L is for Lawless

9

By the time I got back to my room, it was 8:45. I felt grubby and half dead from the combination of manual labor, stress, greasy room-service food, and jet lag. I peeled off my uniform and hopped in the shower, letting the hot water pound down my frame like a waterfall. I dried myself off and then pulled on one of the two unisex robes provided by the hotel. My spare underpants were now dry, though a bit stiff, hanging across the towel rack like the pelt of some rare beast. Coming out of the bathroom into the dressing area, I noticed the message light on my telephone was blinking. The phone must have rung while I was in the shower – inevitably Henry, since he was the only one who knew my whereabouts. Unless the hotel management was on to me. Somewhat uneasily, I rang the hotel operator. "This is Ms. Millhone. My message light is on." He put me on hold and then came back on the line. "You have one message. A Mr. Pitts called at eight fifty-one. Urgent. Please call back."

"Thanks." I dialed Henry's number. Before I even heard the phone ring on his end, he picked up the receiver. I said, "That was quick. You must have been sitting right on top of the phone. What's going on?"

"I'm so glad you called. I didn't know what to do. Have you heard from Ray Rawson?"

"Why would I hear from him? I thought he was gone."

"Well, he was, but he's back and I'm afraid there's been a complication of sorts. Nell and I went shopping this morning, shortly after you rang. William and Lewis had gone over to Rosie's to help with the lunch prep, and that left Charlie here by himself. Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I said. "I can't think where this is going, but I'm listening."

"Ray Rawson showed up at Chester's and Bucky told him what was going on."

"As in what? That I'd seen the guy who beat him up?"

"I'm not sure what he was told except that you'd been hired. Bucky knew you'd left town, but he didn't know where you were. Ray must have come right over here, and since I was out, he gave Charlie some long song and dance about the danger you were in."

"Danger? That's interesting. What kind?"

"Charlie never really got that part straight. Something to do with a key, is what he said."

"Ah. Probably the one Johnny had in his safe. I was going to show it to a friend of mine who's acquainted with locks. Unfortunately, I suspect he's been incarcerated for his expertise."

"Where is it now? Bucky told Ray you had it with you last he knew," he said.

"I do. It's tucked in the bottom of my handbag," I said. "You sound worried."

"Well, yes, but it's not about that." I could hear the anxiety underlying Henry's tone. "I hate to have to say this, but Charlie told Ray your current whereabouts because Ray convinced him you needed help."

"How did Charlie know where I was?"

Henry sighed, burdened by the necessity for a full confession. "I wrote the name and number of the hotel on a pad near the phone. You know Charlie. He can barely hear under the best of circumstances. Somehow he got it in his head that Ray was a good friend and you wouldn't care if he gave out the information. Especially since you were in trouble."

"Oh, boy. The room number, too?"

"I'm afraid so," Henry said. He sounded so guilty and miserable, I couldn't protest, though I didn't like the idea of Rawson knowing where I was. Henry went on. "I can't believe the man would actually fly all the way to Dallas, but he'll probably call, and I didn't want you to be surprised or upset. I'm uneasy about this, Kinsey, but there's nothing I can do."

"Don't worry about it, Henry. I appreciate the warning."

"I could just wring Charlie's neck."

"I'm sure he was trying to be helpful," I said. "Anyway, there's probably no harm done. I don't consider Ray Rawson any kind of threat."

"I hope not. I feel terrible about leaving the information out in plain sight."

"Don't be silly. You had no reason to think anybody'd ask, and you couldn't have known Rawson was going to show up like that."

"Well, I know," he said, "but I could have said something to the sibs. I gave Charlie a fussing at, but it's myself I blame. It truly never occurred to me that he'd do such a thing."

"Hey, what's done is done. It's not your fault."

"You're sweet to say so. All I could think to do was call as soon as possible. I think you should check out or at least change rooms. I don't like the idea of his showing up on your doorstep. There's something 'off' about the whole business."

"I'd have to agree, but I'm not sure what to do. At the moment, I'm trying to keep a low profile around here," I said.

I could tell I'd put Henry on red alert. "Why is that?" he asked.

"I don't really want to go into it. Let's just say that right now I don't think it's a smart move."

"I don't want you taking any chances. You were foolish getting on that plane in the first place. It's none of your business, and the longer it goes on, the bigger mess it is."

I smiled. "Chester hired me. This is work. Besides, it's fun. I get to skulk around corridors and spy on folk."

"Don't be gone too long. We've got the wedding coming up."

"I'm not going to forget that. I'll be there. I promise."

"Call me if there's anything I can do to help."

The minute he hung up, I crossed to the door and threw on the security chain. I thought about hanging the "Do Not Disturb" on the outside knob, but that would only announce to one and all that I was actually in the room. I began to pace, giving the situation my serious consideration. I felt curiously vulnerable now that Rawson knew where I was, though why that should have made a difference I wasn't really sure. From what Chester'd said, he was in pretty bad shape, which would have made travel unpleasant to say the least. It would also cost him a bundle with no guarantee that I was still in Dallas. Of course, if he was wanted for questioning by the Santa Teresa cops, getting out of town wouldn't be a bad move on his part. I didn't really believe I was in any peril, but I wasn't unmindful of the possibility. Whatever Rawson's relationship to current events, it was clear he hadn't given me the relevant facts. I would feel a lot safer if I were in another room.

On the other hand, I didn't like the idea of asking to change. The hotel management wasn't dumb. It wouldn't have taken Mrs. Spitz more than a minute to figure out that I was up to no good. Hotels don't take lightly to pranksters and thieves. She'd seen me at close range, and at this point, the security guards probably had a fairly accurate description of me. Notice would have gone out to all the relevant staff – the hotel equivalent of an APB. If Vikki Biggs, the night clerk, remembered my name, I'd have someone knocking at my door very soon. Conversely, if the management hadn't figured it out, I'd be an idiot to go down there and call attention to myself. So forget the room change.

As for vacating the premises, I'd already laid out close to a grand for plane fare and expenses. I couldn't go back and confess to Chester I'd abandoned the pursuit because Ray Rawson might show up at my door unannounced. My best bet was staying right where I was, especially now that I had access to Laura Huckaby's room. I put my clothes on again. If someone came banging at my door in the dead of night, I didn't like the idea of being caught unprepared. I tucked the complimentary toiletries in my handbag and added my toothpaste and my traveling toothbrush, ready to flee if necessary.

I removed the key from my bag, wondering if there might be a safer place to keep it. In the morning, I'd stick it in an envelope and mail it back to Henry. Meanwhile, I surveyed the room and the various furnishings, considering possible hiding places. I was ambivalent about the prospects. If I were compelled to depart in haste, I didn't want to have to stop and retrieve the key. I took the complimentary mending kit from my handbag. I removed my blazer and studied the construction, finally using the scissors on my Swiss Army knife to pick open a small slit on the inside seam near the shoulder pad. I eased the key in along the padding and stitched the hole shut. I'd never make it past the metal detector at an airport security check point, but I could always take the blazer off and send it through X-ray.

I slept in my clothes, shoes on, feet crossed, lying flat on my back with the spread thrown over me for warmth.

When the phone rang at 8:00 a.m., I felt like I'd been electrocuted. My heart leaped from fifty beats per minute to an astounding hundred and forty with no intervening activity except the shriek I emitted. I snatched up the receiver, pulse banging in my throat. "What."

"Oh, geez. I woke you. I feel bad. This is Ray."

I swung my feet over to the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing my face with one hand to wake myself. "So I gathered. Where are you?"

"Down in the lobby. I have to talk to you. Mind if I come up?"

"Yes, I mind," I said irritably. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking after you. I thought you should know what you're dealing with."

"I'll meet you in the coffee shop in fifteen minutes."

"I'd appreciate that."

I flung myself back on the bed and lay there for a minute, trying to compose myself. Didn't help much. My insides were churning with a low-level dread. I finally dragged myself into the dressing area, where I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I sniffed at my turtleneck, which was beginning to smell like something I'd been wearing for two days. I might have to break down and buy something new. If I sent all my clothes out to be cleaned and pressed, I'd be stuck in my red uniform until six that night. Meanwhile, if Laura Huckaby took off, I'd have to trail her across Texas looking like a parlor maid. I rubbed some hotel lotion on the relevant body parts, hoping the perfume would mask the ripe scent of unwashed garments.

I tucked the two room keys in my pocket – mine and the one I'd stolen from Laura Huckaby's desk – and peered through the spy hole. At least Rawson wasn't lurking in the corridor. I went down the fire stairs, avoiding the elevator, and found myself emerging on the far side of the lobby.

When I reached the hotel coffee shop, I paused in the doorway. Rawson wasn't hard to spot. He was the only guy in there with a swollen green-and-purple face. He had a bandage across his nose, one black eye, a split lip, assorted cuts, and three fingers on his right hand bound together with tape. He drank his coffee with a spoon, possibly to spare himself the pain from broken, cracked, or missing teeth. His white T-shirt was so new, I could still see the package creases. Either he was buying his shirts a size too small or he was built better than I remembered. At least the short sleeves allowed me to admire his dragon tattoo.

I crossed the room and slid into the booth across from him. "When'd you get here?"

There were two menus on the table, and he passed me one. "Three-thirty in the morning. The plane was delayed because of fog. I picked up a rental car at the airport. I tried calling your room as soon as I got in, but the operator wouldn't put me through, so I waited until eight." His eyes were bloodshot from the battering, which gave his otherwise mild features a demonic cast. I could see that his left earlobe had been stitched back into place.

"You're too considerate," I said. "You have a room?"

"Yeah, 1006." His smile flickered and faded. "Look, I know you got no particular reason to trust me, but it's time to deal straight."

"You might have done that two days ago before we got into this… whatever it is."

The waitress appeared with a coffeepot in hand. She was the motherly sort, who looked as if she'd take in stray dogs and cats. Her frizzy gray hair was held in place by a hairnet, like a spiderweb across her head, and her gravelly voice suggested a lifelong affection for unfiltered cigarettes. She flicked a speculative look at Ray. "What happened to you?"

"I was in a wreck," he said briefly. "You got any aspirin, I'll leave you money in my will."

"Let me check in the back. I can probably come up with something." She turned to me. "How about some coffee? You look like you could use some."

Mutely I held up my coffee cup, and she filled it to the brim. She set the coffeepot aside and reached for her order pad. "You ready to order or you want more time?"

"This is fine," I said, indicating that the cup of coffee would suffice.

Ray spoke up. "Have some breakfast. My treat. It's the least I can do."

I looked back at the waitress. "In that case, make it coffee, orange juice, bacon, link sausage, three scrambled eggs, and some rye toast."

He held up two fingers. "Same here."

Once she'd departed, he leaned forward on his elbows. He looked like a light-heavyweight boxer the day after the championship went back to the other guy. "I don't blame you for feeling sour, but honest… after the break-in at Johnny's, I didn't think he'd come back. I figured that was the end of it, so who was the wiser?"

"'He,' who?"

"I'm getting to that," he said. "Oh, before I forget. You know the key Bucky took from Johnny's safe?"

"Yes," I said cautiously.

"You still have it?"

I hesitated for a flicker of a second, and then I lied on instinct. Why confide in him? So far he hadn't told me anything. "I don't have it with me, but I know where it is. Why?"

"I've been thinking about it. I mean, it has to be important. Why else would Johnny keep it in his safe?"

"I thought you knew. Didn't you tell Charlie I was in danger because of it?"

"Danger? Not me. I never said that. I wonder where he got that idea?"

"I talked to Henry last night. He says that's how you persuaded Charlie to tell you where I was. You said I was in danger and that's why Charlie gave you the information."

Ray shook his head, baffled. "He must have misunderstood," he said. "Sure, I was looking for you, but I never said anything about danger. That's odd. Old guy can't hear. He might have got it mixed up."

"Never mind. Just skip that. Let's talk about something else."

He glanced over toward the entrance to the restaurant, where a motley group of adolescent kids were beginning to collect. It must have been the same kids I'd seen running out on the road the day before. They must have been in town for some kind of track-and-field event. The noise level increased, and Ray's voice went up to compete with the din. "You know, you really surprised me in my hotel room the other day."

"How so?"

"You were right about Johnny. He was never in the service. He was in jail like you said."

I love being right. It always cheers me up. "What about the story about how you knew each other? Was any of that true?"

"In the main," he said. He paused and smiled, revealing a gap where a first molar should have been. He put a hand against his cheek where the bruising was deep blue with an aura of darker purple. "Don't look now, but we're surrounded."

The track team seemed to spread out and around us like a liquid, settling into booths on all sides of us. The lone waitress was passing out menus like programs for some sporting competition.

"Quit stalling," I said.

"Sorry. We did meet in Louisville, but it wasn't at the Jeffersonville Boat Works. It wasn't 1942, neither. It was earlier. Maybe '39 or '40. We were in the drunk tank together and struck up a friendship. I was nineteen at the time, and I'd been in jail a couple times. We hung out together some, you know, just messing around. Neither of us went in the army. We were both 4-F. I forget Johnny's disability. Something to do with a ruptured disk. I had two busted eardrums and a bum knee. Bad weather, that sucker's still giving me fits. Anyway, we had to do something - we were bored out of our gourds – so we started burglarizing joints, breaking into warehouses, stores, you know, things like that. I guess we pulled one job too many and got caught in the act. I ended up doing county time, but he got sent to state reformatory down in Lexington. He did twenty-two months of a five-year bid and moved his family out to California once he got sprung. After that, he was clean as far as I ever heard."

"What about you?"

He dropped his gaze. "Yeah, well, you know, after Johnny left, I fell into bad company. I thought I was smart, but I was just a punk like everyone else. A guy steered me wrong on another job we pulled. Cops picked us up and I got sent to the Federal Correctional Institution up in Ashland, Kentucky, where I spent another fifteen months. I was out for a year and then in again. I never had the dough for a fancy-pants attorney, so I had to take pot luck. One thing and another, I've been inside ever since."

"You've been in prison for over forty years?"

"Off and on. You think there aren't guys who've been in prison that long? I could've been out a lot sooner, but my temper got the better of me until I finally figured out how to behave," he said. "I suffered from what the docs call a 'lack of impulse control.' I learned that in prison. How to talk that way. Back then, if I thought of it, I did it. I never killed nobody," he added in haste.

"This is a big relief," I said.

"Well, later in prison, but that was self-defense."

I nodded. "Ah."

Rawson went right on. "Anyway, in the late forties, I started writing to this woman named Maria I met through a pen pal ad. I managed to escape once and I was out long enough for us to get married. She got pregnant and we had us a little girl I haven't seen in years. A lot of women fall in love with inmates. You'd be surprised."

"Nothing people do surprises me," I said.

"Another time, when I was out, I ended up breaking parole. Sometimes I think Johnny felt responsible. Like if it hadn't been for him, I might never have gotten in so tight with the criminal element. Wasn't true, but I think that's what he believed."

"You're saying Johnny kept in touch all these years because of guilt?"

"Mostly that," he said. "And maybe because I was the only one who knew he'd been in jail besides his wife. With everybody else, he was always pretending to be something he wasn't. All the tales about Burma and Claire Chennault. He got those from books. His kids thought he was a hero, but he knew he wasn't. With me, he could be himself. Meantime, I got into grand theft auto and armed robbery, which is how I finally qualified for accommodations in the penitentiary. I did time in Lewisburg and a bid in Leavenworth, but I was mostly confined in Atlanta. That's a real test of your survival skills. Atlanta's where they're housing all the Cuban criminals Castro's sending over to keep us company."

"What happened to Maria? Are you still married to her?"

"Nah. She finally divorced me because I couldn't straighten up and fly right, but that was my fault, not hers. She's a good woman."

"It must be unsettling to have freedom after forty years."

Rawson shrugged, looking off across the room. "They did what they could to prepare me for the outside. When I turned sixty, the BOP – Bureau of Prisons – started weaning me off hard time. My security level dropped to the point where I was eligible to move out of the joint. I got sent back to FCI Ashland, and what a revelation that was. It'd been thirty-five years since I'd seen the place. I'm looking at punks the same age as I was when I first got sent up. All of the sudden, I'm 'getting it,' you know? Like I can see the big picture. I did a complete turnaround in the space of a year, picked up my GED, and started taking college classes. I started taking care of myself, quit smoking, started lifting weights, and like that. Got myself buffed up. I went before the parole board this time and got early release."

Ray paused to look around at the kids nearby. They were crowded into booths and tables, chairs pulled up. Menus were being passed hand to hand above their heads while the rustle of restless laughter washed across them in waves. It was a sound I liked, energetic, innocent. Ray shook his head. "Kids are up on my floor, about two doors down. My God, the shrieking and pounding up and down the halls. It goes on 'til all hours."

"Are you still in touch with Maria?"

"Now and then. She remarried. Last I heard, she's still in Louisville somewhere. I'd like to go back and see her as soon as I'm done with this. I want to see my daughter, too, and make it up to her. I know I haven't been a good father – I was too busy screwing up – but I'd like to try. I want to see my mother, too."

"Your mother's still alive?" I asked, incredulous.

"Sure. She's eighty-five, but she's as tough as they come."

"Not that it's any of my business, but how old are you?"

"Sixty-five. Old enough to retire if I ever had a real job."

"So you were released fairly recently," I said.

"About three weeks ago. I went from Ashland to six months in a halfway house. Soon as I was sprung, I headed for the coast. I wrote to Johnny in April and gave him my release date. He said to come ahead, he'd help me out. So that's what I did. The rest is just like I told you before. I didn't know he was dead until I knocked on Bucky's door."

"What kind of help was Johnny talking about?"

Rawson shrugged. "Place to stay. A stake. He had some ideas about a little business we could run. I worked in the joint – every able-bodied inmate works – but I was only earning forty cents an hour, out of which I had to pay for my own candy bars, soda pop, and deodorant, stuff like that, so it's not like I had any kind of savings built up."

"How'd you pay for travel getting out here?"

"My mother lent me the money. I said I'd pay her back."

"Who's the guy who broke into Johnny's place?"

"His name is Gilbert Hays, a former celly of mine. He's a guy I did time with a couple of years ago. I shot off my big mouth, trying to impress the crud. Don't ask why. He's such a cocky piece of excrement, I'm still kicking myself." His grimace opened up the split in his lower lip. A line of blood welled out. He pressed a paper napkin to his mouth.

"Shot your mouth off about what?"

"Look, we're in the joint. What do any of us have to do except BS each other? He was always bragging about something, so I told him about Johnny. The guy was a miser, always squirreling cash away. Johnny didn't come right out and say so, but he used to hint he had big bucks hidden on the property."

"You were going to rip him off?"

"Not me. Hey, come on. I wouldn't do that to him. We were just telling tall tales. Later, Hays and me had a falling-out. He probably figured he could pick up a wad of cash and I'd never know the difference."

"You told him where Johnny lived?"

"California is all I said. He must've followed me across country, the slimy son of a bitch."

"How'd he know you'd been released?"

"Now that, I don't know. He might have talked to my PO. I seem to recall I might've threatened him once upon a time. He probably told 'em he was worried I'd come after him. Which I still might."

"How did you figure out it was him?"

"I didn't at first. Minute I heard about the break-in, I knew something was off, but I didn't think about Hays. Then I realized what happened and, like, it had to be him. Simple process of elimination because I never breathed a word about Johnny to anyone else." Ray lifted the napkin away from his bleeding lip. "How's that?"

"Well, it isn't gushing," I said. "Can we back up a bit? Once you heard Johnny was dead, what made you so sure he still had money stashed somewhere?"

"I wasn't sure, but it just made sense. Guy drops dead of a heart attack, he doesn't have time to do anything. Talking to Bucky, I realized the kid didn't have a dime, so if there's money, it's probably still hidden somewhere on the premises. I figure if I rent his place, I can look around at my leisure."

"Meanwhile, you didn't say a word to Bucky about this."

"About the money? No way. You know why? Suppose I'm wrong? Why get their hopes up if there's nothing? If I do find some money, I can ask for a cut."

"Oh, right. This is money they don't know anything about and you're telling me you'd turn it over to them?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I might skim off a small percentage, but what harm would that do? They're still gonna come up with more than they ever had reason to expect."

"And in the meantime, this former cellmate's followed you to Johnny's door."

"That's my guess."

"How'd he know about the kickplate?"

Ray held up his battered hand. "Because I told him. Otherwise, he'd have broken every bone in my hand. He had me at a disadvantage because I wasn't expecting him. Next time I'll know, and one of us is going to end up dead."

"How did you know about the kickplate?"

Ray tapped himself on the temple. "I know how Johnny's mind worked. That day I came up there and you were looking through his books? I was doing a little survey. He'd used a kickplate before – this was way back when – so I was thinking I'd try that first." He stirred in his seat. "You don't believe me. I can tell by the look on your face."

I smiled slightly. "You're a very slick man. You lie about as well as I do, only you've had more practice."

He started to say something, but the waitress had reappeared with two steaming plates on a tray. She looked harried, to say the least. She set down juice, two side orders of buttered toast, and a variety of jams. She took a couple of small paper packets from the pocket of her uniform and put them by his plate. "I got you these," she said.

Ray picked up a packet. "What's Midol?"

"For cramps, but it'll cure anything that ails you. Just don't take too many. You might develop PMS."

"PMS?" he said blankly.

Neither of us responded. Let him figure it out. She refilled our coffee cups and moved on to another table, taking out her order pad. Ray opened a paper packet and tossed back two tablets with his orange juice. We spent a short, intense spell shoveling food down our throats.

Rawson finally dabbed a paper napkin gingerly across his lips. "You want my suggestion, I'd say let's quit hassling what's past and figure out what comes next."

"Ah. Now we're partners. The buddy system," I said.

"Sure, why not? Gilbert Hays took Johnny's money, and I want it back. This is not just for me. I'm talking about Bucky and Chester. Isn't that why they hired you? To return what Hays stole?"

"I suppose," I said.

He shrugged laconically. "So how about it, then? What's the plan?"

"How come it's up to me? You think of one," I said.

"You're the one getting paid. I'm just here to assist."

I studied him, debating the garbled tale he'd just told. I didn't really believe he was telling me the truth, but I didn't know him well enough to know what kinds of lies he told. "Actually, there is one possibility, and I could use some help," I said.

"Good. What's the deal?"

I took out Laura's room key and placed it on the table. "I have the key to Laura Huckaby's room."

His face went completely blank, and then his brow was furrowed by a squint. He leaned forward, staring. He said, "What?"

"The woman with the duffel. She's using the name Hudson, but that's the key to her room."