An automobile drives past the bungalow and someone rises from the sofa. There is the soft rustle of the drapery at the window, the footsteps over the carpet to the countertop and the telephone at my left. It is Burdon, the grip of his weapon protruding from the front of his trousers. He regards us all as he presses the receiver’s buttons. He is perhaps twenty years my junior but my veins speed at the thought of grasping the gun from his pants. Have I grown too slow? If I must ask, it is already too late. I breathe quietly, turn away from Mr. Burdon, and look over Nadi at Esmail, who regards me, then Burdon’s weapon, then me once again, his face still, his eyes bright.
On the telephone Lester V. Burdon identifies himself as a deputy and requests information on any dispatch of a weapon being brandished in San Bruno yesterday, a self-service benzine station off the King’s Highway. He is silent for a long moment, and I do not know if he is watching us or his woman. He speaks again. “Was there a vehicle ID on that?”
Burdon thanks his colleague and hangs up the telephone. He does not move, and I regard him evenly. His eyes are small and moist with fatigue. It is clear he has not slept, but I do not know if this will be to my advantage or not.
“You and your son are coming with me. Get cleaned up. We have a lot to do.”
L ESTER ALLOWED THE COLONEL AND THE BOY TO GO INTO THEIRrooms one at a time for fresh clothes, then ordered them into the bathroom together to change. He stood in the dim hallway and waited, holding the pistol down at his leg, and even though it was on double safety he wished it wasn’t part of the equation at all. But what was the equation? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was they had a perp and vehicle description on Kathy but no plates, and his appointment with Alvarez had gone better than he had honestly expected. Lester had sat in a steel chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk and told him most of the truth of Monday night, that he’d gone to the Corona address on behalf of a friend and simply suggested to Mr. Behrani that he do the right thing and move. He had never made any threats of any kind, was just trying to act as an intermediary in a dispute. “Unfortunately,” he had told the lieutenant, “I made the mistake of leaving my uniform on. I know now that was highly inappropriate.”
“He says you threatened to have his family deported.”
Lester smiled and shook his head. “I’m not INS.”
Maybe Alvarez had had an especially good run this morning, or maybe the sight of Lester’s still-damp hair, nicked face, and wrinkled pants kept bringing the lieutenant back to Lester’s phone message about family troubles. Alvarez sat back in the upholstered chair behind his desk, his elbows on the arms, the tips of all ten fingers touching.
“Are you and your wife getting counseling?”
“Yes.” This was a lie Lester hadn’t planned on, but it came out so naturally he had to wonder if he wasgetting help. The lieutenant looked at him for a long five seconds. Then he sat forward and picked a pen up off his blotter. “You’re an FTO, Deputy. I shouldn’t have to tell you squat about departmental code.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant tapped his pen once in his open palm, then he stood, and so did Lester.
“Consider this an oral reprimand to get back in line. And next time I ask you to my office I don’t care if there’s a death in the family, I want you in that chair. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have a bright future here, Deputy. I highly recommend you don’t shit where you eat. Good day.”
On the other side of the bathroom door the colonel was speaking low in Farsi to his teenage son. But the son was quiet and Lester wondered if he was scared. The colonel certainly didn’t sound scared. Was he feeling resigned to this new situation? That he would just have to reverse the house sale and that was that? Lester didn’t think so; he remembered the colonel’s face after he’d pulled the gun barrel from under his chin, his narrowed eyes, his lips a straight line. Now Lester wiped sweat from his forehead, tried to breathe deeply through his nose, but the air wasn’t coming fast enough. This wascrazy; Behrani was too proud to take defeat so passively. Was he playing possum? Was he just biding his time until he and his family were free of Lester and his gun? And when would that be? After this little house was empty of their things and they got about four blocks down the road in their U-Haul to a pay phone to call Alvarez in Redwood City?
The colonel’s wife was washing dishes quietly in a sink full of water. Lester could smell Kathy’s cigarette smoke, and he thought he could get away with leaving Mrs. Behrani alone for a minute or two. He called Kathy’s name and heard her get off the couch immediately. He didn’t know how she would take what he was about to tell her, but he began by pulling the loaded magazine from the pistol and thumbing each 9mm round into the palm of his hand. She came up to his side, her hair a little wild, her face shadowed, and he kissed her quickly on the lips, tasting tea and nicotine, then took her hand and placed the bullets in it. One fell to the carpet and he stooped quickly and put it back in her palm. He whispered: “We have to bail out of this.”
Kathy looked at him and shook her head, her eyes dark and moist, her lips parted like there was something she’d been prepared to say but now forgot what it was.
“This prick’s not going to let this all slide, Kath. As soon as we send him packing he’ll make his move.”
“What do you mean? Let him keep the house?”
Lester could see her heart beating in her jugular vein. “No, you need to sellhim this house. Take the money he gave the county and let him do whatever he wants with this little place.”
“It was my father’s,Les.” A tear edged itself out her right eye, and Lester thumbed it away. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He was about to say he was sorry, he’d lost his temper and fucked up, but the bathroom door opened and the colonel and boy came out, the colonel in dress pants, white shirt, and silk tie, the boy in basketball shoes, bright green surfer shorts, and a tank top. Lester could smell the colonel’s cologne, something sweet and European. He stepped with Kathy into the doorway of the boy’s bedroom and waved his gun at them to move into the kitchen. He felt Kathy standing squarely behind him out of sight, sniffling and sticking the bullets into her shorts pockets. When the two Behranis reached the kitchen counter, their backs to the hallway, Lester told them to stay right there. The boy was taller than the father, and he was looking in the direction of his mother at the sink. Lester leaned back against the door casing so he could still see them, but Kathy too. She was looking at him, her eyes welling up. “This is my fault. I didn’t mean for you to get into this.”