He started to haul up the engine housing for a look at the Jimmy. What stopped him was somebody legging along the board float toward his slip. He straightened-and then he recognized who it was and he could feel his gut tighten up. Ryerson. Now what the hell? he thought. More crap about buying him a new dog?
Ryerson came down to the Spindrift ’s aft gunwale and stopped there, a couple of feet from where Mitch was standing. Mitch didn’t move. Bastard’s hairy face was set tight, white around the nostrils, and his back was board- stiff. Pissed off about something. What did he have to be pissed off about? “You and I need to talk, Mr. Novotny.”
“We got nothing to talk about,” Mitch said. “Unless you come to admit you ran Red down on purpose.”
“It was an accident, I told you that. And I’m sorry it happened. But that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with any retaliation on your part. I want that understood right now.”
“You don’t make any sense, Ryerson. Go on back to the lighthouse, why don’t you? Leave me the hell alone.” Mitch put his back to the bastard and yanked up the engine housing.
Behind him Ryerson said, quiet, “You’ll talk to me now, or you’ll talk to the sheriff later.”
Mitch faced him again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means, Mr. Novotny. Your little shooting spree last night.”
“Shooting spree?”
“You’re good with that rifle of yours-one smashed headlight, one ruptured tire, and some minor damage to one fender. By my estimate the repairs will cost at least two hundred dollars.”
“You’re crazy,” Mitch said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m willing to pay for the repairs myself, because of the accident with your dog. But if anything like last night happens again, I won’t put up with it. Do you understand?”
Mitch stared at him in disbelief and gathering anger. “I don’t understand none of this.”
“I mean what I say, Mr. Novotny. Stay away from the Cape Despair Light. No more nocturnal target practice, no more harassment. I called the sheriff this morning and told him about the shooting. I didn’t give him your name but if there’s any more trouble I will give it to him. I’ll swear out a complaint against you and have you arrested.”
Mitch had no words now; they were choked up in his throat. But Ryerson nodded as if he’d said something that had no answer, matched Mitch’s stare for a few seconds, then turned his back and stalked off. Mitch watched him go. He was so worked up inside, his hands started to shake when he lit a cigarette.
It took him a while to get his thoughts clear. All that shit about a shooting spree last night-crazy talk. Or was it? No, maybe not. Maybe somebody actually did shoot up his car. And Ryerson thought it was him, on account of Red. But who’d do a thing like that? Hell, nobody, not even kids with hot pants, went all the way out to the lighthouse at night Nobody except Adam Reese.
Out there on the cape lots of nights late, Adam was, looking to jacklight deer with that 30.06 of his.
Aloud, Mitch said, “Ah, for Christ’s sake.” He tossed his cigarette into the bay, coiled up the hose, put his tools away, and climbed off onto the float. He went straight from the cannery pier across the highway and up the hill to the trailer encampment.
First trailer he came to was Hod’s. Run-down old white thing with a green lattice border around the bottom and a cheap canvas awning rigged on one side-hell of a place for a man to have to live with a wife and three kids. He felt for Hod, losing his boat the way he had; but he felt for himself, too, and more. Six mouths to feed in another couple of months, not just five. And now this Ryerson coming around and threatening to have him arrested for something he hadn’t done. Jesus Christ!
Hod’s two boys, Tad and Jason, were tossing a half-flat football back and forth in the weeds out back. In front his oldest, Mandy, was sitting in the sun in a canvas-backed chair with her Sunday dress hiked up so far on her thighs you could damn near see her twat. She didn’t pull it down when he came by, either. Pretty little tease. Get herself knocked up for sure one of these days, just like Hod was always predicting.
“If you’re looking for my dad, Mr. Novotny, he’s back at Adam’s trailer.”
“Looking for Adam, thanks.”
“Sure is a nice day, isn’t it?”
“If you don’t catch a draft.”
She knew what he meant; she grinned at him bold as hell. Good thing he was Hod’s friend. Good thing he wasn’t the kind to chase around after tail, young or old… even with Marie all swollen the way she was and not wanting him to touch her in the last couple of months. A man could get himself in a lot of bad trouble over one like Mandy Barnett.
He went on past the other trailers, to the small humped old house trailer that Adam lived in. Adam had built a workshed on one side of it and a kind of covered areaway made out of wood and tin that connected it with the trailer. There was a table under the areaway, and some chairs, and Hod and Adam were sitting there with bottles of Henry’s, playing cribbage and listening to the 49er game on the radio.
Adam said, “Hey, Mitch. You want to sit in on a little crib?”
“No.”
“Beating me as usual,” Hod complained. “’Niners are winning, though. How about a beer?”
“No.” Mitch’s hands were steady now; the walk up here had put him back in control again. He said, “Ryerson just showed up down at the Spindrift. Says somebody shot up his car with a rifle last night. Did two hundred dollars’ worth of damage.”
Hod said, “The hell!” Adam didn’t say anything; he had his eyes on the cards he was shuffling.
“Accused me of it,” Mitch told them. “Said if it ever happened again he’d call in the sheriff and have me arrested.”
“You do it, Mitch?” Hod asked. “Shoot up his car?”
“Hell no, I didn’t do it.” He said his next words to Hod, too, but he was looking at Adam. “You go out on the cape last night with Adam? After deer?”
“No. Overcast breaking up and all that moonlight… just didn’t seem like a good idea.”
“How about you, Adam? You go out?”
Adam popped the cards down on the table, got up in that bouncy way of his. “I went out. No damn deer, though.”
“What’d you take? That thirty-ought-six of yours? The one with the scope sight?”
Adam hopped around a little, let out a breath, and then said, “All right, Mitch, I done it. I put a couple of rounds in Ryerson’s car.”
“Well what the hell for?”
“I didn’t plan it. It was just there wasn’t any deer and it got me frustrated. I was out near the lighthouse, nobody around, that big Ford station wagon sitting there in the moonlight… hell, I don’t know. I remembered what you said Friday night and it just seemed like the thing to do.”
“What I said?”
“About not letting Ryerson get away with murdering Red. About making him pay for it.”
“I didn’t mean by shooting up his goddamn car!”
“What’d you mean, then?”
“I don’t know, not yet. But nothing like that.”
“Hell, Mitch, I’m sorry. I only meant it as a favor to you. I liked Red too, you know that.”
“Yeah.”
“I just never figured he’d come down on you for it.”
“Suppose he changes his mind, decides to sic the sheriff on me? Or tries to sue me for the damages? What then, Adam?”
Adam was silent for a couple of seconds. Then he said, “That ain’t going to happen. None of it.”
“Oh it ain’t?”
“No. Ryerson can’t do nothing to you for what happened to his car, any more’n you can do anything to him for killing Red. Not legally. He’s got no proof who fired those rounds last night. If there was anything he could do, it’d have been the sheriff talking to you this morning, not him.”
“Maybe,” Mitch said, but he wasn’t so sure.
“If he did swear out a complaint against you,” Hod said, “you could do the same thing to him, couldn’t you?” He’d been watching with round eyes and looking nervous. Hod was always nervous when things shifted off an even
