“So UK students don’t walk out skunked and get arrested or hit by a car. I spoke to management, I said if you have a spare room up there you can let me use while I’m in Lexington… I told him he’d have a U.S. marshal keeping the peace. The fella said he didn’t want to shut the students down, especially on Crazy Night. I told him goin crazy’s okay with me.”
Nichols said, “You’re a bouncer in a dive bar?”
“When I’m there. I don’t think this’ll take long.”
“You’re younger’n I am,” Nichols said. “You might come out of there alive.”
“Martinis,” Raylan said, “are only three bucks.”
S aturday evening he talked to the manager, a cautious but pleasant guy running a saloon on the edge of the University of Kentucky campus. Why wouldn’t he be pleasant? He had droves of patrons, boys and girls coming in for rum or vodka in different flavors; for the three-dollar martinis; five dollars for a pitcher of beer, and for ten bucks you could drink all the beer you wanted. “But just for yourself,” the manager told Raylan, “or everybody in here’d get sloshed on the ten bucks.”
Raylan had on the s {haighuit and tie he’d worn to the transplant center yesterday. Hanging around in the Two Keys Tavern, there wasn’t any doubt, this guy with the star on a chain was a lawman. He expected to get some remarks. They were all twenty-one going on thirty. A guy stared and Raylan would nod with his nice-guy look. He saw a lot of zip-neck sweaters over all kinds of shirts. He saw girls talking loud, girls making faces. They had a goldfish race in a plastic trough, hit the fish with water pistols to quit swimming in a circle and race, goddamnit. Not many beer drinkers seem to care about it. A celebrity deejay Raylan had never heard of came on and the crowd went crazy for about a minute.
He saw some good-looking girls here. One of them came up to him and said, “My friends think you’re a rent- a-cop and I bet them you’re for real. Are you?”
Raylan opened his coat to show his star hanging on the silver chain. He said, “I’m a United States marshal, miss. Tell me what your friends call you?”
A guy with some size standing there said, “Anybody ever rip your badge off you, hangin there?”
“Not yet,” Raylan said. “One tried but didn’t make it. What do you do, play football? I’d take you to be an offensive lineman.”
This guy with shoulders on him said, “I play defense.”
“What I meant,” Raylan said, “I see you as a lineman becoming offensive to me. Twenty years ago I ever tried out for football here I’d be cut by the third day.” Raylan said, “I’m gonna move the badge down to my belt, not get anymore remarks about it.” Raylan told him, “In case you didn’t know it, I’m one of the good guys. I’ve shot seven men in the line of duty, wanted fugitives, no women or students, and they all died.” Raylan smiled at the defensive lineman. “You gonna have me telling marshal stories next.”
At 2:30 A.M. he put on his cowboy hat and went to visit Miss Layla.
R aylan used his burglar picks to open the front door without disturbing the manager. He went up the stairs to Layla’s apartment and knocked on the door. He stood before the peephole in his hat-no way she wouldn’t know him, and knocked again, giving the door three firm raps.
He waited.
She’d be looking at him by now, wondering how to play it.
“I’m not here to make an arrest,” Raylan said, his face close to the door. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Finally he heard her voice.
“At three in the {thth='1em' a morning?”
“I been trying to get hold of you,” Raylan said. “You told the hospital you took leave to nurse your mom back to health, but you never went near her. You know the time I mean?”
There was a silence.
Her voice said, “I met my boyfriend. I actually was in New Orleans.”
“Let’s get him to vouch for you,” Raylan said, “and I’ll quit worryin about it.”
“He’s married,” Layla’s voice said.
“I could have a word with him,” Raylan said. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“I start arrestin people for committin adultery I’d never get home for supper and see my wife and kids. We have three boys and a girl.”
Layla’s voice said, “Wait till I put something on.”
Raylan imagined Layla standing on the other side of the door bare-naked and wanted to come back with a cool line, but couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t stupid and said, “Okay,” and waited.
Cuba had pulled on his pants and was stripping the bedding from the sofa. He said, “Raylan,” shaking his head. “I could hear you lyin to each other.”
Layla had on a black kimono with touches of red here and there. She told Cuba to put on his shoes and wait in the bedroom. “With your gun,” Layla said. “We’re ready, we’ll do it here, right now. In the bathtub. Run water to wash out the blood. He comes in, we’ll lie to each other some more. I’ll see how it goes, the kind of mood he’s in. I’ll have the needle ready.” She looked around the room. “Maybe in the kitchen. I’ll get him relaxed first.”
“When he ain’t lookin,” Cuba said, “you pop him with the needle?”
“And you take him out when we’re finished,” Layla said. “Get him to disappear.”
“Not hang him on a corner and call emergency?”
“He knows us,” Layla said. “He gets on dialysis we’re fucked.” She took time to look at Cuba and said, “Am I right?”
Cuba said, “You always right, aren’t you? {areang”
S he opened the door and said to Raylan, “Follow me,” and took him through the living room to the kitchen, where two vodkas over ice waited on the counter. She watched him grin as she handed him one.
“To ease me down,” Raylan said. “Tell you the truth, I came here with the same idea. Let you know I’m not gonna snitch on you, tell the hospital you didn’t take off to see your old mom. She wouldn’t of known you, you wore a sign with your name on it.”
“I told you, I met my boyfriend,” Layla said.
“His name Cuba Franks?”
Layla gave him a tired look, shaking her head. “Whoever Cuba is, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“He brought his boss to the hospital a couple times. Mr. Harry Burgoyne?”
“I still don’t remember him,” Layla said.
“Cuba’s easy to meet, for a fella’s done hard time,” Raylan said. “I thought he might straighten out his life, till he shot the Crowe brothers. Shot the dad too, but Pervis survived. Now the old man wants to do Cuba himself. Did you know that? For killing his worthless boys.”
Layla got out a cigarette and lighted it saying, “Why don’t you finish your drink and leave?”
“You haven’t eased me down,” Raylan said, “have you? The Crowe brothers did some work for Cuba one time. Lifted Angel Arenas on the bed to get his kidneys removed. I thought, Why didn’t they do him in the tub, save messin up the bed? I guess they were still learning. The Crowes gave Angel a week to come up with a hundred grand-the second biggest mistake Cuba ever made, hookin up with the Crowes.”
Layla had to ask:
“What was his first mistake?”
“Getting involved with Miss Transplant,” Raylan said. “Why he’s hiding in the bedroom right now.”
She said, “You can’t just… search my apartment.”
“I’ve got cause,” Raylan said. “Reason to believe a wanted felon’s in there.”
“Why you’ve come after me all of a sudden,” Layla said, “I’ll never know.” She moved closer to Raylan leaning on the yellow-tile counter, his body against the fucking drawer she had to open to get the needle. {t tlos
“Do you think I’d actually steal kidneys from the center?”
“You learned how watching for eleven years. Only you do your surgery in motel rooms.”
“I think you’re crazy,” Layla said. “You want to look in the bedroom? Go ahead.”
She threw her cigarette in the sink as he straightened, leaving his glass on the counter, and watched him walk out of the kitchen in his cowboy hat. Layla opened the drawer and picked up the syringe.
Now the tricky part: walk up behind him and jab the needle into his arm before he saw her. She tested the
