What Doesn't Kill Us--A McKenzie Novel by David Housewright (best books for 7th graders TXT) 📕

Rickie’s, he ended up in the hospital, this very hospital, with an epidural hematoma. They had to drill two holes in his skull to drain the blood and alleviate the pressure or he would have…”

“I remember,” Shelby said. “It was after he saved that young woman’s life.”

“I should’ve run for the hills then, only I didn’t. Now I’m stuck with him.”

“It was a lovely ceremony, getting married in the Winter Carnival Ice Palace like that. I still don’t know how you managed it.”

“McKenzie knew a guy who owed him a favor. McKenzie’s preferred form of legal tender, favors. We waited until after the holidays because we didn’t want to intrude on anyone’s Christmas.”

“You wouldn’t have intruded.”

“You didn’t mind the cold, early February in Minnesota? That the ceremony took place at night after the Palace was closed to the public?”

Shelby took hold of Nina’s arm and hugged it.

“I didn’t mind. No one minded. The Ice Palace. Wow. Bobby and I were married in a church.”

“McKenzie and I had been together for over seven years; we lived together for two of them,” Nina said. “I thought after we were married everything would stay pretty much the same. Only it didn’t. We became even more … I would look at him sometimes and I’d feel a surge of electricity that I hadn’t felt before. McKenzie told me that the world seemed brighter to him now. The sun, the moon, stars, colors—they all seemed brighter. Do you believe that?”

Shelby glanced at Bobby who continued to stare at me through the glass wall.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“Nina,” Bobby said. “We need to talk.”

“Not now,” Shelby said.

“I’m sorry but yes, now.”

It was difficult maneuvering Chopper’s wheelchair behind RT’s desk, the entire office being about the size of a closet, and Herzog wondered why they didn’t just turn the computer screen around.

RT tapped a couple of keys, moved his mouse, and tapped a few more.

“This is my primary camera,” he said.

The screen displayed an overhead shot of his cash register.

“It ain’t about my customers,” he said. “It ain’t about recordin’ no fights an’ shit, people doin’ business. It ain’t about keepin’ ’em from doin’ what they call dining and dashing, either. Ain’t really had much of a problem with any of that. Set up the camera t’ keep my employees from rippin’ me off, you know? Make sure the cash goes in the till and not someone’s pocket. Had problems with that. I had these security cameras installed secret like. I’s the only one what knows about ’em.”

“You didn’t tell the cops?” Chopper asked.

“I ain’t no agent of the po-lice. Now this here…” RT changed the screen. Apparently, the camera had been mounted on the shelf behind the actual wooden bar. It gave them a wide-angle view of the cash register on one end, the waitress station on the other, and the patrons sitting between them. Over the shoulders of the patrons they could see the club’s tables and booths and stage and, in the deep background, the door and the windows with a view of the street.

“Are you recording this?” Chopper asked.

“Yeah. Records for seven days before the overwrite thing kicks in.”

“Rewind to when McKenzie was shot.”

RT did, but he was slow about it. Herzog came thisclose to shoving him out of the way and doing it himself. Finally, they had a close-up on me sitting at the bar and sipping Bud from a bottle. Eventually, I left it half-finished and made for the door. My figure receded into the background; I was only an inch high at the top of screen. I looked right. I looked left and kept looking left while Nancy Moosbrugger entered the frame. A figure that seemed to be dressed in dark colors came up from behind me. You could only see about half of the figure through the front window; the other half was hidden behind the wall. The figure seemed smaller than me by six to eight inches and wore a hat. Chopper said later that the figure was out of focus, the camera meant only to capture what was happening close to the bar, and he couldn’t make out the figure’s face or even its race. The figure seemed to raise a hand like it was pointing a finger and I fell. The figure turned and hurried out of the frame.

Chopper, Herzog, and the bartender watched it several times.

“Ain’t much to see,” RT said.

“Can you burn me a copy of the recording?” Chopper asked. “Just the part from when McKenzie enters the club until after the shooting.”

“What you gonna do with it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Gonna give it to the po-lice?”

“Depends on what it’ll buy me.”

“You know,” Herzog said. “The figure in black, my first thought…”

“What?”

“The way it moved, the way it lifted the gun, well, its hand, I didn’t see no gun…”

“What?” Chopper repeated.

“It reminded me of a skirt.”

THREE

Nina, Shelby, and Bobby returned to the waiting area where they found the woman in the white linen coat standing there with a clipboard and several sheets of paper for Nina to fill out and sign. Nina took the clipboard and went to the chair where Shelby had been sitting and started writing.

“What was McKenzie working on?” Bobby asked her. “Was he working?”

“He was doing a favor for a friend but he was being vague about it.”

“Vague?”

“Usually he’s pretty forthcoming about this stuff. Usually he tells me everything.”

“Not this time? Why not this time?”

“He said it involved someone I knew personally. He said it was something embarrassing about someone I knew personally and he felt uncomfortable giving me details without permission from the someone.”

“What was he doing on Rice Street?” Bobby asked.

“He didn’t say.”

“What did he say?”

“Last we spoke was late this afternoon. I told him that Maud Hixson, Arne Fogel, and the Wolverines Quintet were in the big room tonight and he told me to save him a seat in the back where we could neck without being seen. I said I would.”

“The show started when?”

“Seven P.M.”

“He was