Compulsion

Milo got on the phone again, whispered orders.

The van sat there for several minutes before the woman got out and unlatched the rear doors.

Shaking her head; as if responding to an unseen questioner.

A second figure emerged from the bus. Taller, short hair, shirt and pants.

Male.

He pointed at the woman and the two of them pulled something out of the van.

Rectangular; a carton, maybe four feet long.

The man straight-armed the woman away, completed the extrication, lowered the box to the ground.

The bump was audible.

The woman let out a high-pitched noise. The man’s hand on her shoulder silenced her.

She reached for the box.

He slapped her hand away. Pointed again. She moved several feet away. Stood there. Hand to mouth.

The man began rocking the carton.

Let go of it.

The woman lunged forward, broke the fall, straightened the box.

The man placed his hands on his hips.

The sound of laughter filtered down Altair.

The woman tried to lift the carton, failed.

The man grasped one end and the two of them carried it toward the pale house.

Milo said, “Here goes aerobics,” and took off on big, rubber-soled feet.

CHAPTER 34

I heard the scuffle before I saw it.

Tasha shivered, grabbed a branch for support. Leaves rattled.

I said, “Don’t budge an inch.”

“You don’t have to convince me, sir.”

I followed Milo ’s pathway up the street.

Twenty feet from the house, the details kicked in.

Milo ’s feet planted. Two-handing his 9mm. The weapon aimed at the smiling face of the man who called himself Nicholas Heubel.

Fast, uphill run, but not a trace of raspy breath.

Heubel wore a scooped-neck peasant blouse, white culottes that exposed hairy ankles, red Bakelite earrings, red lipstick. A two-day beard stubble and gra

Bad joke, if not for the arm around the short-haired woman’s neck, forcing her backward, so that her spine arched and her eyes watched the sky.

In Heubel’s other hand, a little black pistol pressed against the top of the carton.

Seemed to be piercing the carton – embedded in a hole at the top.

The woman said, “Please let him go. He doesn’t have much air.”

Milo said, “Good idea, Dale.”

Heubel didn’t respond.

The woman said, “My baby,” and Heubel put weight on the gun, drove it deeper into the box.

He said, “Maybe the merciful thing would be to blow his little tot brains out.”

“Please!” howled the woman.

Lights went on in a house midway down Altair.

Heubel said, “Now look what you’ve done,” and pushed the gun so deep the barrel disappeared into the box. Cardboard flexed. He kicked the carton. Noise leaked from within.

Muffled cries.

“Oh God, please, please, I beg you,” said the woman.

Heubel choked off her voice with an arm twist.

Milo said, “Bad idea, Dale.”

Heubel said, “I’m the idea guy,” in a strange, vacant voice.

“I called for backup, Dale. The smart thing is defuse this now.”

“Dale,” said Heubel. “Who in the world is that?”

The cries from the box got louder.

Then: coughing.

The woman said, “He can’t breathe!”

Heubel said, “Life is transitory. Makes us appreciate what we have.”

“Please! He’s only two!”

Milo took a step closer.

Heubel kicked the box again.

Milo edged nearer.

Heubel said, “Sneak up like that again and I’ll bam-bam Bam Bam.”

“Emilio,” said the woman. “He’s got a name.”

“Let’s just take it easy,” said Milo.

“Good idea,” said Heubel. “I’m as mellow as layer cake. Anyone for… anagrams?”

The woman whimpered.

Milo said, “They’ll be here any moment, Dale.”

Heubel said, “Don’t insult my intelligence, I know it’s only you and you don’t have a radio.”

“I called, Dale.”

Quick arm twist. The woman gasped.

“Shush, now,” said Heubel. “I believe in happy endings, don’t you, chiquita?”

“Yes, yes, please let him go-”

“I guess my definition differs from yours.”

Milo said, “The last thing I want to do is insult your intelligence, but-”

“Your presence insults my intelligence.” Grinding the gun into the box.

Milo said, “Nice outfit. Who’s your tailor?”

Heubel gave a start. The gun hand loosened for a second.

I jumped out, shouting.

“Freeze drop the gun drop it!” Or something like it, who remembers.

Heubel’s head swiveled hard toward the intrusion, relaxing his choke hold long enough for the woman to twist her head lower.

She bit down on his arm.

He shook her off, said, “Bye-bye, Emilio.”

Milo emptied his weapon.

Heubel stood there for an instant. Threw up his hands, as if surrendering. Fell.

One of his earrings flew off like a speck of hail.

The woman dove at the box, managed to keep it upright. Ripped the lid off, screaming.

Pulled out a sobbing flailing toddler and held him to her breast.

Heubel made an odd little squeaky noise.

When the child calmed down, the woman carried him over to Heubel’s body. Kicked viciously.

CHAPTER 35

The woman’s named was Felicia Torres and she was twenty-eight. Her husband, a landscaper studying biology at night, had been sent by the National Guard to Iraq three months ago. Without Stuart’s income, the young family’s savings depleted quickly and Felicia began looking for temp jobs. No computer skills limited her options for office work. She lowered her sights.

A couple of office-cleaning jobs downtown hadn’t worked out because the babysitting money just about wiped out her salary.

The Craigslist ad for a “two-day house-straightening position” in Brentwood had seemed promising. Great neighborhood, “generous pay,” and the man who answered at the number sounded friendly.

Generous pay translated to twenty dollars an hour, way more than Felicia had hoped for. When “Nick” readily agreed to let her bring Emilio along, that clinched it.

With her Hyundai in the shop, she’d needed to take the bus from her one-bedroom in Venice and walk a ways on Sunset, pushing Emilio in his stroller. The street was hard to find and there were no sidewalks, so the stroller bumped a lot but that helped put Emilio to sleep.

When she finally found the house, she knew she had a wi

She knocked on the door and that same friendly voice said, “It’s open, c’mon in.”

Nick was just as nice in person, kind of lanky, real well built. Good-looking in that older-rich-guy way.

He handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “This is your advance, keep track of your hours and let me know when you’re due for more.”

The house was even huger than it looked from the outside, with cathedral ceilings and white walls. Real bright, even with the lights off. Probably cheery when furnished.

Now, to Felicia’s surprise, it was totally empty. And really pretty clean-looking. But it was Nick’s money and she liked the feel of that hundred in the pocket of her jeans.

Emilio was still snoozing away. Felicia looked for a place to park the stroller.

Nick smiled, whispered, “Cute,” led her to a room at the back, where he’d set up a toddler gate and some toys. Unbelievable.

When she tried to thank him, he shrugged, took the stroller and wheeled it into a corner.

Sunlight glowing through a big, spotless window turned patches of oak floor gold. No glare on Emilio; Nick had put the stroller in a cool, shady corner – such a considerate man. Through the glass, Felicia saw a really lush tropical-type garden and a blue lap pool. She wondered what Stuart would think of the plantings. They looked okay to her but she wasn’t picky.