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  'Your mother sounds like an interesting woman,' Clint said. 'Most people think she's a pain in the keister. I'd have to agree with them. Not that don't love her, and everything, do. But she's pretty hard to take most of the time.'

  'Nice way to talk about your mother,' Mary said.

  'I always try to be strictly honest about stuff. mean, if you're going to tell lies, why talk at all?'

  'Is your mother at home?' Clint asked.

  'I hope so.'

  'She doesn't work?'

  'No. But that doesn't mean we're poor or anything like that, 'cause we're not. Morn calls it her sabbatical. But what it is, she won this huge lawsuit over sexual harassment at her previous workplace. mean, it was a bundle. So she's staying at home and writing a book. Like a handbook for women who are getting pestered at work?'

  'Anyway, you're pretty sure she'll be at home?'

  'Oh, yeah. just hope the house hasn't fallen down or anything. Not that I'm terribly worried. It made it through the Sylmar quake okay. Not that we were living there at the time. Not that was living anywhere, if you know what mean. But bet the house made it through this one. Not all that many went down, have you noticed? Just a few here and there. They're saying the Valley got off pretty easy. The epicenter's supposed to be over near downtown.'

  'Did you hear the news?'

  'Oh, yeah. Mostly from this guy walked for a while with. He had a Walkman that was picking up the Emergency Broadcasting Network. Think that's what he called it. They're saying it was an eight point one, but it wasn't on the San Andreas.'

  Mary looked shocked. 'You mean this wasn't the Big One?’

  'Big enough to suit me,' Clint said. 'What else did radio say, Em?'

  'Well, only know what the guy told me. He said the power's out all over the place, and there're a lot of fires, a lot of buildings down, and whole bunches of people have gotten killed and hurt. They don't know how many yet. It's really supposed to be a mess. There're even some reports of riots and looting. The cops and firemen are having a real hard time getting anyplace because the streets are so bad. But it's not supposed to be nearly as serious over here on this side.'

  'My family's on the other side,' Clint said.

  'Yeah. Well, sure hope they're okay. It doesn't sound too good. I'm not even sure you can get there.'

  'I'll get there.'

  Em leaned forward. Her head appeared between the seatbacks. 'You ought to make a right when you get a chance. We'll need to go under the Ventura Freeway pretty soon. Maybe at Laurel Canyon would be the best place.'

  'How far are we from there?' Clint asked.

  'Just a few blocks. Once we get past the freeway, we're almost to my house.'

  'We're almost to the freeway and Laurel Canyon?'

  'Sure.'

  He grinned at Em. 'This is great. I've got to tell you, we've been kind of lost for a while.'

  'I can show you anyplace you want to go,' Em said. 'I do a lot of walking.'

  'By yourself?.'

  'Sure. We get along fine, me and I.'

  'It's awfully dangerous for a girl to be out on the streets alone.'

  'You're telling me? just got clipped by a brick. Not even during the quake, if you can believe that. just happened to be walking by when half a stupid wall decided to fall. If hadn't been so quick on my feet, it would've killed me. Only one brick got me, though. See?' She twisted her body to show Clint the back of her shoulder. Straining her head around in an attempt to see the damage for herself, she said, 'Is the cloth ripped? Can you tell?'

  'Maybe snagged a little. It's not really torn.’

  'I wonder if the blood'll come out.'

  'What about you?'

  'Oh, I'm okay.'

  'You can't be that okay if that's your blood on the T-shirt.'

  'It isn't bleeding now, is it?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'I just hope the shirt'll come clean. It's one of my favorites.'

  'Were you on your way home from school when you got hit?'

  'Yeah. We were supposed to stay and wait in the yard, but I'm not all that big on waiting around, so made myself scarce. '

  'You ditched?'

  'Well, it's not like I'll be missing any lessons. figured Mom might worry about me, and it's not all that long a walk to get home. Why should stick around school, you know?'

  Clint wondered if Barbara had seen things that way, too. The high school wasn't much more than a mile from their home. She could walk it easily. No, Barbara wouldn't. Not right away, anyhow.

  She would know enough to wait at school.

  You just stay put, Clint had told her when discussing what to do in case of a major quake. One of us will come and pick you up. You're not to walk home under any circumstances.

  What if you can't pick me up? she had asked.

  Stay at school.

  They had never allowed Barbara to walk anywhere by herself. Too many perverts cruising around. Every day, the news brought stories of kids who disappeared a block or two from their homes, of frantic parents, of futile searches, of bodies being located. The bodies were almost always found naked, with evidence of torture and sexual abuse. Boys and girls both. Girls more often than boys, though.

  Clint and Sheila had no intention of ever letting such a thing happen to their daughter. So they walked with her, or drove her, anywhere she needed to go. Over-protective. That's what some people called them. Right. No such thing as being over-protective in L.A. Whatever it takes to keep your kid alive.

  A cute kid like Em was lucky she had lasted this long. Breaks the most basic rules: walks alone, gets in a car with strangers. ought to have a talk with her mother, Clint thought. Yeah, and she'll probably tell me to mind my own business. She's obviously some sort of radical feminist. She'll really appreciate a man telling her how to raise her daughter. Forget the mother.

  'All this walking around, Em, aren't you afraid you might run into the wrong sort of person?'

  'You mean like a mugger?'

  'Or worse.'

  'He means like a psycho,' Mary explained. 'One of those guys who grabs girls like you and rapes them and cuts them into pieces.'

  'Hey,' Clint said. 'That isn't necessary.'

  'Isn't that what you were getting at?' Mary asked. 'I mean, if you've got an urge to warn her, warn her, don't pussyfoot. Just lay it out straight, tell her about all those guys out there who'd like nothing better than to get their hands on such a cute young thing - and how lucky she is that she was picked up by you, who's a gentleman and a father, not to mention a Knight of the Fucking Round table.'

  Clint gazed at Mary, astonished. 'What's the matter?' he asked.

  'Nothing. Not a thing.'

  Em, very calmly, said, 'This is Laurel You'll want to turn left.' Then she patted Mary's 'A couple more minutes and I'll be outta here. Then have Clint all to yourself, and everything will be again.'

  ***

  While shutting off Sheila's gas, Stanley had wondered about the gas at Mother's house. His house, now. If only he'd taken care of the gas before coming over to look for Sheila! He hadn't thought of it, though. That was the problem. Stupid. He could lose everything. Even though much of the house had collapsed, Stanley figured that he would be able to salvage plenty from the mess. If it didn't all go up in smoke first. From the top of the cinderblock wall, he could see that his house was fine. He grinned and shook his head. Hardly fine. More like half a house, at this point. And no garage at all. But at least there was no trace of fire. Instead of leaping, he lowered himself down from the wall. At the bottom, he turned sideways to slip through the rose bushes. A thorn scratched his bare chest while another nicked his rump through the thin cloth of his pajama pants. Gotta cut the bastards down, he thought as he jogged toward the house. The earlier wounds felt itchy, like mosquito bites. The new ones stung. Cold water would sure feel good on them. He saw the water spigot at the rear of the house, covering it or blocking it, nothing to climb over. The wall looked as if it had been battered away just bel
ow the roof, but the area beneath it was clear; the rubble must've all tumbled inward. Better take care of the gas first, he thought. What for? No fire, yet. Maybe there isn't even a leak. He hurried over to the spigot. The garden hose was still attached. He unscrewed the hose and let it fall, then twisted the handle. Instead of the normal gush, only a few drops of water fell from the spout. The disappointment clogged his throat.

  'Stan?'

  He almost cried out. The sound of his name felt like an icy spike being shoved into his belly. Cringing, he straightened up and turned toward the voice. Judy Wellman stood only a few yards away, at the edge of the patio. Nothing to worry about. Stanley hoped. Judy lived next door. She and her husband, Herb. They seemed like nice people. Though they usually kept to themselves, they always had cheerful, friendly things to say whenever Stanley happened to run into them. Last night, Stanley had seen Herb carry a suitcase out to the car. Judy had driven him away and returned an hour later without him. Which meant, to Stanley, that she had delivered him to LAX. He had flown somewhere, likely on a business trip. So Herb was out of the picture. This could be interesting. Stanley liked the looks of Judy. She was no Sheila Banner, of course. Nobody was in Sbeila's league. Still, she looked pretty good. Very good, in fact. Hard to believe she was old enough to have twins in college. Her tanned face had plenty of crinkles when she squinted or smiled, and a few threads of silver gleamed in her thick brown hair, but her body was trim. Though Stanley had never gone out of his way to spy on her, he'd seen her many times simply because she lived next door. He frequently saw her when she went out for the morning newspaper, when she went to her car, when she did yard work. He'd seen her last week wearing shorts and a bikini top while she hosed off her car in the driveway. This morning, she wore a faded blue shirt so large that Stanley figured it must belong to her husband. Its sleeves were rolled up her tawny forearms. The top couple of buttons were unfastened. The shirt wasn't tucked in. It hung so low that it nearly covered her cut-off jeans. Her brown leather boots, ankle-high, looked very big and clumsy at the ends of such slender legs. Had she been dressed this way when the quake hit? Maybe not. Maybe she'd been in her nightgown. If she'd changed clothes after the quake…

  Stanley gazed past Judy. All he could see of her house was a rear portion of the side wall. The bedroom window was broken, but the wall appeared to be intact.

  'Your house came through okay?' he asked.

  She nodded. She looked very solemn. 'I'm awfully sorry about your mother, Stan.' She knows! He tried to hide his shock and fear behind a mask of sorrow. She can't know did it, he told himself. If she knew, she would hardly be giving me condolences.

  'You saw her?' he asked.

  'I came over to make sure everyone was all right. After saw how badly your house…' She shook her head. 'Anyway, the front door wasn't locked. knocked a few times, but…I hope you don't mind. don't normally go barging into people's homes.'

  'No. It was very thoughtful of you.'

  'I guess you'd already left. Actually, figured you were buried under the mess. You didn't answer when called out. looked around for a while. There wasn't any sign of you, so…'

  'I went through the backyard to check on the Banners,' he explained. Even as he heard himself speak the words, he wondered why he was giving such information to Judy. Should've lied, damn it. Why? he asked himself. Why bother? From the vague expression on Judy's face, he guessed that she didn't know the Banners. 'They live directly behind us.' He nodded toward the wall behind the rose bushes.

  'Oh. saw you jump over.'

  'The bushes got me pretty good.' He looked down at his sweaty chest, at the stripe of bright red blood above his left nipple. And he saw his pajama pants hanging so low that they looked ready to fall. Trying to appear embarrassed, he pulled the pants up above his hips. Then he folded his hands in front of his groin. 'Sorry,' he muttered.

  'Don't worry about it. Why don't you come on over to my place? I'll patch you up a bit, and I'll find you something to wear.'

  The offer made his heart pound quicker. 'Is Herb there?' he asked.

  'Lucky dog, he flew to New York last night.'

  She's asking me into her house. And she made it clear that he won't be showing up. Oh, man. Then he thought, Who do you think you're kidding? The last thing on Judy's mind is seducing a guy like me. She's just being friendly, trying to help. Probably feels sorry for me. So what? The minute we step into her house, she's mine. But Sheila's waiting, he reminded himself. Sheila's better than Judy - no comparison - and she's naked, and she can't get away. Then he thought, Judy'll keep. Her husband was in New York, some three thousand miles away. Sheila's was only about thirty or forty miles away in Glendale. No telling how long it might take either husband to return home, but the one coming from Glendale was bound to arrive first.

  Gotta get Sheila out and away to someplace safe, or I'll miss my chance.

  'I don't think should go into your house,' he said, 'if Herb's not there.'

  Judy looked perplexed. 'What?'

  'It wouldn't look good.'

  'To whom? Are you kidding? Who would notice or care?'

  'I don't know. It just…, anyway, I've gotta get back. only came around to find a saw and turn off the gas supply at Mother's.'

  'I took care of the gas for you,' Judy said. 'I smelled a leak while was inside looking for you.' The gloom returned to darken her face. 'It's… so awful about your mother. I'm sorry.'

  'It happened very fast. don't think she suffered.'

  'You saw it?'

  'Yeah. A big chunk of ceiling dropped straight down on her head. She never had a chance.'

  'But you're all right?' Judy asked.

  'The quake never touched me.' He felt a corner of his mouth turn up. 'Just the damn rose bushes.'

  Judy smiled slightly, herself. 'Well, why don't you over? Under the circumstances, really doubt that any of the neighbors are likely to tell on us. We'll wash you off and get some disinfectant…'

  'That really isn't necessary. And I've got to get…' Stanley frowned at the spigot. 'The water main must be broken or something.'

  'My faucets don't work, either.'

  'I bet it's the whole neighborhood,' he said, realizing Sheila's bathroom pipes probably would've sprayed all the place if she'd had any water pressure. 'Maybe the city,' he added.

  'I've got some water in the refrigerator,' Judy said. You can use that to clean your wounds. You're probably thirsty too.'

  'Maybe later, okay? But have you got a saw'

  'What sort of saw do you need?'

  'The best thing would be a chainsaw, guess. It's a beam.' He held up his hands to show her the size.

  'I don't know. We haven't got one of those. don't know of anybody around here who does have a chainsaw. Would a regular handsaw do you any good at all? We've got a couple of those in the garage.'

  'Worth a try,' Stanley said.

  'Come on.'

  He followed Judy down his driveway and through the gate. As they started across her own front yard, she said, 'That beam you need to cut, did it fall on something?'

  The question didn't surprise him much. After all, he had asked for a saw. It was only natural for a person to wonder why he needed it. Very quickly, he tried to think of a lie. But he had already told her about going to the Banner house. Doesn't matter, anyhow.

  'It's got Mrs Banner pinned down.'

  Judy looked over her shoulder, frowning. 'You mean she's trapped?'

  'I'll have her out in a few minutes once get back with a saw.'

  'Is she hurt?'

  'No, think she's in pretty good shape. But left her alone. really need to get back to her as fast as can.'

  They headed up Judy's driveway toward her garage at the far end. Stanley walked slightly behind her, enjoying the view of her slim, dark legs. Threads dangled from her frayed cut-offs and brushed against the backs of her thighs. He liked the look of the cut-off jeans, though he couldn't see much of them below Judy's hanging shirt tail. Hardly anyon
e seemed to wear cut-offs anymore. Apparently, they'd gone out of style. Too bad, Stanley thought.

  'I haven't been into the garage yet,' she said. She turned the handle and hauled the garage door sideways, rolling almost four feet before it suddenly stopped. She looked around at Stanley, 'At least we can get in.'

  She took one step into the garage before groaning, 'Oh man. Maybe you'd better wait there.'

  Remaining outside, Stanley watched Judy make her deeper into the gloom. She kept near the wall and toward the back, nudging boxes aside, shoving a power lawn mower out of her way, stepping over long handles that Stanley supposed must belong to shovels, rakes, hoes, and brooms that had been propped up until the quake knocked them over. Soon, she stopped and studied the wall. 'Ah. We're in luck. Right where it's supposed to be.' She stretched out an arm and lifted a saw down off the wall, Where it had apparently been suspended by a nail. She returned with it. The saw in her hand looked shiny and new. It almost looked unused, but Stanley noticed some crumbs of yellow sawdust clinging to its teeth.

  'Think this'll do the trick?' Judy asked.

  'It should.'

  She handed the saw to him. 'Maybe we should take her some water. It's awfully hot out. Be right back,' she said, and hurried toward the rear door of her house.

  Now what? Stanley wondered. Judy's planning to come along, that's what. The door bumped shut. 'Why didn't keep my big mouth shut? Picturing Sheila sprawled out in the tub, he moaned. Judy would ruin it all. Oh, no, she won't. The door flew open and slammed shut. Stanley watched Judy bound down the couple of stairs and stride toward him, swinging a plastic jug by her side. The jug was almost full. He could see the water through the frosted plastic, hear it sloshing. Have some? she asked. He wanted to be rid of her. No, don't want any of your fucking water. Get out of here and leave me alone. But in his imagination, the water was as cold as a high Sierra stream spilling down from melting glaciers. He clamped the saw handle between his knees, took the offered bottle, uncapped it, and raised it to his mouth. The water burbled out, flooding over his parched tongue, filling his mouth. Its sharp chill made his teeth ache. Cheeks bulging, he held the water in his mouth and capped the jug. He swallowed a small bit at a time until his mouth was empty.