Winter Moon

demanded, and he did as he was told.
        The moon sailed out from behind the clouds, which was like slowly bringing up the stage lights to quarter power on a darkened set. She could see well enough to be sure that they were all older teenagers, sixteen to eighteen.
        She could also see that they didn't fit any popular stereotypes of taggers. They weren't black or Hispanic. They were white boys.
        And they didn't look poor, either. One of them wore a well-cut leather jacket, and another wore a cable-knit cotton sweater with what appeared to be a complicated and beautifully knitted pattern.
        The night quiet was broken only by the miserable gagging and groaning of the two she'd disabled. The confrontation had unfolded so swiftly in the eight-foot-wide space between the house and the property wall, and in such relative silence, that they hadn't even awakened any.neighbors.
        Keeping the gun on them, Heather said, "You been here before?"
        Two of them couldn't yet have answered her if they'd wanted to, but the third was also unresponsive.
        "I asked if you'd been here before," she said sharply, "done this kind of crap here before."
        "Bitch," the third kid said.
        She realized it was possible to lose control of the situation even when she was the only one with a gun, especially if the crotch-bashed pair recovered more easily than she expected. She resorted to a lie that might convince them she was more than just a cop's wife with a few smart moves: "Listen, you little snots-I can kill all of you, go in the house and get a couple of knives, plant them in your hands before the first black-and-white gets here.
        Maybe they'll drag me into court and maybe they won't. But what jury's going to put the wife of a hero cop and the mother of a little eight-year-old boy in prison?"
        "You wouldn't do that," the third kid said, although he spoke only after a hesitation. A thread of uncertainty fluttered in his voice.
        She continued to surprise herself by speaking with an intensity and bitterness she didn't have to fake. "Wouldn't I, huh? Wouldn't I? My Jack, two partners shot down beside him in one year, and him lying in the hospital since the first of March, going to be in there weeks yet, months yet, God knows what pain he might have the rest of his life, whether he'll ever walk entirely right, and here I am out of work since October, savings almost gone, can't sleep for worrying, being harassed by crud like you. You think I wouldn't like to see somebody else hurting for a change, think I wouldn't actually get a kick out of hurting you, hurting you real bad? Wouldn't I? Huh? Huh? Wouldn't I, you little snot?"
        Jesus. She was shaking. She hadn't been aware that anything this dark was in her. She felt her gorge rising in the back of her throat and had to fight hard to keep it down.
        From all appearances, she had scared the three taggers even more than she had scared herself. Their eyes were wide with fright in the moonlight.
        "We… been here… before," gasped the kid whom she'd kicked.
        "How often?"
        "T-twice."
        The house had been hit twice before, once in late March, once in the middle of April..Glowering down at them, she said, "Where you from?"
        "Here," said the kid she hadn't hurt.
        "Not from this neighborhood, you aren't."
        "L.A." he said.
        "It's a big city," she pressed.
        "The Hills."
        "Beverly Hills?"
        "Yeah."
        "All three of you?"
        "Yeah."
        "Don't screw around with me."
        "It's true, that's where we're from-why wouldn't it be true?"
        The unhurt boy put his hands to his temples as if he'd just been overcome with remorse, though it was far more likely to be a sudden headache. Moonlight glinted off his wristwatch and the beveled edges of the shiny metal band.
        "What's that watch?" she demanded.
        "Huh?"
        "What make is it?"
        "Rolex," he said.
        That was what she'd thought it was, although she couldn't help but express astonishment: "Rolex?"
        "I'm not lying. I got it for Christmas."
        "Jesus."
        He started to take it off. "Here, you can have it."
        "Leave it on," she said scornfully.
        "No, really."
        "Who gave it to you?"
        "My folks. It's the gold one." He had taken it off. He held it out, offering it to her. "No