Crescent City Connection

couldn’t get a simple tool out of her bra.
Maybe it’s a bluff
, she thought.
Jacomine doesn’t want to die
.
Maybe there’s no bomb at all.
And recognized the thought as an excuse for paralysis.
    But she was already paralyzed. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t make a decision, she couldn’t save this child. Or herself.
    And yet she was vaguely aware that she
was
moving, her hands were moving, even as they shook and sweat poured into her eyes. What they were doing was getting that bomb off that poor child, ripping open the jacket snaps, snatching it off Shavonne so roughly that the child cried out. The popping snaps sounded like firecrackers.
    She was going to die holding it, there was no time to do anything, anything at all. No time even to…her head swiveled wildly, wondering why she wasn’t dead, vainly searching for a way out.
    And it was so hot, she thought.
So damn hot in here.
    Without even taking aim, without thinking, without deciding to do so, she threw the vest into the second room, and dived under the table, Shavonne’s body under hers. The building exploded.

Twenty-nine
    SHE SWALLOWED DUST and rubble, and she was hit by flying objects, but for the most part the table protected her. She said into her bug, “We’re all right, I think.”
    Shavonne whimpered, and Skip tried to move a little, so as not to crush the child, but she found herself absolutely unable to speak words of comfort, only to lie there, very still, until they pulled her out.
    Someone said, “Can you walk?” and she had absolutely no idea what the answer was. But her muscles moved, and she did walk, through a bombed-out shell. Seeing what she saw, she couldn’t believe she’d survived. She later learned someone else had carried Shavonne out, but she had no recollection of being parted from the child.
    She had thrown the bomb diagonally, and most of the damage to the house was on the other side, the left, and toward the back. Still, the house was totalled.
    She was so deeply in shock that she didn’t protest when they put her in an ambulance and took her to Charity Hospital. Abasolo rode with her.
    “You’re okay, Skip, you’re okay.” The usual lies.
    He held her hand tightly, but she couldn’t stop the shaking. Her body was reliving the explosion over and over again, like aftershocks of a quake.
    “Close,” she said. She meant it was a close call, but she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say anything for a long time, not until she had been examined and pronounced well, and Cindy Lou, who had shown up almost immediately, had fought her way in and said, “Valium, okay? Have pity on the woman.”
    They made her swallow something, and gradually the shaking subsided.
    Cindy Lou said, “Steve’s on his way.”
    Involuntarily, Skip’s hand went to her head. “Oh, shit. My hair.”
    Lou-Lou laughed and Skip was aware that this was a normal sound, a real-world sound. “You might be getting better, girlfriend.”
    She was well enough to go home, but that was about it. Steve got her upstairs and into bed, wrestling off her clothes, removing the .22 and the bug without so much as a comment. He woke her briefly to ask if she wanted to see the news, but she shook her head, noticing it felt slightly strange—lighter and smoother, she wasn’t sure why—and she went back to sleep.
    She awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly normal, except for a choking mass of something in the back of her throat. She rolled over onto Steve and wouldn’t let go until he pushed her gently. “My leg’s asleep.”
    When she spoke, she realized she was hoarse. “Shavonne?”
    He stroked her bald head. “She’s fine.”
    To her vast surprise, she started crying, and when she was done, the mass in her throat had dissolved. “That wasn’t fun.”
    “What, crying? I know. It really hurts your eyes.”
    She rolled over, flinging an arm over her head. “Oh, shit. I’m not cut out to be a commando.”
    “Actually, intelligence agencies the world over have been faxing fabulous offers. A few came in from Hollywood, too. My favorite’s the one from some dude named Broccoli—is he a man or a vegetable? Says you’re the new Jane Bond.”
    She couldn’t even laugh. “He’s wrong. Also he’s dead.”
    “I like your new haircut.”
    She turned away from him.
    “Seriously.”
    “I don’t ever want to do that again.”
    “If you do, don’t tell me, okay? Only good thing about it, I didn’t know till afterward. That, and my