When Lenore said, “There’s only one way I’d consider making the call.”
It stopped Richie, just as he saw himself about to rip open her flowery blouse.
“And that’s if I leave it up to Carmen. If she says send the check, she can use it, then all right, it’s okay with me. But I won’t tell Wayne about it if he answers and I won’t let you talk to him, either.”
“That’s fine with me,” Richie said, experiencing a relief and then a tender feeling as they went to the phone sitting on a table and the woman bent over to look in her address book. Richie laid his hand on the warm, moist material covering her back and gave it a few gentle pats.
Lenore said, “Have you ever had back trouble? Mine is just killing me.”
Richie moved his hand down her old-woman spine, exploring. “Where? Right there?”
Ferris stood in the doorway to the halclass="underline" hands on his hips, no sport coat today, wearing a white shirt with the three top buttons undone, the short sleeves turned up to show more arm and muscle, and a big revolver snubbed high on his right hip.
The pose, Carmen thought. Saying, Look at me, Ferris Britton, Deputy Marshal. Dumb enough to be a TV star, he had the hair, the build, the fake
boyish grin. ... The only trouble was he was real.
“I rang the bell.”
Carmen waited.
“You heard it, didn’t you? You can’t say I just walked in on you.”
“What do you call it?” Carmen said. “I didn’t notice anybody opened the door for you.” She stood between the window and the sofa only half-turned to him, arms folded in her own kind of pose.
“I bet you even saw me drive up. Ernie, you heard me ring the bell, didn’t you?”
Molina, seated again, said, “Yeah, I heard it.”
“Then why didn’t you come to the door?”
“I don’t live here no more.”
“I guess that’s true enough, Ernie, but you could’ve answered the door, couldn’t you?”
Ferris serious was annoying as Ferris grinning. “The reason we didn’t open the door,” Carmen said, “was because we didn’t want you to come in. It’s that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Jesus, what difference does it make? Just leave, okay? Take your shoulders and your wavy hair and leave, will you, please?”
Ferris raised one hand to his head, frowning. “My hair? Man, I’d like to know what is going on here. I already got a bone to pick with you, lady, calling Detroit on me. I like to got in trouble. I said, well, why didn’t somebody tell me the guy wasn’t up on charges?” Ferris looked at Molina. “Her old man. You ever hear of a government witness wasn’t dirty? I haven’t.”
The phone rang in the kitchen, the sound coming from behind him. Ferris held up his hand.
“I got it—don’t nobody move. It’s prob’ly for me.” The phone rang again. “If it isn’t, I bet it’s a wrong number.” The phone rang again. “How much you want to bet?” He waited for another ring before turning and crossing the hall to the kitchen.
Carmen started after him and Molina said, “Don’t bother.” She hesitated and came around slowly.
“It’s my house.”
“Yeah, and he walks in, he answers the phone. He’ll look in the icebox, complain if you don’t have fresh orange juice . . .”
They heard the phone ring again, once.
Carmen stood still, listening, then needed to move, do something, and looked at Molina, at his perfect hair as he brought out his cigarettes. He seemed at ease lighting one, used to having a U.S. marshal in the house, blowing the smoke out in a slow stream.
“You don’t need this,” Molina said.
“I know that, for God’s sake.”
“Take it easy. You got to stay cool, but you got to watch him, too. What I mean by you don’t need this, you don’t need government protection. So you got two guys looking for you—go someplace else, wherever you want, you don’t have to stay here. Just don’t tell nobody.”
Carmen stepped around the coffee table and sat down thinking, Why not? Sell the pickup, get in the car and go. She said, “My husband has a job. He likes it here.”
“So what? You don’t. Tell him you’ve had enough of this shit, you want to leave. Go where you want, California, someplace out there. You know what the kid marshal wants, don’t you? What he’s gonna get around to before long,” Molina’s voice fading as he said, “if he hasn’t already.”
“Well, I was right,” Ferris said, coming in from the hall. “Wrong number. They called twice. The second time—you hear me? I go, ‘Hey, I just gone done telling you there’s nobody here by that name.’ ” He came over to the coffee table. “So what’re you talking about now?” Looking from Carmen to Molina. “Ernie, you telling stories about me? Man, I thought I was rid of you. Here you turn up again.”
“Mr. Molina’s wife left something,” Carmen said. “He came to get it.”
“Oh, that’s right, it’s Mr. Mo-leen-ah,” Ferris said, winking at Carmen. “I keep forgetting how important he is, big Mafia witness, and call him Ernie. Hey, Ernie? What’d Roseanne forget, her diaphragm?”
Carmen watched Molina. He didn’t bother to answer.
Ferris moved around the end of the coffee table to get closer and look down at him.
“You and her back together?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Gee, I’m surprised,” Ferris said. “From the way she acted I thought, well, she either had enough of you or she wasn’t getting enough from you, one.” He looked at Carmen. “Roseanne liked company. Old Ernie’d go to work tending bar, Roseanne’d call me up. ‘Hi, watcha doing? Why don’t you come over and have a drink? Me and Bitsy are all alone here.’ Her and that goddarn dog. You still have Bits, Ernie? Nobody’s kicked her little teeth in?”
“We still have her, yeah.”
Molina drew on his cigarette, blew the smoke out in a sigh and Ferris began waving his hand at it.
“Ernie, what’re you doing?” Sounding disappointed, glancing at Carmen as he said, “I’ve been trying to get him to quit ever since I got assigned here. Ernie, you know what smoking does to you.”
Carmen watched him take hold of Molina’s hairpiece, grab a handful and lift it from his head. Molina didn’t move.
“It makes your hair fall out. This here,” Ferris said, inspecting the rug closely, feeling it now, a small animal in his hand, “is from a lifetime of smoking.”
Molina’s eyes raised to Ferris for a moment, Carmen watching him. He looked at her then and seemed to shrug. Carmen pushed up from the sofa.
She heard Ferris say, “Where you going?” as she walked out of the living room, crossed the hall to the kitchen and could feel him behind her by the time she reached the table and picked up the phone. “Who you calling?”
“The police.”
“Hey, come on. Who you think I am?”
“The biggest asshole I’ve ever met in my life,” Carmen said, dialing the operator.
He reached past her and took hold of the cord. “I’ll yank it right out of the wall.”
Carmen put the phone down. She stood against the end of the breakfast table, her back to Ferris. She could smell his after-shave, feel his hands slide up on her shoulders.