She grabbed the little bottle of her mother's Valium from the top shelf, stuffed it into her pocket.

When Phoebe came out, Reuben shoved her mother so that Essie went sprawling toward the sofa. "You there, Dave? I'm going to have me a little bite to eat. If the electric isn't on by the time I finish, I'm going to play eenie meenie miny mo and kill one of these kids. You go make that sandwich, Phoebe. And don't be stingy with the potato salad."

It was a shotgun house, and small with it. Phoebe made sure she stayed in his line of sight as she took the ham and the salad out of the refrigerator.

She could hear him talking to Dave, and struggled to keep her hands steady while she got out a plate and a saucer. A million dollars? Now he wanted a million dollars and a Cadillac, along with a free pass over the state line. Stupid as he was mean, Phoebe decided. Using the big blue bowl of potato salad as cover, she dumped pills on the saucer. Using her mother's pestle, she crushed them as best she could. She dumped a generous scoop of potato salad on the pills, mixed them together.

She slathered mustard on two pieces of bread, slapped some ham and slices of American cheese between them. Maybe if she could get a knife out of the drawer, maybe

"What's taking so fucking long?"

Phoebe's head jerked up. He'd put down the phone-she hadn't been paying close enough attention-and with the gun jammed under Carter's chin, was halfway to the kitchen doorway.

"I'm sorry. I just have to get you a fork for the potato salad." Palming the pill bottle, she turned, yanked open the flatware drawer. She let the bottle drop in as she reached down for a fork. "You want some lemonade, Mr. Reuben? Mama made it fresh just-"

"Get that food out here, girl, and quick."

She snatched up the plate. It was easy to let the fear show, to let it mask everything else. Seeing the gun under Carter's jaw overwhelmed even her rage. Her hands shook so the plate bobbed up and down. When he smiled, she understood their fear was part of what he wanted. Giving it to him cost her nothing.

"Put that plate by the phone there, and go sit your skinny ass down on the sofa."

She did exactly as she was told, but before Phoebe could sit, Reuben lifted his leg to give Carter a solid boot on the ass that sent the boy pitching forward. Essie leaped up, stopping only when Phoebe blocked her way, shot her a fierce look.

Phoebe walked over to pull Carter up herself. "Hush, Carter! Mr. Reuben doesn't want to hear all that crying while he's trying to eat."

"Got some sense." With a nod, Reuben sat, laid the gun across his lap. He picked up the fork with one hand, the phone with the other. "Don't know where you came by it with that worthless whore who raised you. Where's that electric, Dave?" he said into the phone, and took a forkful of potato salad.

While Carter sniffled in their mother's arms, Phoebe watched Reuben eat. Had she put enough pills in? Enough to make him pass out? The liquor he washed down the food with would help, wouldn't it? Maybe it would kill him. She'd read about things like that, pills and liquor. Maybe the son of a bitch would just die.

She leaned down, whispered into Carter's ear. Her brother shook his head, so she pinched him, hard. "You do just what I say, or I'll slap you stupid."

"Shut the hell up over there! Did I tell you to talk?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reuben. I was just telling him not to cry. He's gotta pee, too. Can he just go use the bathroom, Mr. Reuben? I'm sorry, Mr. Reuben, but it'll be an awful mess if he wets his pants. It'll only take him a minute."

"Christ's sake! G'wan, then."

Phoebe closed her hand over Carter's, squeezed viciously. "Go on, Carter. Do what you're told."

Knuckling his eyes, Carter pushed off the sofa and dragged his heels into the bathroom.

"Mr. Reuben?"

Mama hissed at her to stay quiet, but Phoebe ignored her. Carter could get out. If Reuben didn't think about him for a few minutes, Carter could get out.

"Do you think if I asked that man to turn on the electric, he would?

It's so hot. Maybe if I asked him, if I told him we're all so hot, he'd turn it on?"

"Hear that, Dave?" Reuben kicked back in his chair and grinned.

His glassy eyes drooped. "Got a kid wants to negotiate with you. Sure, what the fuck. Come on over here."

When Phoebe stood in front of him, Reuben passed her the phone. And pressed the gun to her belly. "Tell him what I'm doing first." Sweat snaked a slow, fat line down her back. Why didn't the pills work? Had Carter wriggled out the window?

"Mister? He's got the gun at my stomach, and I'm awful scared.

We're so hot. No, we're not hurt, but we're so hot it's going to make us sick. If we could just have the air-conditioning back on, maybe we could sleep, 'cept we're so scared I guess we'd need a bunch of sleeping pills or something. Please, mister, would you please turn on the electricity? "And, sir?" She gripped the phone tighter when Reuben reached for it. When he shrugged, leaned back, the wave of relief was like giddiness. "Could you please give him the money and the car he wants? He's been real nice to us since I gave him the potato salad I made myself. He even let me go to the bathroom first. We're all just so tired we might just pass out any minute, you know?"

Reuben held out a hand for the phone, then gave her a nasty little poke with the gun to move her back. "Hear that, Dave? This girl here, she wants the electric back on. Wants me to have the money and that Caddy. Hell no, I didn't let them get anything to eat, and I won't till that electric's back on. Fact, I'm gonna go eenie meenie right now and… Where's that boy? Where is that little shit?"

"Mr. Reuben, he's right… " Phoebe shot out her arm as if to point and knocked over the bottle of Wild Turkey. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I'll clean it right up. I'll-"

She went down, pain searing over her face as the back of his hand slammed against her cheek. "Stupid bitch!" He lurched up, staggered. Phoebe looked straight into the barrel of the gun.

Like the wrath of God, Essie leaped off the couch and onto his back. He bucked; she bit. Her nails scraped like razors down his face as they both screamed, both cursed. Phoebe scrambled back in a crab walk, barely avoiding a bullet as Reuben went down to his knees under Essie's assault.

"Help us! Help us now!" Phoebe shouted until her lungs burned.

She grabbed the bottle, prepared to whale in, but Reuben went down, flat on his face. Weeping, screaming, Essie continued to pound him with her fists, even when the door burst open. Even when men rushed in with guns.

"Don't shoot us. Don't shoot us." Weeping, Phoebe crawled to her mother.

Things slowed down to a dream, it seemed like. And in the dream people walked her through water where voices echoed and the lights hurt her eyes. Once, she fell asleep, and did dream. But the dream was so scary she pushed herself awake again.

Mama had to have X-rays of her face to make sure her cheekbone wasn't broken, and stitches to close the gash. Phoebe sat in the little room in the hospital. She didn't want to lie down, didn't want to sleep again and fall back into the dream where the gun exploded, and the bullet-like a live thing-hunted her down and killed her.

Carter slept curled up in a ball on the narrow bed. His fists were clenched, and off and on his body twitched like a horse's did when flies landed on it.

Doctors and nurses and police came in and out, and asked questions. When they did, she wanted them to go away. When they went away, she wished they'd come back so she wasn't alone.

But there'd been water to drink, to wash the grit that had coated her throat. And then icy Coca-Cola, straight from the bottle.

She wanted her mother. She wanted Mama so bad it hurt worse than Reuben's hand across her face.