in the still morning air. Other than that, the world was quiet.
There were no dog barks or cat yowls. Barry was right about that--domestic animals were not allowed in Bonita Vista--and she thought of poor Barney, buried on the east side of the house. It had been nice to have a cat, even for a few weeks, and while she didn't believe that the homeowners' association had anything to do with the animal's death, she still resented the organization for disallowing pets.
The houses grew farther apart as the road rounded the back side of the hill and dipped into a narrow area between the hill and the plateau. Many of the lots here remained unsold, and rusted real estate signs were posted next to the white lot-number stakes. She passed a small empty A-frame with a chain blocking the driveway, and a rustic log cabin with a three-car garage. The road turned again, heading into a copse of tall ponderosas. There were no homes on this section of road, only the uncleared forest pressing in, and though it was midmorning, the positioning of the hill and trees kept most of the route in shadow.
Ahead, she thought she saw something, a still figure that was not a bush, not a tree, not a road sign.
A man.
He stood by the side of the road, unmoving, and Maureen was grateful that he was not close enough to hear her surprised intake of air.
She halted for a moment and bent down, hands on her knees, pretending she'd been running and was only taking a small break from regimented exercise. She counted to ten, then broke into a jog, keeping to the side of the road opposite the unmoving figure, ready to bolt should he make any movement toward her.
It was probably nothing, she told herself. Years of L.A. living had simply made her paranoid, fearful of strangers. He was probably just a fellow resident of Bonita Vista, one of her neighbors out for a stroll.
There was no reason for her to assume that he was in any way a threat.
But he was just standing there, not moving.
Better safe than sorry. Following through on her 'serious exercise'
ruse, ready to ignore him completely or smile in a friendly manner, depending on his reaction to her, she jogged by.
'Fuck you,' the man said.
His voice was deep and raspy, sickly sounding, and there was something menacing in not only the words but the tone in which they were spoken.
She was afraid to look at the man's face, afraid of what she might see there, and she sprinted faster, her heart pumping with fear as well as exertion.
There were houses ahead, and whether or not they were occupied, she was grateful to be once again in the vicinity of human habitation. The road headed up the side of the hill, and though her muscles were starting to ache, and her mouth was painfully dry from breathing so hard and heavily, she ratcheted up the intensity a few notches and managed to maintain her speed as she ran toward the crest of the incline.
She stopped at the top to catch her breath and casually turned around to look behind her.
The man was striding purposefully up the road toward the spot where she stood.
Panic flared within, and all Maureen could think was that she was being chased, that this man was after her. He seemed even more frightening in the full sunlight. She had not gotten a good look at him before, but she saw now that he was tall and hairy, with a wild mane and bushy beard. The weather was warm, but he wore a flannel overcoat, and even from this distance his heavy boots made a staccato slapping sound on the pavement, the noise absurdly loud in the stillness.
'Fuck you!' the man yelled, his voice echoing.
And he started to run.
Crying out, Maureen sped forward as fast as her feet would carry her, ignoring the protestations of her leg muscles and lungs, wanting only to get away from this psycho and his irrationally dogged pursuit.
She raced the rest of the way up the hill to Liz and Ray's house and fairly flew over the gravel of their driveway, pounding furiously on the door, praying to God that they were home. She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure the man was not coming onto their property after her, already planning how she would make her escape if he was.
Liz opened the door almost immediately, and Maureen pushed breathlessly past her into the house, shutting the door and fumbling frantically for the lock.
Some of her panic seemed to have transferred to Liz. 'What is it?
What's wrong?'
Maureen held a hand up, shaking her head, trying to catch her breath, then moved over to the window, looking out. The man was there, on the road, standing at the edge of the driveway, and she pointed. 'That guy,' she managed to get out. 'He's following me.'
'Who is her 'I don't know.'
Liz frowned, peeking out. 'Ray's at the store. Check that door and make sure it's locked. I'm calling the sheriff.'
'Wait!' Maureen said. 'Look!'
Outside, on the road, a car had pulled up next to the man, and two other men were getting out, one approaching her pursuer from the left side, the other from the right.
Liz moved away from the window. 'That's Chuck Shea and Terry Abbey.'
She quickly unlocked and opened the door. 'Chuck! Terry!'
They looked over, saw Liz, and waved. 'Hey there!' the taller man called out.
'That guy's been chasing my friend Maureen here! I was just about to call the sheriff.'
'Call!' the tall man said. 'We'll hold him!' He turned to his friend. 'Told you this joker was up to no good.'
Liz retreated to the kitchen, where Maureen heard her dialing the phone and giving the person on the opposite end of the line a quick rundown.
Outside, Chuck and Terry were making sure the bearded man wasn't going to go anywhere. Their car was behind him, and they stood on both sides, effectively blocking off all escape routes.
'Fuck you!' the man yelled. He looked toward the house, toward Maureen. 'Fuck you!'
'They're on their way,' Liz said, returning.
They didn't have long to wait. Five minutes later, they heard a siren in the distance, and two minutes after that, a sheriff's car was pulling to a stop in front of the Dysons’ driveway. She and Liz had remained inside, just in case, but with the arrival of the law, they walked out.
This time, the sheriff himself showed up. An older fellow with the hard, sinewy look of a reptile and the improbable name of Hitman , he brought with him another deputy, this one young but seriously overweight, and the two of them forced the bearded man into the back of the car. They didn't even try to talk to him, apparently intending to ask questions later.
Maureen was the one who had been chased, and she described her encounter, telling the sheriff how she'd run past the man, how he'd yelled out an obscenity, and how he'd followed her up the road.
'I don't know if he was chasing me. I mean, I don't know if that would technically be considered chasing, but I felt--'
'Don't worry about it,' the sheriff told her. He nodded to the deputy, who'd been writing everything down. 'Johnson. You get all that?'
'Yes, sir.' The deputy looked around at the gathered group. 'I just need your names, addresses, and daytime phone numbers.'
He took down the necessary information, and Terry, after giving his stats, took the sheriff off to the side for a moment and peeled off a business card, handing it to him. The two of them conferred quietly.
A few moments later, with the man in the back seat yelling 'Fuck you!
Fuck you!' the sheriff and his deputy got in the car and drove back down the road toward town.
Maureen watched the car head down the hill. She shook her head.
'Sheriff Hit man!' she said incredulously.
They all laughed.
Chuck moved next to her. 'Are you all right?' he asked. 'You want a ride home or something?'
