by Mike Monson
Later, Jessica sat at her computer and looked at images of student life at UC Berkeley. As she told her Daddy, she was a good girl. She’d always gotten straight A’s. She’d done all the right things to get into Berkeley: student government, yearbook staff, volunteering with handicapped youth. All the necessary bullshit.
She knew, on the outside at least, she looked like any normal upper middle-class high achiever from a nice family.
Jessica thought about dinner earlier and laughed. Her mother made lasagna. All six of them sat around their big expensive dining room table next to their luxury kitchen in their 4,000-square foot luxury house just like regular people. Her dad put on pants and a shirt, and her sister, as usual, went on and on about the volleyball team. Her mother—adorned with about a pound of gaudy gold and diamonds in addition to the constant crucifix around her neck—scolded her brothers for squirming around too much and not eating their asparagus. Jessica sat and smiled and pretended she didn’t hate all their guts.
It killed her that, to anyone looking, they would seem like some great wholesome nice family. An image from a nick@nite television show from the 70s. None of them ever talked about the way Carl Schmitz made the money to pay for all their shit. They never discussed that he took advantage of people who were broke and desperate, charged them exorbitant interest rates on loans, and paid them nearly nothing for their jewelry, their musical instruments, their TVs, and their stereo systems. And, definitely, no one ever brought up the fact that nearly all of his friends and business associates were shady characters and outright criminals, like that awful Jack Dixon.
“Jessica?” Oh shit. It was her mother leaning into her door. “I need to speak with you.”
“Yes? I’m busy.”
Doris Schmitz walked right in anyway. She didn’t give a fuck.
“Mom, can it wait? I have a lot of reading to do tonight still.”
“Get down on your knees.”
“Oh, Jesus, Mom. Come on.”
Doris carefully took off her large crucifix necklace. She kissed the shape of Jesus and got down on her knees.
“Sweetheart, please, join me in prayer.”
Doris attended mass nearly every day. The whole family still went on Sundays, making a big flashy show of their religious devotion. The entire event made Jessica seethe with resentment over the hypocrisy and phoniness of it all.
Jessica relented. She got down on her knees and faced her mother.
“The world is an evil place, Jessica.”
“I know, Mother, I know.”
“Without the aid and guidance of our Lord, there’s no defense against all the temptations the devil places before us.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“There are forces outside the sanctity of this house constantly fighting to get inside and destroy our family, and to lead us away from God.”
“I know.”
“Please, pray with me, dear.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Doris finally left Jessica’s room just after midnight. Afterward, Jessica lay in bed while reading Albert Camus’ The Stranger. By the time she turned off her light, it was just past one a.m.
12
At one-thirty a.m., Jeff and Paige parked a stolen van about a half-mile from the Schmitz house, along the side of an orchard. They proceeded on foot, walking between row after row of almond trees. Jeff carried a black gym bag stuffed with a stun gun, a cattle-prod, rope, duct tape, flashlights, two pistols, two knives, and extra ammunition. Paige carried an empty bag for the loot. They both wore black clothes and thin black leather gloves. Paige’s red hair was pinned up and hidden under a black cap.
A full moon rose from the north.
The Schmitz house backed up to one of the Del Rio Golf Course fairways. Befitting his self-adorned status, Carl Schmitz had purchased the most sought-after of Del Rio properties—the ones that lined the links. Paige and Jeff arrived at the back fence by way of a long green. Paige went to the front and hid out in the shadows next to the porch.
Jeff climbed over the fence, broke into the rear sliding-glass door, and pulled a small flashlight from his back pocket. Quickly, he walked to a small plastic panel on the wall just inside the front door. Using codes provided by Jack Dixon, he disabled all the alarms.
He let Paige in. They kissed.
“Are you sure about this?” Jeff asked, his voice a whisper. “Are you ready to do some heavy shit?”
“I’m ready.” She leaned in for another kiss, her face flush.
“Okay, babe. Shit’s gonna get real serious any second now. After that, there’s no turning back.”
“I’m sure, baby.”
Paige reached into a bag for one of the pistols, also supplied by Mr. Dixon, handed it to Jeff, and then grabbed her own.
“And be sure all this shit gets back in the bag before we leave,” Jeff said.
“Don’t worry, I will.”
According to Dixon, the two boys shared a room downstairs. Each of the sisters had their own room upstairs, down the hall from where their parents slept.
Paige and Jeff found the boys’ room. Light from the rising moon made it possible to make out their shapes as they lay in their beds. Paige was surprised at how large and just plain fat they both were. She yanked back the bedcover and grabbed Terrence, the younger smaller boy. Quickly, she tore strips off the roll of duct tape and wrapped them over his mouth and eyes. When he was secured, blind and mute, she held him tightly in her lap and sat on the edge of the bed. She watched as Jeff jumped on the other boy, Tyler, pinning his shoulders down with his knees and covering his mouth with his right hand.
Jeff stared down at Tyler with a wide grin. The moment seemed to last an eternity before Jeff finally put his hands on the boy’s throat and strangled him to death.
Jeff turned to Paige and smiled. To her, he’d never looked more beautiful.
He walked over to Paige and Terrence. While staring into Paige’s eyes, he used all his strength to twist the boy’s head, breaking his neck. Paige dropped the dead boy onto the floor.
Three minutes had passed since they’d entered the house. Not a sound had drifted upstairs.
Jeff looked at Paige and raised his eyebrows. She nodded, smiled, and kissed both his hands.
They took the bags upstairs. Jessica’s room was first. The girl stood next to her bed and rubbed her eyes. She wore a bra and panties. Jeff and Paige pointed pistols at her head and motioned for her to stay quiet. The girl started to scream. Jeff grabbed her from behind. Put his hand over her mouth and sat her down at her desk chair.
“Don’t make a sound, sweetie,” he said.
Paige took a kerchief from her bag and gagged Jessica.
Paige studied the girl, appreciating how her long blond hair and lovely blue eyes contrasted with, yet complimented, her own look.
“She’s beautiful,” Paige said.
“Even more gorgeous than her picture. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, she’s totally fucking hot.”
Paige pulled down Jessica’s bra, exposing her full breasts and long nipples. Jeff used duct tape to secure her arms to the chair.
Paige turned Jessica’s face toward Jeff.
“Isn’t he the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”
Jessica looked at Jeff with wide, crying eyes.
“Isn’t he? Come on, admit it. Nod your fucking head.”
Jessica nodded her head. Paige slapped her. Hard. Twice.
“We’re going to have a lot of fun with you. You might even like it.”
Jeff gently cupped Jessica’s left breast in his right hand.
“More of this later,” he said.
They spent a little more time in Ashley’s room. They gagged her. Jeff held her down. Paige punched and kicked the squirming thirteen-year-old while she cried out in pain. She grabbed two knives from the bag and handed one to Jeff.
“Ashley? Jessica?” Mrs. Schmitz had opened their bedroom door. Jeff stepped into the hall to deal with her.
Paige jumped on top of Ashley, stabbing her repeatedly in the chest and abdomen before puncturing her throat. She held her own head still as blood from Ashley’s neck sprayed upward onto her face, staring into the girl’s eyes as she died.
In the hallway, Jeff used his left hand to grab the hair at the back of Doris Schmitz’s head and his right to put the knife just under her left ear.
“Shut up, you stupid fucking bitch.”
He kicked open the door to the master bedroom. Schmitz stood at the foot of his bed. Awake. He wore a black silk bathrobe and was pointing a large pistol at Jeff.
“Put down that gun or I’ll carve off this cunt’s head,” Jeff said.
“Oh, Christ,” Schmitz said. “I know who you are.”
“Then you know I’ll do what I say.”
Paige appeared next to Jeff and Mrs. Schmitz. Her face covered in a thick shining red. Seeing this, Mrs. Schmitz screamed and then began to sob.
“What did you do?” Carl Schmitz said. “What did you do?”
Jeff held Mrs. Schmitz up. He grinned at Mr. Schmitz, baring his white teeth and began a shallow cut to Mrs. Schmitz’s neck, causing a thin line of blood to spread under her ear.
“Drop the fucking gun.”
Schmitz dropped the gun.
“Fucking dumbass,” Jeff said. He let go of the now screaming woman. He stepped over her and picked up Schmitz’s gun. He grabbed Carl Schmitz by the back of the head and forced the barrel into the pawnbroker’s mouth, breaking several of his teeth.
Paige pushed Doris Schmitz into a wall and stabbed her directly in the heart. She pulled out the knife and watched the bleeding woman slump to the floor and die.
Jeff forced Schmitz down into a desk chair.
“Don’t move or say another fucking word, Mr. Schmitz.”
Just before 2:30 a.m., Phil Gaines walked out his door and downstairs to his Jeep. He wore black sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a black hooded sweatshirt. His Colt .45 hung in the shoulder holster under the sweatshirt. In a large backpack, the kind used by hikers for multi-day camping trips, he carried more ammunition, extra clothes, matches, water, his foldable Buck knife that he checked to be sure was razor sharp, a small tent, and a sleeping bag. He’d also packed some food: beef jerky, nuts, trail mix, and energy bars. In his pockets, he kept his two extra clips and the rest of his cash. The .25 caliber was hidden in his right boot. He found the extra ignition key hidden underneath the fender above his left front tire, opened the door, and placed the backpack on the floor in front of the back seats. If things didn’t go well at the Schmitz house he could get away, far away. Fast.
Dan Briggs drove up with Dixon as Gaines approached the street. Phil hopped in the back of the baby-blue, mid-60s-era Cadillac. It annoyed him to see the vehicle wasn’t a little less conspicuous. Jack Dixon’s presence perplexed him, too.
“How are you, Mr. Gaines?” Dixon said. “It’s been awhile.”
“Hey Jack.”
“You ready to get rich?” Briggs said.
“I’m ready to do a job.”
“Good,” Briggs said. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“Why is Dixon here?” Phil said, pointing at the passenger seat with his chin. “He’s just the set-up man and the fence. This is only a two-man job.”
“Sorry about the last-minute changes. We just figured it’d be a good idea, since he knows the house and merch so well.”
“I don’t like changes. And I don’t like this car. It’s too unusual, someone will notice it.”
“No,” Dixon said. “It’s okay. There’s nothing going on out there this time of night. Ever. The private security patrol only comes by the house once every hour. Same time every night. I’ve timed it. We’ll be in and out before they see the car. I promise.”
Phil Gaines took a deep breath and noticed a slight flicker of tension in his chest. He was not comfortable. His instincts told him to have Briggs stop the car right then so he could get out and go home.
He watched as Briggs made a U-turn and headed north on Tully. In the direction of the Del Rio Estates. They passed Big Valley Grace Church on the right. Drove for about a mile surrounded by vineyards and almond orchards before hitting Ladd Road, where Briggs made a right turn.
“I’ll do this job with the two of you,” Phil said. “But don’t ask me again. And, if something goes wrong tonight or if I even think for an instant that things might be sketchy, I’ll get the fuck out and find my own way back. And I’ll be sure to fix things so that none of this comes back to me. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Sure, Phil, sure,” Briggs said. “Hey, by the way, I talked to Jeff Sweet last night.”
Phil leaned forward, a thrill running up his spine.
“Where are they?”
“Some hotel in Salinas. I didn’t ask for the exact location because I knew it’d make him suspicious if I pressed him on it.”
Phil leaned back in his seat. He knew Briggs was probably correct.
“It’s something to go on, though. Right?”
Phil didn’t answer.
They entered the Del Rio neighborhood. The development was unusual in that each home was custom built per the specifications and tastes of the original owner. The three-to-five-thousand square-foot houses sat on as many as four acres, surrounded by professionally designed landscaping.
Briggs parked in front of a vacant lot across the street from the Schmitz’s. He rolled down his window and turned off the engine. The street was quiet. The full moon was bright, transforming their manicured lawn into a field of gray.
Briggs took three pairs of latex gloves from the dash. He handed a pair to Dixon and Phil and kept a pair for himself.
Jack Dixon took his key to the Schmitz’s front door out of a pocket and led the way to the porch. Phil hung back a step and gazed at the house he’d been told was empty. There was a light in an upstairs window, followed by one quickly moving shadow, and then another.
Dixon slipped the key into the lock, opened the front door, and crossed over the threshold.
Phil’s nostrils filled with the scent of new death. The unmistakable combination of fresh blood, piss, shit, and fear-infused perspiration. He turned to run. Briggs pushed him into the house behind Dixon.
Jeff came out of the shadows in the entryway. His face and gloves were covered in blood. Smiling, he shoved a stun gun at Phil’s neck, pushed the button, and watched as Phil writhed and then fell to the floor. Immobile.
Jeff found the holstered Colt under Phil’s shirt. He plucked it out and stuck it in his pants at the small of his back.
“Okay. Grab that fucker and follow me.”
Dixon and Briggs dragged the immobile Phil down the hall toward the stairs. Dixon glanced into the boys’ room. He saw a small body on the floor and a larger one on the bed. They kept moving, pulling Phil up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, he looked into Jessica’s room and saw her taped to a chair, gagged and squirming. In the next room he saw Ashley’s bloody corpse on the bed. He turned to Briggs and raised his eyebrows. Briggs looked away.
In the master bedroom, Carl Schmitz was tied to a chair. His was face swollen and bloody, his pajama top torn to shreds and caked with blood. His head sagged down onto his chest. He stank of shit.
Paige stood behind him. Green eyes shining. Covered in blood. She held the cattle-prod in her right hand, pistol in her left.
“Briggs,” Jeff said, handing him Phil’s .45 pistol, and the stun gun. “Put Gaines in the easy chair and keep this on him. If he moves even an inch, hit him with the electricity again. I don’t care how much it fucks him up.”
On the other side of the bed sat a large chair, right in front of a set of French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the golf course. After pushing Phil into the chair, Briggs shoved the barrel of the gun hard into Phil’s neck.
“See how you like it, asshole,” Briggs said. He gave Gaines a broad smile.
“What the fuc
k?” Dixon said, his flashlight illuminating Mrs. Schmitz’s corpse on the floor. “You were just going to tie everyone up and blindfold them.”
Jeff shrugged. “Things didn’t work out that way.”
“And I was supposed to take care of Carl. I was supposed to handle him. I wanted to kill him. Shit. That fucker’s already dead. What the hell happened?”
“What happened is we decided we couldn’t wait.”
Dixon’s flashlight beam landed on an open bag filled with diamonds, gold jewelry, and bags of gold coins.
“He told you where the shit was?” Dixon said.
“Of course he did. Turns out Paige can be very persuasive. Must be her charm and great looks.”
Paige laughed.
Phil began to recover from the stun gun attack. He made sure to stay quiet and immobile and kept his attention on his breath. Through lidded eyes he was able to sneak glances around the room and take in what was happening. He guessed Dixon was quickly figuring out it wasn’t just Phil who got set up on this job.
Dixon reached behind his back for a pistol just as Jeff shoved a knife into his belly.
“Briggs, you sonofabitch,” Dixon said.
Briggs kept his eyes on Phil.
Jeff Sweet pushed Dixon backward with the knife, forcing him onto his back on the floor. He straddled him and stabbed his torso, neck, and face. Again and again.
“That’s right, baby,” Paige said. “Fuck him up good.”
Phil felt like a fool. Jeff and Paige had set things up with Briggs so that it would look like Phil and Dixon had done the job with another man who ended up killing his partners and escaping alone with the loot. Phil was certain they would also kill Briggs later that night and dispose of his body. Jeff and Paige didn’t care what the police figured out as long as they covered their own tracks.
