Killshot

to argue with each other, the younger one pointing this way. I think there was blood on his face and the front of his jacket. The heavyset one gave him another shove and got him in the car. Then he went around to the driver’s side and got in. They made a U-turn and drove away, north.”

Carmen noticed the police called her Carmen and Wayne Wayne, but they called Nelson Davies Mr. Davies. He had arrived with the police, Nelson wearing a suit and tie as always, a matching hanky in the breast pocket.

The questioning was done in the office lobby, Carmen telling her story several times: to the local Algonac officers, both of them who were on duty, to investigators from the Michigan State Police, an officer from the Township Police and four deputies from the St. Clair County Sheriff’s office. All those different uniforms. She could see Wayne was irritated. First, because he was supposed to meet Lionel and had to stay here and second, because of the way they asked him questions, almost as though what happened was his fault. Beginning with, What was he doing in Mr. Davies’s office?

Did he tell the two guys he was Mr. Davies?

Did he let them think it?

Did he try to get tough, antagonize them?

Did he realize he could have endangered the lives of the other people in the office?

Wayne said that was why he got the two guys out of there. They were so sure he had the money, he didn’t see any choice but let them think it.

They wanted to know if he was trying to kill them with that crowbar.

Wayne said it was a sleever bar, or some guys called it a connecting bar or rod, they used it in their work to pry the ends of iron beams, get them to fit snug. He said if his intention was to kill those two guys he would’ve gone for their heads. He said, “What I don’t understand, why don’t you go over to Walpole and find out who drives an ’86 Cadillac? That shouldn’t be too hard.”

Some of the police didn’t care for this kind of talk. One of the sheriff’s deputies asked Wayne if he had an attitude problem. Wayne, who’d walk off a job if the raising-gang foreman showed poor judgment, said, “No, sir, I’m just curious why you’re sitting around here with your finger up your butt.”

Carmen didn’t blame him for being arrogant. Especially when the deputy told Wayne if the guy he’d thrown out the window was seriously injured, the guy could take him to court. Wayne said, “It might be the only way you’ll ever see him.”

They were the ones with the attitude. Carmen saw them as either very serious and impersonal, not showing any kind of sympathy except to Nelson, or they were condescending and treated her like a child. “Now, Carmen, you think you can tell us again exactly what you saw?” And she’d hear Wayne say, “Jesus Christ.” At one point Nelson asked her to make a fresh pot of coffee for the officers. She didn’t dare look at Wayne.

He showed his irritation while she managed to keep hers inside. Until, listening to Nelson and the police talking, it sounded as though they’d known about the two guys all along. When Carmen asked Nelson about it he said, “Well, of course. One of them called me.”

“But you didn’t tell anybody,” Carmen said.

“I told the police.”

“I mean any of us, my husband.”

“Because the guy called again and changed the arrangement,” Nelson said. “If he was coming to Wildwood then we had to, well, the police had to set up a surveillance. We had to think of the safety of the homeowners out there.”

Carmen listened to Nelson saying he wished the two guys had come out to Wildwood. They sure would never have suspected those people raking leaves were police officers.

“You could’ve called Wayne, told him not to come.”

Nelson said, “What?” He said, “To tell you the truth I didn’t think he was coming anyway. Or if he did it would only be, well, as a courtesy.”

“To humor me?” Carmen said.

Nelson grinned. “You said it, I didn’t.” He looked over at Wayne. “Am I right? Don’t answer if it’ll get you in trouble.”

Wayne said, “Are we through?”

It was after six by the time they got home. Wayne popped open beers. He handed one to Carmen sitting at the kitchen counter. She took a sip and looked up at him.

“When Nelson mentioned the cops out at Wildwood raking leaves, I thought of saying, ‘You must’ve had leaves hauled in, ’cause there sure aren’t any trees out there.’ ”

“You should’ve.”

After a minute Carmen said, “All those guys acted so ... sure of themselves.”

“Like they know what they’re doing.”

After another minute she said, “What an ass-hole.”

“Which one?”

“Nelson, who else? I should’ve figured him out before this, just from the way he makes his lower loops.”

Wayne said, “His lower loops, uh?”

“In his writing. The way he makes them, you know, very elaborate, ornate, it means he’s pre

occupied with himself. His upper loops are okay, they show mental alertness.” “What’s that prove?” Wayne said. “You have to be mentally alert to be a good bullshitter?” “Well, I know one thing,” Carmen said, “I’m

not gonna work for that jerk anymore.” Wayne raised his beer can to her. “Some good has come of this after all.”

6

ARMAND HAD THOUGHT he liked being called Bird, but now he wasn’t so sure. Not the way Richie, bleeding all over himself, kept moaning, saying to him, “Bird, you have a hanky? Man, I’m cut bad. Bird, get me to Donna’s.” Saying Donna knew first aid. Richie had a cut on his chin where he went through the window and landed on the broken glass. That’s all was wrong with him, a cut and sore knees he kept rubbing, getting blood on his pants. Armand had a sore back and ribs where the guy had worked him over with the iron bar, a tough guy. They had to run into one of those, not only a tough guy but the wrong guy. Armand believed the blood on Richie made the injury look worse than it was.

He said, “Let me see,” and looked over as Richie raised his chin. “You could use a few stitches, that’s all.”

They drove through Marine City, passed the street that went to Donna’s street and Richie got

excited. “Stop. Where you going?”

“Over to Sarnia.”

“That’s in Canada.”

“We can’t drive around in this car,” Armand said. “The guy saw it.”

The guy who was no real estate man and also the woman. They had both gotten a good look at the car. Armand remembered who the guy was now, with that same pickup truck as yesterday. The guy with ironworkers on the back of his jacket talking to Lionel Adam in Island Variety.

He was pretty sure the woman worked at the real estate office. He could see her now, looking out the back door at them, getting a good look. She was the one that had called out a guy’s name, probably the ironworker’s, but Armand couldn’t think of it now.

He was too busy seeing what could happen to him. If he was picked up, the ironworker and the real estate woman would say, yeah, he’s the guy. Pretty soon the police would find out where he’s from and that he’s driving a car owned by the son-in-law of a guy, also from Toronto, who was shot and killed yesterday in Detroit. Armand knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t let this get to where they looked him up on their computer machine.

Now Richie was saying that he was going to get the son of a bitch. “I promised him and I will.”

“Which son of a bitch?” Armand asked him.

“The real estate guy. Why didn’t you shoot? They’re standing right there in the window, Bird. There’s the guy big as life. Why didn’t you fucking shoot?”

“That’s the guy you want, ’ey?”

“Man, you had him.”