The car had been circling the neighborhood for hours, its front fender bent from having hit something.

I had a feeling that that something was me. Would Friday and Gannon have that kind of balls?

I was bored, looking out the window when I noticed this old car that kept driving around the neighborhood, slowing down as it passed in front of Ned's house. Coincidence? Not related? The bottom line was I was healing from wounds sustained in a hit and run accident-- not to mention chicken pox-- and I was certain it was Friday and Gannon parked at the corner.

It was nagging at me, like some kind of cancer waiting for fresh tissue.

Fear.

Fear of being killed, fear of being followed, fear of-

And then the phone rang.

"Get out of the house!" ordered Ned.

"Excuse me?" Silence on the other end of the phone, not the usual sweet nothings.

"Get dressed, and quietly get out of the house.
Just do it. Don't touch anything, don't take anything with you. Just leave. Immediately!"

"What's going on?" I asked, my heart starting to race.

"Just leave."

I could hear the sirens in the distance.

"Ned, just tell me."

Silence.

My heart sank. I could tell he was serious. I immediately hung up the phone, hearing him say something as it clicked off-- and then I realized he had said "I love you."

I wonder if other detectives were around to hear him plead into the phone like some panicked housewife-- warning her husband to get out of the house.

And as I threw on a pair of pants, I realized that if either one of us were a housewife, I would be it. Me, a housewife.

And then I saw it.

A small non-descript package sitting on a living room chair, wrapped in brown paper. Was that what the problem was? A pipe bomb, a stick of dynamite, gunpowder and fertilizer-- a package that Friday or Gannon had managed to get into the house?

Or some piece of mail that Ned had forgotten to tell me about. The sirens grew louder outside and I knew I had better move.

I grabbed my shoes and ran out the front door, not looking back, squinting from the bright daylight scorching the suburban street.

And as I stood on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, I realized no neighbors were joining me. Just empty homes with empty driveways-- and the two speeding police cars fast approaching from the other end of the street.

As the black and white cop cars screeched to a halt in front of me, I could see at the other corner the old Buick-- just sitting there with its bent fender-- staring me down. And then slowly it pulled from the curb, doing a quiet and deliberate U-turn-- disappearing around the corner.

A cop got on a bullhorn, ordering everyone to vacate their homes as another cop-- a lanky policewoman, went up and started pounding on doors.

And before I knew it, I was joined by several housewives and one househusband.

Other cop cars started arriving, including a large van and I realized that all of this was for real. This was the bomb squad.

And they were here.

This was for real.

Jesus, my life was for real.