Hostage

After a while, Talley went out to sit on the porch. His head buzzed like he was drunk. Across the street, police officers milled by their cars. Talley lit a cigarette, then replayed the past eleven hours, looking for clues that should have told him what was real. He could not find them. Maybe there weren't any, but he didn't believe that. He had blown it. He had made mistakes. The boy had been here the entire time, curled at the feet of his murdered mother like a loyal and faithful dog.

Murray Leifitz put a hand on his shoulder and told him to go home.

Jeff Talley had been a Los Angeles SWAT officer for thirteen years, serving as a Crisis Response Team negotiator for six. Today was his third crisis call in five days.

He tried to recall the boy's eyes, but had already forgotten if they were brown or blue.

Talley crushed his cigarette, walked down the street to his car, and went home. He had an eleven-year-old daughter named Amanda. He wanted to check her eyes. He couldn't remember their color and was scared that he no longer cared.

PART ONE. THE AVOCADO ORCHARD

CHAPTER 1

Bristo Camino, California

Friday, 2:47 P.M.

It was one of those high-desert days in the suburban communities north of Los Angeles with the air so dry it was like breathing sand; the sun licked their skin with fire. They were eating hamburgers from the In-N-out, riding along in De

Later, in the coming hours when De

De

'Hey, I know. Let's rob that fuckin' minimart, the one on the other side of Bristo where the road goes up toward Santa Clarita.'

'I thought we were going to the movie.'

That being Kevin, wearing his chickenshit face: Eyebrows crawling over the top of his head, darting eyeballs, and quivering punkass lips. In the movie of De

'This is a better idea, chickenshit. We'll go to the movie after.'

'You just got back from the Farm, De

De

De

'What do you think, dude?'

Mars was a big guy, heavy across the shoulders and ass. He had a tattoo on the back of his shaved head that said BURN IT. De

'Dude? Whattaya think?'

'I think let's go see.'

That was all it took.

The minimart was on Flanders Road, a rural boulevard that linked several expensive housing tracts. Four pump islands framed a bunkerlike market that sold toiletries, soft drinks, booze, and convenience items. De

'Look at this, man. The fuckin' place is dead. It's perfect.'

'C'mon, De

'I'm just go

The parking lot was empty except for a black Beemer at the pumps and two bicycles by the front door. De

Cold air rolled over him as De

The minimart was two aisles and a cold case packed with beer, yogurt, and Cokes. De

'There's nothing but two kids and a Chinaman in there, the Chinaman behind the counter, a fat guy.'

Kevin said, 'They're Korean.'

'What?'

'The sign says "Kim." Kim is a Korean name.'

That was Kevin, always with something to say like that. De

'Who gives a shit, Kevin? That Chinaman is go

Kevin squirmed with a case of the chicken-shits, his nerves making his eyes dance around like beans in hot grease.

'De

De

Mars was watching. De