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This waiting was a bitch, sitting around thinking. Having time to think, work out what he’d do, was good. It was while thinking about walking out in the ocean with Harry, and having Chip along too, Chip whining, bitching, Louis decided the best thing would be to put Chip in the swimming pool soon as he got home. Not wait to drop him in the ocean. Do it and don’t think no more about it. Having too much time to think wasn’t good. Then you began to think of different ways your plan could get fucked up and you’d change your mind.
As soon as they were driving out of the park Raylan had begun to break Chip down with consequences.
“Here’s how it is. For kidnapping, abduction, or unlawful restraint, you’re looking at fifty-one to sixty-three months in a federal prison, a real one, not some army base with te
Poor Chip. “How can I answer that?”
“With a simple yes or no.”
“If I say either one I’m admitting Harry was kidnapped.”
“All right, let me ask you,” Raylan said, “is Harry in your house at the present time?”
Chip didn’t answer.
“I’ll give you an easier one. Is Louis?”
He said, “I don’t know.”
“If he isn’t,” Raylan said, “I bet I know where he is, with Dawn.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“You didn’t know he’s been pokin’ her? I thought maybe you’d handed her down, like an old pair of shoes.” Raylan glanced at the poor guy sitting there, helpless but agitated. “That Dawn,” Raylan said, “she’s something. She can touch you and tell what you had for breakfast. I guess she’s been touching Louis enough to know what’s going on. She’s sitting on the fence now waiting to see how it turns out. I told her, I said, ‘Honey, you’re liable to get your tail in a crack sitting there and go down with the boys.’ You and Louis. We don’t worry about Bobby no more, do we?”
No answer. Chip over there with his own thoughts.
“Since nobody’s home,” Raylan said, “you go
Chip said, “Why would I do that?”
“You don’t have to. You can tell me to go to hell or go get a warrant, one.” Raylan glanced at him again. “I haven’t threatened you in any way, have I?”
“You just finished saying I could go to prison for a hundred and twenty-one months.”
The high number sticking in his mind.
“It wasn’t a threat,” Raylan said, “it’s how the sentencing guidelines read for the crime you’re committing. It’s in black and white, partner, the letter of the law. So, are you giving me permission to enter your house?”
Raylan let Chip take his time. He felt the man was all the way into himself now, looking around in his head and not seeing any hope left.
Chip said, “I guess so.”
“The traffic’s not too bad on Saturday,” Raylan said, heading down 95 to Lantana to take the bridge over to Manalapan, “but we could still use another north-south freeway. What do you think?”
Louis switched the video picture from the front drive, waiting for Chip’s car to come nosing in, to Harry upstairs shuffling in his chains from the window he could see out of now and had opened, to his cot, turning but not sitting down, then shuffling back to the window, anxious.
Louis was becoming anxious himself. If Chip wasn’t home by the time the boat got here they’d have to wait for him, Louis not wanting any loose ends to trip him up. But it would be close to dark in half an hour and Mr. Walker wouldn’t be able to spot the white house with the red roof from out in the ocean. Louis had told him he’d put the backyard floodlights on just in case. Look for them like two miles north of the Boynton Inlet and collect fifty thousand. He’d said, “Nothing to it, my man; Mr. Walker, the salty sailorman.”
Nothing to it, shit. It was getting close. Too close. Mr. Walker could even be early.
That got Louis out of the sofa, leaving Harry on the screen. In the sunroom he switched on the floodlights, went outside and looked up at them mounted on the roof, weak spots of light in the dusk. He walked out past the scummy swimming pool, across the yard and into the palm trees and sea grape, following the path to where the property sloped down full of scrub and driftwood to the beach. He saw the ocean wasn’t doing much, a lazy kind of surf coming in green, easy for a rubber raft to make it all the way here and they wouldn’t get too wet. Louis had on his new black silk jacket, but thought now maybe he should put it in the hanging bag with the rest of his things. He’d filled a carry-on bag with snacks, Fritos and salted peanuts-not that dry-roasted shit, real peanuts. Peanut brittle for Harry, the man loved his peanut brittle. What else?
The shotgun, in the chest in the study; no sense leaving it in the house. He had buried the Browning he’d used on Bobby, had the other one in his hanging bag, and Bobby’s piece, the Sig Sauer, in with the snacks to give to Mr. Walker. The sky was already dark out on the ocean, misting up out there under big heavy clouds, a few boats… What looked like charter fishing boats coming in, but another one he couldn’t tell if it was or not. Maybe Mr. Walker.
Louis hurried back to the house, ran upstairs to get his hanging bag-decided to leave his new jacket on-and stuck his head in the hostage room.
“Five minutes, Harry.”
The man came around from the window looking more anxious than before. He said, “I got to go to the bathroom.”
“Well, hurry up, man. Go
Louis ducked out, leaving the door open.
He got the stubby shotgun from the study, went in the kitchen for the snack bag and believed that was it. Outside, he crossed the yard again, made his way through the palms and sea grape down to the beach this time-deserted either way he looked-to set his things down in the sand, the shotgun on top the hanging bag.
The boat that might be Mr. Walker’s didn’t seem any closer. Louis watched it thinking, It still could be him. He turned around to see the floodlights up on the house looking a little brighter now.
Time to get Harry.
Raylan turned in past the PRIVATE DRIVE, KEEP OUT sign and eased the Jaguar through the shrubs. He thought about checking the garage for Bobby’s car, but would do it later. Right now his mind was set on entering the house. He told Chip to get out and then told him to wait and came around the car looking at the vegetation.
“Your mom needs a gardener didn’t learn his trade in prison.”
Chip said, “And I guess I need a lawyer.”
Raylan hesitated. “We going in or not?”
“If that’s what you want to do.”
Raylan hesitated again. He said, “Wait,” and went back to the Jaguar, opened the trunk and took out an extra pair of handcuffs he slipped into a side pocket of his coat, ducked his head in again and came out with his Remington 12-gauge.
Chip, watching him, said, “What’s that for?”
“Whoever wants it,” Raylan said.
“I told you no one’s home.”
“I know you did. Would you open the door, please?”
Raylan followed Chip to the front stoop and watched him unlock the door, push it open and step aside.
“After you,” Raylan said, motioning with the shotgun.
Chip said, “I have no reason to go in.”