Riding the Rap Part 20

"When I say she isn't home," Raylan said, "it means she isn't home."

With that cop way of talking.

He had his thumbs in his belt, the same way he had posed before. Bobby could see his shirt, his dark tie, but couldn't see his gun back in there on his hip. The distance to the cowboy, Bobby believed, was about twenty meters. He wanted to get closer, but not too close.

"I think she's home and you don't want me to see her," Bobby said, taking a step, then another; one more and now he was where he wanted to be. He held up the sack. "Man, I just want to give her this."

"What is it?"

"A gift-what do you think?"

"If it's money, she doesn't want it."

Bobby was holding the sack in his left hand now, underneath. All he had to do was unfold the top-take one second-and slip his hand in.

He said, "Money? What do I want to give her money for? I don't owe her no money."

He believed he was ready.

But now the cowboy was coming down the walk toward him, saying, "I'll tell you what. You can give it to me and I'll see she gets it."

This was the moment, right now. But Bobby hesitated, because this wasn't the way it was supposed to happen, the guy so close, standing only a few feet away now. He had shot guys as close as you can get, but not standing up facing like this. He had never seen it done in the movies this close. It wasn't the way to do it. If the cowboy knew what was going to happen he would've stayed by the door, giving them some room-but he didn't know. He'd know when he saw the gun come out of the sack and he'd try for his-that was the idea, how it was supposed to work-but he didn't know that yet.

Saying now, close, "What's in there?"

"It's a surprise."

"I'll tell you what you do," Raylan said. "Keep it. She doesn't want any surprises and I don't either. You aren't to come around here anymore or phone Reverend Dawn or bother her in any way. Tell your friends Louis and Chip they're to leave her alone."

With the cop way of talking, but calling her Reverend. Was he serious?

Bobby looked at the eyes in the dark of the hat brim looking back at him and thought, Yes, he's serious; and wondered if maybe this guy did know what he was doing and had done it before, even this close, even with his gun on his hip, or wherever he had it today.

"Was there something else?" Raylan said.

Bobby's fingers were on the folded opening of the sack.

"You gonna show me what you have . . ." Raylan said.

Bobby hesitated.

"Or back off and get out of here?"

The guy knew.

Bobby was sure of it. He hesitated again, wanting so bad to do it, but the moment pa.s.sed and he knew it and let his breath out, giving the cowboy a shrug. He said, "You don't want her to have this gift, okay, forget it."

At his car, opening the door, Bobby looked back wanting to say something, but knew it was too late. Raylan the Cowboy hadn't moved. He stood there watching like all the f.u.c.king cops who'd ever told him to go on, get moving, had stood watching until he was gone.

Raylan closed the door and turned to Dawn, still at the window. He said, "Are you having a vision?" Her expression-she looked like she was off somewhere, maybe doing some astral traveling.

"When you die," Dawn said, "you see your whole life all at once, like in a flash."

"I've heard that," Raylan said.

"Did you know he had a gun?"

"It crossed my mind."

"In the paper bag bag." She sounded amazed, awed. "He was gonna kill me."

Or scare you, Raylan thought. But he liked this frame of mind she was in and said, "It seemed his intention. They haven't paid you yet, have they?" When she hesitated, he said, "Just say yes or no without giving me a reading, okay?"

"They haven't paid me anything." She seemed to be still in her mind, or someone else's, until she looked at Raylan and said, "He could've shot you dead."

"He'd have had to pull his weapon to do it," Raylan said.

"He had it in his hands hands."

"Yeah, but you need your mind set on it, too, pull on a man you know is armed. I doubt Bobby's ever done that. What I'd like to know," Raylan said, "is why they had Harry come here. They could've picked him up off the street. What'd they want you to do, get him relaxed and talking? Harry's a talker, he'll tell you anything you want to know."

"All they told me to do," Dawn said, taking her time, "was find out a few personal things about him."

"Like how much money he has? See if he's worth taking?"

"I wasn't in any position to ask why why they wanted to know. I had no choice." they wanted to know. I had no choice."

"Harry tell you where his money is?"

"A bank in the Bahamas."

"What else?"

"That's all really."

"Where did they take him?"

"I don't know. They left, I was in the bedroom."

"But you know where he is," Raylan said. "If you know anything reading minds you know that."

"They said if I told anyone about this I'd be sorry. I was put in the bedroom with the door closed and when I came out they were gone." Sounding now like she was reciting.

"You're waiting to see how it turns out," Raylan said, "before you say too much. But what about Harry? Chip told you nothing would happen to him. Isn't that right? They'd work some kind of scheme to get Harry's money and then let him go."

She looked out the window again, not saying anything.

"You believe Chip so you won't have Harry on your conscience," Raylan said. "Or you believe him because he can turn on the charm when he wants to. Remember telling him that?"

It got her looking at him again.

"You told Chip he could talk people into doing things they'd rather not. You said, at least some people."

She was staring at him now, her eyes holding tight to his. Raylan imagined her trying to look into his mind, see what else was in there.

"So you had a drink with Chip, got to know each other; you thought he had a lot of money. It looked like a pretty nice connection, so you helped him duck a murder conviction."

Dawn said, "Oh, I did? If you know anything about it at all you'd know I helped the detectives, not Chip."

"I know about the bookends, the bra.s.s bulls," Raylan said. "I know you saw only one on the shelf in the woman's apartment, where there should've been two. You decided, nothing to lose, the missing one must be the murder weapon."

She said, "How did I know there were two?"

"You saw them, when you were up there before."

"But the only time I was in Mary Ann's apartment," Dawn said, "was with the detectives."

"Whether that's true or not, you know bookends come in pairs," Raylan said. "You say about people who're alike, they're a couple of bookends. You guessed, not taking much of a chance, and you were right. Chip saw why you were doing it and told you, to get your picture in the paper, become a famous psychic."

She said, "What's wrong with wanting to do better? I have have the gift." the gift."

Eyes wide open, just a girl trying to get ahead in the world. For a moment there Raylan actually felt sorry for her. He said, "But if you guessed . . ."

"I didn't. I knew knew."

"Did you know where the missing bookend was?"

"I didn't even think about it."

"You don't know what suits you not to know," Raylan said. "You tell me Harry's okay, but you don't know where he is. Don't you realize that if he's seen these guys and can identify them, they'll kill him? Whether they score the money or not. Don't you know that?"

"He hasn't seen them," Dawn said, turning to the window again. "He's blindfolded."

"That's what you're betting the man's life on, a blindfold? How do you know he hasn't seen them?"

"I just do."

Sounding like a little girl now.

"Tell me where he is."

Raylan waited.

She looked like a little girl: at the window in sunlight, her fingers stroking dark strands of hair. She said, "Right before Bobby came you were looking at me-remember? You were trying to tell, even with all that business on your mind, if I had on a bra." She turned from the window to look at Raylan. "You couldn't decide, could you?"

Raylan said, "You slip in and out of conversations, from one thing to another. . . ."

"You were about to say 'like a snake,'" Dawn said, "and changed your mind."

He watched her come away from the window, past him.

"Where you going?"

"To get ready. I see I'm gonna meet the woman in your relationship."

Each time she took him by surprise like that, he'd try to keep from asking how she knew. Raylan said, "I'm gonna hide you out in Harry's apartment, the Della Robbia Hotel in South Beach. I imagine you already know where he lives. Joyce has a key, so I guess, yeah, you might see her."

"She's dying to meet me," Dawn said, at her bedroom door now. "I'll pack a few things. . . . You go ahead, I want to have my car, case I have to be somewhere."

Raylan said, "I don't know. . . ."

And Dawn said, "Bobby's not coming back. He's home waiting for you."

twenty-four.

Chip was going through mail Louis had found in the box on the road and skimmed on his way in with it. Mostly catalogs and junk. What Chip would hope to find was a dividend check he could forge his mama's name on and cash, the checks turning up every now and then. Louis glanced at the front drive on the TV screen, switched the picture to the room-Harry stretched out on his cot- and switched to the front drive again. Louis said, "Bobby should be getting back," and left the study.

A few minutes later he was back with a tray from the kitchen. Chip said, "What's this?" as Louis set a plate of food on the chest in front of him.

"Your dinner."

"I mean, what is is it?" it?"

"Pork chops done to a crisp," Louis said, going over to the desk with the tray. "b.u.t.ter beans fixed with drippings and okra done in a tangy creole sauce. The okra, man, you have to stir it and stir it."

"I can't eat that," Chip said, making a face.

Louis was seated now, mouth watering and having to swallow, deciding what his first bite would be. The okra. He took some- mmmmm-and said to Chip, "Your tummy acting up on you?"

"Heartburn," Chip said, touching his chest.

Ever since last night the man had been popping Tums like peanuts, Tums and shots of Pepto-Bismol. He'd taken sick while trying to clean blood from the carpeting, most of it where the S&L man's head had come out of the blanket b.u.mping down the stairs, Bobby dragging the body and not caring he was leaving a trail; the stains still there like rust spots.

"It's that microwave s.h.i.t," Louis said, "angers your tummy you eat too much of it. I'm gonna cook from now on, fix you some of my favorite dishes."

Chip was watching him. "How can you eat that?"

"Love it. I acquired the taste learning to be African-American; it's part of our culture."

"n.i.g.g.e.r food," Chip said, "if you'll pardon the expression."