Drought Read online

‘Yes, you can, Vera. You can. I promise you, you can.’

  ‘Shirelle, hi, where is everybody?’ Martin asked her.

  Shirelle blinked at him as if she didn’t recognize him, and then she flapped her hands as if she were drying her nail polish. ‘Oh – Martin – it’s all gone crazy! We’ve had so many emergency calls! Everybody’s had to go out! Well, except for me! It’s like Armageddon out there! You’ve had a whole bunch of messages, too! I did try to contact you, I promise!’

  Martin took his cellphone out of his pocket. He had been requested to switch it off while he was at police headquarters and afterward he had deliberately kept it switched off, because he knew that he would have to field countless calls from anxious and beleaguered families.

  Shirelle flicked through her notepad. ‘Here – this one came from Tanisha Belling – she’s that woman on North Lugo with seven kids in one bedroom, isn’t she? She says they have no water and she’s run out of diapers and she can’t cook the kids anything to eat. Not that she ever did. But now her microwave’s busted, too, because her little boy tried to broil his Batmobile.

  ‘And – here – Madeleine Kusnick called you. She doesn’t have water, either, and her two cats look like they’re in a coma because of the heat and because of that her two kids won’t stop howling. She’s worried they’re going to be permanently traumatized. The kids, I mean, not the cats.

  ‘Oh – and somebody called Jesus left a message? He said he wouldn’t forget today, ever, so don’t go thinking that he ever would. Do you know what he meant by that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Martin. ‘I know exactly what he meant.’

  EIGHT

  He didn’t return any of his calls. He had something more important to do first. He went to the office kitchen, opened up the storeroom, and lifted out two five-gallon containers of water. He grunted with effort, because they weighed over forty pounds each.

  He knew that it was wrong for him to take them. But he left three containers where they were, and he reckoned fifteen gallons would be enough water to keep the CFS office in coffee for a day or two, if their supply was shut off, and even to wash their hands now and again. Before Shirelle or Kevin could come out and discover what he was doing, he lugged the containers out through reception, out through the front doors and down in the elevator to the basement. He stowed them in the trunk of his car, looking around to make sure that nobody was watching him, and that he was obscured by one of the concrete pillars from the CCTV.

  He drove north out of the city center to Fullerton Drive, and again he was aware how empty the streets were. Even after he had joined the freeway, he passed only three or four semis, a clapped-out Winnebago, and a small V-shaped formation of Hell’s Angels, who looked more glum than menacing. Around Lionel E. Hudson Park the neighborhood was deserted. No children were playing on the slides or the swings. The trees were turning yellow already and the grass was scattered with fallen leaves. He slowed down and all he could hear was a distant airplane. It was almost eerily peaceful. When he pulled up outside Peta’s house, however, and looked back toward the downtown area, he saw more black smoke rising into the hazy late-afternoon sky.

  He came up the driveway with a five-gallon water container swinging from each hand. As he did so Peta opened the front door and said, ‘Thank God.’

  She was wearing a pink strapless top and white shorts. She was small and skinny, but very pretty in a Scandinavian way, with denim-blue eyes and little ski-jump nose with freckles across it. Every time Martin saw her he wished that they could get back together again, or try to, at least; but he still wasn’t sure that he had exorcized his djinns, and that he wouldn’t end up hurting her. It wasn’t that Peta didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust himself.

  ‘Water, thank God,’ she repeated, as he stepped inside the house. ‘Ella’s no better at all.’

  ‘Did you call Doctor Lucas?’

  ‘The line’s always busy and I can’t get through. I tried the medical center’s website but that seems to be frozen. You press to make an appointment but nothing happens.’

  Martin carried the water containers into the kitchen and lifted them on to the table. ‘OK if I go in and see her?’

  ‘Of course, yes. Did you see Tyler? Is he all right? What’s happening? They said they were going to send him to the West Valley Detention Center. I mean, who is he supposed to have killed?’

  Martin walked down the corridor to the door of Ella’s bedroom. Before he opened it, he said, quietly, ‘Tyler is charged with shooting Mr Alvarez at Dan’s Food and Liquor while he was robbing his store. He’s also charged with raping his daughter Maria.’

  Peta pressed her hand against her mouth in shock. Then, ‘He raped Maria Alvarez?’ she said. ‘He raped her? The police told me that they were charging him with killing a man but I thought it was maybe some kind of an accident. But Tyler wouldn’t rape anybody!’

  ‘He says he was forced to. He says a gang broke into the store and shot Mr Alvarez and then they all took it in turns to rape Maria and they forced him to do it, too, otherwise they threatened to shoot her, too.’

  ‘Oh my God. Oh, Martin.’

  Martin put his arms around her and held her close. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘Tyler swears that he didn’t shoot Mr Alvarez and my lawyer thinks he can get him off of that charge. The CSIs tested his hands for gunpowder residue and if he didn’t fire it then they’ll be able to tell for sure. As for rape, he only did it because he feared for Maria’s life and his own life, too. Maria’s not talking yet, but when she does, you’ll see, he’ll get off that, too.’

  Peta shook her head. ‘It’s still like a nightmare. I just can’t believe that it’s true.’

  Martin gave her another hug, and then he pointed his finger at Ella’s door and said, ‘OK to go in?’

  ‘Sure. Of course. I’ll bring her a drink of water.’

  He tapped lightly on the door but when there was no answer he opened it and went inside. The cream cotton blinds were pulled right down but even so the bedroom was still glowing with sunlight. Martin saw Ella’s reflection first in her dressing-table mirror, so that she looked like a framed picture of herself. Her eyes were closed and she was lying in bed propped up on pillows, covered by only a single sheet. Her cheeks were flushed, and her long mousy-brown hair was bedraggled and damp. She looked so much like her mother had looked when he had first met her that it was hard for him to believe that she didn’t remember all the things that he and Peta had done together: walking in the mountains, dancing and playing pool in the downtown nightclubs, or simply sitting together by the pool, staring at each other, and each one of them thinking how lucky they were.

  Martin sat down on the chair next to Ella’s bed and took hold of her hand. It was chilly and moist, even though she looked so hot. He leaned over and kissed her forehead and said, gently, ‘Hallo, baby. It’s your Daddy.’

  Ella opened her eyes and blinked at him, and then she smiled. ‘Daddy. You came.’

  ‘I brought some water for you. Here – Mommy has it now.’

  Peta came in with a large glass of water and sat down on the bed to help Ella drink it. Martin propped her head up while she gulped it down. Occasionally she stopped and gasped for breath, but she managed to finish all of it.

  ‘Could I have some more?’ she asked.

  Martin lowered her head back on the pillow and grinned at her. ‘What are you, a camel?’

  ‘I’m just so thirsty, Daddy. I feel like my throat is full of dust.’

  Peta gave Ella some more water to drink and plumped up her pillows and then she and Martin went back into the kitchen.

  ‘I really think we need to get her to a doctor,’ said Peta. ‘She doesn’t have a rash, and she’s not vomiting or anything, but then all she’s eaten all day is a piece of dry toast and half a cup of chicken soup.’

  ‘Maybe you should try calling the medical center again.’

  ‘I can try,’ said Peta. She took the phone off the wall and punched out the number but be
fore she even handed it to him, Martin could hear the busy signal.

  ‘I’ll drive down there myself,’ he said. ‘If they’re really so busy I don’t want to take Ella with me. Maybe I can persuade one of the doctors to make a house call.’

  He went to the door. Peta caught his sleeve and said, ‘What about Tyler? He must be so frightened!’

  ‘We have a good lawyer for him, sweetheart, that’s all we can do for now. The detective who’s in charge of his case promised to call me when they’re ready to send him over to Rancho Cucamonga.’

  He turned to go but she still kept hold of his sleeve.

  ‘Martin—’ she said.

  He waited, but she simply said, ‘Nothing. But call me, won’t you, when you’ve found out what’s happening at the medical center?’

  Highland Medical Center was ten minutes’ drive south-east, through quiet, wide, well-kept streets, and each street that Martin passed was even more affluent than the street before, with larger houses and more expensive vehicles parked in their driveways.

  Like everywhere else, though, the streets were empty, and he drove for over five minutes before he passed another car, a Lincoln Town Car, heading in the opposite direction. The driver had dyed black hair and a papery, sun-mottled face, and as he passed he stared at Martin with undisguised suspicion.

  Only a few streets further on, however, he took a right turn toward the medical center, and he saw a pot-bellied man in a baseball cap and khaki shorts, watering the plants on either side of his driveway with a hosepipe.

  He pulled in to the side of the road and called out, ‘So – you have your water back on? When did that happen?’

  ‘Never been off,’ the man told him. ‘I saw on the news they cut it off in some neighborhoods, but not here, not so far. Not too sure they’d dare. Too many council members live around here!’

  ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ said Martin, watching the man fill his terracotta plant pots until they were flooded, and thinking of the Murillo children, listlessly sprawled out on their verandah, with only a half bottle of Dr Pepper left to drink, and that was probably long gone by now.

  He drove on. He was only three streets away from the medical center, however, when he saw a battered black Dodge Ram parked at a diagonal across the road in front of him, and an old silver Caprice pulled up on the sidewalk. Both the car and the SUV had their doors wide open, and five or six young Hispanic men in sleeveless black T-shirts were milling around them. As Martin came closer, he saw that there were at least three more young men in the front yard of one of the houses, and he heard angry shouting, and then a woman screaming, too.

  He pulled into the curb. Now he could see what was happening. The young men were filling up a variety of plastic bottles and large plastic containers with water from the outdoor faucet at the side of the house. Two of the young men had the house owner pinned up against the wall of the house. He was a big man, with curly gray hair and a jazzy red Hawaiian shirt, but although he was big he had the blueish lips of an angina sufferer, and in spite of his obvious anger he was staying silent, and making no effort to break free. His wife, however, was standing next to him in her housecoat and hairnet, almost bent double, screaming at the young men to let him go.

  I don’t believe this, thought Martin. These punks are actually stealing water. More than likely they’re aiming to take it back downtown and sell it. For a split second, he thought: why not let them?

  But then the woman furiously started pummeling one of the young men with her fists. ‘Let my husband go, you punks! You let my husband go!’

  Another member of the gang shoved her in the small of the back, so that she tumbled face-first on to the wet brickwork drive, hitting her head. She tried to climb back on to her feet, but then he kicked her with his shin, so that she toppled sideways on to the dried-up lawn.

  Martin climbed out of his car and walked up toward them. ‘Hey,’ he said.

  The gang all stared at him. One of them was wearing mirror sunglasses and at least six gold chains around his neck, and by the challenging way he looked back at him, Martin guessed that he was their leader. He said, ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Martin told him, glancing back down the street as if he were expecting reinforcements to arrive at any second. ‘You just assaulted this lady, which counts as battery, and you’re holding this gentleman against his will, which at the very least is false imprisonment, and at the same time you’re trespassing on private property, not to mention taking water which you haven’t paid for.’

  The gang member in the mirror sunglasses looked around at his four companions, and then said, ‘Are you a cop?’

  ‘No, I’m not. But I’m a council official, and I know the law.’

  ‘Are you carrying?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  The gang member frowned, as if he were thinking seriously about this. Then he said, ‘You’re not a cop. You’re not carrying. In that case, fuck you.’

  Martin came further up the drive and helped the woman back on to her feet. She had a large crimson lump on her forehead and she was obviously concussed, because she nearly fell over again. Martin led her over to the front steps of the house and sat her down. ‘Just stay there for a moment, ma’am. OK?’

  The husband meanwhile stared at Martin with bulging eyes but he was clearly too frightened to say anything. It was only when Martin turned back to face the gang members that he saw that one of the young men who was pressing him up against the wall was holding a shiny double-edged knife up to his chest.

  Always go for the guy with the weapon first. He expected that all of the gang members were carrying knives, but this one had a blade that was out and ready, and probably wouldn’t think twice about using it.

  Without warning, he kicked the gang member in the mirror sunglasses very hard between the legs. When the young man soundlessly bent forward, his mouth wide open, his sunglasses flying off his face, Martin heaved him over backward, so that he staggered into the arms of his friends. Then, with no hesitation at all, Martin stalked up to the gang member who was holding the knife, seized his hand and bent his wrist backward so forcefully that he could hear his tendons crackle. The young man screamed in a piercing falsetto and dropped the knife on to the brickwork. Martin kicked the knife underneath the gate at the side of the house and then seized the young man’s ears, which were both pierced with six or seven earrings each. He twisted both of the young man’s ears around in opposite directions, first one way and then the other, ripping at least half of his earrings out. The young man dropped to his knees on to the driveway, stunned, and with his ear-lobes in bloody rags.

  Martin had taken out their leader; and the one with the knife. Now he turned around and faced the rest of them. He saw one of them pulling up his T-shirt at the front, as if he might be going for a weapon that was tucked into his belt. Martin couldn’t actually see a pistol-grip, but he shouldered two of the other gang members out of his way, and went for him. He grabbed his wrist with his left hand and punched him hard in the mouth with his right. There was a deafening bang, and the legs of the young man’s jeans were suddenly flooded with blood.

  The young man stared down at himself, and spat out two teeth. Smoke was rising out of his waistband. He looked back up at Martin and his face was white with shock, all except for his burst-open lips, which made him look as if he were holding a blossoming red rose in his mouth.

  ‘You fucking shot me, man,’ he bubbled. But then he pitched over backward and lay on the driveway with his eyes rolled up into his head and his legs twitching.

  Martin bent over him and wrestled the gun out from under his belt. It was a Sig-Sauer compact 9 mm automatic with frayed duct tape wound around the grip. He held it up and said to the rest of the gang, ‘One of you give me a knife. I have to see how bad this wound is. Come on, right now! Give me a knife! And handle first, OK, if it’s all the same to you.’

  A skinny gang member with a wispy black moustache took a clasp knife out of h
is jeans and held it out to him. Martin took the knife, opened it up, and then knelt down beside the young man lying on the driveway and cut open the left leg of his jeans, all the way up past his knee. His thigh was smothered in blood, but Martin could see by the puckered wound just above his kneecap that the bullet had missed his femoral artery.

  He folded up the clasp knife and dropped it into his pocket. Then he said, ‘Time for you morons to hit the bricks now, wouldn’t you say? You’d better take your buddy down to the ER, and quick.’

  Three of the gang lifted up their wounded friend and carried him over to the Chevrolet. The gang member who had been wielding the knife shuffled past Martin nursing his swollen wrist. He gave Martin a glare of venomous hatred, but he didn’t say anything. Last of all, with his hand still cupped between his legs, the leader of the gang picked up his mirror sunglasses and put them back on, even though one of the lenses had dropped out, and Martin could see his left eye. They climbed into their vehicles and roared away in clouds of burned rubber, leaving tire tracks all the way along the street.

  The homeowner had been leaning over to comfort his wife, but now he came up to Martin and said, ‘I don’t know how I can thank you, sir. You took one hell of a risk there. One hell of a risk.’

  ‘What happened?’ Martin asked him. He looked up and down the street and he could see that the man’s neighbors were beginning to emerge from their houses. ‘Why did they pick on you?’

  The man shrugged and shook his head until his jowls wobbled. ‘They came driving past and I guess they just saw me watering my plants and they decided that I was an easy mark. They stopped and asked me if they could fill up all of their containers but I said no way.’

  ‘Why not? It’s only water.’

  The man stared at Martin as if he had spoken in a foreign language. ‘Well, sure, but it’s not just any water. It’s my water. I pay for it. Why should I give it to some gang of hoodlums? Those people, they never pay for anything. They’re all on welfare and who pays for that? I do, out of my taxes. I don’t have any choice in that, but today I had a choice and I said no.’