obeyed and withdrew into the foyer, then farther intothe living room as I followed him inside, leaving some distance between us. I left the front door open, and the porch light spilled into the darkness.
I turned on a small lamp by the wall and another one next to the couch, which flushed the room with a warm light that did not quite reach the high ceilings or the darkness of the open rooms behind Sonny, but it was enough to get my bearings.
Their house was furnished with all the fancy stuff required of a wealthy, middle-aged couple: the big-screen TV, the lavish stereo system, the large aquarium by the foot of the staircase. It was hard not to notice the tall wooden crucifix above the fireplace and the vases on every table, filled with snapdragons and spider mums, oriental lilies, bluebells and gladioli. I had learned all their names over the years.
Rain was drumming the roof above us. I must have been a sight to him: pale and hooded, one hand swathed in bandages and the other wielding a gun, a stranger dripping water onto his wife’s pristine white carpet. She used to yell at me just for wearing shoes in the house.
I caught a whiff of shrimp paste in the air, that nostalgic smell I would forever link to the Vietnamese.
“What you want?” He spoke in a quiet but strained voice. “You want money, my wallet right there.”
He nodded at the table beside me, where his wallet lay by the telephone and some car keys. Behind the phone stood a photo of him and Suzy on a beach, in front of waters bluer than I’d ever swum.
“I got no other money in the house.”
His was a voice that liked being loud, that liked dancing around its listener. I could tell it took him some effort not to fling his words at me.
With the free thumb of my injured hand, I managed to pull the receiver off the phone and leave it face up on the table. “Anyone else in the house?”
“Nobody here.”
“Nobody? Your wife—where’s she?”
I could see him about to shake his head, like he was ready to deny having a wife, before he realized that he had all but pointed out the photo.
“She not here. She sleep at her mother house tonight. Just me.”
“I see two cars in the driveway.”
“What do that matter? I tell you it just me here tonight.”
“So if I make you take me upstairs, I won’t find anyone there?”
He looked stumped, like I had tricked him. He glanced, as if for answers, at the giant crucifix above the fireplace before returning his outrage on me. “I tell you nobody here,” he growled. “Take my wallet. My car. Take what you want and go.”
I kept my gun trained on him and walked over to the fireplace. Sure enough, on the mantelpiece, by a rosary and some candles, lay Suzy’s red journal. I wondered if Sonny understood or even cared about its contents. The crucifix peered down at us, a contortion of dark anguish on the wall. I tucked the journal into my back pocket.
Sonny’s eyes narrowed and he lowered his hands a bit. In the dim light, his shaved head made him look like some ghoulish monk. From the open door, I could hear rain slapping concrete, a violent sound.
“Tell you what,” I said, “I’m gonna let you go. Walk out the front door. Call for help if you want.”
He threw me a baffled scowl.
“Go on. If no one’s here, then you have nothing to worry about.”
Now his hands fell. “What this shit, man? Who are you?”
I took a step toward him, and he slowly raised his hands again without adjusting his glare on me.
“Last chance,” I said.
“I’m not go anywhere, man.”
There was a calm now in the flimsy way he held up his hands, like I was an annoying child with a toy gun. He was ready to fight to the death. He didn’t know, though, that he’d already won. He’d passed the test. Except how many more times would he save her like tonight? And what did that prove anyway?
I glanced up the stairs, at the dark hallway of doors at the top, wondering which room was their bedroom, which room
I turned on a small lamp by the wall and another one next to the couch, which flushed the room with a warm light that did not quite reach the high ceilings or the darkness of the open rooms behind Sonny, but it was enough to get my bearings.
Their house was furnished with all the fancy stuff required of a wealthy, middle-aged couple: the big-screen TV, the lavish stereo system, the large aquarium by the foot of the staircase. It was hard not to notice the tall wooden crucifix above the fireplace and the vases on every table, filled with snapdragons and spider mums, oriental lilies, bluebells and gladioli. I had learned all their names over the years.
Rain was drumming the roof above us. I must have been a sight to him: pale and hooded, one hand swathed in bandages and the other wielding a gun, a stranger dripping water onto his wife’s pristine white carpet. She used to yell at me just for wearing shoes in the house.
I caught a whiff of shrimp paste in the air, that nostalgic smell I would forever link to the Vietnamese.
“What you want?” He spoke in a quiet but strained voice. “You want money, my wallet right there.”
He nodded at the table beside me, where his wallet lay by the telephone and some car keys. Behind the phone stood a photo of him and Suzy on a beach, in front of waters bluer than I’d ever swum.
“I got no other money in the house.”
His was a voice that liked being loud, that liked dancing around its listener. I could tell it took him some effort not to fling his words at me.
With the free thumb of my injured hand, I managed to pull the receiver off the phone and leave it face up on the table. “Anyone else in the house?”
“Nobody here.”
“Nobody? Your wife—where’s she?”
I could see him about to shake his head, like he was ready to deny having a wife, before he realized that he had all but pointed out the photo.
“She not here. She sleep at her mother house tonight. Just me.”
“I see two cars in the driveway.”
“What do that matter? I tell you it just me here tonight.”
“So if I make you take me upstairs, I won’t find anyone there?”
He looked stumped, like I had tricked him. He glanced, as if for answers, at the giant crucifix above the fireplace before returning his outrage on me. “I tell you nobody here,” he growled. “Take my wallet. My car. Take what you want and go.”
I kept my gun trained on him and walked over to the fireplace. Sure enough, on the mantelpiece, by a rosary and some candles, lay Suzy’s red journal. I wondered if Sonny understood or even cared about its contents. The crucifix peered down at us, a contortion of dark anguish on the wall. I tucked the journal into my back pocket.
Sonny’s eyes narrowed and he lowered his hands a bit. In the dim light, his shaved head made him look like some ghoulish monk. From the open door, I could hear rain slapping concrete, a violent sound.
“Tell you what,” I said, “I’m gonna let you go. Walk out the front door. Call for help if you want.”
He threw me a baffled scowl.
“Go on. If no one’s here, then you have nothing to worry about.”
Now his hands fell. “What this shit, man? Who are you?”
I took a step toward him, and he slowly raised his hands again without adjusting his glare on me.
“Last chance,” I said.
“I’m not go anywhere, man.”
There was a calm now in the flimsy way he held up his hands, like I was an annoying child with a toy gun. He was ready to fight to the death. He didn’t know, though, that he’d already won. He’d passed the test. Except how many more times would he save her like tonight? And what did that prove anyway?
I glanced up the stairs, at the dark hallway of doors at the top, wondering which room was their bedroom, which room
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