Ray looked at me from beneath the brim of his cap. His face was set and his lips pressed tightly together. “My garden, too,” he said quite distinctly in a pained voice.

“Jesus,” I muttered, involuntarily.

I turned again to Parker.

“Can you describe the truck they were in?”

“It was a new red Chevy. It had big tires and the frame sat high on a lift kit.”

Junior Causey’s truck!

“When the man got in the truck, was he the one who drove, or was it someone else?” I asked.

“No, he got in on the passenger side. The truck was already running and waiting for him. As soon as he climbed in, they took off.”

“Anything else you can remember?” I asked.

Danny Ray looked at me. “Sh-sh-shots,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Parker joined in. “When the fire bomber threw the Molotov at us, whoever was in the truck fired what sounded like a couple of pistol shots at us—a quick pow-pow.”

“Y-y-yeah. Two,” added Danny Ray with a vigorous nod.

I looked from my scorched friends to the collapsed and still-smoking building and thought about what had happened.

Junior had followed my truck to the auto shop, and then told Leon where to find it. That much was obvious. All they’d had to do was check with the tow company that had hauled it here. In a way I had brought this on Danny Ray and his brother-in-law.