Killshot (1989) (16 page)

"That's okay."

Ferris straightened the arm, raised the other one and stretched, saying, "Oh, man," before laying them on the edge of the table again, hunching those huge shoulders at her.

"You have a stereo?"

"We didn't bring it."

"How about a radio?"

Carmen gave him a weary look. She said, "You're too much," and instantly wished she hadn't.

He liked it--grinning at her again.

"My ex used to say that. I'd turn on the stereo and we'd dance right there in the house, the two of us. It's what I miss the most since getting divorced. Well, it and something else. We weren't married but a year. I think we did it more when we were going together'n when we were married, and I'm not talking about dancing now. What I think happens, when it's right there all the time waiting you get so you take it for granted. And I mean just in a year's time. I 'magine after something like twenty years you don't do it near as much, or least not with the same person you're married to. Am I right about that?"

Carmen felt herself boxed in by the table and his big shoulders filling the space in front of her, his shoulders, his wavy hair, his grin . . . She tried staring at him calmly, with no expression--practiced from staring at Wayne, good at it--let this guy know she didn't think he was cute or funny or was afraid of him. She wasn't. She was irritated, but didn't want to show him that either. Irritated by that goddamn grin and now by the thought--all of a sudden popping into her head--that she had missed something in his handwriting, or hadn't paid enough attention to signs of ego. How could a person as dumb as this guy be so confident? That was not only irritating, it was a little scary.

She was wondering if maybe he could grin forever when it began to fade and he said to her, "Oh, well, you think on it and let me know."

He slid out of the booth with his sport coat. When he turned, Carmen saw the revolver holstered on his right hip. She wanted to say something to him, but was more anxious for him to go, get out of here. He started to, he reached the doorway to the hall and Carmen got up to follow, make sure he left. When he turned she stood still, her hand on the edge of the table.

"See, you look to me like a nice person, the kind I'd like to get to know."

"Thanks," Carmen said.

"That's why I know it isn't all rosy between you and your old man, considering what he's into, the kind of people he associates with. I can't say I know what the deal is . . ."

It took Carmen a moment to realize what he was saying. "Wait a minute--Wayne isn't into anything."

"I suspect it might be something like labor racketeering, the kind of work he does, and the Bureau's got him up against the wall."

"No--believe me. You've got the wrong idea."

"Am I close?"

"He hasn't done anything is what I'm trying to tell you." She watched Ferris put on his frown and pose with his head cocked.

"That's funny, I thought your old man was in the Witness Security Program."

Carmen felt an urge to go over and kick him in the balls, hard. "You don't have to be a criminal, do you? Isn't that right?"

"I think it helps," Ferris said, "since I never heard of anybody in the program that wasn't dirty--outside of relatives, wives, like yourself. See, that's why I know you and him have your problems, 'cause as a law-enforcement officer I've dealt with plenty of guys like your old man. I'm sworn to protect his life, but that don't mean I have to show him any respect."

"I don't believe this," Carmen said with nervous energy, too many things in her mind to say at once. She saw Ferris turn to go and then look back at her again.

He said, "I don't have to show you any respect either, if I don't want to."

Carmen took one look at Wayne and said, "Oh, my Lord," not so much at the way he weaved and bumped against the refrigerator, but seeing his coveralls filthy with grease and soot, bunched under his arm.

"I stopped off. I'm not late, am I?"

"For what? We're sure not going anywhere," Carmen said. "Give me those." She took his coveralls and threw them into the dark utility room. "Where're you working, in a coal mine?"

"Close to it. I spent this morning in a coal barge welding in steel plates." Wayne had the refrigerator open now. "The drydock foreman says, 'So you're a welder, huh?' I told him, 'You bet I am, AWS certified.' He says, 'Yeah, but can you weld plates watertight?' I said, 'Hey, I can weld a goddamn building so it won't fall down. Is that good enough?' He liked that, he said, 'We'll try you out.' "

Carmen watched him bump the refrigerator door closed with his hip, a can of beer in each hand, wound up because he was working again and had stopped off with the guys, back into a routine. Carmen was still tense from the deputy marshal's visit, anxious to tell Wayne about it, but saw she would have to wait her turn. He was seated now in the breakfast nook, popping open the beer cans.

"I worked on the coal barge and then this big triple-screw towboat, the Robert R. Nally, comes in sideways from out in the river--that's called walking the boat, when they do that. The chief engineer, this guy I got to know pretty well, was madder'n hell at the trip pilot. . . . See, there's a pilot they hire for trips, he and the captain take turns navigating, driving the boat. But this one they had caused the Robert R. Nally to run aground up here at a place they call the Backbone, Mile Ninety-four. It was pushing sixteen barges and the chief engineer said they splattered, broke the tow all apart. He said what happened, the dummy trip pilot was trying to steer the Backbone when he should've flanked it." Wayne was grinning.

Carmen saw him wrapped up in his riverboat story, into a new trade and sounding like Matthew in his letters full of new words and references. At another time she might be interested. Right now it was beginning to irritate her.

"The trip pilot doesn't work for the company, he's like an independent contractor. He gets two-fifty a day and good ones are in demand. Even taking time off, you know what you could make a year, steering a boat down the river?"

Wayne paused, raising his eyebrows and his can of beer, and Carmen said, "Ferris was here."

"When, today?"

"This morning. He thinks you're a crook, involved in some kind of racketeering."

"Guy's an idiot. He introduces me to the drydock foreman and tells him I'm in the Witness Security Program. The foreman goes, 'Oh, is that right?' I had to tell him after Ferris left, 'You want to check on me? Call Detroit, call my local.' He says, 'Well, if you can do the job . . . ' "

"I did call Detroit," Carmen said. "I called the Marshals Service and spoke to John McAllen. I told him what happened . . ."

"We finally got a phone. Right there and I didn't even notice it."

"McAllen said he'll look into it."

"Good, straighten the guy out."

"Wayne, I was on the phone talking to Mom--he walked right in the house."

"Who did, Ferris?"

"He didn't knock or ring the bell, he just walked in."

"Was the door locked?"

"I don't know, you went out. Did you lock it? He probably has a key anyway."

"I was with a guy after that mentioned him. We stopped off, the chief engineer and the captain of the boat we're working on--both of these guys've been on the river over forty years. The captain, he wears a regular suit and tie, took me up to the pilothouse, showed me all the controls. But the way I got chummy with him was through the chief engineer. I was underneath the stern of the boat, in the drydock now, they got the old wheel off that was bent . . . The wheel's the propeller, only it's a great big goddamn thing, taller'n I am, they cost ten to fifteen thousand each. I'm welding a plate over the piece that holds the wheel to the shaft, the chief engineer says, 'I got a job you might want to look at.' "

Carmen turned and opened the oven. With hot pads she brought out a casserole of pork chops and escalloped potatoes, placed it on top of the stove and didn't move, standing with her back to Wayne.

"He takes me aboard and down to the engine room, three diesels in there, twelve-hundred horsepower each, and shows me this busted exhaust flex joint."

Carmen got a head of lettuce from the refrigerator, brought it to the counter next to the sink, still with her back to Wayne, and began tearing it apart to make a salad.

"It's a waffle-type joint made of stainless steel, the kind of job ordinarily they'd take out the whole section and send it to the shop. Anyway, I put a weld in there, the chief engineer looks at it, he says, 'We go ashore after work I'm gonna buy you a drink.' I don't care that much about welding, but you know what's the most interesting thing about that operation, seeing how the drydock works. You ever see it?"

Carmen had a chunk of lettuce in her hand. She threw it down on the counter, came over to the table and picked up the can of beer Wayne had opened for her.

"What they do, they fill it with water and the entire dock sinks down in the river. They work the towboat in there between the two sides, pump the water out and the whole thing raises back up with the boat. They took a barge out and put a big goddamn towboat in there in less than an hour."

Carmen slammed the beer can down on the table.

"The guy walked into our house!"

Wayne looked up at her, startled.

Carmen said, "Am I getting through to you?"

Wayne touched her arm. "Why don't you sit down, okay?"

"I don't want to sit down. The guy walked into our house, uninvited. Without knocking or ringing the bell. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah, I understand."

"I could have been undressed, I could have been taking a shower. Did you ask anything about that? What I was doing, what I felt, was I afraid? No, you tell me about this wonderful welding job you did and how the fucking drydock works."

"I was gonna discuss it with you."

"When?"

"Right now. I was about to tell you about this guy that joined us after."

"In the bar?"

"Yeah, a place they go."

"Great. Tell me about the guy you met in a bar."

"Why don't you sit down, okay? Take it easy."

"You want to know something else? The guy who came to our house, Armand Degas?"

"Yeah, the Indian."

"Not once have you asked me what it was like, what I felt, what was going through my mind. You put your gun by the door, just in case--there, you've done your part. Did you think--I'm talking about before now--did you think I might actually have to use it?"

"You did," Wayne said. "You handled it, you ran the guy off."

"How do you know? Did you ask me about it?"

"You told me what happened."

"You know what I mean. Did you think about how scared I must've been? You didn't hold me or say anything. . . . I couldn't sleep after--do you remember that? The FBI man, Scallen, he understood. I told him I hope I never have to do that again and you said--do you know what you said?"

"You mean when Scallen was there?"

"You said, 'My wife's a winner. That's why I married her.' "

"Yeah? What's wrong with that?"

"It's like you're taking credit, because you picked me."

"I was complimenting you, for Christ sake."

"No, you weren't. It's always what you're doing that's important, your job, working on a project--what am I doing, the ironing, I wash your dirty coveralls."

"You want me to do it," Wayne said, "when I come home? Tell me what you want. You don't tell me, how'm I suppose to know? You start crying, I don't even know most of the time if you're happy or somebody died or you got a pain, it doesn't seem to make any fucking difference. What I need is something like your Emotional Expression Chart, a big one I can lay over you and find out what's going on."

Carmen picked up her can of beer and started out of the kitchen.

"Wait a minute . . . okay?"

She stopped in the hall doorway.

"You want me to talk to this moron, this asshole marshal? I will, I plan to, don't worry. He ever walks in this house again I'll wrap a sleever bar around his head. How's that?"

Carmen stood there long enough to say, "That's what you'll do for him. What will you do for me?"

Every once in a while--like getting ice water thrown in your face--she'd get mad when he didn't know what she was thinking or how she felt. Then he'd get mad because he didn't see why he was expected to be able to read her goddamn mind. He had wondered if maybe it had to do with her period, mentioned it one time only and got a can of beer thrown at him. He wiped it up from the kitchen floor after she walked out of the house and across the field all the way to the far edge of woods and stood there till it was dark. They made love that night, saying they would love each other forever and everything was fine after. This evening, Wayne had another beer before going to look for his wife and get things back to normal.

She was in the bedroom. The twin beds had been pushed together and Carmen was sitting on the edge of hers, bent over close to the lamp and her can of beer on the night table. She was leafing through the chamber of commerce booklet on her lap. Or going through the motions. Wayne stood in the doorway. He asked her what she was doing.