Trouble in Paradise

He hadn't been east that long but he had learned to like the river, the city, which had been old when Los Angeles was founded. He turned off Storrow at the Arlington Street exit. He found a parking space on Je

FORTY.

Marcy Campbell had just unlocked the office when Harry Smith came in with an interesting-looking man who might have been an American Indian. He was carrying a long gym bag. Marcy was not particularly pleased to see Harry Smith. She was begi

Oh well.

"Good morning, Harry," Marcy said.

"Hi, Marcy."

He turned the OPEN CLOSED sign in the front window to CLOSED, closed the Venetian blinds, took a 9-mm pistol from under his coat, and pointed it at her.

"Get up please, Marcy, and lie facedown on the couch."

"Harry, what the hell are you doing?" she said.

"Just do what I tell you, and quickly."

The interesting Indian-looking man put a long gym bag down beside the couch. Then he straightened and looked at her without any expression.

"Why do you want me to lie on the couch?" Marcy felt the bottom of her stomach begin to sag.

"You weren't so slow to flop last time I saw you, Marce," Harry said.

"Crow."

The Indian stepped over to the desk, took Marcy's arm, jerked her out of the chair, and spun her onto the couch facedown. He held her there with one hand between her shoulder blades while he took some rope from the gym bag. Quickly he tied her hands behind her back. She could feel her skirt gathered halfway up her thighs. When he finished tying her hands he smoothed the skirt down to where it belonged and then tied her ankles together.

"Harry, why are you doing this?" Marcy said. She could feel the panic rising in her throat.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Already did it, Marce, already did it," Harry said.

He was looking out the window through the small space between the blind and the casement frame. The Indian took some gray duct tape from the bag, tore off a strip, and taped her mouth shut. He put the rope and the duct tape neatly back in the bag and, without any apparent effort, turned her over onto her back. He slid one of the couch pillows under her head and adjusted her so that she looked comfortable. Then he picked up the gym bag and went to the window where Harry was standing. He took a shotgun out of the gym bag. Harry turned from the window and the Indian replaced him. Harry came and sat on the edge of the couch where Marcy lay.

"You breathe all right?" Harry said.

Marcy nodded.

"Good. You have any trouble, make some noise, and we'll check on you," Harry said.

"We're going to be here for a while. Use this as sort of a headquarters. I don't think you'll have to be tied up too long."

He stood and went to the washroom and looked in. There was no window. He turned back to Marcy.

"You got to go to the bathroom, make some noise about that.

We'll untie you and let you close the door. You understand?"

Marcy nodded.

"Fine."

Harry turned away and went and sat in the swivel chair behind Marcy's desk. He put the pistol on the desk, looked at his watch, picked up the phone, and dialed.

"It's me," he said into the phone.

"We're here, and we're set up."

He listened.

"Okay," he said.

"You got this number, right... Say it... Okay... You need to, call me here."

He hung up and looked at the Indian.

"The dance has started," Harry said.

His eyes were bright, Marcy thought, as if he had a fever. Still looking out the window, the Indian nodded without speaking.

Maybe it's not me, Marcy thought. Maybe they are going to do something else.

FORTY-ONE.

The maroon Chevrolet van was registe to Wilson Cromartie of Tucson. Suitcase Simpson came in with the information and sat down across from Jesse. He was bulky enough so that the chair was a tight fit, and he had to adjust his gun forward a little to get comfortable.

"Guy lives off Swan Road," Jesse & "That mean something?"

"Good neighborhood," Jesse said "You know Tucson?" ?

"Grew up there. My old man was with the Sheriff's Department."

"Cochise County?" Suitcase said.

"Everybody knows Cochise County," Jesse said.

"Least I know one," Suitcase said.

"Cochise is down around Tombstone," Jesse said.

"My old man was Pima County."

"You know anybody there still?" Suitcase said.

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe you should call him up and see what he knows about Wilson Cromartie."

"You think?" Jesse said.

"Sure, I mean if something's going on and we don't... ah shit, you're kidding me again aren't you?"

"Only a little," Jesse said. He leaned forward and shouted for Molly to come in from the front desk.

"I want to talk to a Pima County, Arizona, sheriff's deputy named Travis Randall," Jesse said.

"He knew my father. He'll remember me."

"I'm on it," Molly said.

When she left, Suitcase looked after her.

"I believe you were eying Molly's ass," Jesse said.

Suitcase reddened.

"So?"

"She's married and has two kids, Suit."