I marched him up the walk and rang the doorbell. He was as wiry as I remembered, but more dense. A powerful little guy. After a time I heard footsteps, and then the porch light went on. I hid the gun in the small of Steve's back in case Callie looked through the peephole, but instead she called out in a worried voice, "Who's there?"
"It's Nick," I said. "And Steve."
She opened the door, and I shoved Steve in past her and followed. "Nick. Are you okay? What are you doing?"
Steve staggered a bit and leaned against the wall. Then he bent over and dry-heaved. He wiped his mouth. "I need to sit down."
Callie swooped to his side, glaring at me. "What did you do to him?"
We moved into the family room, a bizarre little procession, and Steve slumped on the couch and held his head. I felt a stab of concern, so I aimed the gun at him to shore up my ill will. "Your husband was pointing a rifle at my face a half hour ago."
Callie held up her hand, firmly, as if stopping traffic. "Wait. What?"
"Jesus," Steve said, "I'm dizzy."
I was breathing hard, revving up instead of calming down. "He hired a girl to spy on me. I tricked him into coming to a drop site. I got there early, with night-vision binoculars, and caught him set up with a sniper rifle, about to shoot me."
Callie said, "No he wasn't."
I moved the gun away from Steve, aiming at the carpet between him and Callie. "Are you in on this, too?" It felt awful giving in to myself that way, but there was also an odd feeling of release, of yielding to something sweet and tempting.
Callie looked at me, stunned. "You're losing touch, Nick. You're more paranoid than Frank ever was." She started to say something else, but she stopped, her mouth slightly ajar. Then her whole body began to shake. She hugged herself around the stomach and bent over a bit and took a few deep breaths. Then she straightened up and said, "Nick. Look at me. You have to choose. Sanity or paranoia. Life or death. Look at me. Think what you just asked me."
"This is real, Callie."
"What's real?"
I jabbed the gun at Steve, and he flinched away.
I was yelling through my teeth. "He came after me tonight. He had a sniper rifle aimed at my head"
"I asked him to follow you, Nicky!"
"What? Why?"
"Em told us what happened. Your stopping by. It sounded like you got yourself into something awful. I asked Steve to keep tabs on you. I was worried. You're my son"
Steve was pressing both hands to his head.
"So he took that to mean he should come shoot me?" I said.
"I'm LAPD SWAT, Nick. How do you surveil someone at night if you're SWAT?" Steve raised his face. A blood vessel had burst in the corner of his eye. "Through a night-vision scope."
Doubt wormed its way in. "You just happened upon me? In the bushes at Echo Park?"
"No. I tailed you from your apartment. I didn't really care to, but your mother and Emily talked me into it. I was watching from the moment you set up in the bushes. You took a leak on your way in. If I was gonna take you out, I could've shot you whenever."
Was there anywhere I'd been in the past three days that I wasn't being watched by one party or another?
My conviction wavered. Could it be true? That Steve had followed me and we'd chased each other out of Echo Park before the puppet master showed himself? "Okay," I said, imploring Callie, "he also cleared Frank's stuff out of the attic, a picture tying Frank to someone the government doesn't want to admit exists. It's all missing."
"That's part of this… this fantasy you've concocted about Steve?" Callie said, "/moved Frank's boxes to the garage after you left. For the trash and Salvation Army. They'd been up there, untouched, for so many years. And then you came by, all the old ghosts
… I figured it was time."
For a few crushing moments, I regarded the Glock in my hand. Then I walked over and set it on the couch cushion beside Steve.
He was still holding his face, and he didn't look up. "Any other questions?" he asked.
"Yeah. How's your head?"
"Not fucking good."
"I'll get you some ice, honey." Callie glared at me as she swept past. "I think you can leave now."
"Can I wait to make sure he's okay?"
"I'm dandy," Steve said. "Now, get the hell out of here."
"Can I at least get you some Advil, something?" I asked.
Steve was murmuring under his breath. Callie came back with ice wrapped in a dish towel. She pressed it to Steve's cheek and temple. "Our medicine cabinet, upstairs."
