Bentley Little - The Walking

He walked out to the kitchen.

Bonnie called around eleven, pretending as though there was nothing wrong. She thanked him for the presents he'd sent, asked perfunctorily how Dad was, then went on to tell him of the morning of gift unwrapping they'd had at her house and the huge turkey dinner she was preparing.

Gil even came on the line for a second with some generic holiday greetings, and Miles responded in kind. He had never much liked his brother-in-law, but he'd always been able to maintain a polite facade, and he did so now as well. After Gil hung up the other phone, Miles asked his sister if she'd like to talk to Dad, and she felt obliged to say yes. When he went back, checked, and told her that their father was still asleep, though, he could tell she was relieved. He said he'd call back later, when Dad was awake, and the two of them hung up, exchanging inanities.

A short time later, he heard the whir of the bed motor from the bedroom, and he went back to let his father know that Bonnie had called.

Bob smiled. "How's our old friend GilT' he whispered. "He can still go from man to wuss in three seconds." Bob laughed. Or tried to. But the laugh became a cough, and the cough got stuck somewhere in his throat and all that came out of his father's grimacing mouth was a hard, harsh wheeze.

The two of them were still talking about Bonnie and Git when Audra showed up with a great Christmas dinner: microwave plates of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and a plastic sack filled with salad. Miles was genuinely touched, and after he gave the nurse her presents and watched her unwrap them, she heated up the food. He sat in a chair next to the bed, eating, while Audra cut up his father's turkey into small easily digestible pieces and carefully fed them to him.

As he'd suspected, Audra and his father had not initially gotten along, although in recent days they seemed to have reached a kind of truce. As he'd hoped, that confrontation seemed to have energized his father, who had been making much better progress than expected--particularly in regard to his speech: Twice a week he still went to the hospital for tests and therapy, and while there was no change in his longterm prognosis, the doctor and the therapists admitted that in the short term, he was making excellent progress.

Miles finished his meal and walked out to the kitchen to put his plate in the sink. When he returned, Audra was just getting up from her chair next to the bed. Her face was red as she strode wordlessly out of the room.

Miles frowned. "What did you say to her, Dad?"

He was too far away to hear the answer, so he sat down in the nurse's chair and asked again. "What did you say?"

"I asked if it was true that in Japan they have vending machines that sell soiled panties," his father whispered. "I heard that they do."

Miles blinked, stunned, then laughed out loud. It had been a long time since he'd laughed, and he was probably overreacting, investing the comment with more humor than it probably warranted, but it felt good to laugh and he seemed to have no control of it anyway, and he just rode the wave and enjoyed the feeling.

His father grinned.

No, the stroke had not changed Bob's personality one bit. Miles grasped his dad's good hand, held it, squeezed. From the kitchen he heard the angry sound of a cupboard slamming.

He smiled. Taking everything into consideration, it wasn't such a bad Christmas after all.

L.A. was once again showing its true colors after its traditional New Year's false front, slumping back into smog as though the maintenance of that perfect-blue-sky ruse for even one day had zapped all its energy. The San Gabriel Mountains were entirely hidden behind a wall of white, and even the Hollywood hills were little more than a faint , outline in the haze. As usual, the weatherman on the early morning newscast had said that it was going to be "a beautiful day."

Miles walked into the break room, where Hal and Tran were comparing holidays. Tran had hosted his wife's massive Catholic family in his tiny little duplex, and the place had gotten so crowded and claustrophobic and Christian that Tran, a lax Buddhist, had spent most of Christmas day smoking in the backyard, trying to avoid his in-laws.

Hal and his wife spent the day together in their Sherman Oaks home, their son and his current girlfriend stopping by later for an uneventful visit. It was Christmas Eve day that Hal's usual series of misadventures had occurred, and Miles and Tran listened and laughed as the detective hilariously recounted how he had driven all over creation, looking for the jewelry box his wife wanted, before finally finding one at an independent discount house that he'd investigated last year for fencing stolen property. He'd bought it, intending to find another once the holidays were over and switch the two without his wife know lO3 thing; turning in the stolen one to the policnd telling them where he'd purchased it.

Tran nodded at how was your Christmas,

Miles?" if

As well as could be expected under the circumstances."

Both Tran and Hal nodded solemnly, understandingly, neither willing to chance a follow-up comment.

Miles felt awkward, and he found himself suddenly inventing a deadline that wasn't there, pretending that he needed to get back to his desk.

He sat down, shuffled through his papers, happy to have something to do, feeling far too comfortable being alone at his desk than he knew he should be.

Although Marina and her husband had gone back to Arizona, and her father refused to speak with him, Miles was still on the case, and for that he was grateful. He sorted through the files until he found theirs, withdrawing the list Liam had made up. He'd been systematically trying to locate all of the men on the list, although so far he'd found none. He'd been hoping to work with the police on this, utilize some of their resources, but to his surprise and consternation, the detective assigned to Liam's case was supremely uninterested. Miles had a few contacts downtown, among the police brass--and the firm itself had many more--and he planned to speak-to them and get the case transferred to another detective.

He spent the morning scanning phone directories and doing Internet searches. He was rewarded just after noon with the address and phone number of Hubert E Lars, now living in Palm Springs. When he attempted to call Hubert, however, a recording informed him: "This number is no longer in service, Please check the number and dial again." Miles called one more time, just to make sure he hadn't

accidentally punched in a wrong digit, but when the same recording came on the line, he hung up, feeling troubled. The image in his mind was of Hubert P. Lars lying dead on the floor of a long, low desert ranch house. He was half tempted to speed down to Palm Springs and check, but it was two hours away, and he knew his time would be much better spent trying to find addresses and phone numbers for the rest of the people on Liam's list.

He stayed late, and the sun was a smog-shrouded orange glow at the edge of the horizon where he finally pulled into his driveway. Miles grabbed the Taco Bell sack from the seat next to him, got out of the car and used his key to unlock the front door. He was greeted by darkness. And silence. No lights were on in the house, and he did not hear the everpresent sound of the television.

"Audra?" he called tentatively. "You here? Audra?"

There was no answer.

He suddenly realized why the house was silent.

His father had died. "Dad!" He dropped the sack on the coffee table and ran through the living room, his heart pounding so hard that it felt as though it was going to burst through his rib cage.

He dashed into the hall. The hall tree had been shoved in front of the door to his father's room as if to barricade it, and a love seat and chair from the back bedroom had been placed next to the hall tree to reinforce the barricade. It made no sense, but he didn't stop and try to analyze it or figure out why it had been done.