When The Bough Breaks

His face purpled, the butterscotch eyes bulging. I let go of his head. It dropped to the floor. He landed on his nose and it started to bleed. He writhed in confinement.

"Don't say it. You were just following orders."

"You don't understand!" he sobbed. Real tears mixed with the mustache of blood on his upper lip creating a momentary illusion of harelip. But for his degree in drama I might have been impressed. "Gus took me in when the rest of them - my so - called friends and family, everyone - blackballed me for the Saxon thing. You can think what you want but that wasn't murder. It was - an accident. Saxon was no innocent victim. He wanted to kill me - that's the truth."

"He's in no position to state his case."

"Shit! Not one believed me. Except Gus. He knew what it could be like at that place. They all thought I was a washout - shame of the family and all that crap. He gave me responsibility. And I lived up to his expectations - I showed my stuff, showed you don't need a degree. Everything was perfect, I ran La Casa as smooth as - "

"You're a terrific storm trooper Tim. Right now I want answers."

"Ask," he said weakly.

"How long has the Brigade been a cover for child molesters?"

"From the beginning."

"Just like in Mexico?"

"Just like. Down there, to hear him tell it - the police knew all about it. All he had to do was grease a few palms. They let him bring in rich businessmen from Acapulco - Japanese, lots of Arabs - to play with the kids. The place was called Father Augustine's Christian Home - whatever that is in Spanish. It went good for a long time until a new police commissioner, some religious nut, took over and didn't like it. Gus claims the guy ripped him off for thousands in payoff then double - crossed him and shut the place down anyway. He moved up here and set up camp. Brought Crazy Earl with him."

"Earl was his boy in Mexico?"

"Yup. I figure he did the shit work Followed Gus like a lap dog. The guy spoke Spanish like a beaner - I mean the accent was fine but what he said was gibberish - we're talking brain damage, man. A robot with the screws loose."

"McCaffrey had him killed anyway."

Kruger gave the closest approximation to a shrug the ropes would allow.

"You have to know Gus. He's cold. Loves power. Get in his way and you're done. Those suckers didn't have a chance."

"How did he get set up so fast in L.A.?"

"Connections."

"Cousin Willie?"

He hesitated. I prodded him with the .38.

"Him. Judge Hayden. Some others. One seemed to lead to another. Each one knew at least one other closet sicko. Amazing how many of those guys there are. Cousin Will was a surprise to me, 'cause I knew him really well. Always seemed such a priss, holier than thou. My folks held him up as an example to follow - fine, upstanding Cousin Doctor." He laughed hoarsely. "And the guy's a kiddy boffer." More laughter. "Though I can't say I actually saw him take a kid home - I set up the schedules and I never set him up with anything. All I know he did was patch injured kids up whenever we called. Still, he must be as sick as the rest, why else would he be kissing up to Gus?"

I ignored the question and asked one of my own.

"How long was the blackmail going on?"

"A few months. Like I told you we screened the kids, to make sure they wouldn't talk. One time we blew it. There was this one boy, an orphan, just perfect. Everyone thought he was mute. Jesus, he never talked to us. We had speech and hearing tests - the government pays for all of that - and everything came back no speech. We were sure, and we were wrong. The kid talked all right. He told the teacher plenty. She freaked out and reported it to Cousin Will - he was the kid's pediatrician. She didn't know he was involved in it himself. He told Gus."

And Gus had him killed. Gary Nemeth.

"Then what?"

"I - do we have to talk about it?"

"We goddamn as hell do! How did it happen?"

"They ran him down with a truck. They took him out of bed in the middle of the night, must have been close to midnight. Nothing's out there at that hour. Put him on the road, walking. In his pajamas. I remember the pajamas. Yellow, with baseballs and mitts all over. I - I could have tried to stop it but it wouldn't have made a difference. The kid knew, he had to go. Simple as that. They would have done it later and probably me, too. It was wrong to do that to a little kid. Coldblooded. I started to say something. Gus squeezed my arm. Told me to shut up. I wanted to scream. The kid was walking on the road, all alone, half - asleep, like he was dreaming. I kept quiet. Halstead got into the truck, drove it a ways down the road. I could hear him revving it up, from around the bend. He came back speeding, headlights on high beam. Hit the kid from behind - he never knew what happened, he was half asleep."

He stopped talking, panting, and closed his eyes.