Ava fell into the sofa to sit low, her head bent against the backrest, her legs apart in the shorts. She turned her head against the cushion to look at Raylan. "Jealous?"
For a moment there, listening to her on the phone, the flirty way she used her voice, he did get a feeling he didn't like. In his head and out again, but it was there.
She said, "Hey, I'm just teasing you. I know you have a life. You must, a cool guy like you? No, I just thought, you're here, why don't we party? I can still do those old Wildcat cheers I know you liked to watch. I still have all the cute moves. Get your motor turned on. You want, Raylan, you can spend the night. How's that sound?"
VIII.
Six a.m. they brought Boyd Crowder down to the courthouse under guard, Art Mullen not trusting the man to walk in on his own. Raylan believed he would. Last night when he called Art, he said the idea of walking in past a gathering of law enforcement people would appeal to Boyd, the man confident he'd walk out again, after.
Raylan made the call from Ava's house after telling her he wouldn't be able to stay the night. She said if he had to get up real early she could set the alarm, it wouldn't bother her none. She said she knew he wanted to. He said well sure he did— and it was true, he was tempted—but, see, an officer of the law wasn't supposed to go to bed with the defendant in a murder investigation. Ava said oh, she didn't know that. She said well, couldn't they like just fool around? It was hard to get out of there but he did.
Now he stood in the main corridor of the courthouse. Art Mullen motioned to him and Raylan went over to where Art was standing by an office door, the top part glass. He looked in to see Israel Fandi sitting alone in his dashiki, all different shades of brown with some orange.
"Izzy was telling us," Art said, "how his family from Ethiopia goes back seven hundred years. I said I didn't think Mobile, Alabama, was that old. That's where he's from originally. We turn the lights out in there and line up Boyd out here in the hall. We thought at first with some miners. But you know what Boyd looks like?"
"A cop," Raylan said. "I see his buddy's here, the one they call Devil? And a skinhead from Florida with dyed hair."
"I saw them."
"You let 'em hang around?"
"They raise a ruckus, we can bust 'em."
It wasn't long after, Devil himself strolled up, Dewey Crowe trailing him. Devil said, "What time's the show?" As he looked in the office Art stepped in front of Devil and shoved him aside, Devil saying, "Hey, come on, me and Iz are buds." Art told him to keep away from the door and Devil said, "He never saw Boyd up there in Cincy. Even if he says he did to please you, you know he didn't. But why would he? Iz's going down anyway for the weed."
They brought Boyd along the corridor and stood him in line with three marshals and two ATF agents and turned out the light in the office. It was off a good ten minutes, the lineup standing in place, before it came on again. Raylan noticed Boyd was the only one didn't move or fidget during that time. Now Art came out with the Bureau people who'd been in there with Israel and told Boyd he could go. Boyd saw Raylan and came over.
"I'm gonna sit down with my lawyer when I leave here. They went through my house saying they had probable cause to look for guns. They tore up my posters and threw 'em in the trash barrel with my gook ears, burned up my private property."
"It wasn't yours," Raylan said. "The house belongs to the Marshals Service. You can understand they don't like all that Nazi shit hanging on their walls."
"It's some govermint can take a man's house from him," Boyd said. He looked up the corridor to where Devil and Dewey Crowe were waiting for him, then back to Raylan.
"Last night this marshal's telling me how one time you gave this fella twenty-four hours to get out of town or you'd shoot him on sight. Is that true?"
"Was a gangster I saw shoot an unarmed man," Raylan said. "I didn't feel he deserved any special favors. I gave him the option and he turned it down."
"Well, all the trouble you're causing me," Boyd said, "I thought I'd make you the same offer. Get out of Harlan County by tomorrow noon or I'll come looking for you. That sound fair?"
Raylan said to him, "Now you're talking."
When he told Art Mullen Boyd had set this deadline, Art said, "It's become something personal?" frowning, at first not liking the sound of it.
"That's what it looks like," Raylan said, "since Boyd and I go back, but it isn't. You're the one gave him the idea while you're busting up his house last night."
"Our house," Art said.
They were having their noon dinner of steak and eggs at the Western Sizzlin Steak place out on the 421 bypass.
"I see you and him both cut from the same stock, born a hundred years past your time."
Art had said it once before and it reminded Raylan of a woman named Joyce saying pretty much the same thing but in different words. He was seeing her at the time he shot the gangster in Miami Beach, and Joyce had trouble accepting the fact he had deliberately shot and killed a man. She told him he had an image of himself as a lawman, meaning an Old West lawman but without the big mustache, and he believed it might be true in some deep part of his mind. Another time Joyce said, "The way you put it, you said you called him out. What did you think, you were in a movie?" Her saying it caught him by surprise, because at times he did see it that way, as something he had borrowed from a western movie. He liked westerns a lot.
By the time they were into their flame-kist steak and eggs, both dipping toast into the yolks, Art had come to appreciate Raylan's situation.
"We're like big-game hunters, you know it? Only you're the bait, like a goat tethered to a post. All we have to do is keep you in sight." Art took time to chew up a bite of steak. "What'd he say exactly, he's coming for you or we're coming?"
"He said he was."
"But we don't know if he wants to shoot you or blow you up, do we?"
Raylan, mopping up his plate, didn't comment, letting Art have his fun.
"Or, Boyd might jump the gun," Art said, "do it ahead of time, when you aren't looking. I was you I'd check under the car before you turn the key."
He said later on when they were having their pie, "I knew bringing you here was a good idea."
IX.
Boyd didn't hate Raylan any more'n he'd hated those dead gooks without ears. Taking Raylan out was like a military objective, better to look at with a clear head than get emotional about it. Up at Sukey Ridge he told the skinheads gathered for the raid into Virginia he was putting it on hold, there was a matter he had to settle first. The skins gave him their shrugs and popped open beers.
He had already put the two locals, the Pork brothers, up on that hill that was behind the Mount-Aire Motel, where Raylan and the rest of the feds were staying. The brothers had Russian binoculars, deer rifles, an AK-47 and a cell phone and were told to stay in the trees and watch for Raylan Givens. Call and report whenever his Town Car came or went, a big shiny Lincoln losing its shine. One of the Pork brothers said, "What if we get a clear shot at him?"
Boyd wasn't sure they could hit the motel from beyond two hundred yards, but it gave him an idea. How to set Raylan up and get him off by himself. He told the Pork brothers to sit tight, he'd let them know.
He told Devil Ellis and the skin who wore the alligator teeth, Dewey, he was thinking of taking his shot that night. It was Devil said, "I thought you were giving him twenty-four hours."
Boyd said what that actually meant was the next time you saw the person, not the next day to the hour. Hell, the guy would be dug in waiting on you. He said, "I know Raylan ain't leaving, so I may as well hit him when it suits me." He told them he had considered waiting across the road from the motel with an RPG and when the Town Car pulled in blow it to hell. "But there's no cover over there to speak of, the mall close by," Boyd said, "and I'd as soon plug him face-to-face anyway."
Both Devil and Dewey said they wanted to be there when he did, and Boyd surprised them saying they would, as they were gonna be his backup. They act
ed tickled to death till he said, "You know Raylan will have his own people," and could tell they hadn't thought of that. But then he said, "How'd we keep the law busy when we robbed those banks?" It got their heads nodding, both of 'em grinning, showing they still wanted to be along. "I've thought of a way to keep the feds out of the picture," Boyd said, "if we can get the timing down. The idea, separate Mr. Givens from his pack of suits and get him off by hisself."
Oh boy, they liked the sound of that, asking how they'd do it, blow up a car? Boyd said, "I got another plan. What I want you fellas to do is locate Raylan and let me know where he's at, from now on."
Late afternoon, Raylan came out of Art Mullen's office in the courthouse to see Ava coming along the corridor in a beige outfit, skirt and sweater, pearls, Ava getting better-looking by the day, her expression becoming a big smile as she came up to him.
"My lawyer's still talking to the prosecutor, but it's looking good. Come on with me while I have a smoke."
She took him outside, saw the benches on Central Street occupied—"Geezers're always sitting there," Ava said—and they went over to the bench in front of the Coal Miners Memorial: six columns of dead miners close to ten feet high, Raylan's dad's name among them. He found it as Ava, smoking her cigarette, told him she was pretty sure she'd get off with no more'n probation. "I plead to some kind of manslaughter and I won't have to go to prison. Hey, why don't you come by for supper? I'll fix you something nice."
Raylan said, "Baked possum?"
"I only cooked that for Bowman. I got mad at him one time and put roach powder in it? He goes, 'Honey, this is the best possum I ever et.' Didn't even get sick. I'll pick up a couple of nice fryers and fix you some hot biscuits and gravy." She grinned at him. "Look at you licking your lips."
Raylan said all his life fried chicken was his favorite, but he had to hang around, didn't know when he'd be off.
Ava said, "I'm fixing it anyway." She looked him in the eye saying, "You're a big boy, Raylan. You want to come, there's nothing on earth gonna stop you."
Devil had his hair cut and beard trimmed at the Cumberland Barber Shop, across the side street from the courthouse. He put on his hat and got in Dewey's junk Cadillac, parked in front of the shop. Dewey said, "You missed it. He come out with Ava, they talked and he went back in again. You said you thought that red Dodge over on Central was Bowman's? It was. Ava got in it and drove away."
Devil said, "Wasn't for Boyd I'd have me some of Ava."
Dewey said, "Wasn't for Boyd me and you could have us the marshal. Say we took him out, what would Boyd do, kick and scream? He does that anyways."
Devil said, "You got the nerve to shoot a marshal?"
Dewey said, "I got the nerve and a reason to."
They were silent, thinking about it, till Devil said, "That barber didn't say one goddamn word to me the whole time he's cutting my hair."
Ten of six they watched Raylan come out of the courthouse with four other suits and go to their cars parked on Central.
Dewey said, "We get out on the highway—you're driving 'cause it's my idea—I reach in back for the twelve-gauge and blow him away. What's wrong with that?"
Devil said there wasn't nothing wrong with it.
Except once they got to 421 two other marshal cars were on Raylan's tail all the way to the Mount-Aire Motel. Devil called Boyd to tell him Raylan was back in his room.
"Roger that," Boyd said, and told Devil,
"Okay, he should be leaving again pretty soon. I got a way to bring him to me I think'll work. He leaves, you stay on him."
Devil's voice said, "Where you at?" sounding surprised.
"Down the road from Ava's. You stay on him, hear?"
Boyd sat in his Jeep Cherokee by the jesus saves sign, the road here like a tunnel through the trees, dark as night. He called the Pork brothers on the hill behind the motel and told them to get ready. "You saw him come back?... Okay, you see his car pull out again, you let it go. understand? But then any other cars pull out to follow him? You open up on 'em. Pour it on, as many rounds as you can squeeze off."
The Pork brother on the phone said it was near dark, how would they see the cars? Boyd said, "Jesus Christ, they put their lights on, don't they? Aim back of the headlights."
Boyd believed the suits would spot 'em and swarm up there with sheriff's deputies and state police and shoot those two fat boys down, but didn't see losing them would handicap him any. It was the reason the Pork brothers were up there.
He drove through the tunnel of trees to a semidry creekbed he turned into and stopped about fifty yards in to leave the Jeep. It was a place he'd used to slip up on the house, make sure Bowman wasn't home. It was close by. Boyd moved through the pines toward a light shining in the front room, meaning she was home. He rapped on the door. It opened, and he saw right away Ava was expecting company.
X.
She had on her party dress, the shiny green low-cut one with the straight skirt she'd worn to Bowman's funeral. Seeing Boyd instead of Raylan gave her a start and all she could say was, "Well, hi," disappointed. There was nothing to hide, so she told Boyd she'd invited Raylan for a home-cooked supper but didn't know if he'd make it or not.
Boyd came in sniffing, saying, "Mmmmmm, fried chicken." Saying, "Why don't you call Raylan and remind him? Go on, he's at the Mount-Aire." And gave her the phone number.
Well, then she became suspicious. Why would Boyd know that? "You've talked to him?"
"Honey, me and Raylan are old buddies. I thought you knew that?"
She hesitated because it sounded fishy.
"Go on, give him a call. But don't say I'm here."
"Why not?"
"I'm not staying," Boyd said, "so why mention it. I can see you want to flirt with him some."
"We was neighbors," Ava said, "that's all."
"I know, and you want to talk about old times and so on. Go on, call him."
Raylan picked up the phone to hear Ava asking if he could smell the chicken frying. "It'll be done by the time you get here." Raylan, sitting on the side of his bed, took a few moments before telling Ava he was on his way.
He went next door to Art Mullen's room to let him know he was going. Art said, "You don't see it as Boyd using her?"
"I would," Raylan said, "except she asked me this afternoon, at the courthouse."
"She could've been setting you up then," Art said. "I think we'll tag along."
Raylan didn't argue. He drew Art a quick map showing how to get to Ava's and left.
Dewey saw headlights pop on, the Town Car out from the motel, and hit Devil's arm, Devil still behind the wheel, Devil adjusting his hat as he turned the key and the starter groaned without catching. "You're gonna flood it," Dewey said. "Pump the gas pedal twice and try it." It worked, the engine roaring to life, and they took off east after the Town Car, Dewey saying, "Now catch the son of a bitch, will you?" He reached over his seat for the shotgun and saw out the rear window another car pulling away from the motel and heard gunfire, an automatic weapon, and saw sparks jumping off the road behind the car, the car swerving, u-turning back to the motel with its headlights off. Now a rifle was firing along with the bursts from the AK, Devil hunched over the wheel saying, "Jesus Christ," and Dewey saying, "It's the fat boys, up on the yan side of the motel, holding 'em down. Come on, man, put your foot in it."
Raylan saw the headlights trailing him. He came to the diversion tunnels, drilled through the mountain to run off floodwater, made his turn south and slowed down to watch. Now the headlights behind him made the turn and Raylan took off, holding the car in deep ruts all the way to the jesus saves sign, where he made his turn into the deep tunnel of trees, the dirt road here not much wider than the car.
They saw they weren't going to catch him, no way. They'd drive on up to Ava's and do what Boyd said, back him while he made his play. Dewey said he hoped they'd get there before Boyd shot him. Man, that was something he wanted to see.
Devil, his eyes stuck on the narrow
road, said, "Christ Almighty . . ." The Cadillac headlights coming onto the rear end of the Town Car sitting in the road, its lights off, the Cadillac creeping now, Devil taking his time, saying, "The hell's he doing?" as they came to a stop about twenty feet short of that black rear deck shining in their headlights.
Dewey said, "He must be sneaking up on the house."
Devil looked toward Dewey and said, "No, he ain't," because there was Raylan standing at Dewey's side of the car, resting his hands now on the sill right next to Dewey. They had to say something to him, Devil wanting to know what the hell he thought he was doing, Dewey asking why he was blocking the fuckin' road.
Fire in the Hole Page 4