elderly man dumping a lemonade, no one had gone near the garbage can, despite the fact that I'd paged Kim Kendall's employer to the drop two hours ago.
My excitement was palpable as I hid there in the pseudobrush, waiting to see who would stroll up and check behind that trash-can lid. Sever? The agent I'd met at Caruthers's? Charlie, back from the dead again? Or, more likely, a perfect stranger, like Slim, who was no more to me than a windshield was to a bug.
I thought about how Kim Kendall's employer had kept her waiting twenty minutes in her car on Runyon Canyon while he got the lay of the surrounding darkness, and my mind flipped to Liffman's shaggy beard and eye patch and another of his countless rules: Even when you're spying on them, they could be spying on you.
I widened my search to see if I could spot another watcher. The park, rendered video-game green through my binocs, seemed to flicker with hidden life. Druggies. Stray cats. I traced the rim of the lake, rechecking the nighttime loungers, then explored the tree trunks and the shadows around the stairs. When I swung the lenses south up the concrete embankment, at first I was unsure what I was seeing by the bushes at the base of the fence. The image resolved swiftly, causing me to tighten my hands around the binoculars.
A sniper sitting, partially obscured by branches, peering through a scope directly at me. He tensed, surprised to find me looking back, and pulled his head away from the eye guard. I stared with panicked horror at the face of my mother's latest husband.
Chapter 25
I drew my hand across the nape of my neck, and it came away with blood. Branches had whipped my skin as I'd flung myself back into the bushes at Echo Park. I'd sprinted away in a stooped combat run, doing my best to get tree trunks and outcroppings between me and the sniper rifle. Now, crouched in the darkness along Callie's big white house, I waited and watched for headlights. They came, boring into the night, and then an Explorer turned in to the driveway.
I'd raced to Pasadena, figuring that Steve would spend at least a little time trying to track me down at the park. He wouldn't expect me to hurry back to the snake's nest. Through my jittery drive, the ramifications had begun to settle in. A conspiracy so serious they'd had someone marry Callie just to keep an eye on her.
Steve parked the big SUV in the driveway and hopped out, brazenly carrying his rifle case with him. He had his handgun in a hip holster, as I hoped he would. As he headed for the door, I sneaked up behind and, unsnapping the thumb break, tugged the Glock from his holster. I pressed the barrel to the back of his head. Satisfying.
He dropped the rifle and raised his hands.
I could barely hear my voice over the blood rushing my ears. 'Not an inch.'
'Nick? You gonna shoot me?' 'Should I?'
'What are you into?'
'You tell me. Is Emily home?'
'She's at her mother's. Why the hell do you-' He jerked around, so I hit him on the side of the head with a stock-enforced fist. He reeled but didn't go down, and then he put his hands on his knees and coughed. A spot of drool hit the pavement.
'Because she doesn't deserve to see you like this,' I said.
I marched him up the walk and rang the doorbell. He was as wiry as I remembered, but more dense. A powerful little guy. After a time I heard footsteps, and then the porch light went on. I hid the gun in the small of Steve's back in case Callie looked through the peephole, but instead she called out in a worried voice, 'Who's there?'
'It's Nick,' I said. 'And Steve.'
She opened the door, and I shoved Steve in past her and followed. 'Nick. Are you okay? What are you doing?'
Steve staggered a bit and leaned against the wall. Then he bent over and dry-heaved. He wiped his mouth. 'I need to sit down.'
Callie swooped to his side, glaring at me. 'What did you do to him?'
We moved into the family room, a bizarre little procession, and Steve slumped on the couch and held his head. I felt a stab of concern, so I aimed the gun at him to shore up my ill will. 'Your husband was pointing a rifle at my face a half hour ago.'
Callie held up her hand, firmly, as if stopping traffic. 'Wait. What?'
'Jesus,' Steve said, 'I'm dizzy.'
I was breathing hard, revving up instead of calming down. 'He hired a girl to spy on me. I tricked him into coming to a drop site. I got there early, with night-vision binoculars, and caught him set up with a sniper rifle, about to shoot me.'
Callie said, 'No he wasn't.'
I moved the gun away from Steve, aiming at the carpet between him and Callie. 'Are you in on this, too?' It felt awful giving in to myself that way, but there was also an odd feeling of release, of yielding to something sweet and tempting.
Callie looked at me, stunned. 'You're losing touch, Nick. You're more paranoid than Frank ever was.' She started to say something else, but she stopped, her mouth slightly ajar. Then her whole body began to shake. She hugged herself around the stomach and bent over a bit and took a few deep breaths. Then she straightened up and said, 'Nick. Look at me. You have to choose. Sanity or paranoia. Life or death. Look at me. Think what you just asked me.'
'This is real, Callie.'
'What's real?'
I jabbed the gun at Steve, and he flinched away.
I was yelling through my teeth. 'He came after me tonight. He had a sniper rifle aimed at my head'
'I asked him to follow you, Nicky!'
'What? Why?'
'Em told us what happened. Your stopping by. It sounded like you got yourself into something awful. I asked Steve to keep tabs on you. I was worried. You're my son'
Steve was pressing both hands to his head.
'So he took that to mean he should come shoot me?' I said.
'I'm LAPD SWAT, Nick. How do you surveil someone at night if you're SWAT?' Steve raised his face. A blood vessel had burst in the corner of his eye. 'Through a night-vision scope.'
Doubt wormed its way in. 'You just happened upon me? In the bushes at Echo Park?'
'No. I tailed you from your apartment. I didn't really care to, but your mother and Emily talked me into it. I was watching from the moment you set up in the bushes. You took a leak on your way in. If I was gonna take you out, I could've shot you whenever.'
Was there anywhere I'd been in the past three days that I wasn't being watched by one party or another?
My conviction wavered. Could it be true? That Steve had followed me and we'd chased each other out of Echo Park before the puppet master showed himself? 'Okay,' I said, imploring Callie, 'he also cleared Frank's stuff out of the attic, a picture tying Frank to someone the government doesn't want to admit exists. It's all missing.'
'That's part of this… this fantasy you've concocted about Steve?' Callie said, '/moved Frank's boxes to the garage after you left. For the trash and Salvation Army. They'd been up there, untouched, for so many years. And then you came by, all the old ghosts
… I figured it was time.'
For a few crushing moments, I regarded the Glock in my hand. Then I walked over and set it on the couch cushion beside Steve.
He was still holding his face, and he didn't look up. 'Any other questions?' he asked.
'Yeah. How's your head?'
'Not fucking good.'
'I'll get you some ice, honey.' Callie glared at me as she swept past. 'I think you can leave now.'
