Paula sipped her morning coffee as she read the Los Angeles Times headlines: MANHUNT ENDS IN ARREST. Beneath it was a grotesque photo of Malcolm, released by the LAPD upon booking him. Poorly done stitches crisscrossed his face and reattached his swollen eyelid, running like railroad tracks across a map. She looked up close at the photo. The guy looked like a plane wreck and she almost felt sorry for him. He must not have slept in days or was perpetually high on some drug. She began to read the article:
Tipped off by a female escort responding to a house call, the LAPD, working with FBI Agents, raided a home in Santa Monica on Wednesday night. The raid resulted in the arrest of 3 suspects in the recent crime spree that hit the Hollywood Hills and Griffith Park. The house was suspected to be a hangout for the notorious Hoover gang, of which the suspects are believed to be high-ranking members. The arrests end the week long manhunt for Malcolm Lyons, age 36, who was wanted on several charges, including the murder of James Hickey, whose body was found in the LA River on Monday morning. Malcolm is also believed to be connected to the bombing and arson of a home in the Hollywood Hills on Tuesday. Malcolm claimed he was involved in an auto accident last week where his head went through the windshield. Authorities state however his blood and DNA samples matched those on the talons of an owl in Griffith Park that reportedly attacked Malcolm while he was attempting to kidnap a teenage girl.
The article went on to describe the raid, the other two suspects arrested and Malcolm’s poor upbringing and long criminal history.
She felt odd reading the article. She was greatly relieved that the man was caught, but was dismayed at the sorry state he was found to be in. She tried to imagine what his life was like, having to rely on underground doctors, living on the run and making a career harming himself and others. What would the future for this man be now, she wondered? Surely he would spend the rest of his life in prison or worse on death row and he should be there, she thought. But it didn’t do anything to her sense of justice to think that a life wasted like that was worth anything for either end. It was all so depressing. She looked at the newspaper and read other headlines. The whole thing was depressing — all of it. Why is it only blood, sex and money that attract our attention and sell news and entertainment she wondered? What went wrong in the human mind’s hardwiring that this is what we most crave to know about and what entertains us? Now that it was her life directly affected by the news, it seemed all so detestable and she was sickened by it.
She decided she would continue to keep Angelina out of school and called to inform them that it would be likely a little while until she returned as the attention surrounding the recent events would only serve as a distraction for the other girls in class. They agreed. Angelina wasn’t too happy, longing for a return to her normal life where she could hang out with her friends, gossip and take extra classes to earn credits toward graduating from High School early. She was missing several swim meets and hadn’t been in the water for two weeks, which frustrated her.
To keep her preoccupied for the day, Paula arranged for Charles to pick her up so she could spend the afternoon with Sam.
As they drove off down the mountainside road, he looked over at her, shaking his head. “I heard about what happened to your house. Man, that’s really bad,” he said with empathy. “I’m really sorry for you.”
“Yeah, we lost a lot of stuff. But insurance will cover it.”
“Yeah, but you know, I’m glad they caught the son of a bitch who did it, that’s all.”
“We are too,” Angelina replied.
“I don’t know how you keep your head up young lady. You must have nerves of steel. I’m proud of you.”
“Beer and baseball,” she said with a smile. “It worked.”
“You didn’t?” he said incredulously.
“Yep.”
“Your mamma knew about it, right?”
“Yes, she knew.”
“You didn’t say it was me that told you to do that, right?”
“Oh, of course I did.”
“Damn you girl. Gonna get me in trouble. I’m sure I’m gonna hear about this from somewhere.”
She laughed and changed the subject, telling him about her new boyfriend, which he began pumping her for details about. He was surprised she didn’t already have his photo on her phone, which she agreed was a grave omission on her part.
They pulled onto the 101 Freeway off Franklin Boulevard and Charles got into the fast lane, shooting up the Cahuenga Pass. “Now Angie,” Charles said seriously, “you gotta do something to cheer up Sam. Since these new doctors have come onto the scene, he hasn’t been himself. They’ve got him on some antidepressants now and its like they dimmed the light switch.”
She sighed, “I know. It sucks. Don’t get me started.”
“I’m just saying, the household staff, we’re all watching it and we feel like it is our own son who is being mistreated, but there ain’t nothing we can do. We speak up a little or spread some small rumor and we’re bagging groceries at Ralphs and on the ‘never-to-be-hired-by-anyone’ list.”
“So, do you have a suggestion for me?” she rhetorically asked.
There was a pause as he thought about it and shook his head. “No. I’m saying — that’s all.”
They arrived and she got out of the car with a knot in her throat. She walked up the marble stairs to the mansion entrance, nervous for the first time in a long time about spending the day with Sam. She hoped the psychiatrists weren’t there and if they were, she decided she would politely refuse to speak to them again. She went through the front door and slowly walked passed the lobby, taking in the large trophy cases holding various awards the Currys had won over the years from the Golden Globes to various Critic Choice Awards and acknowledgements for their contribution to various charities and civic groups. A glass case remained empty, in anticipation for the Oscar either had yet to win.
A cold voice stopped her. “Angelina, I’d like to see you.” It was Lucy and the tone told Angelina she was in some trouble. She opened her mouth to respond, but Lucy had already turned her back and headed down the hall towards her office, expecting Angelina to obediently follow like a dog that had been summoned to its owner. She took a deep breath, rolled her eyes and trailed behind her.