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

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 winner. Gorgeous and huge, like something out of House & Garden. Shiny white Lexus in front.

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.