Stalker

“No, no, no, Estella. Come on out. We’ll talk—”

“I no move, Missy Redhead. I move, he take de gun. He estrong man. I no move. I no go no place. He move, and I shoot hole in his cojones.”

“I no move, I no move,” Luis said. “Estella, mi amor. Te quiero mucho. Tu sabes que tu estás mi corazón!”

Estella was quiet and that was scary. Sarge suddenly materialized at Cindy’s side. “Tell her we’ll send a couple of men into the house. Tell her they’ll handcuff him. That way, he can’t hurt her if she moves. He can’t take the gun away. And we’ll be there to protect her.”

Cindy nodded, and told the woman the plan. Estella was less than convinced of its workability. “I no wan no menses in de house. De menses no listen to de womans never! I hate de menses!”

“How about if I come in?” Cindy blurted out.

“What?” Sarge whispered. “Retract that immediately!”

Cindy took her finger off the button. “Why?”

“Because she’s a loose cannon, Decker. Take it back or I’ll charge you with insubordination.”

Cindy knew he wouldn’t do it. Her father wielded far too much power. She said, “I guess I misunderstood you, sir. You said you were sending officers into the house. I’m an officer, so I didn’t understand the problem. As a matter of fact, I still don’t.”

It wasn’t exactly what Tropper had said. Sarge had talked about sending men inside. Still, Sarge was stuck. She could claim discrimination. He swore under his breath.

“You come in, Missy Redhead?” Estella was asking.

Cindy looked at Tropper. “What do I say, sir?”

Tropper’s jaw was working a mile a minute. “Tell her you’ll come in with several other officers—”

“How about with just my partner—”

“Decker, you want more of us than them. That way, Luis Ojeda doesn’t even think about an overtake. Now shut up and do what I tell you to do!”

His point was a good one. Depressing the button, Cindy said, “Yeah, I’ll come in, Estella. But I’m bringing a couple of buddies with me. Just in case Luis tries something funny.”

“I no try nothin’,” Luis protested. “She kill me.”

Cindy said, “Is that okay with you, Estella?”

An elongated moment of silence. Then Estella said, “You come in and put de hancuff on? You arress him?”

“I’ll put the handcuffs on him, Estella. You got my word on that.”

“Hokay,” the woman answered. “You can come in, Missy Redhead.”

3 (#u96b5b233-67d1-5974-9f81-9ec20ca7d221)

She felt Trapper’s breath on her neck, his presence so palpable it was as if he was giving her little shoves. Flanking him were Graham Beaudry and Rob Brown. Plenty of backup, but she was still point person—the first one out as well as the most vulnerable. They had decided that Estella must see her first. It showed that the police could be trusted. In the currently charged atmosphere of police corruption, every point scored by the good guy carried some weight. Cindy’s heart smashed against her chest. Yet, the fear invigorated instead of paralyzed.

They had come into the house through the back door—a safer move and less confrontational than front-door entries. The place was stuffy, the air moist and heavy.

Cindy shouted, “We’re in the kitchen now, coming into the dining area. Don’t move, Estella. We don’t want any problem.”

“Keep talking,” Tropper whispered.

She said, “You don’t want problems, and neither do we.”

“No, I no like problems,” Estella said.

“I no like problems, too,” Luis agreed.

As Cindy stepped behind the dinette set, she could see Estella’s red-shirted back hunched over, a swath of black hair resting over her shoulders like epaulettes. The woman had a shotgun jammed between her husband’s legs.

Cindy stretched her neck far enough to make out Luis’s face. Drenched in sweat, his skin looked like steaming milk-laced coffee. A small man with small bones, he possessed a narrow face, which was rather effeminate except for a sparse mustache and a plug of hair between his lower lip and his chin. Traces of acne roughened his cheeks. He resembled a petulant teenager rather than the father of two children.

Leaning backward, she spoke to Tropper. “I see them. He’s facing me, but she’s got her back to us.”

Tropper gave a signal to the others, and the three men drew their weapons. “Okay. You tell her that you’re coming out in the open. Tell her we’re behind her with our weapons drawn. Tell both of them not to move.”

“Don’t move, Estella,” Cindy said. “I’m right in back of your dinette set, but do not turn around. I don’t want Luis to make a grab for the gun.”

“No, I no move,” Estella answered.

“Good.” Suddenly, Cindy realized that droplets were running down her own forehead. “Now, I’m stepping out into the open so Luis can see me and my buddies. I want him to see that we have guns aimed at his face. So he doesn’t try anything dumb. You see me, Luis?”

“I see you—”

“She have red hair?” Estella interrupted.

“Sí, she have red hair.”

“Real or no real,” Estella inquired.

“Es look real?” Luis answered.

“It is real.” Perspiration rolled down Cindy’s nose. “You see our guns, Luis?”

“I see.”

“They work, Luis. They work really well and really fast. So don’t do anything stupid.”

“I no move.”

Sarge whispered, “Tell her to remove the shotgun from his balls and lift it into the air. Tell her to move slowly. Then you take the gun; we take it from you. After that, you cuff her and the party’s over.”

“I cuff her?”

“Yeah, Decker, you cuff her,” Tropper barked. “She’s the one with the barrel in his crotch. What’s the problem? Are you gonna do this or not?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” A one-second pause. Then Cindy said, “Estella, I want you to take the gun and slowly, slowly lift it in the air—”