The Cypress House (38 page)

    "You
ever killed anyone before?"

    "Killed
plenty. Were days in the war I killed quite a few in just an hour."

    "What
about away from the war?"

    Arlen
shook his head.

    "Well,
I expect it's awfully different."

    Arlen
said, "I don't."

    "What?"

    "It's
taking a life. Any time, and any way, it is always about ending someone's life.
There aren't a whole lot of degrees to it. Not that I can see at least. People
who haven't done it, they can imagine all these differences. I might agree that
the circumstances and defenses for the act shift around a good deal. But that
act itself? It doesn't change."

    "You're
going to kill him," Owen repeated, as if all the rest of the words had
slid past him without impact.

    "Yes,"
Arlen said. "I'll kill him, and you'll take your sister and get the hell
away from this place. With the money."

    Owen
was silent. They drove along for a while, and then he pulled off the road and
set to turning the car around, ready to head back.

    "What
do you know about the men Wade's connected to?" Arlen asked.

    "Not
much. They're in New Orleans."

    "They
the sort that'll give chase over nine thousand dollars?"

    "If
they know who to chase."

    Arlen
nodded. He expected they'd be looked for, at least in the early days, but with
Wade removed he didn't imagine the hoods in New Orleans would be willing to
waste much time on the endeavor. They'd need to install somebody else to take
his place, that was all.

    "Paul's
getting some of the money," Arlen said. "Before we do a damn thing,
he's getting some of the money, and he's getting on a train."

    Owen
said, "He thinks he's going to be here for it. Helping."

    "Well,
he won't be."

    Owen
nodded. "How much you figuring on giving him?"

    "Enough,"
Arlen said. "Enough."

    "What
the hell are we supposed to do with the Cubans ?"

    "Let
them sit," Arlen said. "They never see the lights that signal them
that it's all clear, then they think there's a problem, and they go on back,
right?"

    "That's
the point of the signal, I figure."

    "Exactly.
So they won't know what happened, but they'll know something went wrong. And
they'll be right about that."

    "We'll
need to be gone before nightfall, then," Owen said. "McGrath and his
sons will come down about sunset. They'll be set up in the inlet, waiting to
unload. They'll be watching everything. That old bastard doesn't miss
much."

    "By
the time he gets there, the place will be empty. So, sure, he'll know
something's up, and what'll he do? Go looking for Wade. And find his
body."

    "Then
shit'll get going fast," Owen said, taking one hand off the steering wheel
and rubbing it over his chin, a nervous gesture.

    "What's
to get going? They'll come looking for us. We'll be gone."

    "Yeah,
we better be. Just where in the hell is it you think we're going?"

    "Does
McGrath have a boat that can handle open water?" "No."

    "All
right. You and Rebecca will leave in the boat that day, then. That way if
McGrath or one of his sons is keeping an eye on you, they won't be able to
follow anyhow. You know a port town you can get to easy enough where I can pick
you up in the car once Wade's been dealt with?"

    "There's
Yankeetown."

    "That's
what we'll do, then. You take the boat there and wait on me. We'll use this car
at first, but we're going to have to switch it up fast. All that time you spent
at Raiford talking to big-shot cons, you actually learn how to steal a
car?"

    "I
can steal one, sure."

    "Good,"
Arlen said. "You'll need to steal a couple before it's done."

    Owen
didn't answer.

    "You
having second thoughts?" Arlen said.

    Silence.

    "If
you are," Arlen said, "you might think about that box we dug out of
the sand again. And you might think about your father."

    This
time Owen turned to look at him, and his eyes were steady. "I'm not having
any second thoughts."

    "All
right." Arlen turned and let the wind blow into his face and said,
"You know where Solomon Wade lives?"

    "Yes."

    "Take
me there now."

    "Why?"

    "I
can't just drive up and kill him," Arlen said. "It's going to require
the right opportunity. I expect I'll have to spend a good bit of the day
following him. He live alone?"

    "He's
got a girl. I don't know how much she's there, though."

    "We'll
need to know," Arlen said. "I'm not hurting anyone else. He'll need
to be alone when I come for him."

    He
had a sudden vision of the sheriff of Fayette County and Edwin Main approaching
in the night, Arlen standing there at the window watching them come, waiting on
them.

    "Yes,"
he said, "he'll need to be alone when I come."

    The
house was a sprawling plantation-style place about a mile outside of High Town,
resting at the end of a long drive bordered with cypress trees. Lights glowed
inside a broad expanse of glass that made up one side of the front of the home.
Behind it was a carriage house, Wade's Ford coupe parked in front, along with
another car. Arlen didn't see the second vehicle clearly at first, but then
Owen Cady said, "Sheriff is here," and he remembered it well,
remembered sitting in the back with handcuffs around his wrists and a notion
that all he needed to do was weather a little bit of a knockabout and he'd be
back on the road to Flagg Mountain soon enough.

    It
was a memory so strong and so strange it seemed the property of another man.
Arlen would never see Flagg Mountain again. What had seemed reasonable once was
gone now, taken from him by circumstances far from his control. He wondered if
Wallace O'Connell and the other men from that train had felt similarly when
they realized the hurricane was upon them. He wondered if any of them had
remembered him, remembered that night at the station platform when he'd urged
them to get off, assured them that danger lay ahead.

    They'd
all been heading toward powerful storms, he realized. His had just been longer
coming, that was all.

    "I
don't like sitting here," Owen said. "They know this car; hell, it's
his
car. One of them sees it out here, what are they going to think?"

    They
were parked in the darkness a good quarter mile from the house, nobody was
going to see them, but Arlen had no reason to hold him here either, so he told
him to go ahead and drive away.

    "Awful
lot of house," he said as they cruised by for the final time, Owen keeping
the headlights off.

    "Was
the owner of the timber company that built it. He was the richest man around
for miles in his time. Now Wade is."

    So it
went. Legitimate work disappeared and what stepped in its place were the likes
of Solomon Wade. Arlen wondered what the locals thought when they passed by the
place. Probably felt broken, helpless, the way Thomas Barrett seemed to. Arlen
wondered what they'd think when Wade was dead. Would any good come from it
here, or would another like him simply fill the void?

    "He
have servants at the place?" Arlen asked.

    "None
that stay there. People come and go during the day, but he doesn't like anyone
living on the property."

    That
would help. Now that he'd had a look at the house, Arlen was figuring it was
the best spot he'd have, and dawn the best time. He'd done some killing in
dawns of days past, had left men to bleed out as the sun showed faint in the
east. He could do it again. As he'd told Owen earlier, all that changed was the
circumstances, not the act. He'd never wanted a circumstance like this, but
hell, he hadn't wanted a war either. A man never did get as much say in this
life as he wanted to have, as he'd expected he would when he was young. No, you
took what was offered and you handled it best as you could.

    "How
will you get the money?" he asked.

    "Sheriff
will bring it."

    "The
sheriff?" It was all he could do not to laugh. Some law they had in
Corridor County.

    "That's
right. He'll drive it down Thursday evening."

    "But
the boat's not coming in till Friday night."

    "They
like to have their distance," Owen said. "And they have Tate McGrath
watching. Tate'll be watching the whole time. Basically from the moment
Tolliver delivers the money, Tate will be around, watching. Who was it you
think killed my father? It was Tate, I'd just about guarantee it. And my father
went out on the boat just the same as you want us to."

    His
voice was rising, and the speed of the car right along with it, his foot
pushing harder at the gas as his nerves took hold. Arlen said, "Ease up,
son," and Owen slowed the car but shook his head, still unhappy.

    "It's
a shit plan," he said. "You're sending us out just like my father
went and somehow expecting it to go better."

    Arlen
didn't have an answer for that. Hell, the kid was right. All he knew was that
he wanted Rebecca gone by the time he moved on Wade, just in case anything went
wrong. He wanted the two of them to be under way and prepared to keep going.
Tate McGrath, the damned watchdog, was going to be a problem.

    "The
boat's a bad idea," he admitted. "You leave in the boat any time
ahead of when you should, they'll not like it. Better idea is you and Rebecca
climb into her truck in the middle of the afternoon, nothing packed. Make as if
you're just heading up the road to Barrett's store. Be so damn obvious about it
that he won't imagine you've got any other plans."

    "Doesn't
leave as much time, though."

    "No,
it doesn't. But any time is better than none, and I think you're right — we try
to get too crafty while McGrath's watching, it'll go sour fast. The way to
handle it is for you and Rebecca to drive off in that truck of hers like it's
just another afternoon, and I'll stick right where I always am, down at the
boathouse swinging a hammer. Long as we all don't leave together, I imagine
he'll give it some time at least. Won't expect something's wrong right
away."

    "So
we take off that afternoon," Owen said, "and you wait to kill Wade
until evening?"

    "What
time do the Cubans get in?"

    "Long
after dark."

    "All
right. Then I got a bit of time. Hell, I'll have a word with Tate before I
leave. Tell him you gave me instructions to clear out, that I wasn't to be
around the place. He'll believe that; it'll sound proper to him. He doesn't
trust me and he wouldn't expect you to."

    "So
you'll talk to Tate," Owen said, "and then you'll —"

    "Get
in this car and drive up the road and kill Solomon Wade."

    It
would change the timing of things. He wouldn't be able to wait on Wade as the
sun rose, the way he'd imagined. No, he'd have to venture into town in daylight
and find him and follow him and take the first opportunity that was there. He'd
have to do it fast, too. Rebecca and Owen would have a few hours of head start,
but by the time evening settled in and they still weren't back, Tate McGrath
would grow suspicious.

    When
Owen spoke again, it took Arlen by surprise. Things had been that quiet.

    "It
should be me," he said.

    "What?"

    "That
kills him. Shouldn't be you. Ain't nothing personal between you and him. Me and
him, though? That's plenty personal. Should be me that pulls the trigger."

    Arlen
said, "You realize you helped cause all of this ?"

    Owen
turned and gave him a confused look. "What?"