Riding the Rap Part 22

"Well, I sure don't want to see Bobby again. I'll call when I get there, give you the number."

"I got all kind of numbers for Harry Arno," Louis said. "What I need to know, if it's true what my horoscope say, about romance could suffer."

"I doubt it."

"Tell me what you feel."

"Well, I feel some something," Dawn said, "pressing against my tummy. It means you haven't lost confidence in your ability to please others."

"I get next to you, girl, I become confident in a big way."

She looked up at him, making a face with sad eyes.

"I have to get going, or Raylan'll be looking for me."

"You call him Raylan," Louis said. "What's he call you?"

"I didn't tell him anything, honest to G.o.d."

"I know you didn't, baby."

They sat in metal chairs on the Della Robbia porch making conversation, waiting for Dawn Navarro.

"Harry says these chairs have to be fifty years old," Joyce said. "He never sits out here- doesn't want to look like he's retired. He said the way it used to be, every hotel along the beach you'd see old people lined up in their chairs like birds sitting on a telephone wire."

A guy in his twenties, a grown man wearing shorts down to his knees, no shirt, but gloves and knee pads, went sailing past on a skateboard.

"Harry says the weirdos have taken over and he doesn't like it. You know, maybe he did just take off."

Raylan watched the guy on the skateboard, wondering if this was the high point of his life, weaving through crowds of people in bathing suits and resort outfits-the guy wanting everybody to look at him- skimming past the tables outside the Cardozo, across a the side street, where Raylan had walked inside to sit at a table with a man he told his time was up and when the man pulled a gun, shot him. He had thought it was going to happen with Bobby Deo, in front of Dawn's house, but he didn't force it and Bobby, on the edge of doing it, changed his mind. He wondered if he had wanted Bobby to pull his gun and tried to remember what he felt in those moments. There was too much to watch here to concentrate on something that didn't happen. He wondered what he'd do if he saw Bobby now, on the street, Bobby going to see his girlfriend, Melinda. Raylan couldn't picture them together. He liked Melinda for no special reason; he liked her because she seemed natural, full of life. He could stop in while he was down here, ask her . . . what, if she'd seen Bobby? Try to set something up? . . . He didn't want to use her that way. He was thinking, though, she could help him bring Chip Ganz out in the open, and she might go for it. The Santa Marta, where Melinda was staying, was only a few blocks from here.

Joyce said, "I don't think it's a good idea."

"What?"

"Letting her use Harry's apartment."

"It's not her idea."

"I didn't say it was."

"You said 'letting her use it,'" Raylan said, "like she asked if she could."

"How about 'putting her up in Harry's apartment'? Will you accept that?"

"Why don't you think it's a good idea?"

"Harry has nothing to say about it. Don't you have places where you make arrangements to keep people like that?"

"Like what?"

"Witnesses-or whatever she is. Don't you put them up in a hotel room?"

"That's what I'm doing."

"I know what it is," Joyce said, "you don't have authorization, so you'd have to pay for a room out of your own pocket. That's why you thought of Harry's place."

"He won't even know about it."

"No, but that's why you want to use it-it won't cost you anything."

Raylan let it go. She was looking for ways to criticize him or she was being protective of Harry or-whatever her reason, it didn't matter.

They sat in silence watching vacationers, the fun-seekers, across the street in Lummus Park and out on the beach where you could burn your feet off without shoes getting to the ocean.

Joyce said, "Harry has a lot of nice things in his apartment."

Raylan pictured Harry's living room, looking for nice things. Harry had an imitation-leather recliner, so did Dawn.

"You afraid she might steal something?"

"No, but she could mess the place up. We don't know anything about her," Joyce said. "Does she cook?"

Raylan couldn't recall any cooking smells in Dawn's house. He said, "I don't know."

"That could present a problem."

"You mean if she cooks?"

Joyce, watching people on the street, didn't answer.

"Harry doesn't cook, does he?"

She said, "What's Harry have to do with it?"

"I don't think she'll go in there and start cooking anyway," Raylan said, "so I'm not gonna worry about it."

"Where is she?"

"She should be along any minute."

"I'll bet she doesn't come," Joyce said.

Raylan's beeper went off. He took it out and looked at it, said, "Excuse me," and went into the hotel.

As soon as he was back, standing by his chair, Joyce said, "She's not coming."

"It was the office," Raylan said. "I have to work a court security detail. Some cartel guy's getting sentenced."

"You have to leave? What about Reverend Dawn?"

"You said you wanted to meet her."

"I did? When?"

That's right, it was Dawn who said Joyce wanted to meet her. Raylan said, "All you have to do is show her upstairs. You feel like it, you can keep her company, sit around and chat."

Joyce said, "You suppose she'd give me a reading?"

twenty-five.

Louis put the Mercedes back in the garage and went through the house to the study. Chip was still there on the sofa, the same as when Louis had left, but with expectation in his eyes now, like waiting to hear bad news.

"She wasn't home," Louis said.

"You go by the restaurant?"

"They said she must've gone to read somebody, so we fine, no problem. I get any calls?"

"Your buddy in Freeport," Chip said. "I could barely understand him."

"He leave a number?"

"Said he'd call back."

Louis studied Chip on that big sofa, the man's bones showing he was so thin, with kind of a yellow cast to him underneath his tan, like he might have some slow sickness taking over him, AIDS coming to Louis's mind. He used to wonder if the man was queer or maybe went both ways. Dawn was the only woman Louis knew of the man had been with and Dawn said Chip was never much in bed, went through the motions and got it done. Louis used to worry the man might come on to him sometime, but it never happened.

"You feeling all right?"

Chip gave him a shrug.

"You look like you winding down," Louis said. "Where's Bobby?"

"I haven't seen him."

Louis used the remote to switch the picture from the front drive to the room upstairs-man, tired to death of this security s.h.i.t. He saw Harry lying on his cot again, his shirt off, food from the dinner plate on the floor.

"Bobby still hasn't shot him," Louis said. "That's good, since Harry's all we got." He saw Chip watching, but not saying anything. As tired of all this as you are, Louis thought. He switched the scene to the patio and there was Bobby standing at the table, his back to the camera.

Louis went out through the sunroom. He walked toward Bobby, still at the table, Louis saying, "What you doing out in the sun?"

Bobby came around to stand with his hands at his sides, arms loose. Louis recognized the pose.

The next thing he saw was Bobby's left hand lifting the front of his fiesta shirt while his right hand went in and dug his gun out of his waist. Bobby held it straight out for Louis to look at that black hole in the muzzle pointing at him.

"You suppose to hold it in two hands," Louis said, "like the d.i.c.ks in the movies do. Like Mel Gibson and them dudes, Bruce Willis . . ."

"f.u.c.k them," Bobby said. "I got it down, how I'm gonna do it." He put the gun, his Sig Sauer, back in his waist and smoothed his shirt over it. "Can you see it's there?"

"Can't hardly tell. You practicing, huh?"

Bobby said, "Here," turning to the patio table. He had the two Browning .380's lying there. "Take one. Let's see how you do."

"You want me to play with you?"

"I want to know I can beat you." Bobby handed Louis one of the pistols, then drew his Sig Sauer, laid it on the table, and stuck the other Browning into his waist. "I want to try my piece and this one," Bobby said. "See which one I get out faster."

Louis said, "Yeah? Then what? You gonna go look for the marshal? He be in the saloon, man. They always in the saloon, you want to find them. Go through the swinging doors and everybody in the place stop talking."

"I don't have to look for him. He's gonna come back, man, he can't stay away."

"Gonna shoot him right here."

"Get it done. He don't bother us no more."

"What if he beats you to the draw?"

"Then I'm dead," Bobby said. "That's how it works, man. You ready? Stick it in your pants, on the side, where he has his."

Man was crazy.

"The cowboy's is in a holster."

Bobby said, "I don't give a s.h.i.t. Stick it in your pants, let's go." His gaze moved.

Louis turned to see Chip at the French doors.

"Your friend's on the phone."

Chip followed Louis into the study, wanting to listen without being obvious about it. He stood by the desk, glanced at the TV screen, at Bobby with a gun in each hand, and swung around to Louis.

"Jesus, what's he doing doing?"

Louis looked up from the sofa. He said to Chip, "Hey, I'm on the phone," raised his eyes to the screen with no expression, watched Bobby for a moment and then said, into the phone, "Mr. Walker, my man . . . No, this is my pleasure. Man, I was worried about you."

Bobby was seated now at the patio table, fooling with his gun. Chip looked down at the desk, at Louis's partly eaten plate of dinner, okra and b.u.t.ter beans, Chip not sure if he'd ever tasted b.u.t.ter beans. He heard Louis say "uh-huh" a few times, listening to the guy he called Mr. Walker, then heard him say, "You did the right thing, man, separate yourself from that n.i.g.g.a. Could've taken you down with him." Chip picked up the pork chop he believed hadn't been touched, hearing Louis saying "uh-huh" again, several times. The pork chop looked good, the fatty part burnt to a crisp, and Chip was about to take a bite, taste it, but stopped. That tenderloin part of the chop was gone; Louis must've eaten it. Louis saying, "You not busy, I got something for you." Saying, "Hey, even if you think think you busy . . ." Chip put the pork chop down. Louis was laughing now. Chip looked over, knowing that laugh as the one Louis put on to show appreciation and what a nice guy he was. Louis saying then, "No, man, no product. This is a clean run I'm talking about. No contraband, no kind of s.h.i.t of any kind like that . . . Yeah, right." Chip looked at Bobby on the screen, still at the table, then back to Louis as he heard Louis say, "Three," without saying three what. Now he said, "Yeah, I'm sure." Listened for a while and said, "Let me ask you something first. You know any the ladies work at the Swiss bank? . . . Yeah? That's how you p.r.o.nounce it, huh, you busy . . ." Chip put the pork chop down. Louis was laughing now. Chip looked over, knowing that laugh as the one Louis put on to show appreciation and what a nice guy he was. Louis saying then, "No, man, no product. This is a clean run I'm talking about. No contraband, no kind of s.h.i.t of any kind like that . . . Yeah, right." Chip looked at Bobby on the screen, still at the table, then back to Louis as he heard Louis say, "Three," without saying three what. Now he said, "Yeah, I'm sure." Listened for a while and said, "Let me ask you something first. You know any the ladies work at the Swiss bank? . . . Yeah? That's how you p.r.o.nounce it, huh, de Suisse de Suisse?" Louis was grinning now as he listened. "Yeah, I thought you might have. Well, depending on how well you know the lady . . ." Chip watched Louis grinning as though he might actually be enjoying himself. "That's right. You know before I even tell you." Louis looked at Chip now as he said, "Listen to me, my man, we talking about fifty grand for a ride in your boat." Louis grinning again, saying, "Yeah, dollars," as Chip thought, What fifty grand? They had-n't even discussed what they'd pay the guy and Louis was offering him fifty thousand dollars. Louis saying, "What you do . . . Listen to me now. You listening? . . . You know the Boynton Inlet? . . . No, man, that's Lake Worth, port of Palm Beach, you too far north. Look at your map. You see the Boynton Inlet and right above it you come to Ma.n.a.lapan. Cut through the inlet, go on up-it's like two miles, you see private docks along on the right side." Louis paused to listen and said, "Man, will you look at your map, please?" Chip waited along with Louis. Now Louis said, "There you go, through the narrow part, yeah . . . I'm thinking tomorrow, Sat.u.r.day." Chip watched him nodding, saying now, "That's fine with me. Mr. Walker, it's my pleasure. I'll call you there any changes. . . . Yeah, okay then. I'll see you, man."

Louis hung up the phone still smiling a little and looked at Chip.

"Mr. Cedric Walker was in the gun business. Got out right before the man he was dealing with went down."

"You offered him fifty thousand," Chip said.