Gator teeth, spiked hair dyed blond and a tattoo on his chest, part of it showing the way his shirt hung open. He stood there looking Raylan over before saying, 'Who in the hell are you, the undertaker?'
Raylan got his hat from the sofa and set it on his head the way he wore it. He said, 'I might be undertaking a situation here. Lemme see what you have on your chest,' wanting this skinhead with hair to open his shirt.
He did, held it apart to show Raylan his HEIL HITLER tattoo, no weapon stuck in his belt. Raylan decided not to mess with Adolf Hitler, saying now, 'You buy that necklace or poach the gator and yank her teeth out?'
It got the skin to squint at him but still wanting to tell, because he said, 'I shot her and ate her tail.'
Now Raylan squinted to show he was thinking. 'That would put you in Florida, around Lake Okeechobee.'
It got the skin to tell him, 'Belle Glade.'
'Is that right?' Raylan reached into his inside pocket for his ID case. 'I sent a boy to Starke was from Belle Glade, fell a name Dale Crowe Junior.' He flipped open the case to show his star. 'I'm Raylan Givens, deputy United States marshal.' He flipped the case closed. 'You mind telling me who you are?'
The skin was staring now like he did mind and had to decide whether or not to tell. Raylan said, 'You know your name, don't you?'
'It's Dewey Crowe,' the skin said, putting some defiance into the sound of it. 'Dale Junior's my kin.'
Raylan said, 'Man, that's some family you belong to. I know of four Crowes either shot dead or sent to prison. Tell me what you're doing here.'
Dewey said, 'I come to take Ava someplace,' and started toward the bedroom.
Raylan held up his hand and it stopped him.
'Lemme tell you something, Mr. Crowe. You don't walk in a person's house 'less you're invited. What you better do, go on outside and knock on the door. If Ava wants to see you I'll let you in. She doesn't, you can be on your way.'
Raylan watched him, curious as to how this boy wearing alligator teeth would take it - big, ugly teeth but no apparent weapon on him.
What he said was, 'All right.' Keeping it simple to show he was cool. He said, 'I'm gonna go out.'' Paused to set up the rest of it and said, 'Then I'm coming back in.' He turned and went out the door, leaving it open.
Raylan came over to stand in the doorway. He watched young Mr. Crowe hurrying toward his car standing in the road, an old rusting-out Cadillac, and watched him raise the trunk lid.
Raylan took off his suitcoat and hooked it on the doorknob. He wore a blue shirt with a mostly dark-blue striped tie. He reset his hat on his head. Now his hand went to the grip of the revolver on his right hip, the .45- caliber Smith & Wesson, but did not clear it from the worn leather holster.
He watched Dewey Crowe bring a pump shotgun out of the trunk and start back this way, all business now, his mind made up, his dumb pride taking him to a place it would be hard to back out of.
Though he hadn't racked the pump to put a shell in the breech.
Still hadn't as he slowed up seeing Raylan in his shirtsleeves, Dewey Crowe taking careful steps now, holding the shotgun out in front of him.
Raylan said, 'Mr. Crowe? Listen, you better hold on there while I tell you something.'
It stopped him about fifty feet away, his shoulders hunched.
'I want you to understand,' Raylan said, 'I don't pull my sidearm 'less I'm gonna shoot to kill. That's its purpose, huh, to kill. So it's how I use it.'
Speaking hard words in a quiet tone of voice.
'I want you to think about what I'm saying before you act and it's too late.'
'Jesus Christ,' Dewey said. 'I got a fuckin' scatter gun pointed right at you.'
'But can you rack in a load,' Raylan said, 'before I put a hole through you?'
Raylan stepped out to the yard. He said, 'Come on,' pushing the barrel of the shotgun aside to take Dewey by the arm and walk him out to the car, a piece of junk but still a Cadillac.
'Where'd you want to take Ava?' Dewey said, 'Man, I don't understand you.'
'Boyd want to see her?'
'It's none of your business.'
'You know Boyd and I were buddies? We dug coal and drank beer together.' Raylan opened the car door. 'You see him, tell him I'm in Harlan.'
Dewey didn't say anything getting in the car. He had to turn the key a few times before it caught. Raylan reached through the open window and put his hand on his shoulder. 'I was you, boy, I'd drop this Nazi bullshit and get back to poaching gators, it's safer.'
Dewey looked up at him. As he said, 'The next time I see you . . .' only got that far before Raylan took a handful of his spiked hair and brought his head down hard on the windowsill. Raylan hunched over now to look into the face tightened with pain.
'Listen to me. Tell Boyd his old buddy wants to see him, Raylan Givens.'
VI.
He went back in the house to find Ava in the kitchen pouring Jim Beam, Ava in a tank top and shorts, her hair wrapped in a towel that was like a white turban around her head. She said, 'Who was that?' not sounding too interested. He told her and she said, 'Oh, the one with Heil Hitler on his chest, he was one of Bowman's buddies.'
'He came to take you someplace.'
'Most likely to see Boyd. You want something with yours?
I've got Diet Co'Cola, RC Cola, Dr Pepper . . .'
'Just ice, if you have some.'
'I ever forget to fill the trays Bowman'd start slapping me.
'What's wrong with you? Don't you know how to keep house?' '
The towel covering her hair made the rest of her seem more exposed, white and kind of puffy, more to her, like she had gained a good twenty pounds since taking off the housedress that hung on her. He saw now it was that wild hair that had made her face appear drawn. He noticed bruises on her pale skin, on her arms and legs, that made her appear soiled, and, oh man, her behind filled out those shorts - Raylan watching her carrying their drinks to the table where she had shot her husband.
'I cleaned it up good. Had to scrub the wall there with Lysol to get, you know, the stains off it. I think Lysol's the best cleaning product you can buy.'
Raylan sat down at the table with her. 'You haven't seen Boyd, have you? I mean since?'
'No, but he'll be after me, I know. He's been after me.'
'That's why we want to keep an eye on you,' Raylan said.
'You know I'm with the Marshals Service.'
'I believe was your mother told me, before she passed.' Ava lit a cigarette from a pack lying on the table and blew a stream of smoke by him. 'I made the mistake of telling Bowman about his brother coming around and he whipped me with his belt. Didn't want to believe it.' She drew on the cigarette again. Smoke came out as she said, 'Here's a man was so jealous he'd stop by Betty's to check on me.'
'Betty's?'
'Hair Salon, where I work, or did. I trained under Betty washing hair, giving perms. I do hair now for special occasions, weddings, graduations I do a bunch of the girls. Yeah, Bowman'd stop by and look in. . . . He'd get on me for the least thing. Like if he found a hair in his baked possum? Or I didn't get out all the scent glands? He'd have a fit, throw his supper at me, the plate, the whole mess.'
Raylan listened, sipping his drink, wanting to get back to Boyd.
'I wish I could move, go someplace and open my own hair salon. Where do you live?'
'West Palm Beach.'
'Is it nice?'
