“They’ll have to stop sometime.”
“Okay, they pull into a rest area to go toy-toy. Or a filling station. We pull up alongside ’em. They see us. The next thing you know that nigger Indin’s coming out of the car with his gun. We know he’s their shooter, don’t we? It’s what he does. Now, are you gonna let the nigger Indin shoot you, or you gonna pop him first, or would you wait for me to do it, knowing if you wait too long you’re dead? Or, you’re in your typical shoot-don’t-shoot situation requiring split-second judgment. Is that a gun in his hand? Bam! No, it was a flashlight, but a man is dead. These are some of the questions you have to ask yourself.” Roy walked over to the dresser, scooped loose change into his hand and picked up his wallet. “Are we gonna drive all the way to Miami in pursuit of our dream? We are, then I have to get a bathing suit and some resort wear. How ’bout you?”
“You do like the idea,” Lucy said.
Roy took a poplin jacket from the back of the desk chair. “What idea? That’s the only thing keeps me in this deal-we don’t have enough of a plan to know if it won’t work or even to figure the odds. We’re feeling our way along, is all. We’re still playing-oh, man, isn’t this exciting? This is serious stuff. We even got real guns, with real bullets in ’em.” Roy slipped his jacket on. “I’m going around the corner and have a drink, pick up a few items we might need, check on Cullen… Oh, and lemme have your car keys. I’ll sit in it and watch theirs, just in case-since I’m doing everything anyway. Meantime you and Delaney decide if you can look right at a man and shoot him.”
“I’ve already thought about it,” Lucy said.
“Well, then think about him shooting you. If this deal’s worth it. It isn’t to me,” Roy said. “I’ll tell you right now, the time comes I see it’s a no-win deal, I’m out. I am sure not gonna die for a bunch of lepers I don’t even know.”
They were in Darla’s studio apartment over an antique shop on Conti. She said, “You know how much that’d cost you? All night and all day? I never had an all day.”
Cullen said, “I don’t care, you name it. You’re the cutest thing I ever saw.”
“Well, thank you. Usually during the day I relax. Do my hair and my nails…”
“You’re a little lady of leisure.”
“You kidding? I work my ass off in that place. I have to be there tomorrow at six.”
“I’ll stay till then. We can send out for Chinese, anything you want.”
“Roy said-didn’t he mention you just got out of prison or someplace?”
“Yeah, but I’d as soon not talk about it, ruin this beautiful evening.”
“I meant, but how could you have any money?”
“I worked. I worked in the fields for a nickel an hour. I worked in the auto repair shop, got a raise to seven cents. I worked in the print shop for the same wage. I bought a few necessities, I bought home brew now and again and saved what I could. Twenty-seven years, you little honey, it can add up.”
Darla said, “Well, you did pretty good, didn’t you?”
“Put on the black stockings again.”
“I thought you liked me nekked.”
“Just the stockings and the garters, that’s all.”
“You think that’ll do it?”
“I woke up with a hard-on this morning at six thirty-four. It’s in there somewhere.”
“I hope so, gosh.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna do it. Hey, anybody comes, don’t answer the door.”
“Nobody’s gonna come.”
“They might, you never can tell. Don’t answer the phone, either.”
“Well, I do get calls, you know. I’m not a hermit.”
“You sure aren’t. Oh, man, look at that. Come over here and tell me how you got so cute. Huh, how did you?”
“I just am, I guess.”
The way Lucy had pictured it until this evening, she would see flashes of action taking place on a country road.
There are no houses within sight, only a scrub pasture, stands of pine, a ditch full of weeds where the two cars have come to a sudden stop, the blue Mercedes angled in front of the cream-colored Mercedes, dust still hanging in the air, in bright sunlight. She stands in the road, somewhat away from the others, and sees the Indian and the one from Miami brought out first, at gunpoint and with gestures, no words spoken. Now these two leave the scene. They’re taken aside, disarmed, made to lie in the ditch-all that, whatever has to be done-because she sees herself alone with the colonel immediately after he comes out of the car. She waits as he makes his cautious appearance and looks about, bewildered-he can’t believe this is happening-before he sees her standing in the road, alone, watching him. She’s wearing her linen jacket over a prewashed denim shirt, slacks, sunglasses, her dad’s revolver held at her side. Or with the gun in the holster. No, holding the gun, but not pointing it at him. Their eyes meet. The colonel stares, begins to frown. He doesn’t recognize her, because he wouldn’t imagine her being here. Only once have they met face to face, at Sagrada Familia when she was wearing khakis and a white scarf over her hair. He frowns harder as he looks at her and says, “Who are you?” Or, he frowns harder as he looks at her and says, “Tell me who you are… please.” A silence comes over the scene, the dust settled now. She gazes at him without expression, removes her sunglasses, and on this day of retribution says quietly, “The sister of the lepers.”
The shoulder holster was the first to go.
Then the conveniently desolate country road.
The holster went back in her straw bag and the road became an interstate highway with traffic in both directions, cars, motor homes, semitrailers… And now the place where it would happen, at a rest area or a service station or the parking lot of a McDonald’s, she saw in endless variations of several real places. The important part, facing the contra colonel alone, long enough for him to recognize her and realize she was doing this to him and why, could still happen. She would somehow have to make it happen; because the confrontation was more important than any other part of it.
But now, trying to see it happen closer to reality in time and place, picturing recognizable objects, signs, Exxon, McDonald’s, the image in her mind began to expand, reach beyond the important part, the confrontation.
Sitting in the hotel room she saw the colonel standing by the car. She’s delivered her line. She’s with Jack and Roy and Cullen as they leave with the money. But now she looks back and sees the colonel still there, standing by his car as they drive off.
Jack watched Lucy walk past the bed to one of the matching armchairs by the window, the curtains pulled closed; watched her sit down and pick up her cigarettes from the low table between the chairs. A lamp on the table showed the room in soft light. Jack took a moment to look at the room. He liked the feel of it, the mood, faint sounds of music coming from outside. He wasn’t sure about Lucy, though, changing again, silent at a time when he thought she’d be talkative. He wanted to tell her about Franklin, maybe one less to worry about. He was anxious to tell it, still feeling the vodka. Then wondered about Roy, Jesus, if he’d pulled out, and asked her. She drew on her cigarette, taking her time. She said no, he’ll be back…
“But what if he did?”
“I’d have to give it serious thought,” Jack said. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
No, something else. She said, “We stop Bertie and take the money. But that isn’t necessarily the end of it.”
With the quiet delivery-she sounded fine.
Jack said, “You want to know what happens if he pulls a gun and one of us has to shoot him.”
She was shaking her head before he finished.
“No. What happens if we don’t shoot him? If we take the money and leave him standing there?”
“That’s even better, isn’t it? You don’t want to kill the guy… do you?”
“But it wouldn’t be the end of it.”
Jack walked over to the other chair. He sat down and took one of her cigarettes.