Compulsion

“Will can get like that.”

“Like what?”

“Depressed, goes to bed for days, doesn’t want to talk or see anyone. Last few years, he’s been better, taking meds. Likes his job, doesn’t want to rock any boats. But before – when we were in college – he’d miss a lot of classes, borrow my notes.”

“You went to college together.”

“Cal State Long Beach,” said Maisonette. “One year, I studied electrical engineering. Will did a Mickey Mouse major.” Flexing his hands. “P.E.”

I said, “Will has a long history of depression.”

“Ancient history.”

“Did it start before Antoine’s death, or after?”

Maisonette’s eyes rose to the ceiling.

Milo said, “Is that a tough question, Bradley?”

Maisonette slid around in his chair. “I’ll take some food now. And a Coke, real sugar, no Diet.”

“Answer the question first.”

Maisonette rubbed his palms together. Jammed his hands into his hair and yanked hard enough to shimmy his eyebrows.

I said, “Before or after?”

“After.”

“Antoine stayed on Will’s mind. Made dealing with life tough.”

“You sound like a shrink.”

“Happens sometimes. How did Antoine affect you?”

“Me? I’m cool.”

“Not Will.”

Maisonette hugged himself. “Cold in here, would you please turn down the A.C.?”

Milo said, “What preyed on Will? He did something to Twan? You and he did something together?”

Maisonette’s head turned slowly. His eyes filled with tears. “You think that?”

“Mr. Maisonette, I’ve got a sixteen-year-old homicide all stirred up, like you said, and two supposed friends of the victim rabbiting.”

“Supposed? Here are the facts: We were best friends. Best. I didn’t do anything to Antoine, Will didn’t do anything to Antoine.”

“Antoine disappeared into thin air?”

“We didn’t do it. Not Will or me.”

“Who did?”

Maisonette worked his hands through his hair. Dandruff snowed on the table.

Milo slammed the table hard enough to twang the metal. “Enough of this bullshit! What’d happened to Antoine?”

Real rage. Maisonette parried it with long, cool stare. “Nothing.”

Milo shot up to his feet. Leaned on the table, nearly upended it with his weight. “Sixteen years, Bradley. Antoine’s parents living with the pain of not knowing. You and your so- called friend were at that funeral, pretending to be all torn up. Sixteen fucking years.”

Maisonette’s skinny frame began to shake.

“Say it!”

Maisonette’s head dropped. “Damn Will.”

“Will did something.”

“He swore me.”

“To what?”

“Silence. Not ’cause we did something. Something got done to him.”

A beat.

“And to me.”

CHAPTER 38

The man’s name was Howard Ingles Zint.

Aka Floyd Cooper Zindt. Aka Zane Lee Cooper. Aka Howard Cooper Sayder.

Sixteen years ago, he’d been the “West Coast sales professional” for Youth In Action. The company, defunct for over a decade, had turned out to be a scam, taking cash for magazine subscriptions rarely delivered.

Zint arrived in L.A. in May, after a stint in Tucson, set about recruiting students from local schools. Concentrating on minority kids, using the racist logic that dark skin equaled poverty and poverty was a great motivator. When Antoine, Will, and Bradley met Zint, he was a smooth-talking thirty-five-year-old self-described “former college jock” able to sell anything.

Now he was a middle-aged inmate at the Supermax prison in Florence, Colorado.

The mug shot revealed a gaunt, white-bearded apparition with dead eyes.

Twenty-three hours a day in your cell could do that to you. Especially with ninety-two years left on a hundred- year sentence for abducting, beating, cutting, and molesting scores of boys.

Sixteen years ago, Zint hadn’t yet progressed to violence, was content to seduce his prey with cash and promises of video games, running shoes, cool athletic gear. For the older boys, hookups with “hot babes.”

It started off simply in L.A.: Zint picked the three laughing black boys up on a street corner, outlined their routes, collected them at the end of their shifts. Advanced them money, even though it was against the rules.

After trust was built up, he began pulling them off early, one at a time, where icy cans of beer, freshly rolled joints, and pills Zint assured them were just “for relaxation” awaited.

More cash was disbursed, then Zint played music from a boom box and watched, smiling, as the boys got all “hazy.”

“What I mean by that,” said Bradley Maisonette, “is even now I can’t be sure it actually happened. Even though yes, I know it did. Maybe on my own I never would’ve come to that conclusion, I don’t know, I really don’t know.”

I said, “But when Will told you…”

“After he tried to jump off the Long Beach pier, is when he told me. Second semester at college. I held him back, had to fight with him, he was always big. I said what the fuck you want to go and do that for? That’s when he told me.”

Deep breath.

“I saved his life, what does he do when he’s finished talking? Hauls off and hits me.” Rubbing his jaw. “I said, ‘Man, what the hell is wrong with you?’ He said, ‘You messed me up, my life ain’t worth saving.’”

Bradley Maisonette swiped at his eyes. “Big man, crying like a baby.”

I said, “He told you what Zint did to him and you remembered.”

“I always knew, I just kept it behind… some kind of curtain. Listening to Will woke up something in my mind – pushed the curtain aside. Like, what the hell.”

I said, “Did you let Will know?”

“Not then, no way, it was too… overwhelming. This was finals week. Will was depressed the whole time we were there, borrowing my notes, cheating off my tests in English. Really looking bad. And yeah, the depression started after Twan, right after, I should’ve figured it out, but…”

“Eventually you did tell Will what happened to you.”

“Yeah.” Shaking his head. “We were both blasted on rock. Will didn’t take to it. I did. He’s cheating off my tests and he ends up getting all respectable.” Throwing up his hands. “Here’s me.”