'Henry Silva.'
'Right, the same guy that played Mother in A Hatful of Rain. I just saw that one too.'
'So after a while Jean arrives at the cabin...'
'She comes in with her own suitcase, an empty one.'
'And what happens?'
'You're going west on Lantana, okay, you take a right just past the county airport and go on up,' Richard had told her, 'till almost you come to like a subdivision and you take a left onto Township, it's a dirt road, and you go on out till you see a whole bunch of scrub pine and this house setting by itself, cute little place used to be painted white.'
No telephone, but it had propane gas and running water, inside toilet, stove, fridge, hundred a month, shit. Kind of place you think it'd been left to weather, no reason to go near it. Perfect spot, Richard said.
Poor Richard, peeking out the front door.
Jean parked in tree shade, left the key in the ignition and released the trunk. She did not look at the house now, knowing Richard was watching her open the trunk, lift out the tan leather suitcase. There was the sound of a light plane circling the county airport, the sound persisting, fading, coming back. There was dusty summer heat in the air, a depressed rural feel to the location; not anything like the cabin up near Big Bear. It had been cool, she'd worn a trenchcoat and a black beret. She had the line ready. 'Richard, I couldn't wait.'
But when he appeared in the doorway Jean revised it without thinking and said, 'What happened to you?'
'I got my goddamn arm broke.'
'I can see that. How did you do it?'
He was squinting at the road, in the direction of the airport. 'You sure nobody followed you?'
'I'm sure.'
'I wasn't expecting you for least a week.'
'I couldn't wait, Richard.' There, getting back to the script. But then forced away from it again with, 'What happened to your arm?' Moving past him into the house, dim with shades drawn, depressing, a musty smell to the place.
'You want me to tell you? It was that goddamn friend of yours, that blindsider, same guy 'at hit me the time up in Delray, that place they took you.'
They were way off the script and might not return for some time; but she had to sit down, stare at him and hear every word of this, Richard's version of what happened in the park: how he was struck from behind, arm broken before he even saw the guy, hit in the legs, the head; man was like he was crazy.
Jean said, 'He brought you there...'
'He tricked me.'
'To ask you questions?'
'I didn't tell him nothing.'
She said, 'Richard, how do you know you didn't?'
'I know what I told him. He didn't have no wire on him, I checked. Listen, with one hand 'fore we were through there I punched the sucker out and I told him, 'You got a surprise coming, asshole,' just that much, without telling him nothing. Shit, I wasn't gonna let the scudder get off.'
Jean said, 'Oh, Richard,' her tone soft, almost loving. She sat in a wornout easy chair, her head back against the cushion, feeling the bristly mohair of the arms beneath her hands, damp with perspiration. Her straw bag was on her lap. She reached into it, found a pack of cigarettes and lighted one, inhaled, blew the smoke out slowly.
She said, 'Well, it doesn't matter.'
Nobles said, 'Shit, no. We done it, didn't we? You haven't asked did I get the sack or not. You ready to have a look, divvy up?'
'I guess I'm ready,' Jean said.
Nobles walked into the bedroom and got down on the floor. She could see the bed from where she sat, blanket folded on a soiled mattress. He would try to get her in there, with sticky words, mouth curled. She watched him pull the Hefty bag from under the bed--each move separate, deliberate--rising to his knees, to one foot, standing, turning to come out... He sat on a straight chair facing her, the bag between his legs. Jean watched the fingers of one hand working to unwind the baling wire. She said, 'Richard, how did you get here?'
'I didn't know how I was gonna make it to the hospital, see. So I called this boy Glenn Hicks I know. I told you, he's with the Boca Police?'
'Yes?'
'He drove me to Bethesda, the one in Boynton 'cause he didn't know any others without going clear to Palm Beach.'
'Then how did you get here?'
'Yeah, Glenn drove me.'
She said it again, 'Oh, Richard,' with that same weariness.
'Glenn's a good boy, does what I tell him. Don't you worry 'bout old Glenn.' He held the Hefty bag open. 'Here, look-it in here. I want to see your eyes pop out.'
'Did you count it?'
'Did I count it?' He grinned at her. 'I been counting it since I drug the sack in. It's fun, you know it, count money?' He frowned then, reaching into the bag. 'What I couldn't figure out, what you put this in there for?' His hand came out holding the Walther PPK, the little bluesteel automatic.
Jean raised her hand from the arm of the chair and Nobles hesitated, then shrugged, reached over, and laid the grip in her upturned palm. 'She's on safety. That's a cute little piece, but be careful now.'
Jean brought the gun up, looking at it. 'I didn't want to leave it at home, risk someone finding it. And with all those cops I didn't want to carry it, have someone pick up my bag, feel the weight.'
Nobles sat hunched over the Hefty bag between his legs. 'Lady carries around a suitcase full a money, she needs a gun. Keep the boogers off her.'
'That's it,' Jean said. He was so close, hunched over, his cast resting on his knees. 'Aren't you going to offer me a drink?'
That got him up. 'Well, sure. You want a cold beer or a warm one?'
'Cold, please.'
Nobles went into the kitchen and was out of view. She heard the refrigerator door, heard the popping sound as he opened the cans. Henry Silva had poured Scotch, no ice, turned with a tall glass in each hand... She raised the Walther in her right hand, six rounds in the clip, one in the chamber, extended it toward the doorway to the kitchen and waited for Nobles to appear.
Both cans of beer were in his right hand; his left arm, in the cast, covered his stomach. So she aimed just above the cast. When he looked up, one stride out of the doorway, he paused, seemed to smile, trying to at least, and said, 'Hey, puss, be careful now--'
She shot him where she aimed, shot him again and shot him again, quickly, the sound so overpowering she missed details. Already he seemed in shock, pressed against the door frame, eyes glazed, the cast painted with blood. So much blood. Where were the beer cans? She had only a moment to notice effects. Henry Silva had touched the neat wound in his chest, looked at his hand with disbelief, looked up... She shot Henry Silva again and he did a slow movie die, reflecting betrayal right to the end. She shot Nobles again and he might have already been dead, sliding down the door frame to the floor.
LaBrava said to Franny, sitting in Lummus Park among palm trees, sipping cold beer, 'Then what happens?'
Franny said, 'Well, nothing happens after that the way it's supposed to.'
Chapter 26
HE SAW ONLY HER EYES, her bland expression, and wondered who she was at this moment and if she was going to say anything, and after another moment if she was ever going to say anything. He watched her turn from
