Bentley Little - The Association

But Jeremy's verbal pyrotechnics did not work on Hitman . Even listening to only one side of the conversation, Barry could tell where it was going. He'd been there before himself: Hitman was not empowered to intervene in association business, this was clearly an association dispute, and if he had any problems, Jeremy should address them to the board.

"God damn}" Jeremy said, clicking off the phone and slamming it down on the coffee table. "What do they have on this sheriff? Video of him in bed with a pig? Jesus Christ! How can a law enforcement officer totally ignore his responsibilities like that? He's not doing his fucking job! And he's not even embarrassed or sorry about it!"

"That's what we've been wondering," Maureen said.

"I'm definitely going to other agencies with this. Hitman's either completely corrupt or grossly incompetent, and if I have to sue his ass for malfeasance and dereliction of duty, then, goddamn it, that's what I'll do. There's no way he's getting away with this."

Barry was silent, his faint hopes dimming. Jeremy was a resourceful opponent, but the association was a juggernaut, willing and able to flatten any obstacle in its path.

"What next, then?" Chuck asked.

Barry took a deep breath. "I guess we wait for morning."

He stood by the window, looking out at the road as if expecting Dylan to return any second, while a BMW filled with teenagers sped by, the driver honking his horn and yelling, "Your mama sucks cocks in hell!"

Barry awoke at six, before Maureen and, from what his ears told him, before anyone else. He'd slept through the night as usual, but there'd been dreams, bad dreams, and he was glad to wake up. He slipped out of bed slowly, carefully, one foot at a time so as not to disturb Maureen, and put on his robe and slippers before opening the bedroom door and padding upstairs.

He was quiet. He intended to sneak silently up to the kitchen so as not to disturb Chuck and Danna, but he could see by the early morning light seeping through the mini blinds that the sofa bed had been folded up. The living room looked unused, the linens and pillows untouched.

He turned on a lamp, frowning, and made a quick tour of the house. The door to the guest bedroom was closed and locked, Jeremy and Lupe obviously inside, but both the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms were empty, doors open. No dishes had been used in the kitchen, not even a water glass, and through the windows there was no sign of anyone in the yard.

Chuck and Danna had disappeared.

They've probably gone for a walk, he told himself. They'd made the sofa bed, refolded the linen, and sneaked outside for an early morning constitutional. But there was a gnawing doubt in his gut, and part of him wanted to wake up everyone else in the house, rush outside, and start an immediate search.

He pushed those thoughts aside, did not allow his mind to proceed in that direction. To acknowledge that something bad had befallen them would be to acknowledge that someone something --had broken into their house and that he could not do. The possibilities were just too far-reaching, the implications too terrifyingly intimidating. Especially after yesterday.

It was an ostrich attitude, with its irrationally rational appeal, but something seemed to have shut down inside him, some sense of justice or outrage or responsibility, and he found that he could believe nothing untoward had occurred. He could honestly say that he thought it likely his friends had simply awoken early and gone out for a stroll around the neighborhood.

One by one, the others awoke, and Barry, who'd been sitting silently in the living room, stood, went upstairs, and busied himself in the kitchen making coffee. Maureen came up first, then Jeremy, then Lupe.

All of them asked about Chuck and Danna, and Barry shrugged off the questions, saying that he didn't know where they were, they'd been gone when he awoke, but that they were probably just taking a morning walk to clear their heads after yesterday's drama.

"Oh yeah," Maureen said sarcastically. "They're probably out looking for Dylan."

He did not bother to respond.

They ate breakfast in silence, the only noise in the house the false cheer of a morning news show on TV and the chomping of cereal.

"Who are we fooling?" Jeremy said, setting down his spoon. "How long are we going to pretend that they're coming back?"

"We don't know that they're not," Barry stressed. "We can't just go jumping to conclusions."

"After Dylan, it's not such a big jump," Maureen told him.

"They wouldn't just go without telling us," Jeremy insisted.

"Something's happened to them."

Lupe stood, looked over the railing into the living room. "Their luggage is gone," she pointed out.

Barry moved next to her. She was right. Chuck's overnight bag was missing and Danna's two small suitcases were nowhere to be seen. How could he have missed something so obvious?

"Then I guess they took off," Barry said without conviction, "headed home."

"How could they leave without their car? And why would they? If they wanted to leave, they would've told us, and we all would've driven out together. They wouldn't... what? Hike back to California? Call a cab?"

He looked over the railing at the untouched sofa bed.

First Dylan.

Now Chuck and Danna.

They were picking off his friends one by one.

"Maybe we should get out of here," Lupe suggested.

Barry nodded in agreement, though he felt torn up inside. Three days.

It had only taken three days for Bonita Vista to break down and decimate his best and strongest line of defense.

Still, there remained a core of iron within him, a resolute unwillingness to concede defeat that, if anything, was growing stronger. He was reminded of the tag line for a movie: This time it's personal.

But it had always been personal. He thought of their cat Barney, thought of the murder of the man who had harassed Maureen, thought of Ray. His opposition to the homeowners'

association had never been anything but personal.

Jeremy shook his head. "I'm not leaving until we find out what happened to them. If I have to stay here a fucking year, I will, but there's no way I'm going to abandon my friends."

"Let's head out," Barry said, "take a look around Bonita Vista, see if we can find something."

Jeremy nodded grimly. "We'll start with the president's house."

"Do you want to go with them?" Maureen asked Lupe. The other woman looked over at her husband, then shook her head and started digging into her cereal. "I'll stay with her," Maureen told Barry.

He nodded, came back to the table to quickly finish off his coffee, then went down to the bedroom and put on his shoes. Jeremy was ready to go by the time he came up to the living room, and Barry unlocked, unbolted, and opened the front door.

And saw a pink sheet of paper affixed to the outside of the screen.

Jeremy pushed open the screen door, reached around the metal frame, and grabbed the paper.

"It's a form," he said, and his voice was flat. "Or your 'recipient's copy' of a form. A Regulation Compliance form, to be exact. And there's a "Violation' box checked. "Unauthorized Presence of Minority.""

"Shit," Barry said. He thought of the sealed letter they'd found in the closet that first week.

They're doing it. They're keeping track of it. Don't think they aren 't.

They'd been talking quietly, but the quiet must have carried its own weight because he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Maureen and Lupe standing on the edge of the stairs gazing down on them, both of their faces registering the same expression.

Jeremy looked up at his wife, reading aloud. " "Hispanic female and husband staying at residence. If violation continues, offending couple will be removed.""