Riding the Rap (20 page)

He said, “Bobby's gone.”

It brought her around.

“Gone where?”

“That's the question. Gone on down the road or gone from this earth plane?”

“How do you know?”

“Louis told a person I know Bobby left and wasn't coming back. I was wondering, you suppose
you could check with somebody in the spirit world, find out if he crossed over?”

Dawn kept staring at him. “You're serious.”

“Or you could call the house and ask Louis.”

She said, “You think Bobby's dead?” Sounding awed at the idea.

“The kind of person he is, the kind of people he associates with, I'm surprised he's still with us—if he is. Bobby left your house with a bad attitude. Louis says he's gone, and I'd like to know what happened to him.”

“But why do I have to call?”

“I'm asking you to,” Raylan said, “and if you help me it could keep you out of prison.” He saw her expression change. “Or reduce your time.”

“But I haven't
done
anything.”

Raylan walked over and dropped the
Guidelines Manual
on the table. He said, “Look up what you get for kidnapping, page forty-six,” and crossed to Harry's desk, the phone sitting there, a white one.

“I told you,” Dawn said, “my God, all I did was ask Harry a few questions.”

“You were aiding,” Raylan said, “taking part. That puts you in it.” Raylan picked up the phone.

She said, “If I do this . . .”

“I'll show you my gratitude,” Raylan said. He dialed the number and held the phone toward her. He could hear ringing and after a few moments a voice saying “Ganz's residence.”

Dawn came over, took the phone from him and started right in. “Louis?” She said, “I want to ask you something,” turning away as she
spoke, but still close enough to Raylan that he heard Louis's voice again, Louis saying, “What's wrong, baby?”

She had her back to Raylan now, walking away, going to a front window to stand looking out, Raylan seeing her nighttime reflection in the glass. He heard her say, “Bobby's gone, isn't he?” and watched her listening for a moment before she said, “Because I
know
. How do I know anything?” The psychic, using her stuff on Louis, slipping into her role. Raylan had to admire the way she did it, so easily. He heard her say, “Where is he then?” and watched her listening to Louis, staring at her own reflection in the glass. Now she said, “You're lying to me, I know you are.” Listened and said, “'Cause he's
dead
that's why.” Listened and said, “I can see him. Louis, I know he's dead.” She listened another few moments, then lowered the phone coming over to the desk and Raylan heard Louis's voice again saying, “Dawn?” Saying, “Baby, you still there?” before she put the phone down and
stood with her hand on it.

Raylan said, “What's wrong, baby?”

It got him a mean look, Dawn turning nasty on him, saying, “You want to ask me if he's really dead, and if I tell you yes you'll say, ‘Oh, is that right? How do you know?' ‘Cause you think you're smarter than I am, you think I make things up. But you know what? You don't know shit. If you don't believe he's dead, go find out for yourself. I'm not helping you anymore.”

 

Chip was in the bathroom during the call but had heard the phone ring; he came in the study asking who it was. Louis told him Dawn, and Chip frowned and asked what was wrong, Louis having a strange look on his face.

“She knows Bobby's dead.”

“Who told her?”

“Nobody told her, she just
knows
. It's the kind of thing she knows, man.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her she was crazy, but she
knows
, she say she could see him.”

“We got to pay her,” Chip said. “Jesus.”

“She hung up on me. I'm trying to tell her no, the man left, but she can see him.”

“In the swimming pool?”

“She didn't say, but she
knows
. You know what I'm saying?”

“You see what she's doing?” Chip said. “We got to pay her. Tomorrow, I'll get some money.”

“We leaving tomorrow.”

“Before we go,” Chip said. “I'll score, don't worry. And I'll sell some of my mother's clothes, make a couple hundred bucks that way. Those Hugger chicks love to dress up and dance around on the grass. They all smell the same, that scent they wear, that patchouli?”

“She say Bobby's dead, I felt the hair stand up on my neck.”

“I'll go pick out some things,” Chip said and left the study.

Louis sat down on the sofa. He found a good-looking roach in the ashtray, lit it and
sucked hard and held it in his lungs till he had to breathe.

He told himself, Okay now, be cool. What did he have to do outside of take Harry his supper? Louis put Harry on the TV screen, Harry among the trash with his bathing cap.

He told himself it was good he hadn't put Chip in the pool just yet and have Dawn see him in there with Bobby and freak thinking he was taking everybody out and she was next, nobody left to tell nothing.

He told himself, Let the man go to the Hugger thing in the park and do whatever he does, sell his mama's dresses. Don't tell him where Dawn was. Put him on Mr. Walker's boat when it came later on and when they got out in the ocean and couldn't see land, push the man over the side.

What else?

Be cool. That's all you have to do, Louis told himself. Be cool till the time comes to leave, then get your ass out, fast.

T
hey sat at the dining table in Harry's living room, Joyce looking at the deck of tarot cards in Dawn's hands, noticing the slender fingers, the nails bitten down.

Dawn said, “I should tell you before we begin, I do know who you are.”

Joyce raised her gaze to Dawn's face, the long, straight hair, the demure Marianne Faithfull look.

“I know you're a close friend of both Raylan and Harry Arno.”

Joyce said, “Do you know where Harry is?”

She watched Dawn look up to say, “No, I don't,” and shrug her hair away from her face.

Joyce said, “What
do
you know?” and said right away, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.”

Whether she did or not didn't seem to bother Reverend Dawn, the little-girl psychic in a man's starched white shirt this morning, and jeans. Joyce wished now she had worn jeans instead of the daisy-pattern sundress.

“If you'll shuffle these, please, and cut them into three stacks . . .” Dawn handed her the tarot deck. “The first time Raylan came I saw you and his former wife. I didn't see Harry in the picture, but I do now.”

Joyce finished shuffling and cut the deck twice.

“You see Harry in the picture as what?”

“Your lover at one time. You still feel an affection for him.”

“Raylan told you that?”

“Anything I know about you,” Dawn said, “I told
him
.” She looked down at the table and turned over the top three cards on the stacks. “The Ace of Rods, reversed, the Ace of Swords, and the Judgment card. You're planting seeds, thinking of starting a new life. It's not without stress, ‘cause you don't know what will grow out of this situation and become your karma.”

Joyce sat back in her chair. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Do you have to use the cards?”

Dawn said, “Let's see,” and turned over three more cards. “The Knight of Pentacles, the Seven of
Pentacles, and”—raising her eyebrows—“the Knight of Swords. Okay, you have to understand I'm reading from vibrations, too. When I access your higher self I'm no longer reading the cards. If you want me to simplify this, not tell you what the cards mean . . . It looks like you have a choice to make, the Knight of Pentacles or the Knight of Swords. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“Go on,” Joyce said.

“The Judgment card is the focus; you'll have to live with the decision you make, so be careful. The Knight of Swords is fearless, ready to fight. In a lot of ways he's very aggressive. Jumps on his horse and takes off without always knowing where he's going. The Knight of Pentacles is more stable, good at business, financial matters. He's a Taurus.”

Joyce said, “You're making this up.”

“I am, in a way,” Dawn said, looking up, tossing her hair. “I interpret what I see and what I feel, but it's your call. The cards so far aren't positive or negative. In other words, you're on the fence. Like, Oh, my, what am I gonna do? But you're the one who put yourself there. I don't give advice other than to say you should follow your true feelings.”

“I'm not sure,” Joyce said, “what my true feelings are.”

“You're introspective,” Dawn said. “Take a look. You're also somewhat spiritual by nature.”

“What does that mean?”

“You think a lot. But sometimes what you see as a logical conclusion goes against what you feel,
the spirit moving you. The one who's represented by the Knight of Swords killed a man. . . .”

“He told you that,” Joyce said.

Dawn shook her head, still looking at the cards. “I touched his hand, the one that held the gun, and I knew. Now I see you're having trouble with that. How can you feel close to a man who's killed someone? And might do it again.”

“He had to have told you that,” Joyce said.

Dawn looked up now. She said, “Let's get something straight. Raylan hasn't told me one thing about you, nothing. If you don't believe it, there's no reason to continue.”

“I'm sorry,” Joyce said. “Go on.”

“Do you have a question?”

“Who's represented by that other knight?”

“The Knight of Pentacles,” Dawn said. “Tell me who you think.”

“Harry?”

“Does anyone else come to mind?”

“No.”

“So you've answered your own question. Give me your hand,” Dawn said, and swept the cards aside to make room.

Joyce placed her hands flat on the table and watched Dawn's hands cover them.

“Do you have another question?”

“I'm not sure about my true feelings.”

“What was the first thing you said to me when we started?”

“I don't remember.”

“I said I knew you were a close friend of Raylan and Harry's and you said . . . ?”

“I asked about Harry.”

“You said, ‘Do you know where Harry is?' He was your first concern.”

“I'm worried about him. I don't even know if he's alive.”

“He is,” Dawn said.

“How do you know?”

“Take my word, he's okay.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I'm not able to see what's around him,” Dawn said, “because Harry can't see.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's like when I try to get into your head-space and see things through your eyes? It's blurry. You wear glasses?”

“Contacts.”

“I see a lot of men watching you, but they're out of focus, like I'm looking at them through your glasses and they don't help me at all. You're moving, your hair's flying . . .”

Joyce watched Dawn frown and then close her eyes.

She said, “You were a dancer,” sounding surprised.

“When I was younger.”

“The men are all looking at you. . . .”

Joyce waited.

“You danced naked?”

“Topless.”

Dawn said, “Oh.” She said after a moment, “Is there any money in that?”

“Depending on what you're willing to do,” Joyce said.

“I suppose,” Dawn said, nodding. “Anyway, you're concerned about Harry ‘cause you're a loving, caring person; you don't want anything to happen to him, and nothing bad will. You feel guilty now that you weren't as nice to him as you could've been. I mean just before. You miss him. . . . Well, actually what you miss is taking care of him.”

“You're telling me,” Joyce said, “those are my true feelings?”

“You create your own reality. You tell me.”

“Harry can be awfully difficult.”

“Maybe so, but he doesn't ever surprise you, you know he's always there. He represents like stability,” Dawn said, “and at your age that isn't a bad thing to have a lot of.”

“I thought I was doing pretty well,” Joyce said, “for my age.”

“I wasn't saying you're old,” Dawn said, “I meant at this time in your life you're looking for security, karmically speaking. See, what I'm puffing from you is a low energy level. You might feel you're full of spunk, but what it is, it's anxiety; you're worn out wondering where your life is going. What you'd really like to do is take it easy.”

Joyce watched the psychic who looked like Marianne Faithfull sit back shaking her head now, in sympathy.

Saying, “Boy, who wouldn't.”

 

Raylan was waiting in the lobby. He walked up to Joyce as she came off the elevator.

“How'd it go?”

“I need to kick back,” Joyce said, “karmically speaking. Sort of let it happen.”

“Let what happen?”

“My life.”

“Isn't that all anybody has to do?”

She said, “Why don't you go play with your gun.”

W
hen a girl in bib overalls told Raylan she loved him and handed a printed sheet through the window, he read:

 

HUGGING

Hugging is healthy: It helps the body's immunity system, it keeps you healthier, it cures depression, it reduces stress, it induces sleep, it's invigorating. . . .

 

Got that far and filed the sheet with the
Miami Herald
and a pair of binoculars, on the seat next
to him. If anyone wanted to know what he was doing, sitting in a Jaguar in the parking circle at the north end of Dreher Park, he was taking it easy. Letting it happen, so to speak. When a squad car stopped by, Raylan showed his star and told the sheriff's deputy he was working surveillance and to kindly get his green-and-white out of there. When a bearded guy with snake tattoos on his arms shoved a smudge stick at Raylan and said, “Have a smudge,” offering what looked like a joint as big as a loaf of bread, Raylan said no thanks, catching the odor of smoldering sweet grass and sage, new-age incense. The bearded guy said, “Go on, tight ass, take a whiff, it'll do you good.”

Raylan turned his head, hat brim low on his eyes, to the bearded countenance in the window and said, “Do you want to have to eat that thing?”

The guy with the snake tattoos left. Raylan watched him cross the grassy park toward picnic tables in a stand of ficus, big ones, where most of the Huggers were gathered, maybe a couple dozen, most of them young. Raylan could hear their voices now and then and drumbeats that would bang away for a minute or so and stop. He saw a couple of girls in their underwear, their panties, trying on dresses and dancing to the drumbeats. The Huggers were to his left, off past the public rest rooms and a phone booth, the old glass-box kind. Straight ahead, a walk skirted a dense woods of banyan and palmettos.

Raylan had sent Melinda down that path to locate the dope tree, where the heads gathered, and
look for Warren Ganz, a middle-aged guy who went by the name of Cal. In the car coming here Melinda said, “You're using me in a dope bust?” not wanting any part of it. Raylan told her Cal was suspected of having committed extortion and the sexual exploitation of minors, and Melinda was ready to go. The plan—if Cal was there—Melinda would tell him she'd run away from home, didn't have a place to stay and needed money more than anything. Raylan told her how Cal operated, how he'd talk sweet to her, find out where she was from, who her parents were, then phone them and ask for a big finder's fee. “Or,” Raylan said, “you're a nasty kid, you work it so it's your idea to call your folks; he asks for the money and you split it. You get him to that phone booth by the rest rooms and I'll take it from there.” Melinda walked down the path
barefoot in shorts, the little purse hanging from her shoulder, and was back inside of twenty minutes.

“He's there, but I wasn't able to get near him. He's selling dresses.”

“Buy one,” Raylan said.

“I'm not supposed to have any money. You forget?” She said, “You should hear some of their weekend names they use. Fat Cat and Cherokee, Reservoir Dog; two girls there are Bambi and Ling-Ling. They go, ‘Love you,' or ‘Gimme a hug,' and then try and put their arms around you. I'm in the woods there taking a leak? This big, hairy pervert comes up, wants to hug me. He goes, ‘Welcome home, sister. Love you.' I'm telling you . . .”

“Is there much dope?”

“Not out in the open, but it's there. This goomer stops by, he goes, ‘Want to get zooked?' and shows me a Visine bottle. I told them my name's Peanut.” She stared at Raylan and said, “You're . . . let's see. How about, you're the Cat in the Hat.” She left the car again to look for Cal, give it another shot.

It was almost four now; she'd been gone over an hour.

Raylan picked up his binoculars and put them on the groups by the tables, over in the trees, to see Huggers in grungy clothes and tie-dyed outfits, dropout campers having fun: drinking beer, sniffing the guy with the snake tattoos' smudge stick, banging on drums, sucking on balloons a guy was filling with nitrous oxide from a tank, Huggers giving new arrivals peace signs and hugs. Dawn had described a sign,
WELCOME HOME
, and there it was, fixed to a tree. Raylan edged his binoculars past other groups, normal-looking picnickers, families.

He watched a girl come out of the rest room building and lowered the glasses, a fat girl coming over to the car now, saying, “I need a hug, bad. Will you give me a hug?” She squeezed her head and shoulders through the window and got Raylan around the neck, pressing his face to her breast before he could protect himself. She said, “Love you,” and walked away as he took his hat off and replaced it over his eyes.

Not long after that he saw Melinda coming up the path along the banyan thicket with a skinny
guy in jeans and white tennis shoes, a red, white, and green rugby shirt, sunglasses, the guy fairly young, his hair blond in the sunlight—until Raylan put the glasses on him and he became an older guy with gray hair. Finally, the one and only Chip Ganz, the guy slouching along next to Melinda, middle-aged hip, talking, smoking a joint pinched between his thumb and finger. Raylan watched him offer the joint to Melinda as they came past the parking circle. Bringing the stub to her mouth and taking a drag, she looked right at the car. Now they were heading toward the phone booth by the rest rooms, Chip digging into his pocket for change and then counting what he had in his hand. Now Melinda had her little purse open and was feeling inside.

Raylan got out of the car and walked over to them, standing by the phone booth now. He saw Chip look at him and start to look away—at the grass, the trees, at whatever was there that seemed to hold some fascination for him—Raylan was sure Chip knew who he was.

 

“You need change?”

Chip came around showing surprise now. “Oh . . . yeah, if you could help us out.”

Raylan put his right hand in his pants pocket, his left hand in the other pocket and stood this way looking at Chip, not saying anything for several moments. He watched Chip studying his change again to be occupied.

“You see Harry lately?”

Chip raised his eyebrows looking up. “Harry?”

“The one you owe the sixteen five.”

Chip put on a tired smile now, shaking his head. “He sent you to collect?”

“That was another guy,” Raylan said, “your gardener.”

“Oh. Yeah, the one my mother hired.”

“While you're down in the Keys.”

“That's right, but I did see the guy. I explained it to him.”

“What?”

“That I'd pay Harry in the next sixty days or so.”

Chip maintaining an innocent look: blank, but somewhat bewildered.

Raylan said, “You came all the way up here to get hugged?”

Chip grinned. “Well, among other things. I like the atmosphere, it takes me back, man, to that time, the peace movement, we were gonna change the world. You must've been around then.”

“I was in a coal mine,” Raylan said. “You know who I am, don't you?”

“A friend of Harry's. You must be the one stopped by and spoke to my caretaker, Louis? He called and told me.”

“While you were in the Keys.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you going home from here?”

Chip shook his head. “No reason to.”

“Is Louis there?”

“I think he has Saturday off.”

Raylan said, “Who's there, just Harry?”

He watched Chip frown now, giving it all he had.

“You think Harry's at my
house
?”

Frowning and then shaking his head.

Raylan said, “Where're you parked?”

Chip hesitated. “On Summit. In one of those strip malls. Why?”

Raylan said, “Give me your car keys.”

“Why? What for?”

Raylan said, “You want to see my I.D.?”

“I just don't understand why you want my keys.”

Raylan held out his hand.

Chip shrugged. He dug the keys out of his jeans and held them up, a finger in the key ring. “Okay, now what?”

“Take off the one for the car.”

Chip sighed now, going along, worked the key from the ring and handed it to Raylan. He said, “You know, this would appear to be a car-jacking, except you don't seem the type that goes around boosting cars.” His expression turned deadpan, a stand-up comic now as he said, “Hey, but what do I know?” Then seemed to laugh without wanting to, ruining the effect.

Raylan thought Chip was doing the best he could, trying hard to seem innocent, good-humored, but the man was becoming giddy. Raylan doubted he'd be able to keep it together for long.

Handing the car key to Melinda, telling her, “It's a tan Mercedes that needs bodywork,” came close to finishing Chip off.

He said, “Peanut?”

The poor guy, betrayed by this nice-looking young girl. She said to Chip, “It's Melinda, just so you'll know who set you up.”

“Summit's that way,” Raylan said, pointing south.

Melinda nodded. “I'll see you later,” and walked off across the grassy park.

Chip watched her with an expression Raylan thought of as forlorn, lost, no one to help him. But then said to Raylan, still with hope at this point, though not much, “How do I get my car back?”

“I don't know,” Raylan said. “You don't have Bobby to pick it up, do you?”

That seemed to finish Chip off, at least for the time being. He looked at Raylan with nothing to offer.

Raylan put his hand on Chip's shoulder.

“Come on, I'll take you home.”