The Cypress House (43 page)

    "I
swear," he said, "it was an easier fix I had at Raiford."

    "From
the sound of it," Arlen said, "your return there can be arranged
easily enough."

    Rebecca
gave him a sharp look, and he shrugged. She got up from her chair and went to
the window and stared out into the darkness as if the agents were already
circling through the woods, watching. Hell, maybe they were.

    "We
can leave now," she said. "We've got the money. We can leave now, and
then they can all tangle together tomorrow and forget we ever existed."

    "I
don't reckon they'll forget," Arlen said. "Not a one of them, on
either side. They'll be at our heels by sundown. And when it comes to that,
we'd best hope for the law to catch us first."

    "You
go, then. You and Paul. You've done nothing wrong. This trouble belongs to no
one but Cadys."

    Arlen
said, "No." Quiet but firm. She turned to look at him, and Owen did
the same, and he looked from one to the other and shook his head.

    "All
right," Owen said, "then what in the hell do you propose?"

    He'd
been thinking on that for the whole hour's silent drive back from the train
station. None of the options was appealing, but only one made any real sense to
him.

    "We've
got to go to Barrett," he said, "and offer to help."

    "According
to Paul, we're the ones he's intending to arrest," she said.

    "That
might be the case right now. But he's not entirely ignorant—it's Wade he's really
after. He thinks removing the two of you might help him get to Wade. We'll have
to convince him you don't need to be jailed to do that. In fact, you're a hell
of a lot more help to him out of jail than in it."

    Rebecca
looked at Owen, uncertain.

    "I've
helped them," she said. "I've handled his money and allowed my
property to be used for any number of horrible things, and I've not said a
word."

    "Because
you feared for your brother," Arlen said.

    "You
understand that," she said. "Will they?"

    "I
expect they might."

    "So
then we end up working for them against him."

    "That's
right."

    She
didn't answer.

    "You
don't think they're good enough, do you?" Arlen said.

    "They're
not," Owen said. He'd been listening with a distant stare and that
untouched glass of whiskey near his hand.

    "You
can't say that for sure."

    "The
hell I can't. You know how long Solomon's been running this part of the state?
You don't think the law's taken some shots at him before this? Taken some shots
at the Italians he's in with down in Tampa, and at the boys in New Orleans?
Shit, that's all they do, take shots at men like that. And year after year some
of them go under. Wade, though? Wade gets stronger."

    "Well,
maybe," Arlen said, "this is his year."

    They
were all quiet again. The rain had finally ceased altogether, and the wind was
flat and all that could be heard was the ticking of the mantelpiece clock and,
very soft, the breakers out on the beach.

    "He'll
listen," Paul said.

    They
all turned to look at him.

    "Barrett,"
he said. "He'll listen to you. He'll understand."

    "You
haven't been around long enough to guess at who can be trusted and who
can't," Owen said.

    "I
think I have. And I can tell you this: Arlen was right. Barrett and those that
he's working for, they want Solomon Wade. All you and Rebecca are to them is a
chance to work toward him. They'd do most anything to arrest him, I think. The
way Barrett told it to me, Wade's near impossible to get at because of the way
he isolates himself. Both by living in a place like this and by having people
like . . ." He hesitated, then finished, ". . . people like you do
his dirty work."

    "You
know that's true," Arlen said. "That's the way he runs his show, sure
enough. And if they understand that much, then they ought to be able to believe
what we have to say. Hell, they may have seen it before."

    Owen
blew out a held breath and leaned over and picked up the whiskey glass for the
first time, drank until it was half gone.

    "All
right," he said. "Let's give it hell, then."

    Arlen
nodded. "We'll go in the morning. First thing."

    "To
Barrett?"

    He
nodded again.

    Rebecca
said, "Owen should wait. I'll go alone."

    Arlen
cocked his head and frowned. "I expect they're going to want to talk with
him, too. You can't do his bidding for him."

    "I
don't intend to. But by tomorrow, the police might not be the only ones
watching. The two of us go into Barrett's store and stay there long enough, or
go off to wherever he'll take us next, we'll be seen. And on a day like
tomorrow, that's not something we want. Not all of us. Wade's placed his trust
in Owen, and he knows that I won't do anything to jeopardize my brother. So as
long as Owen stays here, we'll keep them at ease."

    Owen
said, "She's right," but Arlen was already nodding.

    "Okay,"
he said. "But I'll go with you. We'll see Barrett together. First thing in
the morning."

    "First
thing in the morning," she echoed, and with that Owen raised his glass and
drained the rest of the whiskey. He didn't say a word, but his face was the
color of the stones that lined the fireplace behind him.

    Dawn
broke with a gorgeous crimson sunrise. No trace of the night's rains remained,
but all that red in the east was a warning sky. They ate a quiet breakfast as
the sun cleared the treetops and filled the yard with warm light, and then
Arlen said, "Well, we best be to it, don't you think?"

    Rebecca
nodded. "You'll both stay here?" she said to Owen and Paul.

    "Sure,"
Owen said. "Just another day." But then he cleared his throat and
said, without looking at her, "How are we fixed in the way of guns?"

    Everyone
was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Why on earth —"

    "It's
a good question," Arlen interrupted, "and a good idea. Leave him one
of the pistols. We'll take the other. There are rifles on the boat."

    She
didn't seem to like it, but she went upstairs and returned with the Smith &
Wesson revolvers. Owen accepted one, and Arlen took the other.

    "All
right," Arlen said. "Y'all keep a weather eye out till we're back.
Could be we're coming back alone, could be with a few police."

    Owen
said, "Best not do that."

    Arlen
frowned. "I expect they'll see it the other way."

    "Maybe
so," Owen said, "but anybody who sets foot on this property today
will be seen. You make them aware of that."

    Rebecca
said, "We should take the money with us."

    "Why?"
Arlen asked.

    "Show
of good faith to Barrett. He's not going to just believe us out of the good
nature of his heart. We have to have something that backs up our story."

    "What
if someone comes looking for the money?" Owen said. "What if Solomon
sends Tolliver or Tate to check on me? What in the hell am I supposed to tell
them?"

    It
wasn't a bad point. Arlen thought about it, then said, "Okay, we leave
half here, in that case Tolliver brought it down in. It doesn't seem likely
that they'll actually count it. They trust you."

    He
hoped.

    There
was nothing else to be said then, nothing else to be done except for Arlen and
Rebecca to drive down the road and put this day in motion. Arlen turned to
Paul, who looked up and met his eyes. He felt as if he should say something,
offer some word of caution or advice, but none came to mind, so he settled for
another nod, which Paul returned. Then he and Rebecca went out into the yard —
Arlen tucking the pistol into his belt and guarding it with his arm, conscious
of what Owen had said about watchers — and got into the truck. The golden light
of the morning sun picked up Rebecca's hair and made it shimmer as she sat
behind the wheel and cast him an exhausted gaze.

    "This
will help?" she said. "Won't it?"

    "Yes,"
he said. Then she started the truck and they were off.

    They
didn't say much as they rode, but once, she reached out for his hand across the
cab. Her jaw was set and her face calm.

    She
had firm bracings within her, he knew. After watching her deal with the
hurricane and Wade and the delivery of that damned cigar box, he knew that
awfully well. They'd hold today, just as they'd held before. He wasn't worried
about her.

    Owen
was more of a question. He didn't seem enamored with the plan, no doubt had a
con's natural disfavor of anything that involved cooperation with the law. So
long as he stayed put at the inn and nobody came looking for him, though, there
shouldn't be trouble. Arlen wished Paul had left already, boarded that final
train of the night, but after the revelation he'd shared just before its
departure, that had hardly been an option.

    The
roads were empty. Arlen watched the mirrors for a following car but saw none.
He tended to agree with Owen, though; McGrath and his sons were keeping an eye
on the activity at the Cypress House.

    The
garage doors were up at Barrett's service station, his day already begun.
Rebecca parked in front, and they opened the door and saw the pretty Indian
girl behind the counter again. The inside of the shop smelled of tobacco and
molasses, already thick with humidity.

    Barrett's
wife nodded a hello to them, but before Rebecca could say a word the door from
the garage opened and Barrett stepped inside. He'd seen them come in, Arlen
could tell that from the way he entered, and for just a second something
flickered in his face, a quick look of unease. Then he folded it beneath one of
those grins of his and said, "Mornin'. What has y'all up so early?"

    "Is
there someplace we could talk in private?" Rebecca said.

    He
frowned. "Something the matter?"

    "Should
anyone else happen by," she said, "I doubt you'll want this
conversation overheard."

    He
gave up the game right then. Arlen expected he'd drag it out a bit, but instead
he just nodded like he'd been expecting this and said, "The boy
talked."

    "Because
he needed to," Arlen said. "He might've saved some lives, Barrett.
You got no idea what sort of operation you're putting into action
tonight."

    "No?"
Barrett's jaw worked, anger showing in his eyes, and then he said, "Okay,
follow me."

    He
walked across the warped floorboards and back through the door into the garage.
His wife didn't say a word as they passed, but she looked noticeably tense, her
eyes on the road as if she expected to see someone at their heels already.
Arlen cast a look back at her as he went through the door and saw that there
was a small revolver on a shelf beneath the cash register.

    Barrett
tugged the overhead garage doors down, sealing them in the dank, musty room. He
put a stool in front of Rebecca and then sat on a stack of tires by the far
wall. Arlen stood.

    "I
could have y'all arrested right now," Barrett said. "And maybe I
still will. But I'll hear it first."

    "It's
her story," Arlen said, "so I'll let her do the telling. But let's
make something clear at the start—you want Wade. Not Rebecca, not Owen, not
McGrath. You're after Wade and Tolliver."

    "I
want to clean the trash out of this county, and I'll do that one at a time if I
need to."

    Arlen
said, "Really?"

    Barrett
held his eyes for a long time and then said, "I want Wade."

    "Okay,"
Arlen said. "Well, we're the best chance you've got of getting him. And a
damn sight less useful in jail than out."

    "I
could reach a different conclusion."