The Cypress House (42 page)

    
You’re
going to need to believe
.

    His
father's words floated across the years to him now, the sight of his bearded
face and those eyes that had looked so soft, so gentle in the moment that he'd
uttered his final sentences to his son.

    
He
told you that,
Arlen thought
, and you've spent the rest of your days
trying to convince others to believe you, but you still won't believe him.
That's what Rebecca doesn't understand. How come you can't believe him
?

    It
was a question with an easy answer, but Arlen had avoided facing that answer
head-on for years and would continue to do so. If his father had been telling
the truth, then his death out there in the cold wind and the dust, well, it had
been at Arlen's hand every bit as much as Edwin Main's. Arlen had gone and
brought that death home, had sought it out and betrayed his own family and . .
.

    
He
was crazy,
Arlen thought with so much vehemence that he nearly said it
aloud
. What he believed, no man should. You can't speak to the dead. Those
who try are fools, and those who claim to... well, they're a shade darker
.

    They
came to a crossroads unmarked by signs, but Rebecca had described it and he
knew to turn left, north. They were probably twenty minutes from the next town
now, from the train station. The rain was slackening, but the lightning had
picked back up, illuminating the countryside in ghoulish flashes.

    "You
might put some of those dollars in an envelope and send them to your
mother," Arlen said. "If you need it all, fine. But she was used to
your CCC checks. Don't forget your family, no matter how they seem to you."

    Paul
didn't answer. Arlen knew his days of influence with the young man were past,
but he couldn't help himself, not now that more cars were passing and the woods
were broken here and there by clusters of homes, making it clear that they were
nearing the town. This would be the last he'd see of him, and he couldn't hold
back from offering advice even when he knew he should not.

    "You
keep a sharp eye out for a time to come," he said. "I expect you'll
never be looked for, never be connected to what we do. But there's a chance, and
you better be ready for it. Get far from this place and live quiet for a time.
Keep your head up and your eyes open. If they send somebody, you'll need help,
and you'll need it fast. I hope they don't send anybody."

    His
voice went a little unsteady at that, and he cleared his throat loudly and
blinked at another flash of lightning.

    "I
want you to know," he said, "I didn't plan on her."

    Paul
turned and looked at him, didn't say a word.

    "It
wasn't a decision I made," Arlen said. "What I did to get you to
leave was, and maybe it was the wrong one. She always thought it was. I just
thought . . .I needed you to leave. But I didn't plan on her. All right?"

    Silence.

    Arlen
nodded as if Paul had offered some response, and drove on through the dark.

    "We've
got the money," Paul said eventually. "Maybe you left half of it back
there, but I've got five thousand in this bag. We could get on a train
together. Isn't any reason you'd have to kill him. We could head out together,
same as we came in."

    All the
bristle that he'd carried since his return was gone. He sounded, once again,
like the boy Arlen had met at Flagg Mountain, the boy who'd conceived of the
concrete chute that saved them who knew how much money and time. It made
something in Arlen loosen and sag a little, knowing that the old Paul was still
in there. It was a hell of a thing, the way a simple change in tone of voice
could hit you. The idea that he'd be willing to leave this place at Arlen's
side, after everything that had happened, stilled the words in Arlen's throat.

    "I
appreciate that," he said finally. It was an odd thing to say. Awkward,
formal.

    "But
you won't do it."

    "When
I leave here," Arlen said softly, "it's going to be with her. It'll
have to be with her. I can't go any other way."

    Paul
went silent. Arlen thought again of the night they'd spent sleeping on the
broken boards of the boathouse, the way the boy had told him he couldn't leave
her behind, and he felt hot shame spread throughout his body.

    
I can't help it,
he wanted to say
.
You'd think were supposed to be matched up one by one, and the matching would
be easy. You'd know her for certain when you saw her, and she'd know you.
That's how easy it should be. It isn't, though. It isn't, and I'm sorry
.

    They'd
crossed into the outskirts of the town now, and train tracks had appeared
parallel to the road. Up ahead the lights of the station were visible. There
was a locomotive spitting easy, gentle smoke from its stack. Warming, ready to
take to the rails and head north. Last train for the night.

    Paul
said, "You can't kill Solomon Wade tomorrow."

    "Don't
you worry on it," Arlen said. "I'll do what needs to be done. You
just look out for yourself. I'm sorry for the way it's come to pass, sorry for
a hell of a lot of things, but —"

    "No,"
Paul said, shaking his head. "You
can't
kill him tomorrow, Arlen.
You'll be jailed if you try. You'll likely be jailed anyhow."

    "The
least of my concerns is the law," Arlen said. He was bringing the truck in
close to the station, slowing. "The good sheriff of Corridor County is a
threat, but not the jailing kind of threat."

    "It
won't be the sheriff," Paul said. "It'll be a team of treasury agents
from Miami and Tampa."

    Arlen
brought the truck to a stop as the train whistle blew. He turned and looked at
Paul and didn't speak. The boy's face was pale.

    "There
will be two boats on the water and more than a dozen men on land, watching
every step you take," Paul said.

    "What
are you talking about?"

    Paul
lifted his head and met Arlen's eyes. "I wanted to hurt you," he
said. "And her. How I wanted to hurt her."

    "What
in the hell are you —"

    "I
didn't come back because I had nowhere else to go," Paul said. "I
came back because I thought I could see you put in jail."

    The
train left while he told it. They both watched it pull away and chug north, and
neither of them commented.

    He'd
made it to Hillsborough County's CCC camp. That part was true enough. The rest
of it had been a lie—had he desired to stay on at the camp, he could have. And
would have. At least until his third day there, when a pair of unfamiliar men
in suits showed up with a visitor from Corridor County: Thomas Barrett.

    "The
shopkeep ?" Arlen said.

    "Yes.
He's been working with them for nearly a year."

    "Working
with
who?
"

    "Federal
Bureau of Narcotics," Paul said. "That's what they told me at least.
I guess they approached him because he was at odds with Tolliver."

    He
surely was — had run against him for sheriff. Arlen thought back on the drive
he'd made to the lumberyard with Barrett, and he could see it easy enough. If
they'd wanted to enlist a local to help, Barrett made plenty of sense.

    "At
first all they wanted to do was talk to me," Paul said. "Find out
what I'd seen and heard. But I kept asking questions, said I wouldn't tell them
a thing unless I knew the situation, and once they told me . . ."

    "You
saw it was a chance to hurt us. Just like we'd hurt you."

    Paul
didn't say anything, but he nodded.

    "Why
in the hell haven't they gone to Rebecca?" Arlen said. "She'd have
helped."

    "Barrett
doesn't trust her. Said her father was close with Wade, and her brother was,
too, and that she'd just come on down and fallen right in with them."

    She
had done that. At least from an outsider's view.

    "It
was her brother," Arlen said. "Damn it, they were as good as holding
him hostage even though he was in prison."

    "That's
not how the agents saw it," Paul said. "What Barrett and the others
told me was she's as bad as any of them."

    "You
actually believed it?"

    Paul
looked away. "Wanted to at least."

    "So
what's about to come down on us?" Arlen said. "What have you
done?"

    Paul
winced at that, then said, "They'll be watching tomorrow night for the
boat coming in. Barrett already told them Wade wouldn't be there himself. That
he keeps his distance. So they'll arrest everyone else and lock them up and
push the charges hard, hoping they can get more information, more
evidence."

    "You
were to have been there," Arlen said.

    Paul
nodded.

    "You'd
have watched us go off in handcuffs."

    Paul
couldn't look at him now, and Arlen gave a slow shake of his head and then
cranked the window down and lit a cigarette. The rain was still falling but
without the wind to push it, and the air was cooler now.

    "I
guess we had you pretty well soured if you could do a thing like that."

    "It's
why I told you," Paul said softly, head down.

    "You
were mighty close to letting us run right into that hornet's nest," Arlen
said. "Why didn't you ?"

    Paul
looked up at him. "Because you said you couldn't leave her behind. Not
even with all this. That made it . . . I don't know. It meant something, that's
all. It meant something."

    Arlen
nodded and smoked and thought. After a time he said, "When you hiked up
the road today, you went to report in with Barrett."

    "Yes."

    "So
they know exactly what the plan is. They know, and they'll be watching."

    "Yes."

    "If
we were to leave," Arlen said, "all of us, leave tonight, there
wouldn't be anybody left for them to arrest but McGrath and the Cubans."

    "I
suppose not."

    "But
that wouldn't give them much. Because the Cubans won't come in without the
light signal, and McGrath and his boys won't be holding a damn thing that's of
value — no money, no dope."

    Paul
didn't answer.

    "And
then they'd all be looking for us," Arlen said. "These government
agents who are counting on you, for one. Solomon Wade, for another. By then
he'll know exactly what was set up, and he'll know who did it."

    "So
what do we do?" Paul said.

    Arlen
raised his eyebrows and blew smoke and held his hands up, palms raised.
"That's the question, Brickhill. And I'll be damned if I have a good
answer. We go ahead with what we had planned, we'll all end the day in jail. We
could go to Barrett and tell him we want to help. Or we could warn Wade of
what's about to commence, gain his trust, and hold the fight till another
day."

    "They
think Owen and Wade are awful close," Paul said. "That's why they
held me off coming back as long as they did. They wanted Owen to be there.
Wanted me to try and get in good with him."

    "They
were close," Arlen said, "until Owen found out Wade had been using
him against Rebecca. Until he found out the son of a bitch had his father
killed."

    "So
what do we do?" Paul repeated.

    Arlen
smashed the cigarette out on the door frame and tossed it into the street and
started the truck again.

    "We
go back," he said. "And let everyone have their say."

    It
was more a case of letting everyone have their silence than their say, though.
When he showed up with Paul still in tow, Rebecca and Owen were surprised, to
say the least. When he let the kid tell what he'd been helping to arrange, they
went from surprised to stunned. Even Owen didn't mouth off much. Just shook his
head like he didn't believe it and poured himself a glass of whiskey, which he
let sit untouched.