Obsession

Lights went off serially in the mansion. Biro studied the Tudor facade. “Maybe it really is true, money doesn’t bring happiness.” Small smile. “Though I don’t imagine being poor would be much comfort if you’re crazy to begin with.”

The three of us returned to our cars. Biro’s civilian drive was an eighties Datsun ZX, chocolate brown, custom wheels, immaculately maintained.

“What next, Lieutenant?”

“I’d better find the kids, get ’em safe until De Paine’s in custody.”

“What about Mrs. Bedard? Once she sobers up, she’ll be out.”

“I don’t see her as any big criminal risk but if someone loses the paperwork for a day or so, no one’s crying.”

Biro smiled.

“That could happen. What else do you want me to do?”

“Go home and get some sleep.”

No reaction.

Milo said, “You don’t believe in sleep?”

“Spent some time in Afghanistan, my whole bio clock got disrupted. Since then I’m okay with three, four hours.”

“Listening for snipers.”

“Among other things,” said Biro. “You ex-military?”

“Way before your time,” said Milo.

“Asia?” said Biro. “My dad did that. He drives a catering truck now. Tacos and all that good stuff.”

CHAPTER 43

Biro drove off. As the sound of his souped-up engine died, silence returned to Hudson Avenue.

Milo said, “Maybe Iona’s ugly scene’s for the best. Romeo and Juliet get upset, hightail it for parts unknown.”

I said, “You see those two cruising to Vegas?”

“If I had a mama like that, I’d elope, change my area code, maybe my country code.”

“Nice fantasy, but way too adventurous.”

“Where do you see them heading?”

“Everything’s been taken from Tanya. Kyle was a bright spot but Iona just polluted that. Tanya’s a creature of habit. I can’t see her heading anywhere but the home Patty created for her.”

“Exactly what we told her to avoid?”

“She’s got a hypermature facade, Milo, but that’s just playing grown-up. Think ‘You’re not the boss over me.’”

“Yeah, she has been disregarding our wisdom, hooking up with Kyle in the first place…Okay, let’s check, maybe you’re wrong.”

“I hope I am.”

“Takes a big man to say that.”

“Not in this case.”

Half a block from the duplex on Canfield, Milo crushed his unlit panatela in the Seville’s ashtray and cursed. “Right there in the open, might as well hang up a sign.”

The white Mercedes ragtop blocked the mouth of the driveway. Tanya’s van sat in front of it.

Lights off in the building.

Milo said, “Stupid smart kids. I should wake ’em up right now, give ’ em Uncle Milo ’s scariest speech.” He squinted at his Timex. “Couple of hours until daybreak-let’s keep to the same schedule. Seven a.m., we’re back here, in their faces big-time. Meanwhile, I’ll check ’round back, make sure everything’s kosher. So I can sleep.”

He got out of the car. “If I don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah the pencil box.”

“Would my Flash Gordon lunch pail be more enticing?”

“You had one of those?”

“Nope. Everyone else lies, why not me?”

I cut the motor and sat at the wheel, watched him stride up the driveway and slip in front of the van. His right hand tickled the holster under his jacket. Probably a smart move, keeping the weapon under wraps. At his level of fatigue, blowing off a toe by accident was a serious risk.

Seconds after he’d rounded the building, the gunshot sounded.

Not the face-slap of a handgun.

Full-bodied roar; a shotgun.

I jumped out, began ru

With what?

I stopped, groped for my phone. Punched 911 so hard my fingertips burned.

Blast number two, then snap-crackle of a small-arms fusillade, at this distance no more ominous than a frog song.

Ring ring ring ring ring ring-“911 Emergency-”

I fought not to lose patience with the mechanical, just-be-calm-sir approach of the operator.

She said, “Sir, you need to answer my questions.”

I raised my voice. Maybe “Officer down!” broke through her training-manual straitjacket. Or she could hear the third shotgun blast answered by a full-on ballistic chorus. In what seemed like seconds, sirens bansheed from the south. Four sets of headlights.

When the quartet of Westside units roared up the duplex, I was out of the Seville, standing on the street side of the car, hands up, feeling cowardly, useless.

Listening to a new, sick silence.

Eight officers advanced, guns drawn. I spoke my piece and they left one officer behind to watch me.

I said, “My friend’s back there. Lieutenant Sturgis.”

She said, “We’ll just wait sir.”

It took way too long for a sergeant to return. “You can go back, Doctor.”

“Is he okay?”

Two more cops emerged, looking grave. I repeated the question.

The sergeant said, “He’s alive-Officer Bernelli, double-check what’s taking the EMTs so long. And ask for two ambulances.”

Milo sat on the bottom step of the rear landing, knees drawn almost to his chin, head down. Pressing something to his arm-his jacket, wadded up. His white sleeve had turned red and his color was bad.

He looked up. “Forget the lunch pail, this doesn’t count.”

“Are you-”

“Just a flesh wound, Kimo Sabe.” Big grin. “Always wanted to say that.”

“Let me do that.” I sat down next to him and pressed evenly on the jacket.

“We’ll do it together.” Another grin. “Like that Sesame Street song-‘Co-Operation.’ Most of those rag dolls are simps, but Oscar’s got it going on.”

“He does have his moments.” The things you talk about when your friend’s breathing turns raspy and his blood keeps seeping.

I pushed harder. He winced.

“Sorry.”

“Hey,” he said. “Nothing that can’t be replaced.” His eyes fluttered. I felt him shiver through his sleeve.

I put my arm around his shoulder, pressed tighter.

He said, “How cozy.”

We sat there. All the cops were out front except for one officer standing near the top of Tanya’s back steps.

Milo shivered again. What the hell was taking the ambulances so long?

The rear door to Tanya’s unit was shredded but the window remained in place.

Milo said, “How it happened was the bastard was crouched up there, I walked into it like a total rookie jackass, my goddamn gun’s still in the holster. Why the hell do I bother looking for trouble if I’m not ready for trouble? He opened up but I was out of range so I just caught a sprinkle. I jumped back in time to avoid the second blast and the third. Finally got hold of my trusty peashooter.”

“A sprinkle,” I said.

“It’s no big deal, pal. When I was a kid I caught some quail-shot in the butt when my brother Patrick got stupid. This feels a little heavier-duty but nothing humongous-maybe deer.”

“Okay, quiet-”

“Only a few pellets made their way to my manly biceps-”

“Great. No more talking.”

The patrolman at the top of the landing said, “Deershot? Gotta hurt like a bitch.”

Milo said, “No worse than root canal.”

The cop said, “I had that last year. Hurt like a bitch.”

“Thanks for the empathy.” To me: “Press as hard as you want. And don’t worry, okay? Everything’s copacetic. Not for him.” Laughter.

“He’s-”

“Go take a look. Do some advanced psycho-therapy.”

“I’ll stay here.”

“No, no, check it out, Alex. Maybe you can get one of those deathbed confessions.” Cracking up and leaking blood. “Tomorrow we get drunk and laugh about it.”

I sat there.

He said, “Go. Could be our last chance.”

Making sure his hand was secure on the jacket, I stood and approached the stairs.