The Homecoming (53 page)

Nick slipped by him, moving left toward the tree line. A loud crack off to his right and a round hummed past his eyes. He could almost see the blur as it went by and the air it was pushing was like a puff on his right eye. He heard a meaty
thwack
, a distant
thump
, as a round came in and struck hard just a few yards away from him.

He heard a man grunt.

A second round smacked into the same position, followed by a faint booming sound coming from a long way off—Coker’s sniper rifle.

This time there was no grunt.

More rounds now, coming from the house, mixed fire, the heavy bark of Danziger’s Winchester, the sound of glass shattering, Mavis shouting something that Nick couldn’t make out.

He got up and started to run toward the house. He was on the bottom of the stairs when a man came staggering out of the front door. He was young and brown-eyed, wearing tan slacks and a brown tee. There was a large hole in his chest and he had his hands crossed over it. The expression on his face was surprise and confusion.

He saw Nick and said, “
Mai che cosa?
”

Coker’s round came in and hit the kid right in the middle of his face. It collapsed into a bloody red horror and he went backwards into the darkness behind him. That was the last round fired.

Silence came down.

Nick came up the stairs and stopped at the door.

“Mavis?”

“In here, Nick.”

“Where’s Reed?”

“He’s in the back. I could use some help here.”

Nick came into the room.

Mavis was bent over a figure lying on the floor. It was Charlie Danziger. He was staring up at the ceiling, his lips working. At first there was no blood visible. Then, in a coughing black eruption, it was everywhere. Charlie was bleeding out.

“Where’s he hit?”

Mavis rolled him onto his back. There were two holes in his chest, small and black, but blood was spreading out around the holes. Nick put his hand on Danziger’s throat. His pulse was weak and fluttering. Mavis was holding Danziger’s head up and trying to clear blood from his airway.

She looked across Danziger’s body and shook her head. Danziger started to convulse. Mavis held him as steady as she could. Blood poured from his mouth and nose. He was trying to say something, but all that came out was a strangled cough. He turned his head, looked at Nick. His left eye socket was full of blood but his right eye was blue and clear.

“Some kid in civvies got past Reed, I guess,” said Mavis, holding Charlie’s head in her hands. “I was looking out the window, didn’t see him come in. He had me cold. Charlie moved into the line of fire, but he got hit before he could get his gun up. He went down, but I got the kid with the Winchester. Charlie saved my ass.”

Danziger’s lips were moving, but all that was coming out was blood. An artery at the side of his neck was distended and the sinews in his neck were all corded up. His one blue eye was full of pain and regret. Nick put a hand on Danziger’s chest, looked into his eyes.

“It’s all right, Charlie,” said Nick. “You paid in full. God loves you. You’re good to go.”

Charlie’s hand went down to his shirt pocket. He patted it, coughed up more blood, and died.

Mavis sat back on her heels, wiped her face with both hands.

“Jeez. What a lousy goddam day.”

“Where’s Reed?”

“He’s out back. Throwing up, I think. He’s never been in a gunfight before. You might want to give him a moment. We get everybody?”

“I got one. Coker took out another guy in the sweetgrass.”

“He also took out a third guy, up in the tree line. Reed saw that one go down. Then another guy popped out of the weeds, real close. He put a burst by Reed’s head and Reed snap-shot him in the throat. It was ugly. Reed got distracted by the gurgling and thrashing the guy was doing and he let the fifth guy get by him. He was the kid in the slacks. He get away?”

“No. He was standing on the front porch looking down at the hole you put in his chest. He spoke to me. Something Italian, I think. Coker punched a round into his face.”

His radio crackled.

It was Coker.

“Nick, I have no other targets. No movement anywhere. What’s the story down there?”

“All the bad guys are KIA.”

“Any of ours?”

“Yeah. Charlie’s down.”

A pause.

“How bad?”

“He’s gone, Coker. He took two meant for Mavis. Saved her life.”

A long silence here, maybe a full minute.

“Did he?” said Coker, his voice thick and strained. “Good for him. I’ve always liked Mavis. You sure he’s gone? All the way gone?”

“I’m sure. Maybe for the best, Coker.”

“Yeah. I get where you’re coming from. Damn. I’m gonna miss him. He was good company. He say anything?”

“No. He was looking up at me. You could see what he was thinking. I told him that he was good to go. That he was paid up in full. What about you, Coker? You gonna come down and pay up in full?”

Coker’s radio crackled and popped.

His voice came back.

“No. I don’t think so. I got things to do. Check his shirt pocket. You’ll see a blue card. Mondex card. Half the Gracie money is in there. Charlie’s got the PIN number on a piece of paper stuck on the fridge. Never could do numbers. You take care, Nick. I always enjoyed your company. Will you do right by Charlie? See the word gets around about what he did for Mavis. See he gets a good send-off?”

“I will. You might as well come in, Coker. You have nowhere to go.”

“Well, I was thinking on that, Nick. If you don’t have me, you can lay
it all on my head and leave Charlie’s piece out of it. Leave it that he went out like a stand-up and not a cop killer like me. He wasn’t the shooter that day. You know that. He thought I was just gonna take out the engines.”

“Coker, we
do
have you. Mavis has already called it in. Cars are on the way. Where you gonna run to? Where you gonna hide?”

“You sound like that fucking gospel song, Nick. I fucking hate gospel songs.”

A pause, the wind hissing in the long grass.

“You take care of yourself, Nick. Sorry about all of this. You kiss that pretty girl for me.”

“Coker, there’s no point. They’ll shoot you down where you stand.”

Silence.

“Coker, you hear me? Come back?”

Silence.

“Coker, you there?”

Silence.

The Belfair and Cullen County Courthouse had originally been a Catholic church, and it still had ten wood-frame leaded-glass windows along either side, old whitewashed wooden plank walls, and a row of wooden fans along the cedar-vaulted ceiling.

Where the altar had been there was now a carved wooden judge’s bench, built up on a dais so that it dominated the room. On the face of the bench was a wooden panel with an oil painting of a Civil War cavalry battle—Brandy Station on the second day. A faded American flag edged in golden cording hung from a cavalry lance behind the judge’s chair.

In the judge’s chair this Monday morning was Justice Theodore Monroe, a gnarled old vulture with a hawk-like nose and small black eyes. He was in his black robes and the expression on his face as he peered through his steel-framed half-glasses at Warren Smoles was so fixed and malevolent that even a man seraphically free from any taint of self-doubt could not help but feel a tremor of concern.

The long cedar-and-sandalwood-scented room was virtually empty, since Judge Monroe had declared that the custody hearing was to be conducted in camera.

No members of the public and no press people were allowed inside the building. Kate and Nick and their lawyer, Claudio Duarte, a lean young man with olive skin and an angular face made even more striking by large brown eyes, sat at the desk usually reserved for the prosecution.

Warren Smoles, working alone, had been assigned the defense desk. Rainey was waiting in Judge Monroe’s chambers, in the unlikely event that he might be called. One of Smoles’ “nurses” was sitting with him. What may have been going on in Rainey’s mind was anyone’s guess. He
looked
nervous and defiant and sullen.

Lemon, neither a family member nor a lawyer, was excluded from
attending, which was fine with him since the temptation to punch Warren Smoles’ lights out would probably have been irresistible.

A solitary clerk sat off to the left, speaking into a funnel-shaped mouthpiece which covered the lower part of her face.

One of the first exchanges she had recorded was an opening skirmish between Smoles and Judge Monroe. Smoles had objected to his placement at the defense desk as “prejudicial to his argument,” an objection Judge Monroe had handled with a short, sharp reply.

“Duly noted. Poppycock. Now sit down.”

Smoles, red-faced, had wisely done so.

Judge Monroe had chosen to conduct the matter seated on his bench, rather than in chambers, mainly because he was profoundly disgusted by the substance of Warren Smoles’ petition, and he wished to be able to sit high above him and glare down upon the bald spot at the back of Smoles’ head whenever Smoles lowered his head to read from his papers.

Judge Monroe looked around the room at the various people present, illuminated by the colored light streaming in through the stained-glass windows on the courthouse’s eastern wall. His gaze rested for a moment on Kate’s face and marked the anguish and pain that was in it.

He liked and admired Kate, had known her and her family for years, which was why he’d asked her to be Rainey’s legal guardian in the first place.

That his seemingly harmless request had brought her to this outrageous and insufferable ordeal had created a slow burn in his belly that he was medicating with sips from a tall glass filled with ice and a clear liquid that was not tap water.

He looked at the clock at the back of the courtroom, waited until the minute hand ticked onto the numeral ten, and banged his gavel down.

“All right. Let’s get this farce on the road. I don’t intend to screw around with a lot of legal jargon here, I’d like you all to know. What I want from Mr. Smoles here is a clear statement of his argument concerning the matter of Rainey Teague, any evidence that he wishes to provide in support of that argument, and, if necessary, I shall require the boy himself to come in and say his piece. Once Mr. Smoles has had his say, then it will be the turn of Mr. Duarte here—good morning, Mr. Duarte.”

Duarte jumped to his feet.

“Good morning, Your Honor.”

“I doubt that. It will be the turn of Mr. Duarte to present his reply to
Mr. Smoles’ arguments, to provide counterfactual evidence if he has such, and, if Rainey is brought in—which remains my decision alone, be aware—I won’t have the boy dragged into a messy squabble—I intend to question Rainey myself and to—”

Smoles, who could not help it, stood up to object and got promptly gaveled down again.

“Mr. Smoles, I will remind you that this is an
informal
hearing and that I will tolerate none of your usual courthouse theatrics. I run a court of law here, not a goddamned carnival. Are we clear?”

Apparently he was, since Smoles seemed to shrink into himself under Judge Monroe’s incandescent glare.

“Fine. We’re all on the same page. Ruth, are you ready? All in order?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said the clerk.

“Good. All right, Mr. Smoles. How about you fire up your calliope and play us a tune.”

Smoles stood, said nothing for a moment, staring down at the papers on his desk. The court waited in silence. The minute hand at the rear of the court ticked off ten seconds.

“Your Honor, and my esteemed colleagues here assembled—”

“Mr. Smoles. Skip the lapidary crap.”

Smoles stiffened at that, made a show out of marking something down on his yellow pad.

“Thank you, Judge. Look, this is as difficult for me to do as it will be for Miss Walker—”

“Mrs. Kavanaugh,” said the judge.

“For Mrs. Kavanaugh and her husband to hear. And I wish the record to show that I did suggest that, since they are in a sense being judged here, that they not be subjected to the ordeal directly.”

“My clients are staying,” said Duarte. “They’re not witnesses. They’re respondents.”

“We’ve dealt with this, Mr. Smoles.”

Smoles smoothed back his hair and patted the lapel of his charcoal gray Brioni.

“Very well. The essentials are these. Friday afternoon I received a call from Rainey. He was in a McDonald’s on Kingsbane, and he was in a very agitated state. He wished to hire me—to retain me—to help him deal with a very unhappy home life. We spoke awhile and I made the decision to consult with him in person. I sent my driver to pick him up at two thirty that same afternoon. When the boy arrived at my office a number
of details were immediately obvious. He was distraught, sobbing uncontrollably. I decided to videotape our meeting.”

“Just move it along, Counselor. Summarize.”

“Yes. Of course, Your Honor. To
summarize
the events as Rainey laid them out, it seems that Rainey had been skipping school and of course Kate, as his guardian, was upset at that. A kind of confrontation ensued when he came home on last Thursday night, during which Rainey became very frightened at the anger in her demeanor. He tried to explain that he just wanted some time to think, that he was being bullied at school, and that he was very upset by the loss of his parents. According to Rainey, Kate got very cold then. She informed him that she was worried about his mental state and that she and Nick had decided to get him checked out to see that he was okay. Make sure that there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Mentally. Rainey expressed the fear—to me, I mean—that his guardian was planning to have him committed to what Rainey called ‘a crazy house.’ ”