“It don’t mean they were actually brothers,” Beckman said.
“I know. It doesn’t matter.”
They drove on in silence for a while, and then Beckman said, “We’ll be coming up on Western in a few minutes. Maria should start looking. What do you want me to do, Masao?”
“Just easy. About twenty-five miles an hour. When she spots the house, don’t stop or slow down.”
They passed Western. “It’s on this side,” said the girl, pointing.
“Don’t point. Just watch. On the right, Sy.”
“There,” said Maria. “That place with the car in the driveway.”
“Red Mercedes with Nevada plates,” Beckman said.
Masuto leaned in front of her as they passed the house, a rundown frame cottage on a street of rundown frame cottages.
“Turn left up to Sunset on the next corner,” Masuto said to Beckman; and then he said to the girl, “We’re going to drop you off on Sunset Boulevard, and you can get a bus there back to the hotel.” He pressed a five-dollar bill into her palm. “This is for bus fare and your trouble. You helped a little girl to live, and you helped other people too, and I thank you. But I don’t want you to say anything about this to anyone. Do you understand?”
She didn’t want to take the money, but he insisted, and when they had dropped her off and turned back toward Fountain, Beckman said, “I don’t know, Masao, the way you let her go. She could have been tied into it.”
“That kid?”
“It happens.”
“Not with a kid like that. No. She gave me what she had.”
They had turned back into Fountain. “How close?” Beckman asked.
“Find a place to park about a block away. Don’t pass it again. I don’t want to press our luck.”
When he had parked the car, Beckman twisted around to face Masuto. “You know, Masao, we’re in L.A. now.”
“We have the legal right to go anywhere in the county in pursuit.”
“We’re not in pursuit.”
“I say we are.”
“Okay. You say we are. I say we should call the Los Angeles cops.”
“Sure. We call in the Los Angeles cops, and they bring the swat team and we have fifty guns around that house with its paper walls and tear gas and the rest of it, and inside you have two half-insane, desperate men who have already been a part of two killings and they’re planning maybe a hundred or two hundred more before the day is out, and they’re holding my kid as a hostage. Suppose it was your kid they had in there, Sy? Would you call in the swat team? Think about it.”
Beckman thought about it for a moment or two, and then he said, “What do you mean, two hundred killings?”
“Just answer my question.”
Beckman drew a deep breath and sighed. “All right, Masao. Your way. What is your way?”
“First thing, Sy, take off your gun.” He removed his own pistol from the holster under his armpit, and handed it to Beckman. “Lock them both up with the fat man’s clothes in the trunk.”
Beckman just stared at him, holding the gun that Masuto had given him. “You’re out of your mind.”
“No, Sy, I’m very sane. That wretched little house is made of matchwood. A bullet would go through the door or even both walls. They could be armed with forty-fives, and a forty-five is like a cannon in that place. If we come in there armed, they’re going to start shooting. I can face getting shot; so can you. I don’t want my daughter to face it.”
“And what in hell do you think is going to happen when we go in there unarmed? Either they kill us or they take us. Then where are we? And how in hell do we get in there? You say the door’s made of matchwood-right? We kick it in and get them before they get us.”
“And suppose one of them’s with Ana?”
“Goddamn it, Masao, we can’t go in there unarmed. How?”
“We knock at the door. They open it. They let us in.” He was peeling off his jacket as he spoke.
“What’s that for?”
“No jacket. No guns. I want them to see.”
“They open the door. Then what?”
“We take their guns away.”
“What?”
“Now listen to me, Sy. There’s no time. Just listen and don’t argue. I had a dozen years with the martial arts. I was trained by one of the best in Los Angeles. I can take the gun from the man who’s holding it on me. Don’t question that. It’s you I’m worried about, and I need you because there’s two of them. But if you’re afraid to try it, I’ll try it alone.”
“You’re damn right I’m afraid. Shit. What the hell. You got any pointers?”
“Yes. These are terrorists. Amateurs. They kill with their demented ideology. They plan and they think in their own demented way. But they’re not trained, and when they kill they have to think first. That takes two seconds, one second-even half a second is enough. Hit at the wrist, like this.” He made a chopping motion, his palm held flat. “Don’t try to grab the gun-just hit at the wrist, and when you make that chop, make it with every ounce of strength in your body. If you hit right, you’ll break his wrist. But don’t go for the gun. If the gun remains in his hand, kick him in the testicles with all your strength. Watch his eyes. Wait for the moment when his eyes flicker toward me.”
“What will you be doing?”
“Don’t watch me. There’ll be two of them, probably each with a handgun. If your man has a rifle or a shotgun-that’s an outside chance-the same thing, the wrist. I’m hoping that when we’re in, they’ll tell us to turn around. If they do, you hesitate. I’ll turn immediately and use my foot. But don’t watch me. Watch the eyes of the man who has a gun on you. Do you think you can do it?”
“No, but what the hell.” Beckman peeled off his coat.
“We go in with our hands up. Don’t put down your hands. With your hands up, you have a fraction of a second more.”
They put their jackets, their guns, and the fat man’s clothes in the luggage compartment. The street was empty, as are most streets in Los Angeles in midday. Then they walked down the block to the shabby little house with the red Mercedes in the driveway. Two wooden steps led up to a tiny porch. Both men in their shirtsleeves mounted the steps.
Masuto knocked. No response. He knocked again. Wood creaked. Masuto felt the hot summer sun. He was sweating. Then, a voice.
“Who is it?”
Masuto recognized the voice. It was the voice he had heard on the telephone.
“Masuto. My partner’s with me. We’re unarmed. I’m playing it your way. We’ll stay with my daughter. We’re out of it.”
“If this is a trick, Masuto, if you have a swat squad outside, the kid will die. First. I swear it.”
“No tricks. Just the two of us, unarmed. Alone.”
Words in another language. Words replying. He was right. There were two of them-hopefully no others.
“I’m going to open the door, Masuto. You come in with your hands up. Then your partner, with his hands up. Believe it, mister. Any tricks, your daughter dies.”
“I believe you,” Masuto said.
The door opened, and Masuto entered, followed by Beckman, both with their hands raised. The man who had opened the door was on Masuto’s left. He kicked the door shut and stepped back. He was a slender, dark-faced, dark-haired young man, and he was covering Masuto with a heavy automatic pistol. The room itself was empty, except for some boxes and pillows on the floor. The other man, shorter, heavier, was on the right, pointing a revolver at Beckman. He was about three feet from Beckman as they entered.
“Keep your hands up and turn around, both of you,” the thin man said. Masuto turned immediately. Beckman hesitated, watching the eyes of the man facing him, and then the eyes flickered. Beckman never saw Masuto’s motion; he was fixed on the eyes of the man covering him. As Masuto turned his back to the thin man, his body unleashed like a spring, and he drove his shoe into the thin man’s testicles with a force that threw him across the room. It was more than a karate kick; it was an explosion of all his pent-up, controlled fear and anger and frustration, so violent that he slammed off his feet onto the floor. Beckman, in the same instant, forgot all that Masuto had spelled out for him and hit the man on the right with all his strength. Beckman had been a professional boxer before he became a policeman. He hit the shorter man squarely in the center of his face, feeling the nasal bones crunch under the blow. The man staggered and then collapsed like a sack. Masuto rolled over and grasped the automatic, which had fallen out of the thin man’s hand.