A Fate Worse Than Death

The rain was coming down in a deluge. Sergeant Lyle Hirschberg was driving. He could hardly see through the windshield as the wipers tried their best to keep up with the onslaught. Steven was sitting shotgun and squinting through the darkness to try to figure out exactly where their turnoff was. “I think it’s the next block,” he said.

The two men had been working together for three years, and Steven considered himself lucky to have Lyle for a partner. Lyle didn’t look like the typical TV detective with his slight, unmuscular frame and his thinning red hair, pale complexion, and nervous demeaner. But Steven had found him to be a dogged investigator and unfailingly dependable in a clutch. They were headed for the house of Edgar Escochea, whose nephew Manny Sanchez had just been paroled. Sanchez was supposed to be staying in a halfway house, but their intel told them otherwise. They had merely wanted to talk to him about one of his former buddies, Lester Chavez, who had taken part in a gas station holdup with Sanchez but had escaped capture and conviction. Now, if what they had heard was true—that Sanchez was hanging around with Escochea, another convicted felon—his parole could be revoked. The two detectives would like to avoid that. They’d rather get their hands on Chavez and get him off the streets. Steven was eager to get Sanchez down to the station, interview him, and then get home. Tonight, was the opening of Olivia’s play, and he had promised Rosemaria that she would be his date. It was already half past five, and he needed to be at the theater with his daughter by eight. He hoped Sanchez would be a willing witness and not cause any delays. They had the parole violation to hold over his head, so he should be willing to spill his guts about whatever he knew.

Lyle made a right turn, and Steven started reading off the house numbers. “Forty-two fifty-eight. It must be the next one, with the broken fence.”

Lyle drove by the house slowly. There was a dim light inside. He parked half a block away, and they both pulled their Glocks out of their holsters, checked them, reholstered, stepped out of the unmarked car and into the pouring rain. They walked quickly down the street, eyes on their surroundings, to the front porch of the dilapidated house, where they found a bit of shelter from the downpour. They peered in the front window and saw no one. They could barely make out a table in the kitchen that seemed to be laden with piles of small plastic packets of a white powdery substance.

Steven spoke first. “No warrant. We can’t go in.”

“I guess we didn’t hear a cry for help either.”

The light in the kitchen went out. “I’ll go right. You go left.” Steven said.

Lyle took out his Glock and flashlight and stepped off the porch. Steven did the same. They proceeded to slowly make their way around either side of the house. The adrenalin of both men was surging. Rain and sweat were mingling on their faces as they approached the backyard.

Steven heard movement by the back door. He noted a thick rake handle leaning on the far side of the back door by an overflowing garbage can. Suddenly a shadow streaked from behind a pile of wood and broken furniture and raced down Lyle’s side of the house to the front. Steven’s flashlight caught another man following and he heard Lyle grunt as if he’d hit the ground. He rounded the corner of the back of the house and saw Lyle on the ground, struggling with a middle-aged Hispanic man for the control of his gun. A shot rang out. Steven grabbed the rake handle, took two steps toward the men on the ground, and, after waiting for a clear shot, swung with all his might at the Hispanic man’s head. He went down-and-out like a lead balloon.

Steven quickly knelt beside Lyle. “You okay?”

Lyle grimaced in pain. “I twisted my damn shoulder. I can’t believe I let the bastard get the better of me.”

Steven took out his radio and clicked it on. “Officers in need of assistance and ambulance at forty-two sixty Laurel Street. And issue a BOLO for Manny Sanchez, last seen fleeing the scene of an attack on an officer at the same address. Copy?”

The radio crackled. “Copy that. Units are on the way.”

He clicked off and looked down at Edgar Escochea. “He’ll live.”

****

Steven was in the waiting area of the Good Samaritan Hospital, where Lyle was being treated for a pulled muscle in his arm. The doctor had told him that Lyle should be back in working order in two weeks. Steven used his cell to call home.

Rosemaria answered. “Mommy’s really mad at you. She had to call and ask Matt and Carol to take me to the theater.”

“You’re home by yourself?” Steven became alarmed.

“It’s only for about fifteen minutes, then they’ll be here. I’m not a baby, you know.”

“Even so.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be late getting to the theater. Lyle and I had to arrest somebody.”

Rosemaria’s entire demeanor changed. “Did they do something really bad? Did they rob a bank or something? Was it dangerous?”

Steven mumbled to himself, “What have I done to create a child so excited at the thought of chasing criminals?”

“What Daddy?”

“Nothing. Tell the Claytons that I’ll be about half an hour late and to save me a seat beside you.”

“Okay. Then you can tell me more when I see you.”

Steven had to laugh in spite of himself. “Yes, I’ll tell you all about it. All the gory details. But don’t tell your mom.”

“I promise!”

He hung up and called the station. “It’s Baker. Could you connect me with Farber?” He waited. “Yeah, Lieutenant, is it okay if I fill out the paperwork tomorrow? If I don’t get to my wife’s play, she’ll give me grief for the next month… Great. Yeah, first thing in the morning.” He hung up as Lyle came down the hallway, one arm in a sling.

“Did you find out if Escochea is still with us?” Lyle asked.

“Yeah, he has a concussion, and his eye almost left its socket, but they’ll move him to the prison infirmary in a couple of days.”

“Did you see him wrestling with me? If you hadn’t hit him, the next shot could’ve killed me. I’ll be goin’ to the gym with you as soon as I’m out of this thing.” He looked over at Steven, who was stifling a laugh. “What?”

Lyle’s aversion to working out was well-known, but Steven was all innocence. “Nothing.” They walked side by side down the hall and out to the parking lot, Lyle mumbling under his breath and Steven doing his best to show sympathy.

****

Steven used all his driving skills to weave in and out of Friday night traffic. His years hauling ass down freeways and city streets as a patrolman were serving him well as he headed up the 5 freeway to Burbank. Through sheer luck and clean living, the traffic gods decided to give him every break, and he made it to his seat just as the lights in the theater were going down. He whispered his apologies to the Claytons, their next-door neighbors who were always willing to help out in a pinch, gave Rosemaria a kiss on the top of her head, and then the play began. He had seen his wife onstage before in small productions but never in a professional play in a five-hundred-seat theater. He was surprised at how nervous he felt for her.

His wife was the first to appear onstage as the play opened. Apparently, hers was the leading role. She played a put-upon housewife, constantly demeaned by her lout of a husband as she went about serving him. The play was a comedy, and Olivia immediately garnered laughs as her character bravely attempted to overcome her husband’s demands and put-downs. She had a scene with an actress who played her older sister, who was hilarious in her role as an interviewer at a job agency. The back and forth between the aggressive interviewer and the frightened housewife made for some pathos in the scene as well as a great deal of laughs. Steven didn’t know much about acting, but it was obvious that his wife had immense talent and a confident stage presence. By intermission he had relaxed and was thoroughly enjoying himself.

As the lights came up, Rosemaria looked up at him. “She’s really good isn’t she, Daddy?”

“She’s better than good. She’s incredible.” And he meant it.

He let the Claytons take Rosemaria out to the lobby for refreshments. Meanwhile his mind drifted back to the first time he’d seen Olivia. He’d been driving on the 101 freeway around twelve midnight, on his way home to his apartment in the San Fernando Valley and had seen a young woman in a summer dress and headscarf stranded on the side of the freeway with a flat tire. She was reaching into the trunk trying to pull out her spare and was actually about to change the tire that was on the side facing the freeway. He made a split-second decision to stop before the crazy woman killed herself. He pulled over and backed up to where her car was parked. She observed him closely, not as if he were a rescuer but as if she were wondering who this crazy person was getting out of his car and walking toward her. She looked like she was about to leap back into her car and lock the doors. He held out his badge and reassured her he was a cop and was there to help. After her fear subsided, she collapsed against the car with relief, and her eyes filled with tears. Her scarf slid off and flew with the wind across the freeway.

“Now, now,” Steven said, trying to comfort her, and at the same time realizing that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. “I have a police radio in my car. I’ll call a tow truck and get your tire changed. You can wait in my car, or yours if that makes you feel safer.”

The woman hesitated then said, “I’ll get in my car if that’s okay.”

“Sure, no problem.”

He walked back to his car and called the tow truck, wondering how he could find out if the woman was married and if it was kosher for him to somehow finagle a date. He sat behind the wheel and watched her sitting, waiting without moving, and he then saw her head fall forward on the steering wheel and stay there. He fought the impulse to go check on her. When the tow truck showed up, he badged the guy and knocked on the woman’s window. She had been sound asleep and awoke with a start. She rubbed her eyes and rolled down the window.

“I don’t have a Triple A card.”

Steven waved it off. “No problem. Police emergency. I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t want you to pay.”

“Don’t worry. It’s police business. But ma’am, I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive. You were sound asleep just now.”

She bit her lip. “I worked the late shift at an answering service, and I’m beat.”

“Why don’t I have the driver tow your car to your house and he can change the tire there?”

“That sounds really expensive! Are you sure you don’t have to pay?”

“It’ll be taken care of.”

Steven spoke briefly to the driver, then the woman followed him to his car, and they waited while her car was being hooked up to the tow truck. They drove in tandem to North Hollywood where she lived, not too far from him, in an apartment with her roommate. After the tow truck driver had changed her tire, saying goodnight to her in the car had taken two hours. They hadn’t so much as touched, but both knew something special was happening between them.

Paying for the tow and tire change had emptied out his wallet, but he hadn’t cared.

He smiled now, remembering the loony, lovestruck kid he’d been.

The Claytons came back to claim their seats and he stood to let them by. Rosemaria slid past him and plopped down in her seat just as the lights began to go down. “This half is even better, Daddy. I know because I ran lines with Mommy.”

“She’s lucky to have such a good reader,” he whispered back.

She put her forefinger up to her mouth to hush him, and the second half of the play began.

****

“Did you hear the applause?” Oliva was gloriously in her element as she waltzed around the tiny dressing room. “It washed over me like a tidal wave! Comedies don’t usually get standing O’s, but we got one anyway!”

Steven and Rosemaria stood aside as cast members and friends, including Matt and Carol, came to revel in the excitement of opening night. They showered Olivia with compliments, and she drank them up like a desert wanderer who’d just come upon a lush oasis. She looked over at her husband and child.

“We’re having a cast party at Chez Nous.” She hesitated. “Would the two of you like to come or…”

Rosemaria looked up at her father. “Could we come for a little while,
Daddy?”

“No, I think it’s best to get you home, sweetheart.”

“Okay, I’ll see you two tomorrow then. Don’t wait up for me!” Olivia gave Steven a peck on the cheek and wrapped her arms around Rosemaria. “Love you, baby.” And then she turned back to her friends and continued to bask in the afterglow of a successful opening.

Steven took his daughter’s hand, and they walked down the back hallway and out to the parking lot. They were both subdued.

“Mommy is happiest when she’s acting isn’t she, Daddy?”

“That’s true, honey. That’s where her heart is.”

“Isn’t her heart with us?”

He laughed, swooped his daughter up in his arms, and held her tight for a few moments. “First and foremost, honey, first and foremost!” He set her down, took out his keys and opened the car door. He reached inside and pulled up the knob to unlock the back door. Rosemaria climbed in and attached her seatbelt. She did not look convinced. He sat down in the driver’s seat then turned around and looked at his slightly crestfallen daughter. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“Then how about we go home and celebrate Mommy’s great performance with hot chocolate, and I’ll tell you all about what happened tonight when some criminals came after Lyle and me and your father had to save the day?”

That lit Rosemaria up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah! And tell me all the gory details!”

“You got it!”

He pulled out of the parking lot feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.