Rage (41 page)

“She
put on an aggressive defense.”

“I
guess,” she said. “I always felt she was doing it more for herself— to win, you
know? If she cared about my mother, she wouldn’t have bossed her around like
that. It didn’t matter anyway. Nestor was guilty, they did this plea-bargain
thing. Which was okay with me. I didn’t want my mom to have to cry for
strangers.”

“Was
a man named Drew Daney involved with Nestor’s case?”

“It
sounds familiar, but . . .”

“A
divinity student and youth worker— ”

“Oh,
yeah, him. The church guy,” she said. “A few months before Nestor killed that
dealer he got sent to some drug rehab program and the church guy worked there.
Did he do something wrong? ’Cause that would surprise me.”

“Why?”

“Him
I liked. He seemed real sincere about wanting to help Nestor. Wrote a letter to
the judge for Nestor.”

* * *

“Puts
everything in place, doesn’t it?” said Milo, driving out of the lot.

“Daney
visits Troy in Stockton,” I said. “Uses the opportunity to drop in on Nestor
and set Troy up.”

“Meanwhile,
Rand’s over in Chino. Think that’s the reason Daney left him alone? No juvey
hit man planted there?”

“More
likely Rand wasn’t a threat. Until he was.”

He
got back on the freeway. “You in the mood to ply your trade?”

“With
who?”

“A
crazy woman.”

S
ydney Weider opened her front door wearing a soiled
white T-shirt with a Surfside Country Club flying dolphin logo over her left
breast, gray stretch athletic shorts, and bare feet. Up close, her face was
pallid, scored vertically by wrinkles that began at the corners of her eyes and
tugged her mouth down. Her legs were white, varicosed, her feet hangnailed and
grubby around the ankles.

She
opened her mouth in surprise.

Milo
said, “Ma’am,” and showed her his badge.

She
slapped him hard across the face.

* * *

As he
hauled her out to the unmarked, cuffed her, hissing and twisting, a
snick
sounded
from across the street and a woman ran out of a pretty, black-shuttered
Colonial.

Same
neighbor who’d watched Weider scream at me a few days ago.

“Here
we go,” muttered Milo. “Where’s the damned video camera?”

Weider
growled and slammed her head into his arm and tried to bite him. He held her at
arm’s length. “Open the door, Alex.”

As I
did the woman from across the street sped toward us.

Late
thirties, blond ponytail, shapely in tight black pedal pushers and a sea-green
tank top. Grace Kelly facial definition. Sydney Weider in a younger, happier
time.

She
looked furious; let’s hear it for Neighborhood Watch.

As
she got closer, Milo said, “Ma’am— ”

“Good
for you!” she said. “That bitch screams at all the children and
terrifies
them!
She makes everyone’s lives miserable! What’d she do to finally get you to take
some
action
?”

Sydney
Weider spat in her direction. The gob landed on the sidewalk. The woman said,
“You’re disgusting. As always.”

Before
Weider could respond, Milo pressed down on her head, managed to get her into
the car, and slammed the door. His face was flushed.

“What’d
she finally do?” the woman repeated. “You people said there was nothing you
could— ”

“Can’t
discuss that, ma’am. Now if you’d please— ”

Thump
thump thump
as Weider kicked the
window.

The
ponytailed woman said, “See? She’s insane. I’ve got a list for you. Give me
your fax number.”

“She’s
been that big of a problem?” I said.

“
Everyone
will rejoice when she’s gone. We’ll have a frickin’ block party. A child
touches her lawn, she steps out and screams at the top of her lungs. Last
month, she threw a kitchen knife at Poppy and Poppy’s not one of those
aggressive shar-peis, he’s sweet as can be, ask anyone, they’ll tell you. She
runs up and down the street, talks like a banshee— she’s insane, believe me,
totally insane. I’m sure everyone on the block will be happy to give you a
report or a deposition or whatever.”

Milo
said, “Appreciate it, ma’am.”

“Good
riddance,” said the woman, glaring through the window. Sydney Weider lay on her
back, feet up. She began kicking the window again. Barefoot, but hard enough to
make the glass shudder.

The
woman said, “You should hog-tie her. Like on
Cops.
”

* * *

As we
drove away, other doors opened but no one emerged.

Sydney
Weider screamed wordlessly and resumed kicking the window. Milo stopped the
car, parked, retrieved a set of plastic ties from the trunk, and defended
himself against Weider’s gnashing jaws and vicious feet as he fought to bind
her ankles. I got out and held Weider’s heels. Yet another divergence from
accepted psychological practice.

Finally,
he managed to flip her on her stomach, pull the ties snug. She writhed and
foamed at the mouth and butted her head against the door as the car pulled
away. Potty-mouth tirade; all those years in law school spent parsing and
composing elegant phrases wasted.

I
felt sorry for her.

* * *

When
Milo reached Sunset, she turned silent. Panting, then snuffling, filled the
car. I glanced back. Still flat on her belly. Eyes closed, inert.

I
figured he’d take her to the jail at the Westside station, but he drove east
through the Palisades and turned in to Will Rogers State Park.

A
little-girl voice from the back said, “I used to ride horses here.”

“Good
for you,” said Milo.

Moments
later: “What did I do to make you so angry?”

“How
about assaulting an officer?”

“Oh . . .
,” she said. “I’m sorry I really am I don’t know what happened I just you
scared me I thought you were sent by my husband to torment me one of those
process servers he won’t let go one Halloween he sent a process server dressed
up as a goblin and I opened the door for trick or treat and this goblin threw
court papers at me and when I threw them back he grabbed me made contact with
my arm that was real assault believe me much worse than what I did I’m an
attorney I know what assault is when I see it listen I really didn’t mean to
hit you I was defending myself you really scared me.”

No
pause for breath. The neighbor had talked about Weider’s racing up and down the
block. I remembered her as a fast talker and Marty Boestling had called her
manic.

The
only marathon was in her head.

“Really,”
she said. “I know now what I did I see it clearly and I’m so so so so sorry.”

* * *

We
parked in the nearly empty lot that faced the polo fields.

“No
horses anymore everything goes to shit in this city please,” said Sydney
Weider. “Just take off these things I hate to be restrained I really hate it.”

Milo
switched off the engine.

“Please
please I promise to behave appropriately.”

“Why
should I trust you, Sydney?”

“Because
I’m an honest person I know I acted irrationally but I already explained that
to you it’s my ex he never stops he won’t give up making my life a living
hell.”

“How
long’s he been doing that?” I said.

“At
least the foot thingies please? They hurt they’re bending my legs in a not-good
way I’m constricted it’s hard to breathe.”

Milo
got out and undid the plastic ties, sat her up, careful to maintain distance
from her teeth.

Weider
smiled and flipped her hair and looked pretty for a pathetic second. “Thank you
thank you you’re a doll thanks so much now how about the cuffs too?”

Milo
returned to the front seat. “So how long’s your ex been tormenting you?”

“Always
but what I’m talking about is since the divorce seven years seven long years of
nonstop torture that’s after he robbed me blind took everything my father left
me my father was a film producer one of the top guys in Hollywood and that
bastard knew where everything was kept he looted me looted me like something
from the Watts riot we used to have a house cars Angelo Donghia furniture
Sarouk rugs you name it we had a great life on the surface— ”

“How
come Mr. Boestling’s so angry?”

“What
do you think he’s a Jew,” said Weider. “Vengeful eye for an eye they don’t let
go until you’re sucked dry.”

“What’s
he want revenge for?”

“For
my being superior for my being . . . it’s complicated he’ll
never be happy he’s consumed. About what? About making me pay and pay and pay
for those people it’s all about money he libels me tells everyone I’m crazy
manic-depressive just because my energy’s superior to his he could never— ”

She
stopped abruptly. “You. The psychologist. You can tell I’m fine.”

Her
eyes were bright with madness.

I
said, “Sure.”

Milo’s
eyelids vibrated. The mark Weider had left on his cheek had started to fade.

She
smiled again. “There you go you know about that kind of thing you tell this
very kind police individual I’m an attorney a wife a mother did it all raised
two beautiful boys you should see the deal Microsoft offered them both of them
but they didn’t take it they have their own software to develop why should
someone else get rich on their accomplishments?”

I
said, “Despite all that Marty Boestling’s being vengeful.”

“Mindlessly
vengeful he’s a nothing— ”

“Maybe,”
Milo broke in, “finding you with Drew Daney wasn’t a real fun experience for
him.”

Weider’s
mouth hung open. She sank back down. “You are blaming me for his inadequacies
do you think if he could . . . wait you talked to him are you
really police are you from him a process ser— ”

“No!”
Milo bellowed. “I’m an LAPD lieutenant who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your
marriage or your sex life. I
am
interested in talking about Drew Daney.”

Weider
twitched, rolled her shoulder, looked out at the polo field. “What about him?”

“What
kind of guy is he?”

“What
kind of guy is he scum pond scum the black stuff
under
pond scum— ”

“You
two have a lover’s quarrel?” said Milo.

“Ha.
Hahahahaha. There was no lover no love no lovemaking this was straight you know
what he was nothing to me none of them were.”

“Who?”

“Don’t
pretend Marty didn’t tell you he told you did he also tell you he got it
started he was the one who liked watching me with other guys it only became a
problem when I started to act independently meaning when he wasn’t watching did
he tell you that did he?”

“Like
I said, Sydney, your sex life doesn’t inter— ”

“Right
right you want to talk about Daney all Daney was to me was a male organ and not
a big one at that you want to know about him I’ll tell you he’s a loser and a
liar thought he was so smart thought he could get me to play his game.”

“What
game was that?”

“You
tell me you’re the LAPD lieutenant why would anyone want to do anything so
stupid you tell me that?”

“What
was stupid?”

“Sticking
a pin in the condom I always used condoms always bought them myself because
when men think with the little head they’re retarded and no way was I going to
get messed up that way no way and I don’t like the pill it’s supposed to be
good for your skin but it messed up mine gave me adult-onset acne and my mother
died of cancer so who needs that so it was always rubbers.” Slow spreading
smile. “With tickly things.”

“How’d
you know Daney poked holes in one?”

“Found
him that’s how he sneaked off into the bathroom,” she said, “he thought I was
dressing up in the tacky things he bought over at Trashy Lingerie costumes all
that stupid cliché stuff like I was going to dress up for him ha no way so I
was already out of my bathroom he was in Marty’s bathroom and heard him messing
around in there and walked in on him said what the hell do you think you’re
doing he made up some lame story about testing out a sample to see if it was
strong to be extra careful I saw that I bitch-slapped him— ”

She
stopped.

Milo
said, “He got you mad.”

“Wouldn’t
you be mad if there was someone sneaking around on you doing that?” Weider
laughed. “Not that he was getting off the hook I opened a new one made sure it
was fine and had him put it on in front of me made jokes about maybe I
should’ve gotten a size small believe me that slowed things down fine with me I
set the tone he never had me I had him.”