Riding the Rap (16 page)

D
awn Navarro was wearing a skirt today, a white one that ended a few inches above her knees, and a pale green sleeveless blouse. Raylan, on the mohair sofa, liked the skirt a lot. He thought she'd bring the card table over as she did the last time. Not yet, anyway. She stood in the middle of the floor, about ten feet away and said, “Well now. What can I do for you?”

The skirt showed her figure; she wasn't as slim as Raylan had been picturing her. He said, “Just out of curiosity, do you have to have a license?”

“First,” Dawn said—making that move, tossing her head and brushing her hair aside with the tips of her fingers—“you should know I'm a Sagittarian, born with a Grand Trine in the center of my natal chart. You have that, it almost demands the life I've taken up.”

Raylan watched her sway just a little from side to side, moving from one foot to the other in flat white slippers that looked sort of like the kind toe-dancers wore. He noticed the way her hips moved.

Dawn saying, “When I was two years old I knew my dad wasn't my real dad; I wouldn't let him pick me up and everybody thought that was bizarre. I had dreams about things that came true, premonitions; I even experienced astral travel. One time when I was seven, a few days after my grandmother died, I saw her sitting in the living room. She was wearing a housedress and a white wool bed jacket over it. I went to the kitchen and told my mother. She didn't believe me till I described the bed jacket, white wool with little pink ribbons and the store tags still on it. My mother turned white as a sheet. She brought a box from her closet and took out the exact same bed jacket my grandmother was wearing. It was a birthday present, but she died just before. She would've been sixty-three. My mother had never shown the bed jacket to anyone and knew I hadn't seen it. Yet I described it, even the store tags still on it.”

Raylan said, “What's astral travel?”

“Leaving your body. Finding yourself somewhere else.”

He believed he should let astral travel go and said, “Did your grandmother say anything to you?”

“Yeah, she did. She said let's keep in touch. I talk to her every once in a while. She used to smoke three packs of cigarettes a day.”

“You always made a living as a psychic?”

“I did nails and hair studying to be a beautician, but I hated it. I used to run around and get a little crazy sometimes. That was my Sagittarius rising, with Mars on aspect. I'm thinking seriously now of becoming an acupuncturist; it's a wide-open field. You want a cold drink?”

“Not right now, thanks.”

“You asked me a question before,” Dawn said. “Yes, I'm a licensed psychic, clairvoyant, astrologer, spirit medium and character reader. The license fee is two hundred and twenty-five dollars, while so-called faith healers and exorcists don't have to pay a dime. I'm also an ordained minister. After studying with several distinguished teachers and ministers—Marlene Locklear you might've heard of?—I was ordained into the Spiritualist Assembly of Waco, Texas.”

Sounding to Raylan like she was reciting from memory.

“And I do aura readings. Yours doesn't look too bad—a nice blue tone, just a faint red showing around the edge. How do you feel?”

“Pretty good.”

“Can you imagine having harmony in your life? Between yourself and others you don't always get along with?”

“I get along with most everybody.”

“Even the ones you arrest?”

Raylan smiled, just a little. “I don't worry about them; they have to get along with themselves.” He crossed his legs, getting comfortable on the sprung, stove-in sofa, his right hand touching the brim of his hat lying next to him.

“That's a protective move,” Dawn said, “crossing your legs. It closes off energy points in your body. You have to share your energy with me, your vibrations. I can't tell you anything about yourself that you don't want me to know.”

He kept his legs crossed and she came over, moved his hat to the round arm of the sofa and sat down next to him.

“You don't want the table this time; you feel you sit too low and have to look up at me. Put your hand on your knee. Are you right-handed?”

“Mostly.”

“Good.”

She put her hand over his. He saw the nails bitten down and felt the tips of her fingers brushing his knuckles. He kept watching her hand.

“Have you seen Warren Ganz lately?”

Her fingers continued to move on his.

She said, “While I was standing there, you were trying to picture me without my clothes on.”

Raylan said, “I was?”

She turned her head to him and smiled. Then looked at her hand again, no longer smiling, moving her fingers over his. “You have feelings, emotions, about a personal relationship you're
trying to let go of, so you can allow something new in your life.” She turned to him again. “I haven't seen Chip in months.”

“Have you ever been to his house?”

“A few times.” She said, “The feelings you have are almost gone, but still on your mind, because the relationship seems like a good idea to you.”

“You haven't seen Chip, but you've spoken to him.”

She nodded.

“About Harry Arno.”

“You work very hard,” Dawn said, “and you're open and optimistic, the way a child is, and that's a good way to be. You think everything you do will turn out just fine, and it usually does.”

“Harry was here, wasn't he?”

“We spoke about Italy,” Dawn said.

“Here, in this room?”

“Yes.”

“You denied it last Sunday.”

“You didn't identify yourself. How do I know who you are? I
did
; but since you never told me, I had no reason to trust you.” She looked at her hand and said, “The relationship . . . you try to balance the feelings you have about it with your work and it's hard, so . . . Well, you have to face the consequences of your action, whatever you decide.”

“How old are you? You mind my asking?”

“I'm twenty-six. You thought I was older. It's okay, I don't mind.” She said, “You know Harry
had a feeling he should go back to Italy, even though he wasn't happy there.”

“Harry isn't happy anywhere.”

“I felt that,” Dawn said. “He wants to be a big shot. Someone once said, ‘The personality and the ego scream, while the soul whispers.' You know that already. I felt that Harry didn't want to hear what's good for him or be told what he should do. Still, he needs somebody to take care of him.”

“You saw him again?”

“No.”

“Not since last Friday.”

“You have a sense of confusion, what to do, because you're not admitting to yourself what you really feel. You want to get married and have a family, and to do that you need a younger woman who doesn't mind that you carry a gun and killed a man with it. You want to know if I've been checking up on you. I haven't. I know you're a federal agent of some kind. You came here Sunday looking for Harry as a friend and you believe now you're getting close to finding him.”

“Am I?”

She didn't answer.

“If he's dead,” Raylan said, “I can't help you.”

Dawn turned to look at him, touching her hair.

“Do I need help?”

“You know better than I do.” He felt her trying to look into his mind and said, “You want to
know if you can trust me. You're not getting the right vibrations or what?”

“They're mixed, different kinds,” Dawn said, and looked down at her knees. “You like my skirt, don't you? It's like the one Susan Sarandon wore in
Bull Durham
. When she was showing Kevin Costner how to bat? I saw it on video and went out and bought this skirt.”

“I remember it,” Raylan said.

“The woman in the relationship,” Dawn said, “has it together, she's a nice person, but she can sometimes be tough. You feel she's emotionally hardheaded because she doesn't understand your intuition, why you know things.”

“How old is she?”

“You're testing me,” Dawn said. “I already told you, she's too old to have babies, something you want, what you miss, having those two boys you hardly ever see.” She paused, looking at her hand, and said, “You're not hung up on material things, financial security.”

“What about you?”

“I get by. I always have.”

“You'd like to move,” Raylan said.

“That's true, I would.”

“Why don't you?”

“I'm thinking about it.”

“How much did Chip pay you?”

She kept staring at their hands.

“For setting Harry up.” Raylan could feel her fingers moving. “For getting him to come here.” He reached over to touch her face, raising it, and she was looking at him again.

“He hasn't paid me anything.”

“He still owes you?”

“You're trying to find out things without threatening me,” Dawn said, sounding a little surprised.

“You know where you stand. You're right in the middle, poised between good and evil,” Raylan said, hearing himself starting to sound like her and knowing he would never have said it to anyone else. “One misstep either way could get you in a lot of trouble.”

She said, “Now you're threatening me.”

“Uh-unh, I'm pointing out what you already know. What I have in mind—you could tell me what you know, using your gift for seeing things, that you haven't actually seen or been told.”

“You're saying, so I won't be a snitch,” Dawn said. “I understand. Like, do I know if Harry's dead or alive.”

Raylan waited.

“He's alive.”

“You're sure.”

“I'm positive.”

“Is he okay?”

She nodded. “That's all I'll say about him. What else? Chip. You want to know where you might run into him when he isn't home or down in the Keys.”

“You're a mind reader,” Raylan said. “Turn your psychic powers on that one, if you would.”

“It sounds like you're putting me on,” Dawn said, “except I know you're not.”

Raylan watched her look away to stare off and then close her eyes.

“He's in a park, walking across the grass to where the Huggers are having one of their gatherings. It's tomorrow, Saturday. It's always Saturday or Sunday; he goes just about every week. A sign on a tree says
WELCOME HOME
. They're giving each other peace signs, hugging, saying they love each other. Chip's hugging, even though he hates to. He holds his breath when he hugs, so he won't smell the person. He goes over to where the heads are hanging out at the dope tree. Chip's looking to score either pot or acid he'll use on some poor, unsuspecting teenage girl.”

Dawn paused again. This time she opened her eyes and looked down and he felt her fingers moving on his.

She said, “The first time I touched your hand, this one, I knew it had held a gun and you'd killed a man with it. I can feel your hand holding it again.”

“Am I aiming at somebody?”

“You have your back to me. There's another person there. . . .”

“You see who it is?”

“It's not real clear. First I see your back, then another person's back. It could be two different times I'm seeing at once ‘cause they're the same kind of situation.”

“When is this happening?”

“I don't know. It's not clear at all.”

Raylan waited. He watched her frown and then shake her head. He said, “You see Chip with the Huggers, trying to score either pot or acid to use on some poor teenage girl. . . .”

Dawn looked off again, closing her eyes. “Some little girl who's run away from home. They come to gatherings all the time, runaways. Chip will talk to her, kid around; he'll get her to toke or trip and find out all about her—where's she from, why she doesn't get along with her folks. . . . Then he'll call them and say he's found their little girl, and if they'll pay him a certain amount for his trouble, he'll tell where she is. It's like one out of four will wire the money to him, under a different name he uses.”

“What is it?”

“Cal. I don't know the last name. I've never seen him go to Western Union to pick up the money. He uses a fake I.D.”

“Why do the parents believe him?”

“He tells them things he could've only learned from their little girl.”

“How does he get Harry to pay?”

Dawn said, “You're sneaky, aren't you? I don't know anything about that, or if there's anything to know. Believe me, I don't.”

Raylan watched her look down at their hands.

“Because you don't want to know? You can shut it out?”

She seemed to be concentrating and didn't answer.

Raylan said, “You want to hear what I think I know? You can nod your head if I'm right.”

Dawn said, “I see the person in your relationship, she's standing with her back to you, looking out at the ocean. I see you touch her. You want her to turn around.”

Raylan was staring at Dawn's profile: head slightly lowered, her dark hair, soft-looking and with a nice scent, falling past her shoulder, bare in the sleeveless blouse.

Dawn saying, “You're looking at me now wondering . . . You want to know something about what I'm wearing, or not wearing, but you don't think it would be right to ask.”

He watched her head begin to raise.

Dawn saying, “Someone else I'm thinking of . . .” and paused and said, “Someone I'm thinking of because he's coming . . . No, because he's already
here
.”

Dawn turned to him, so close she was all eyes and it startled Raylan—he didn't hear anything, not a sound. She was out of the sofa now, going to the door by the time he'd turned half-around to look toward the window and through the palmetto leaves, see what was out there: