Riding the Rap

twenty-five

Louis put the Mercedes back in the garage and went through the house to the study. Chip was still there on the sofa, the same as when Louis had left, but with expectation in his eyes now, like waiting to hear bad news.

“She wasn’t home,” Louis said.

“You go by the restaurant?”

“They said she must’ve gone to read somebody, so we fine, no problem. I get any calls?”

“Your buddy in Freeport,” Chip said. “I could barely understand him.”

“He leave a number?”

“Said he’d call back.”

Louis studied Chip on that big sofa, the man’s bones showing he was so thin, with kind of a yellow cast to him underneath his tan, like he might have some slow sickness taking over him, AIDS coming to Louis’s mind. He used to wonder if the man was queer or maybe went both ways. Dawn was the only woman Louis knew of the man had been with and Dawn said Chip was never much in bed, went through the motions and got it done. Louis used to worry the man might come on to him sometime, but it never happened.

“You feeling all right?”

Chip gave him a shrug.

“You look like you winding down,” Louis said. “Where’s Bobby?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

Louis used the remote to switch the picture from the front drive to the room upstairs-man, tired to death of this security shit. He saw Harry lying on his cot again, his shirt off, food from the dinner plate on the floor.

“Bobby still hasn’t shot him,” Louis said. “That’s good, since Harry’s all we got.” He saw Chip watching, but not saying anything. As tired of all this as you are, Louis thought. He switched the scene to the patio and there was Bobby standing at the table, his back to the camera.

Louis went out through the sunroom. He walked toward Bobby, still at the table, Louis saying, “What you doing out in the sun?”

Bobby came around to stand with his hands at his sides, arms loose. Louis recognized the pose. The next thing he saw was Bobby’s left hand lifting the front of his fiesta shirt while his right hand went in and dug his gun out of his waist. Bobby held it straight out for Louis to look at that black hole in the muzzle pointing at him.

“You suppose to hold it in two hands,” Louis said, “like the dicks in the movies do. Like Mel Gibson and them dudes, Bruce Willis…”

“Fuck them,” Bobby said. “I got it down, how I’m gonna do it.” He put the gun, his Sig Sauer, back in his waist and smoothed his shirt over it. “Can you see it’s there?”

“Can’t hardly tell. You practicing, huh?”

Bobby said, “Here,” turning to the patio table. He had the two Browning .380’s lying there. “Take one. Let’s see how you do.”

“You want me to play with you?”

“I want to know I can beat you.” Bobby handed Louis one of the pistols, then drew his Sig Sauer, laid it on the table, and stuck the other Browning into his waist. “I want to try my piece and this one,” Bobby said. “See which one I get out faster.”

Louis said, “Yeah? Then what? You gonna go look for the marshal? He be in the saloon, man. They always in the saloon, you want to find them. Go through the swinging doors and everybody in the place stop talking.”

“I don’t have to look for him. He’s gonna come back, man, he can’t stay away.”

“Gonna shoot him right here.”

“Get it done. He don’t bother us no more.”

“What if he beats you to the draw?”

“Then I’m dead,” Bobby said. “That’s how it works, man. You ready? Stick it in your pants, on the side, where he has his.”

Man was crazy.

“The cowboy’s is in a holster.”

Bobby said, “I don’t give a shit. Stick it in your pants, let’s go.” His gaze moved.

Louis turned to see Chip at the French doors.

“Your friend’s on the phone.”

Chip followed Louis into the study, wanting to listen without being obvious about it. He stood by the desk, glanced at the TV screen, at Bobby with a gun in each hand, and swung around to Louis.

“Jesus, what’s he doing?”

Louis looked up from the sofa. He said to Chip, “Hey, I’m on the phone,” raised his eyes to the screen with no expression, watched Bobby for a moment and then said, into the phone, “Mr. Walker, my man… No, this is my pleasure. Man, I was worried about you.”

Bobby was seated now at the patio table, fooling with his gun. Chip looked down at the desk, at Louis’s partly eaten plate of dinner, okra and butter beans, Chip not sure if he’d ever tasted butter beans. He heard Louis say “uh-huh” a few times, listening to the guy he called Mr. Walker, then heard him say, “You did the right thing, man, separate yourself from that nigga. Could’ve taken you down with him.” Chip picked up the pork chop he believed hadn’t been touched, hearing Louis saying “uh-huh” again, several times. The pork chop looked good, the fatty part burnt to a crisp, and Chip was about to take a bite, taste it, but stopped. That tenderloin part of the chop was gone; Louis must’ve eaten it. Louis saying, “You not busy, I got something for you.” Saying, “Hey, even if you think you busy…” Chip put the pork chop down. Louis was laughing now. Chip looked over, knowing that laugh as the one Louis put on to show appreciation and what a nice guy he was. Louis saying then, “No, man, no product. This is a clean run I’m talking about. No contraband, no kind of shit of any kind like that… Yeah, right.” Chip looked at Bobby on the screen, still at the table, then back to Louis as he heard Louis say, “Three,” without saying three what. Now he said, “Yeah, I’m sure.” Listened for a while and said, “Let me ask you something first. You know any the ladies work at the Swiss bank?… Yeah? That’s how you pronounce it, huh, de Suisse?” Louis was grinning now as he listened. “Yeah, I thought you might have. Well, depending on how well you know the lady…” Chip watched Louis grinning as though he might actually be enjoying himself. “That’s right. You know before I even tell you.” Louis looked at Chip now as he said, “Listen to me, my man, we talking about fifty grand for a ride in your boat.” Louis grinning again, saying, “Yeah, dollars,” as Chip thought, What fifty grand? They hadn’t even discussed what they’d pay the guy and Louis was offering him fifty thousand dollars. Louis saying, “What you do… Listen to me now. You listening?… You know the Boynton Inlet?… No, man, that’s Lake Worth, port of Palm Beach, you too far north. Look at your map. You see the Boynton Inlet and right above it you come to Manalapan. Cut through the inlet, go on up-it’s like two miles, you see private docks along on the right side.” Louis paused to listen and said, “Man, will you look at your map, please?” Chip waited along with Louis. Now Louis said, “There you go, through the narrow part, yeah… I’m thinking tomorrow, Saturday.” Chip watched him nodding, saying now, “That’s fine with me. Mr. Walker, it’s my pleasure. I’ll call you there any changes… Yeah, okay then. I’ll see you, man.”

Louis hung up the phone still smiling a little and looked at Chip.

“Mr. Cedric Walker was in the gun business. Got out right before the man he was dealing with went down.”

“You offered him fifty thousand,” Chip said.

“Yeah, and that’s cheap.”

“We don’t have fifty thousand.”

“We get paid, he gets paid.”

“That wasn’t what you told him.”

“Yeah, well, I will when he gets here.”

“What if he won’t take us?”

“Man, you got to stop worrying so much.”

Chip looked at the screen and then at Louis again, Louis lounged on the sofa.

“You said… at one point you said ‘three.’”

“I did? Three what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you.”

“I don’t recall saying it.”

“And right after, you said yeah, you were sure.”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t know, I must’ve been commenting on something Mr. Walker said. He’s gonna have a lady he knows at the bank look up Harry’s account, see how much he has in it. That must’ve been it, yeah. Mr. Walker asked we talking about a few million? I said yeah, about three. That was it.”

“You didn’t say ‘about three,’” Chip said. “You said ‘three.’”

Louis was pushing up from the sofa. “Maybe you didn’t hear it right. Maybe you’re stoned or you got wax in your ears.” He walked past Chip, glancing at the TV screen, Bobby still there waiting. Louis said, “You worry too much for no reason.”

Bobby got up from the patio table saying, “Okay, you ready now?”

“What you want me to do?”

“Here, put it in your pants.”

Louis took the Browning auto from him, looking at it, racking the slide then, saying, “It loaded?” He snapped the slide back again and a cartridge ejected. “You not suppose to play with a loaded gun, man.”

“I want the right feel, the weight,” Bobby said. “First I’m gonna try this one, then my own gun. You ready?”

Louis was wearing a loose white cotton shirt and loose gray cotton pants with a tan cloth belt. He slipped the Browning into his waist against his belly, and dropped his arms to his sides.

“Like this?”

“Move it around more to the side.”

Louis slid the gun around to his right hip.

“You need a coat,” Bobby said. “The guy always wears a coat.”

“Come on, man, we just playing.”

“I want to see what it looks like,” Bobby said. “I’ll get you one.” He went past Louis into the house.

Louis walked out to the swimming pool that looked like a pond with green scum covering it, the water a murky brown underneath, the sides of the pool turning black, Louis thinking there could be snakes in there, giant beetles and different kinds of ugly shit growing down in the bottom. He felt a breeze and raised his face to it, looking out at the ocean. He believed he could sit all day and look at the ocean, but had never tried it. He believed he’d like to have a boat and cruise around the Caribbean islands in it. Wear white pants, barefoot, no shirt, a red bandanna covering his head. No, kind of a lavender one.

Bobby came back with a black silk blazer hooked on his finger. He held it out. Louis had to come over to where Bobby stood by the table to take it and put it on. The coat fit him and felt good except for the sleeves, an inch or so too short on him.

He watched Bobby backing away now, almost to the edge of the patio. Louis turned to face him, seeing maybe fifty feet between them now. He moved toward Bobby saying, “Man, you too far away.”

Bobby backed up some more saying, “Stay there,” and Louis stopped.

He said, “Man, this far you have to be a dead shot,” brushed the sport coat open with his hand and put it on the grip of the Browning. When he brought his hand away, the coat’s skirt fell back in place. “What’re you gonna do, count to three?”

“You don’t count,” Bobby said, “you feel when the guy is gonna draw his gun and you go for your gun.”

“Watch each other’s eyes,” Louis said, “I think is what you do.” He stood in a slouch, hip-cocked, arms hanging loose at his sides. He watched Bobby getting ready. “Hey, I spoke to my man in Freeport. He’s coming Saturday.”

“I don’t want to talk now,” Bobby said. “Okay, you ready?”

“Ready for Freddy,” Louis said, watching Bobby shift around to get comfortable in his pose. “He ask me how many was he picking up,” Louis said.

“Man, quit talking, all right? You ready?”

“I’m ready,” Louis said.

He saw Bobby’s left hand pull up the front of his fiesta shirt, right hand digging for his gun. Louis whipped the skirt of the blazer aside, took hold of the Browning and pulled it free as he saw Bobby’s gun rising toward him, Bobby with his legs apart in kind of a crouch, the Puerto Rican gunfighter, putting that black muzzle-hole on him.

“You’re dead!” Bobby yelled.

Louis raised the Browning, cupped his left hand beneath the grip the way they did in the movies and fired. Shot Bobby square in the middle. Fired again and put another one in him, Bobby stumbling back now, arms in the air, tripping on the edge of the tiled patio and falling to land flat on his back.

Louis walked over to him. Saw blood covering the man’s good fiesta shirt. Saw his chest rising, working hard to suck in air. Saw his eyes open. Louis said, “Mr. Walker ask me how many people was he picking up. I told him three. You understand what I’m saying, Bobby? You ain’t going, nigga.”

It was like watching a movie. Not a feature film or even a made-for-TV movie. More like a low-budget flick shot on video-way too bright, the sun high above the two guys pointing guns at each other. But very familiar, a scene out of every cowboy flick ever made. Chip smoked his weed thinking, Shit, I’ve seen this one:

Louis with his back to the camera, a three-quarters rear view-Chip could see the gun Louis was holding-and Bobby facing the camera, his back to the swimming pool. Chip thinking, They’re like kids. Nothing else to do, nobody to shoot… He used to do this with his buddies. Want to play guns? They’d get out their cap pistols and shoot each other and stumble around taking forever to fall.

When Louis fired, Chip saw the gun jump in his hand and saw Bobby drop his and throw his arms in the air as he was hit and hit again and it knocked him down, Bobby caving in and blown off his feet at the same time, without any stumbling around.

Hey, shit-it brought Chip straight up on the sofa.

He heard the gunfire, faint pops coming from outside, like a cap pistol firing, but Bobby was down, lying there with real bullets in him, and Louis was walking over, looking down at him now and saying something. Louis turned then to look at the camera, held the muzzle of the gun to his mouth and seemed to blow into it. Another familiar bit, Louis mugging for the camera. Now he was dragging Bobby by his feet to the deep end of the pool. He tried to push Bobby in with his foot, but had to get down and shove with both hands before Bobby rolled over the side, gone.

Was Bobby still alive? Chip wasn’t sure, but it looked like Bobby tried to grab hold of Louis as he went in the pool.

Louis stood with his hands on his knees looking down at the scummy water. Now he came over to the patio table, laid it on its side and wheeled it by its round edge to the pool, to the spot where he’d dumped Bobby in. Louis let the table fall in the water, jumping back as it splashed up at him. He turned to look at the camera again. With a big smile-Jesus, like a kid-proud of himself and wanting to be acknowledged.

Chip said out loud, “Nice going, man,” thinking, Yeah, great; but beginning to have doubts. That took care of a serious problem-Bobby. Or did it?

Coming into the study Louis checked the TV screen, the patio still on big. “Saw me blow him away, huh? That was the famous Puerto Rican gunfighter, wanted to High Noon it and met his match.”

“You planned that?” Chip said.

“No, it just came to me. When I was talking to Mr. Walker.”

“You said something to Bobby.”

“I told him he wasn’t going to Freeport.”

“He was still alive?”

“Just hanging on. I didn’t see a reason to shoot him again. The scum on top the pool like opened up? But the water in there’s so putrid, brown like a sewer, what it smells like, too, you stir it up? But you can’t see him down there, man’s in nine feet of deep shit.”

Chip said, “Louis, what about Bobby’s money? He had quite a bit, didn’t he? What he got for Harry’s car?”

He could tell Louis hadn’t thought of that.

“Was a wad on the dresser this morning.”

“Is it still there?”

He was thinking of it now, you bet.

Louis said, “Lemme look,” and was gone.

Chip eased back in the sofa telling himself, Great, no more Bobby Deo, Chip picturing the scene again and wishing he could play it back. He felt a sense of relief, no more Bobby, a big mistake corrected before his eyes… Except that the bottom of a swimming pool wasn’t the bottom of the ocean. Not seeing him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Someone, sometime or other, would find him. They couldn’t say, oh, he must’ve fallen in; not with two bullet holes in him. Chip didn’t want to think about it, but the fact remained, Bobby was still with them.

Louis believed there had to be a couple thousand in the wad Bobby carried around and left on the dresser sometimes, like daring Louis to touch it. The money wasn’t there; it wasn’t in any of the drawers or anyplace Bobby kept the clothes he’d brought. Looking around, Louis thought of Bobby’s lizard shoes; he should’ve tried them on before pushing the man in. He still had on the black silk sport coat, a gun in each pocket-the Sig and a Browning-he took out and laid on the dresser. The Browning he’d used he’d bury somewhere in the yard; so he left it stuck in his waist when he went downstairs and said to Chip:

“It wasn’t there.”

Chip had a blank look on his face from doing weed, like he had to think hard of what to say.

“You sure?”

“I looked every place it could be. He must have it on him.”

“You’ll have to get it,” Chip said.

“I have to get it. You crazy? Dive in the pool in all that scummy shit?”

“You put him there,” Chip said.

Like that was supposed to make sense.

“You the one wants the money, you dive in. Just don’t breathe, you in there.”

“We want the money,” Chip said, “to pay Dawn. Christ… we have to get rid of the body anyway.”

“I did get rid of it. Go on out and look at the pool, you can’t see him. He ain’t gonna gas up and float, neither, not with that table on him. The man’s the same as gone.”

Chip said, “Louis, you know we can’t leave him there. He’ll smell.”

“It already smells; I told you that.”

The man had his mind made up, thinking how to do it, saying, “We’ll have to get a pump and drain the pool.”

Louis stared at him, not agreeing, not angry, not anything, just staring, thinking what he should do was put the man in the pool with Bobby, something heavy like the TV set he was sick of looking at tied around the man’s neck. If he didn’t owe the man nothing, what was he putting up with the man’s shit for?

The phone rang.

Chip reached for it and Louis said, “When you gonna learn? You been smoking, huh?” He walked over to the sofa and picked up the phone from the end table.

“Ganz residence.”

A girl’s voice said, “Where’s Bobby?”

“He ain’t here.”

“You know where he went?”

“Didn’t tell me.”

“Well, when’s he coming back?”

Louis said, “Girl, I’m busy. Bobby ain’t here or ain’t ever coming back. So don’t call no more. You understand what I’m saying?”

“You understand this?” the girl’s voice said. “Get fucked.”

They both hung up.

Louis said to Chip, “Some girl looking for Bobby.”

Chip said, “Who was it?”

See the patience you had to have with this stoned ofay motherfucker?

“I just told you, didn’t I?” Louis said. “Some girl wanted Bobby.”

“I meant, what was her name?”

“She didn’t tell me.”

“Anyway,” Chip said, “you know where we can get a pump?”

Louis stared at the man, still not angry or anything, but thinking, Shit, put him in the pool.