More Twisted

something.”
    But after some debate he decided he didn’t like any of those approaches. She might just respond by saying, “Oh, thanks.” Then closing the door on him and calling the cops.
    End of Rodney Pullman.
    No, he needed to do something dramatic—something that would impress a woman as sleek and cool and, well, unimpressible as Tammy Hudson surely was.
    Squinting into the courtyard, Pullman saw that the voyeur had moved closer to her apartment, eyes still focused obsessively on her window. The sunlight glinted off the blades of the clippers, which gave an ominous swick, swick . The tool was long and seemed well-honed. He wondered if his earlier assessment had been wrong. Maybe this guy was dangerous.
    Which finally gave him the idea—how to best orchestrate an introduction to the beautiful Resident in 10B.
    Pullman rose and walked to his closet, rummaged through it and finally found his old baseball bat. He’d never been much for sports but he’d bought a bat and glove when he’d been hired at the bookstore and learned that they had a team. He’d thought it would be a good way to meet some of the girl clerks. As it turned out, though, the only players were guys and he soon dropped off the team.
    A glance outside—no sign of Tammy, though the voyeur was still there, clipping away fervently with the shears.
    Swick, swick  . . .
    Gripping the bat, Pullman left his apartment and slipped downstairs to the first-floor walkway then edged quietly to the shadows behind the stalker.
    His plan was to wait until Tammy left for her regular morning auditions. As soon as she passed the voyeur, Pullman would jog up to the man, brandish the bat and shout to her to call the police, this man was stalking her.
    He’d make the guy lie on his belly until the cops arrived; he and Tammy would have a good ten minutes to talk.
    No, no, it was nothing . . . . My name’s Rod Pullman, by the way. And you’re? . . . Nice to meet you, Tammy . . . . No, really, just being a good citizen . . . Well, okay then, tell you what, if you really want to repay me, you can let me take you out to dinner.
    Wiping his sweating hand on his slacks, he got a firmer grip on the taped bat handle.
    Sure, Saturday’d work for me. Maybe —
    The opening front door of Tammy’s apartment interrupted the fantasy.
    She stepped outside and pulled her expensive shades down over her eyes. Today, her black hair sported a bright-red headband, which matched her finger- and toenail polish. She had her blue purse over her shoulder and was carrying her portfolio. She started down the walk.
    The voyeur tensed. The clipping ceased.
    Pullman gripped the bat harder yet. He took a deep breath, rehearsed his lines once more.
    Ready, set . . .
    But then the voyeur stepped back. He set down the clippers and began fumbling with the front of his overalls.
    What—?
    Oh, Jesus, he was unzipping himself and reaching inside.
    He is going to rape her!
    “No!” Pullman shouted and ran forward, waving the bat over his head.
    “Hey!” The rapist blinked in panic and stumbled back, tripping over a small wicket fence around a mulch bed. He landed hard and cried out in pain, his breath knocked out of his lungs, gasping.
    Tammy stopped, turning toward the commotion, frowning.
    Pullman yelled to her, “Call the police! This guy’s been watching you. He’s a rapist!” He turned back to the blond man, waving the bat. “Don’t move! I’ll—”
    His words were cut off by the stunning explosion of gunshots from directly behind him.
    Pullman howled in panic and dropped to his knees as the bullets slammed into the stalker’s head and neck, leaving a bloody mist around him. The man shivered once and slumped to the ground, dead.
    “Christ!” Pullman whispered in shock and slowly rose to his feet. He turned toward Tammy and frowned in astonishment to see her holding a large black pistol, which she’d pulled out of her Coach purse. She was crouching and looking around like a soldier in an ambush.
    So she didn’t just study karate for self-protection; she had a license to carry a gun too. Well, a lot of women in LA did, he’d heard. On the other hand, Pullman wasn’t sure you could just shoot a man who was lying harmlessly on the ground, when he hadn’t actually attacked you.
    “Hey, you,” Tammy called, stepping closer.
    Pullman turned. He got a good look at the woman’s beautiful blue eyes and her diamond earrings sparkling in the sun, and he