Arthur Smith had his game face on. He drew his gun and ran across the road. When he got to the corner of Gas N Go, he edged forward until he could see through the window.

“He know where the back door is?” Madonna asked no one.

“Yes,” Manfred said. “He does.” Arthur had seen it a few months before when Manfred and Bobo had gotten jumped in the alley behind the store.

They all held their breath while Arthur left the window and hurried up the alley to the back door.

“Teacher, don’t have locked that damn door,” Madonna said out loud.

He hadn’t.

Arthur slipped inside, and without saying a word, Madonna opened the door and crossed the street, shotgun at the ready.

“Ahhhh,” Fiji said. Her hands were twitching.

“You can’t go over there,” Manfred said. “Arthur wouldn’t understand.”

Olivia said, “Showtime.”

Like the diner, Gas N Go was fronted with glass, but it was at an angle to the street. There was no way the little crowd at Home Cookin could see inside as Madonna could. She pulled open the door and raised the shotgun, and they all drew in breath at the same moment. Joe held Grady’s little face to his shoulder so the boy couldn’t see.

There was no boom, no screaming, none of the sounds they were dreading they’d hear.

Instead, they heard sirens approaching from Davy.

“Oh, thank you, God,” Chuy said.

“All’s well that ends well,” Olivia murmured. “Well, I’m out of here.” As if nothing much had transpired, she strode down the sidewalk and crossed after the intersection to go back to her apartment.

Fiji had tears streaming down her face.

“Hey, what’s up?” Manfred asked. Then he realized how stupid that was, and he shook his head at his own foolishness.

“I know it’s dumb,” she said. “I think it’s just cumulative tension, you know? After last night?”

“Oh. You saw.”

She nodded. “I need some drama-free time,” she said. “And I’m going to go home and have me some.”

“Good idea,” Manfred said, but she was already out of Home Cookin and walking home. “And who knew Madonna kept a shotgun in the kitchen?” he asked Joe, who was rocking from side to side, Grady drowsing in his arms.

“Not me, for sure,” Joe said. “Chuy?”

“Knock me over with a feather,” Chuy said, and smiled.

The three weretigers, in their human bodies, of course, emerged from the Rev’s small house and stood in a line on the sidewalk, watching the deputies, including Gomez and Nash, swarm all over Gas N Go. The three wandered over to stand by the angels and the psychic, who had stepped outside. Manfred was hoping the blood patch outside his house was really dispersed. Olivia had done a good job, but he wanted to check.

Madonna came stomping back across the street, holding the shotgun broken open in the crook of her arm.

“Let me put this up. I’ll come back and get Grady,” she said.

“Sure. He’s no trouble,” Joe said. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yeah. That Smith came through the back area just before I came in the front. Little jerk-off thief didn’t know where to look.”

“Anyone we know?” Joe asked.

“No, some punk from Abilene,” she said. “Thought it would be easy to knock over a little store in a little town like Midnight. Huh. Not with me and Teacher here, it isn’t.” She gave the line of men a look that expressed her contempt at their inaction, and then she went in to put away the shotgun. “Thanks for all your help. Not.”

“I guess we got put in our place,” Quinn said, sounding amused. The Rev shook his head. Diederik (now even taller, Manfred noted) smiled, not the big open grin of previous days, but a smile nonetheless. Joe and Chuy stood as close together as they could get, and Joe smiled down at the dark head resting on his shoulder.

“Yes, we’re a sad bunch,” Manfred said, and he smiled, too. He thought Diederik still smelled like blood. He watched as, out of nothing, a feather fluttered from Joe’s shoulder and landed gently on the sidewalk.