Bad Love

neck was stretched, exposed.

I gave an involuntary start, and the hand gripped my head harder.

Imprisoning it.

I knew where they'd learned that.

Bumping and scratching from the back of the house. The dog tied out there, behind drapes that had been drawn over the French doors.

Something else at Robin's head besides a hand. Automatic pistol, small, chrome plated.

Bump, scratch.

The voice behind me laughed.

'Great attack dog… some tight security you've got here. Alarm system with an obvious home run, one snip and bye-bye. Fancy electric gate a dwarf could climb over, and a cute little closed-circuit TV to announce your arrival.'

More laughter. The tall man with Robin didn't move or make a sound.

Two types of killing. Two killers…

My captor said, 'Okay, campers.'

The tall man shifted his free hand from Robin's face to the small of her back and began propelling her down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

Swinging his hips. Effeminate.

Walking the way Robin walked.

A woman? A tall woman with strong shoulders…

I'd talked to a tall, angry woman this afternoon.

A Corrective School alumna with plenty of reason to hate.

I really don't like you.

I'd called Meredith out of the blue, yet she'd been willing to talk to me- too eager.

And she had a special reason to feel rage over the Western Peds symposium.

Thanks, Dad.

I'd just stare at them, want to kill them, keep my feelings all inside.

Alone with Robin, now. Her appetites and anger…

'Forward march, fool.' The gun stayed in place as the hand moved from my face. No more pressure, but his touch lingered like phantom pain.

A sharp prod to my kidneys as he shoved me farther into the room. Onto a couch. As I bounced, my hands left my head.

His foot met my shin and pain burned through my leg.

'Back up- up, up, up!'

I complied, waiting to be tied or restrained.

But he let me stay there, hands on head, and sat down facing me, just out of reach.

I saw the gun first. Another automatic- bigger than Meredith's. Dull black, a dark wooden grip. Freshly oiled; I could smell it.

He looked tall too. Long waist, and long legs that he planted firmly on the marble. A little narrow in the shoulders. Arms a bit short. Navy blue sweatshirt with a designer logo. Black jeans, black leather, high-top athletic shoes that looked spanking new.

The chic thing to wear for homicide- the avenger reads GQ.

His mask had a mouth cutout. A sharklike smile filled the hole.

The dog scratched some more.

Under the mask, his forehead moved.

He crossed his legs, keeping the big black gun a couple of feet from the center of my chest. Breathing fast, but his arm was stable.

Using his free hand, he reached up and began rolling his mask up, doing it deftly, so that his eyes never moved from mine and his gun arm never faltered.

Doing it slowly.

The wool peeled away like a snake's molt, exposing a soft, unremarkable face with fine features.

Rosy cheeks. The hair brass colored, thinning, worn thicker at the sides, now matted by the mask.

Andrew Coburg.

The storefront lawyer's smile was wide, wet- impish.

A surprise-party smile.

He twirled the mask and tossed it over his shoulder. 'VoilA.'

I struggled to make sense of it- Coburg directing me to Gritz. Misdirecting me. Careful researcher… Mrs. Lyndon…

'I really like this place,' he said. 'Despite all the queer art. Nice, crisp, cruel, L.A. ambience. Much better than that little yuppie log cabin of yours. And cliffside- talk about perfect. Not to mention your little friend's truck-unbelievable. Couldn't have set it up better myself.'

He winked. 'Almost makes you believe in God, doesn't it? Fate, karma, predestination, collective unconscious- choose your dogma… do you have any idea what I'm talking about?'

'Delmar Parker,' I said.

The dead boy's name blotted out his smile.

'I'm talking about consonance,' he said. 'Making it right.'

'But Delmar has something to do with it, doesn't he? Something beyond bad love.'

He uncrossed his legs. The gun made a small arc. 'What do you know about bad love, you pretentious yuppie prick?'

The gun arm was board rigid. Then it began vibrating. He looked at it for just a second. Laughed, as if trying to erase his outburst.

Scratch, bump. The dog was throwing himself hard against the glass.

Coburg snickered. 'Little pit puppy. Maybe after it's over I'll take him home with me.'

Smiling but sweating. The rosy cheeks deep with color.

Trying to keep my face neutral, I strained to hear sounds from the bedrooms. Nothing.

'So you think you know about bad love,' said Coburg.

'Meredith told me about it,' I said.

His brow tightened and mottled.

The dog kept scraping. The old-man whining sound filtered through the glass. Coburg gave a disgusted look.

'You don't know anything,' he said.

'So tell me.'

'Shut your mouth.' The gun arm shot forward again.

I didn't move.

He said, 'You don't know a tenth of it. Don't flatter yourself with empathy, fuck your empathy.'

The dog bumped some more. Coburg's eyes flattened.

'Maybe I'll just shoot it… skin it and gut it… how good can a shrink's dog be, anyway? How many shrinks does it take to change a lightbulb? None. They're all dead.'

He laughed a bit more. Wiped sweat from his nose. I concentrated on the gun arm. It remained firmly in place, as if cut off from the rest of him.

'Do you know what my sin was?' he said. 'The great transgression that bought me a ticket to hell?'

Ticket to hell. Meredith had called the school the same thing.

I shook my head. My armpits were aching, my fingers turning numb.

He said, 'Enuresis. When I was a kid I used to piss my bed.' He laughed.

'They treated me as if I liked it,' he said. 'Mumsy and Evil Stepdaddy. As if I liked