Lester thought how it was true they wouldn’t be here now if she had only met him last night at the fish camp, if she had gone there—drunk or sober—instead of here with hisgun, but he could feel the Behranis waiting and this wasn’t the time; they would have to talk later. He whispered: “I know you didn’t. Listen, take his money and he’ll still have his real estate and then maybe I can convince him to keep things between us.” Kathy wiped her nose and shook her head. “It won’t work. You haven’t seen his temper.”
Lester looked at the father and son. The boy had crossed his arms across his chest, and the colonel was resting one hand on the countertop as if he were close to losing hispatience. A warm flash passed through Lester’s face and neck, and his mouth went dry. She was right; even if Behrani agreed to this sudden change in plan, they couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t turn on them anywhere along the line out of vengeance, the house in his hands or not. He felt Kathy’s fingers on his arm.
“We have to get away, don’t we?”
Lester nodded. But what were they going to do? Just drive away from here and keep driving? And in what? His Toyota and Kathy’s wanted car? Or would they have to leave Kathy’s car behind? Airports would be put under surveillance. So would all the bus and train stations. They would have to disguise themselves, rent a car under false names, and make their way north or south to the border. Lester’s mouth tasted like metal, his legs seemed to have disappeared, and he was adrift in cold black space. How and when would he be able to see Bethany and Nate again? To hold them? Kiss them? But what was the alternative? Criminal charges? Prison?
“We’re going to need that money, Kathy.”
She looked down the hallway, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t want you to fall into my shit, Les. I really didn’t.”
“Hey,” he said, kissing her quickly on the cheeks and lips. “Your shit’s my shit. Think of someplace sunny we can go.”
THE KEYS WERE still in Kathy’s Bonneville, and Lester had the colonel and boy sit in the front while he sat in back. The upholstery was already warm from the sun, and the inside of the car smelled faintly of gasoline and Kathy’s cigarette smoke. At Lester’s feet was an empty Bacardi rum nip. He told the colonel to start the car and drive it over the lawn and around to the rear of the house. Behrani paused before putting the car in gear. The son glanced at his father, then looked away, and Lester leaned forward and pressed the gun barrel to the back of the colonel’s neck. The boy seemed to stiffen in the passenger’s seat, and Lester felt bad about that, but not enough to pull the gun away. The colonel drove slowly around to the back of the house. There were beads of sweat on his bald head. One dripped into another and caused a rivulet to run into the old officer’s thinning black-and-gray hair.
“Pull right up to the hedge and give me the keys.” Lester turned to the son, who was looking straight ahead through the windshield as if they were on the open road. The boy’s sideburns were soft, downy hairs. “Esmail—am I pronouncing your name correctly?”
The boy nodded once.
“Good. Now I want you to listen to me, Esmail. Last night you did something that got your family locked into the bathroom, and right now we’re going for a ride to Redwood City and I want you along for company. Look at me, please.” The boy did, and Lester pressed the barrel a bit deeper into the colonel’s neck. “Men learn from their mistakes, Esmail. And you don’t want consequences to get any worse, do you?”
Esmail shook his head, his eyes on the trigger finger of Lester’s hand.
“Good boy.” Lester got out of the car and stuck his weapon into the waistband of his pants, covering it with his shirt. The sky was a bright gray haze that made him squint, and he had the colonel walk first, then the boy. The inside of the colonel’s Buick was as clean as a model right off the lot, and Lester sat in the back directly behind Esmail in the passenger seat and stretched his leg out on the gray fabric. When the colonel started the engine, Lester pressed the window button for some air, held his pistol in his lap, and told the colonel to drive down the hill and take Hillside Boulevard for El Camino Real south.
Lester’s mouth was dry from the black Persian tea and no sleep, and he wanted a cold Coke, though he knew he didn’t need the sugar or caffeine; it was as if he was in a downward rush off a mountain, a fine electric current running from his feet to his brain, and the feeling wouldn’t stop until he landed on solid ground. But where would that be? Mexico? Driving south through Chula Vista and the neighborhoods of his youth to the same border post his father had worked? No, they would drive north to Vancouver or British Columbia, where he’d heard there were mountains along the coast. He and Kathy could get lost in them, find a cabin where they’d spend the morning and early afternoons in bed, getting up to shower together, then dress and go into one of those seaside towns in search of a long hot meal. Lester felt Bethany and Nate standing outside this picture, and he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. And would it be that easy anyway? Did the United States have an extradition treaty with Canada? Would they have to lie low there too? Lester didn’t know. He would have to find out.
At the bottom of the hill the colonel stopped at the intersection before the main drag through downtown Corona. Across the street was a black-and-white from the city parked against the curb, and Lester recognized the young cop behind the wheel. His name was Cutler. One night last spring Lester had given him cross-jurisdictional backup for a jeep full of drunk fraternity boys from San Francisco State. Now he glanced over at the colonel’s Buick just as it took the left for Hillside, and Lester slowly turned his face away, kept his eyes on the colonel’s profile as he drove them up into the hills past pure stands of ponderosa pine broken up by the trimmed lawns of homes with seaside views from their second-story decks. The sky was still gray and it made the grass appear a heightened green, not quite natural. The colonel was driving with both hands on the wheel, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. Lester turned and saw three or four cars on the incline behind them and he leaned back and told the colonel in a calm and relaxed voice to speed up a bit. The colonel obeyed instantly. Was he still playing possum? Or was he truly deep under Lester’s thumb? Deep enough he wouldstay quiet after this was all through? Lester felt a rise of hope in him. Maybe there was still a way to work this out. He took his service pistol and slid it beneath his leg.
“We need to talk, Colonel.”
Behrani’s eyes darted to the rearview, and Lester saw new fear in them, that and a hardness, one he would have to start softening right now.
“How much did you pay for the house?”
“Forty-five thousand dollars.”
Lester looked down at his hands, his long thin fingers, the fingers of a woman; he knew an auction price would be low, but he hadn’t expected it to be a thirdof what the house was worth. He took a half breath and let it out. Why give this dictatorial son of a bitch the best deal? What had he done to deserve it? Why not take his money andthe house? But it wasn’t what the colonel had done last night, Lester knew; it was what hehad done. And Kathy. There was still time to plea-bargain; they weren’t completely on the run yet.
“Ms. Nicolo’s not a well woman.”
The colonel’s eyes moved to the rearview mirror again, and this time they looked softer, curious, not about Kathy probably, but the direction of the conversation, the shift in tone. This was good, Lester thought, two men talking.