The Terror of Living (17 page)

    He had a reputation to uphold: that was the only certainty he had in mind. He was already a day behind schedule, and he didn't like being the one chased, nor did he like doing the chasing. He preferred instead to meet and call it a day right there. But the boat ramp had not been the place. Too early and too public. And the drugs: he didn't have them but could guess where they were.

    He started down the road. When he passed a combine, he waved. No reason to be unfriendly. No reason at all. He drove on, thinking about what he would do next.

    NORA PUT HER FINGERS TO THE EDGE OF THE SHADES. No one could have known where they were, but still she was nervous. She opened the blinds enough that she could see onto the parking lot. Farther down the road was the red glow of a Dairy Queen and gas station. One of those combined things where travelers could fill up and buy a Blizzard at the same time.

    Eddie's car sat in front of his motel room, their bedrooms separated by adjoining doors that Nora had long since closed. She could hear the sound of the television, but not enough to tell what he was watching. Her cell phone lay tangled in the sheets. When had she called Hunt last? She was trying to remember. She couldn't think straight. She had barely slept and had watched too much television. She turned the thing off around 5 a.m. And for a while, she had watched the black street, the glow from the gas station. Things seemed to be moving in the night, but she knew they weren't. It was just the wind in the trees. Close to the water there were lines of birch that seemed strange and ghostly at night.

    When had she called Hunt last? Nora walked over to the bed and found the phone. When Hunt answered, Nora said, "What the hell."

    "What the hell?" Hunt said.

    "Why didn't you answer your phone when I called?"

    "Just didn't hear it, I guess."

    "Where are you?"

    "Up north. I barely made it."

    "What do you mean, 'barely made it'?"

    "The boat's gone. Sunk."

    "Are you okay?"

    "Hurt my leg a little bit."

    "A little bit?"

    "It'll heal. Did you do as I said?"

    "Yes, Eddie and I are in a motel."

    "And the horses?"

    "Three of them are here."

    "Good." i

    "Do you need me to come get you?"

    "Not yet."

    "I can come."

    "No, I think it's best if you don't. I'm not sure exactly what happened yet."

    "Are you in danger? Why don't you want me to come up there and get you?"

    "No, it's someone I'm with."

    "What kind of someone?"

    "A girl."

    "You're not messing with me, are you?"

    "Not about this, I wouldn't."

    "Well, why don't you ask her if I can come up there?" Nora went to the window and looked out. There was a nervous fear growing inside her. She could feel it down at the base of her throat. She swallowed and tried to rid herself of the feeling, but it was still there. Hunt was taking a long time with his answer.

    "It's not that," Hunt said. "I would. But she's stopped talking. I'm not sure what to do. She's being watched, but I can't say she'll make it."

    "What are we talking about here, Phil?"

    "The girl has the drugs. They're inside her."

    "A mule?"

    "Yes, she has the drugs. I don't think I can leave until this gets figured out."

    "How old is she?"

    "Twenty? Forty? It's hard to say."

    There was a long pause.

    "Nora?"

    "What kind of trouble are we in here?"

    "The worst kind."

    "Is someone looking for this girl?"

    "I think they were looking for me."

    "But now they're looking for both of you?"

    "Yes, I'm certain they are."

    "And you think Eddie and I are in danger?"

    "I don't know that, but I'd rather be sure."

    "Is this the kind where we shouldn't even be talking on the phone - that kind?"

    "No. It's not that. The other kind, like the kid, that kind of trouble."

    "How do you know it's like the kid?"

    "Because the Coast Guard showed up and it was probably the only thing to save us."

    "Never thought you'd be saying that."

    "No, never."

    "I can come up there."

    "No, I don't want you up here. You and Eddie should just sit this out. I'm not joking when I say this. I'm already in it. I just can't say how far it'll go."

    She gave him the number and address of the motel.

    "I'll call you later," Hunt said. "I'm going to keep my promise. Don't worry. I'll call you when I know what to do."

    Nora heard the line quit on her. She held the phone and listened to the dead space.

    THERE WAS SOMETHING STUCK IN THE BACK OF HIS THROAT. The lawyer coughed, bringing up a hot mouthful of smoke. He wore a bathrobe over the clothes he'd slept in. There was no reason to change. No reason to go out. The people he worked for would not be happy. He didn't know what they'd already heard, but he could guess when it did come out-and it would - there would be consequences. He was just trying to do the right thing now, take the right steps; killing the kid had been first, and now, if Grady could just find Hunt, they would be in the clear.

    He'd put all of it in motion, and there was no reason now to watch it all slip away. He put his cigarette out on a small porcelain bread plate. He'd heard nothing and he looked at his watch again.

    Ten past eleven. The Vietnamese would call soon. They'd want to know why the girls hadn't been delivered. No girls could be explained, but no drugs couldn't.

    Grady hadn't checked in. The lawyer looked again at his watch and crossed to the kitchen, where he opened the faucet and watched the water run. He passed a hand through the stream and brought it to his face, running his fingers down along the groove of his mouth and off his chin.

    When Grady called ten minutes later, the lawyer wanted to know what had gone wrong, what Grady had been thinking. Not delivering the girl as he was supposed to, Hunt still alive, all of it spinning out of control. The lawyer was standing in his kitchen, looking down into the sink, a whirlpool opening up before him.

    It wasn't just Hunt who was in danger now, it was all of them; the lawyer knew this, knew that if the situation couldn't be fixed soon, there would be a lot for him to answer for. He gave Grady the address of Hunt's place in Auburn. He gave him the name of the wife. He gave him a description of Eddie and left it at that.

    TWO MEN SAT IN A TINTED LEXUS, WATCHING THE tourists mill around the downtown ferry docks. One of the men, in an Armani sweater, leaned forward in his seat and checked the dash clock. He blew smoke from a cigarette. Music played softly from the car stereo.

    "What time is it?" the second man asked. He wore a similar sweater, rolled neck, with a small horseman embroidered on his left breast. The sleeves were too long for him and he continually pushed them up. The two men were speaking in Vietnamese, both of them in their early thirties.

    "Fuck this," the man in the Armani sweater said. "We should have just gone up there ourselves."

    "She acted stupid. Acted real dumb, getting off the plane like that."

    "Should have gotten her ourselves."

    "We don't need that trouble. That's what we pay the lawyer for. They would have pulled us over at the border. No doubt about it."

    "At least we'd know something then. At least we'd have some clue what was going on."

    "And what about the other girl? The one who was supposed to come in yesterday?"

    "The lawyer is fucking us, that's what."

    "What do you want to do?"

    "I don't like working this way. But we do it because we can't do it any other way. You find a better system, you tell me. She was supposed to be delivered straight from the airport."

    "Dumb-ass girl."

    "Fuck the girl. As long as we get what she's carrying."

    "What do you want to do?" the man in the Armani sweater said. He brought a hand to his mouth and removed the cigarette. He sat in the car, relaxed, unbothered by the lateness of the girl. The only thing about him that moved quickly was his mouth.

    "Call the lawyer again."

    The man leaned forward and placed the cigarette in the ashtray. He dialed the number. When the secretary picked up, he said, "I want to speak to the lawyer." The secretary put him on hold.

    The man in the rolled-neck sweater watched him from the passenger side of the car. "Easy," he said.

    "Two girls got on a plane and neither has shown up. Sounds easy, but nothing about it is."

    The receptionist came back on the line and told him the lawyer hadn't come in that morning.

    "Tell him he better find our girls. He better find them fast."

    THE ONLY THING GRADY KNEW WAS THAT HUNT WOULD RUN. If Hunt had been smart he'd have stayed in one place and let Grady find him. But he knew Hunt wouldn't do that. He'd been running a long time. Let it end, Grady thought, just let it be over. But still he took a certain excitement from the chase. He didn't like it, but he could appreciate it. The small loose thread, the random element, something he hadn't calculated.

    He took the small slip of paper with Hunt's information on it from his pocket and looked it over. The interstate kept going in front of him. Cars turned down past Seventy-fifth and he could see the interstate straighten and the wide view of the city in front of him. He drove on, the address in his head. He placed the paper on the dash, right next to the speedometer, and watched them both.

    When he got out of the car, he stood looking at Hunt's house for a long time. He'd driven past it and pulled the car onto a gravel shoulder about a quarter mile off. He could see the downward slope of the roof through the trees. The odor of animals was all around him. Smells of horse manure came to him on the crisp, cold air. From the car he took the bag and went up the road, jogging now and feeling the wind come over him. When he found a small horse path leading into the woods, he followed it, keeping behind the trees to watch the house. He tried to move without being noticed, low and close to the ground. He couldn't see anything in the windows. Not even a light or the flicker of a television.

    He knelt and assembled the AR-15. From the bag, he took a few extra clips and stuffed them into his back pockets. With the sight he could look into the house, and he knelt there, watching, for thirty minutes. Nothing moved. The stables were at the far end of the property, and he went there, using the fence and then the building for cover. He could only hope for someone to be inside the house.

    Moving through the stables, he saw that the three horses had been brought into the fenced pasture. He stood in the shadow of the stables for five minutes, using the scope to look through the windows of the house from a different angle. Still nothing moved. He went to the fence, in the wide, open backyard, and looked at the house. With age, the siding had turned from white to cream like the surrounding alder bark, the roof good, and windows in every room. He could pick out the rooms by the symmetry of their placement. The kitchen, the back door, the front entranceway visible through it, a living room, and the upstairs bedrooms and bathroom. The horses were watching from a distance, and he called to them but they didn't come. He raised the rifle and sighted them in the scope, their big eyes looking back at him, the constant movement of their long jaws as they busied themselves with their food. He put the rifle down and walked to the house.

    With the butt of the AR-15 he knocked out one of the back door's panes and reached inside to turn the lock. Inside, he found a house with wood-panel floors. He listened - nothing besides the sound of his own breathing and the brief shift of his weight on the floor. On the couch he found a bed made. He walked to it and pulled the sheets away, he looked under the cushions, then he knelt and looked beneath the couch. He didn't know what he was looking for. He still carried the AR-15 and he folded the stock now and held the muzzle toward the rest of the house. When he stood up, he could see a car pass on the road just beyond the drive. The shades were open and he watched a child turn in the backseat and look at him. He still carried the rifle but didn't move to hide it. He watched the car pass and then disappear down the road into the trees.

    He found the small dining room. Two of the chairs were not pushed in. He pushed them in and then pulled them out and sat in one and faced the other. Upstairs he found a bed that was not made. He looked at it and went into the closet and looked at the clothes. He could smell a woman's perfume. He ran a silk blouse through his fingers. He tried to find a suitcase, but the only bag he found was a duffel. For a short time he lay on the bed with the rifle laid out beside him. Overhead he heard rain begin to fall and patter on the roof. He looked up at the ceiling, then rolled over and noticed the phone. He dialed *69 and waited for the sound of the pulse.