Riders In The Sky Part 40

2.

They stood at the peac.o.c.k tail window, Cutler and Cribbs, and watched Midway Road as if it were an experiment whose conclusion they were about to witness.

"He's good, Norville," Cribbs said with an admiring shake of his head. "1 got to give him that, he's plenty d.a.m.n good."

"Gets paid enough, he d.a.m.n well better be."

"Norville, I sense you're not happy."

"I won't be happy until it's over, Jasper."

"Then I guess you'll be smiling tonight."

Cutler smoothed a sideburn. "No, I'll be happy when I'm off this d.a.m.n island, that's when I'll be happy."

"Shame," Cribbs said, lowering himself into his chair, propping his heels on the low windowsill. "Going to be a lot more in it for you if you stick around."

"Not a chance." He patted his pockets, searching for a cigarette before he remembered that the mayor didn't allow smoking in the office. He rubbed a finger under his nose. "You heard from our partner?"

"Not a word."

"What? Jesus, Jasper, aren't you worried?"

"About what? The money shows up when he says it will, what's to worry about?"

"Tonight, you fool."

"For heaven's sake, Norville, you're like to drive a saintly man to drink, you know that? I am well convinced that Mr. Stone and Mr. Lauder have matters well in hand. What'll it take to ease your mind?"

Cutler shook his head slowly. "Tell you the truth, Jasper, I'm not exactly sure."

Cribbs chuckled. "You getting bad vibes, son? As we used to say when we were kids?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He ma.s.saged the back of his neck, smoothed his hair down. "I'm thinking of adding Chisholm to that list."

"Really. And the reasoning is ..."

"Dermot says he knows about the drugs."

"And you expect him to cause trouble?" Cribbs laughed loudly. "Him and his gang?" He slapped his thigh and laughed again. "Gang? His gang? Oh, my."

"I expect," Cutler said as he faced the mayor, "I expect him to be royally p.i.s.sed off is what I expect." He held up a warning finger. "I don't think he's the kind of man who's gonna let this go, Jasper. He's either gonna get himself some d.a.m.n fancy lawyer, or he's gonna come after us on his own. Either way, I don't want him around to screw things up."

With exaggerated theatrics, Cribbs threw up his hands, sighed, spun his chair around, and folded his hands on the desk. He didn't speak until Cutler came around to the other side, glowering at the show- "Number one, Norville, he is not going to screw things up. He can't. He sticks his nose in, it gets cut off-at the neck. He stands back, he doesn't get hurt, and he ain't stupid, he d.a.m.n well knows it.

"Number two, he can raise all the holy h.e.l.l he wants about the drug thing, but who's going to back him up? Dermot the Mouse? Like my daughter says in her more perceptive moments, get real. None of his friends are medical folks, they can't testify on what they don't know about. And who's going to take the word of an ex-con anyway? No one, that's who. So who else is there left to give him what he needs, support and evidence and such like? No one, that's who.

"Number three, he comes after us on his own, you'll put Stump back on him, no need to bother Mr. Stone. And make sure that this time the little toad doesn't cut out until the job's done." He sat back, then, and clasped his hands across his belly, considered the ceiling for a few seconds. "Matter of fact, why don't you go ahead and do that very thing? Put a little fear of G.o.d in him, make him remember the last time."

Cutler nodded reluctantly. "But what about Oakman? This isn't some simple thrashing we're talking about here, Jasper. Where's he gonna stand on all this?"

Cribbs smiled without mirth, pulled open a side drawer, and pulled out a large, thick manila envelope. "Funny you should mention that, Norville. Seems we're scheduled to have a meeting this very afternoon. Talk about the man's retirement, all the fine service he's given us over the years." He tapped the envelope with his forefinger. "I think it's going to be a fine, successful meeting, I truly do."

Cutler finally smiled. "Jasper, the next time I think you're an idiot, I'll remember this day."

"Good. You do that very thing. Now why don't you get on, talk to whoever you have to talk to. Vale will be trotting in here in a few minutes, and it wouldn't do to have him see you with me so soon before our... discussion. The man's got a conscience, Norville. It just needs a little ma.s.saging now and then."

Once Cutler was gone, the mayor swiveled around to face the window, watching until the man appeared on the street and headed down toward his office.

"So I'm an idiot, huh?" he whispered.

When the intercom buzzed, he reached back without turning. "What is it, Milli?"

"Mariana's here, Your Honor."

"Send her in, would you? And you might as well take your lunch now, Milli. Then ... oh, h.e.l.l, go on home, girl. Won't be nothing going on around here until after the first of the year anyway. Make it half days for the rest of the week."

"Why, thank you, sir, thank you. I'll... if you're sure, I'll-"

"Git, Milli," he said with a laugh, and broke the connection.

Shortly afterward his daughter came in, and from the sound of it, she was carrying a ton of shopping bags. "Where," he said as she leaned down to kiss his cheek, "do you find so many things on this island to buy, child?"

"I'm a bargain hunter, Daddy," she said, sitting on the arm of his chair. "Lots of bargains here, you know."

"I'll bet," he said sourly, and she laughed and kissed him again. "So, darlin', what's the story? What do you think?"

"I think Mr. Deputy Freck would walk on water if I asked him."

Cribbs grunted his satisfaction.

Investments paying off left and right, ducks all finally lined up in a row, it made him feel like singing. All he needed now was to get in touch with Mr. Stone, and by the time the sun next rose, why ... why he just might buy Mary Gwen that pink Caddy she'd been wanting.

3.

Casey stood on the sidewalk outside the Camoret Clinic, shading his eyes against the sun with a forearm as he looked up and down the street. The receptionist had been singularly unhelpful, except to say that Dr. Alloway was gone for the day, and no, she had no idea when he would be back.

"Funny way he has of checking up on his patients," he'd said, and took little pleasure in the shock on her face, or the sputtering as she tried to insist that Dr. Alloway had never shortchanged any of his patients.

"So now what?" Reed asked.

"I don't know what else to do," he admitted. "I've still got some of those pills, but..." He kicked at a stone. "I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'm going to let it go, though." He draped an arm around the boy's shoulders and led him to the car. "I'll think of something, I guess. I'll let it stew for a while."

"What about the sheriff?" Cora said. "Weren't you supposed to fill out a complaint or something about those men?"

He knew he ought to, just to make good on his threat, but he had a feeling that today wasn't the best time to do it. Not with all the fuss over Jordan's boat. Fill out a form now and it would be conveniently lost among all the other paperwork. He'd give it a day, then see how Sheriff Oakman took care of the people in his trust.

"You know," he said, and interrupted himself with a huge loud yawn.

"Too much," Lisse told him. "Don't care if you are a fast healer, all those days in bed are going to take a while to get over."

"Yeah," he agreed. And yawned again. "Maybe a short nap before supper would be in order."

"What about us?" Cora asked.

Casey, in the middle in the back, looked left at Reed, then right, at her. "I am not your camp counselor, young woman. I'd certainly hope you're old enough to find your own fun for a couple of hours."

She made a face at him, and he puffed his cheeks in feigned insult. But d.a.m.n, it was good seeing them again. The summers they had spent together, him being exactly what he now claimed he wasn't-a counselor, spending half his days finding things for the Landing's youngsters to do, because G.o.d forbid they should actually use their imaginations. The rest of the time he spent figuring out ways to lock them away so they wouldn't give him an ulcer.

"What are you staring at?" she demanded, her hands instantly going to her hair. "So it's cut. So it looks like ... it looks awful. It'll grow back."

"Wasn't even thinking of it."

"Yeah, he was," Reed said from his other side. "I could hear it."

Casey's elbow snapped him in the ribs, and he grunted, bent over, hands on his stomach.

"I don't know, Reverend Chisholm," he managed between gasps. "I don't think you've changed all that much."

Oh, my boy, he thought; you have no idea.

They rode in silence the rest of the way, the trees' shadows drawing over them in regular sweeps, a disturbing strobe effect that had John squinting until Lisse, with a sigh, pulled down his visor for him.

"See what I mean?" she said to Cora. "Like it says, you can't live with *em, and you can't d.a.m.n shoot *em."

John grumbled, and made a deliberately sharp turn in order to park in front of his place. There were protests, laughter, and Casey, the last one out, was about to ask someone to wake him up in a couple of hours, when he saw Lyman Baylor waiting on the porch.

The others hesitated.

"Go ahead," he said quietly. "It's all right. If you feel like it, why don't you visit the beach for a while. Good stuff out there if you know where to look. Reed, that's the trail over there. You can lead."

"I thought you weren't a counselor anymore."

He gave him a look; Reed backed off.

"Okay, okay, but I'm getting a warmer coat."

Casey walked away then, letting them sort it out themselves. Lyman lifted a hand in greeting as Casey came around the hedge, but Casey didn't like the expression on his face.

This, he thought as he forced himself to smile, is not going to be good.

4.

The cottage just off Landward Avenue hadn't been occupied for a number of months. It smelled musty, damp, and of the sea, faint echoes of furniture polish and perfume and something Kirkland Stone couldn't quite put his finger on.

Not that it mattered.

He wouldn't be here all that long.

He sat at the kitchen table which had been draped with a lint-free white cloth. His leather gloves had been exchanged for white cotton ones, his suit jacket was off, his sleeves meticulously folded up to the elbows.

Opposite him, Dutch Lauder stared glumly at the pile in the center of the table-springs, grips, barrels, slides, the field-stripped components of two revolvers and two pistols all gathered into a jumble. He had been through this before any number of times, but he still didn't like it. It made him feel as if Stone didn't trust his ability to do what was necessary-either here, or in the field.

"This," he said, pulling on his white gloves, "is an awful lot of stuff for an old black guy with a r.e.t.a.r.d for a kid."

Stone flashed a humorless smile. His long face was severely pocked from cheek to cheek, the edges of each scar smoothed over the years by washing and shaving and a habitual rubbing that often brought people's attention to the condition-which usually led to a chastis.e.m.e.nt, either from his fists or his guns. His hairline had receded into a prominent widow's peak; there was, somewhat incongruously, a large dimple in his chin.

"Dutch," he said, "that old black guy has a shotgun, and I'm told he's quite good with it. The son is in his late thirties, early forties, and despite his apparent mental disability, I would not discount his ability to a.s.sist his father in time of need."

"Yeah, yeah, well, it's still a lot of firepower."

Stone smiled again. "I like the noise."

Lauder shrugged-whatever turns you on.

"Time," Stone said suddenly, and their hands moved to rea.s.semble the weapons.

"So," Stone said conversationally, "what do you think of artificial turf?"

"I think it's a joke. Guys getting hurt more on that than on real gra.s.s, the owners don't give a d.a.m.n, they got insurance, and the fake stuffs easier to keep up."

"Convenience, my friend, is a virtue at times."

"Tell that to the linebacker who keeps spraining his toes, can't get a start on the guy with the ball. Next thing he knows, he's traded because he can't get the job done."

"A fate that comes to us all, Dutch."