L is for LAWLESS

by Sue Grafton

  Ray and Laura sat across from each other in a corner booth. I slid in beside Ray, not that eager to have his bruised and battered face in view while I was trying to eat. Laura didn’t look much better. Like me, she wore no makeup, but while bare skin is my preferred state, she’d been carefully camouflaging the blows Gilbert had systematically administered. I had to guess that most of her bruises had been inflicted some time ago because the darkest discolorations had washed out to mild greens and yellows. Ray, by contrast, was a veritable rainbow of abuse, scabbed and cut and restitched here and there. I kept my gaze pinned to the menu, which offered all the standard items: chicken-fried steak and chicken-fried chicken, hamburgers, fries, BLTs, grilled-cheese sandwiches, and “fresh” soups probably poured from big cans in the back. We ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and large, nearly fizz-free Cokes. Without carbonation, the soft drinks tasted like the syrups once used as home remedies for ladies’ maladies. The waitress had the good grace not to quiz my companions about their injuries.

  While we ate, I said to Ray, “Just out of curiosity, once you get to Louisville, how will you figure out where the money’s hidden?”

  He finished a bite of burger and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Don’t know that yet. Johnny said he’d leave word with Ma in case something happened to him, but who knows if he ever got around to it. Deal was, I’d get out of prison and come find him in California. Then the two of us would go back to Louisville and pick up the money. He wanted things ceremonial, you know, celebrate all the wait and all the hard work went into it. Any rate, as near as I can tell, wherever the money’s at, it takes a key to get to.”

  “Which I have,” I said.

  “What key?” Laura asked. This was apparently news to her, and she seemed to resent that I knew more than she did.

  Ray ignored her. “You still got it?”

  “With a little notice, I can lay hands on it,” I said.

  “Good. I don’t want you going off without passing it over.”

  “You think I’m going to help you cheat Chester out of his fair share?”

  “Hey, he’d do the same to me. He’ll probably cheat you, too.”

  “I don’t even want to get into that,” I said. “You think Johnny really did what he said?”

  “I can’t believe he’d put dough like that in limbo. He’d have a backup plan, some kind of fail-safe, in case he got hit by a car, something like that. What makes you ask? You got any ideas yourself?”

  I shook my head. “It’s just an interesting proposition. What’s your strategy?”

  “My strategy is solve that problem when I come to it,” he said.

  Once we hit the road again, Ray crawled in the back to sleep while I drove and Laura took his place in the passenger seat. The two of us watched the silver ribbon of highway curl away beneath us. The lights on the dashboard threw off a soft illumination. In deference to Ray, we kept the radio turned down and confined our conversation to an occasional remark. Ray began to snore, a sputtering exsufflation punctuated by quiet, as if someone were holding his nose shut at intervals. When it was clear that nothing short of a four-car flame-out was going to wake him, we began to chat in low tones.

  “I take it you never had a chance to spend time with him,” I said.

  Laura shrugged. “Not really. My mother used to make me write once a month. She was always big on taking care of those less fortunate than we were. I can remember looking around, wondering who the hell she could be talking about. Then she remarried and seemed to forget about Ray. Made me feel guilty at first ‘til I forgot myself. Little kids aren’t exactly famous for satisfying other people’s needs.”

  I said, “Actually, I think kids try to satisfy everyone. What other choice do they have? When you’re dependent on someone, you better hope you keep ‘em happy.”

  “Said like a true neurotic. Are your parents still alive?”

  “No. They died together in an accident when I was five.”

  “Yeah. Well, imagine if one of ‘em suddenly showed up one day. You live your life wishing you had a father. Then suddenly you have one and you realize you don’t have the vaguest idea what to do with him.” She cast an uneasy look in the backseat at Ray. If he was faking sleep, he was really good at it.

  I said, “Are you close to your mother?”

  “I was until Gilbert. She doesn’t like him much, but that’s probably because he never paid her much attention. She’s a bit of a southern belle. She likes guys who fawn.”

  “What about your stepfather? What’s the story on him?”

  “He and Gilbert are as thick as thieves. He never wanted to believe Gilbert’s hitting me was unprovoked. It’s not like he approved. He just always assumes there’s another side to it. He’s the kind who says ‘Well, that’s your story. I’m sure Gilbert would have something else to say about this.’ He prides himself on being fair, not jumping to conclusions. Like a judge, you know? He wants to hear prosecution and defense arguments before he hands down his sentence. He says he doesn’t want to be judgmental. What he really means is he doesn’t believe a word I say. Whatever Gilbert does, I deserve, you know? He probably wishes he could take a pop at me himself.”

  “What about your mother? Didn’t she object to Gilbert’s hitting you, or didn’t she know?”

  “She says whatever Paul says. It’s like an unspoken agreement. She doesn’t want to rock the boat. She doesn’t like conflicts or disagreements. All she wants is peace and quiet. She’s just so thrilled to have someone taking care of her, she doesn’t want to make waves. Paul always makes out like he’s doing her such a big favor being married to her. I think she was twenty-four when they met. I was maybe five years old. So there she was, with an ex-husband in jail and no means of support. The only job she ever had was working as a drugstore clerk. She couldn’t make enough to survive. She had to go on welfare, which she thought was the lowest of the low. Her big shame. What the hell. She needed help. It’s not like I was illegitimate, but in her eyes, it was the worst. She never wants to have to sink to that again. Besides, with Paul, she doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t want her to. He wants her to keep house and cater to his every whim. Not a bad deal.”

  “Yes, it is. It sounds grim.”

  Laura smiled. “I guess it does, doesn’t it? Anyway, when I was growing up, Paul was critical, authoritarian. He ruled the roost. He nearly broke his arm patting himself on the back for all he did for us. In his own way, he was good to her. He never gave a shit about me, but to be fair about it, I’m sure I was a pain. Probably still am, if it comes to that.” She leaned her head back against the seat. “Are you married?”

  “I was.” I held up two fingers.

  “You were married twice? Me too. Once to a guy with a ‘substance abuse’ problem,” she said, using her fingers to mark the phrase with quotes.

  “Cocaine?”

  “That and heroin. Speed, grass, stuff like that.

  The other husband was a mama’s boy. Jesus, he was weak. He got on my nerves because he was so insecure. He didn’t know how to do anything. Plus, he needed all this reassurance. Like what do I know? I’m hardly in a position to make somebody else feel good.”

  “What about Gilbert?”

  “He was great, at first. His problem is, he doesn’t trust, you know? He doesn’t know how to open up. He can really be so sweet. Sometimes when he drinks, he busts out crying like a baby. Breaks my heart.”

  “Along with your nose,” I said.

  Chapter 15

  *

  We passed through Greenville, Brashear, Saltillo, and Mt. Vernon, crossing sparsely wooded farmland on gently rolling hills. Laura fell asleep with her head against the window. Traffic was light and the road was hypnotic. Twice I jerked myself awake, having dropped into a moment of micro-sleep. To keep alert, I reviewed my intellectual Atlas of Texarkana facts, discovering in the process that the entire category contained only two bits of information. First, the Arkansas-Texas state line bisects the town of T
exarkana, so that half the population lives in Texas and half in Arkansas. And last, the town is the site of a Federal Correctional Institution, about which I knew nothing else. So much for that form of mental stimulation. On the outskirts of town, I pulled into an all-night filling station, where I stopped to stretch my legs. Ray was still dead to the world so Laura traded places with me and took the wheel. Laura pitched in five bucks and we bought exactly that much gas. It was close to ten-thirty when we crossed the state line, with approximately two hours to go until we reached Little Rock. I settled into the passenger seat, slouched on my spine, knees bent, my feet propped up on the dashboard. I crossed my arms for warmth. The remaining damp in my blazer enveloped me in a humid cloud of woolly smells. The drone of the engine combined with Ray’s staccato snores had a tranquilizing effect. The next thing I knew I was drooling on myself. I put my feet down and sat up straight, feeling groggy and disoriented. We passed a highway sign that indicated we’d left U.S. 30 and were now heading north on U.S. 40. “How far to Little Rock?”

  “We already passed Little Rock. This is Biscoe coming up.”

  “We passed Little Rock? I told you I wanted to stop,” I whispered hoarsely.

  “What was I supposed to do? You had the map and you were sound asleep. I had no idea where the airport was, and I didn’t want to drive all over hell and gone trying to find it.”

  “Why not wake me?”

  “I tried once. I said your name and got no response.”

  “Weren’t there any road signs?”

  “Not that I saw. Besides, they’re not going to have any flights out at this hour. This is the boonies. Get a clue,” she whispered back. She reverted to a normal tone, though she kept her voice down in deference to Ray. “It’s time to find a motel so we can get a couple hours’ sleep. I’m half dead. I about ran off the road more than once in the last hour.”

  I did a three-sixty scan of the terrain, spotting little in the dark beyond farms and occasional dense woods. “Take your pick,” I said.

  “There’ll be a town coming up,” she said without concern.

  Sure enough, we came to a townlet with a one-story off-road motel, its vacancy sign winking. She pulled into a small gravel parking lot and got out. She turned her back to the car and reached up under her jumper, apparently removing a wad of cash from the belly harness she wore. I gave Ray a nudge and he rose from the depths like a diver in the process of decompressing.

  I said, “Laura wants to stop. We’re both beat.”

  “Fine with me,” he said. He pulled himself into a sitting position, blinking with puzzlement. “We still in Texas?”

  “This is Arkansas. We got Little Rock behind us and Memphis coming up.”

  “I thought you were leaving us.”

  “So did I.”

  He yawned, giving his face a dry rub with his hands. He squinted at his watch, trying to see the dial in the scanty light. “What time is it?”

  “After one.”

  I could see Laura at the entrance to the motel lobby. The lights inside were dim, and the front door must have been locked because I saw her knock repeatedly, then cup her hands against the glass to peek in. Finally, some unhappy-looking soul emerged from the manager’s office. Much animated conversation, hand gestures, and peering in our direction. Laura was admitted to the office, where I saw her at the counter, filling out the registration card. My guess was her being pregnant lent her an air of vulnerability, especially at this hour. A fistful of cash probably didn’t hurt her cause. Moments later, she emerged from the office and returned to the car, dangling two room keys, which she handed to me as she got back behind the wheel. “Ray gets his own room. I can’t sleep with that racket.”

  She started the car and pulled around to the rear. Ours were the last two rooms at the far end. There was only one other car and it had Iowa plates, so I figured we were temporarily safe from Gilbert. Ray hauled one of his bags from the trunk while Laura grabbed the duffel and I took the armload of damp clothes I’d dumped. Maybe hanging them up overnight would finish the drying process and render them wearable.

  Ray paused at his door. “What time in the morning?”

  “I think we should be on the road by six. If we’re going, get on with it. No point fooling around,” Laura said. “Open your drapes when you’re up and we’ll do likewise.” She glanced at me. “Okay with you?”

  “Sure, it’s fine.”

  Ray disappeared into his room and I followed her into ours: two double beds and a drab interior complete with mustiness. If the color beige had an odor, it would smell like this. It looked like the kind of place where you wouldn’t want to jump out of bed without making a noise first. Otherwise, you might inadvertently step on one of the scuttling hard-shelled bugs. The little fellow I saw had gotten trapped in the corner, where he was patiently pawing the walls like a dog wanting out. You can’t squish those things without risking that sudden spurt of lemon pudding on the sole of your shoe. I hung my garments in the closet, after a gingerly inspection. No brown recluse spiders or furry rodents in evidence.

  The bathroom boasted brown vinyl tile, a fiberglass shower enclosure, two plastic glasses wrapped in cellophane, and two paper-wrapped soaps the size of business cards. I pulled out my traveling toothbrush and weensy tube of toothpaste and brushed my teeth in wordless ecstasy. In the absence of a nightie, I slept in my (borrowed) underwear, folding the cotton coverlet in half for warmth. Laura went into the bathroom, piously shutting the door before she removed her belly harness. I was asleep within minutes and never heard her climb into her own creaking bed.

  It was still dark when she bumped me at 5:45 a.m. “You want to shower first?” she asked.

  “You go ahead.”

  The light blasted on in the bathroom, slanting across my face briefly before she closed the door. She’d opened the drapes, admitting illumination from the lights outside in the parking lot. Through the wall, I thought I could hear the shower next door, which meant Ray was awake. In prison, he’d probably always risen at this hour. Now a shower would be a luxury, since he’d have it to himself and wouldn’t have to worry about sexual assault every time he dropped the soap. I raised up on one elbow and looked out at the auto body shop across the street. A forty-watt bulb burned above the service bay. Monday morning and where was I? I checked the printed match packet in the ashtray. Oh, yeah. Whiteley, Arkansas. I remembered the road sign outside of town claiming a population of 523. Probably an exaggeration. I felt a sudden surge of melancholy, longing for home. In the crazy days of my youth, before herpes and AIDS, I used to wake up occasionally in rooms like this one. There’s a certain horror when you can’t quite remember who’s whistling so merrily behind the bathroom door. Often, when I found out, I couldn’t help but question my taste in male companionship. It didn’t take long to see morality as the quickest way to avoid self-loathing.

  When Laura cleared the bathroom, fully dressed, the belly harness in place, I brushed my teeth, showered, and washed my hair with the diminishing sliver of soap. My blue jeans, while dry, were still suggestive of ashtrays and cold campfires, so I donned Laura’s denim dress again. Just being clean gave me an enormous lift. I retrieved my hanging garments from the closet and took them out to the car.

  The drive had been taking us on a steady line to the north. Here, the cold was more pronounced. The air felt thinner and the wind more cutting.

  Ray had pulled on a fleece-lined denim jacket, and as we got in the car, he tossed a sweatshirt to each of us. Gratefully, I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and wore my blazer over that. With the bulk of the sweatshirt, the fit was so tight I could hardly move my arms, but at least I was warm. Laura draped her sweatshirt across her shoulders like a shawl. I got in the backseat, waiting in the car while Laura dropped off the keys and Ray poured loose change into the vending machine around the corner from the office. They came back to the car with an assortment of snacks and soft drinks that Ray distributed among us. After Laura had pulled onto the hig
hway, we ate a breakfast that consisted of off-brand cola, peanuts, chocolate bars, peanut-butter crackers, and cheese snacks completely devoid of nutritional value.

  Laura put the heater on and the car was soon filled with the soapy scent of Ray’s aftershave. Aside from the battered face and splinted fingers, both of which looked vile, he was meticulous about his grooming. He seemed to have an endless supply of plain white Tshirts and chinos. For a man in his mid-sixties, he seemed to be in good physical shape. Meanwhile, both Laura and I were looking more bedraggled by the hour. In the close quarters of the rental car, I could see that her dark auburn hair had been dyed to that flaming shade. Her part was slowly growing out, a widening margin of gray. The strands bordering her face showed a rim of white like the narrow matting on a picture frame. I wondered if premature graying was a family trait.

  The sun rose from behind a mountain of early morning clouds massed on the horizon, the sky changing swiftly from apricot to butter yellow to a mild clear blue. The land around us was flat. Looking at the map, I could see this portion of the state was part of the Mississippi flood plain, all the rivers draining east and south toward the Mississippi River. Lakes and hot springs dotted the map like rain splats, the northwest corner of the state weighted down with the Boston and the Ouachita Mountains. Laura kept her foot pressed firmly to the accelerator, maintaining a steady sixty miles an hour.

  We were in Memphis at seven. I kept an eye out for a pay phone, intending to call Henry, but realized California was two hours behind. He tended to rise early, but five a.m. was really pushing it. Laura, sensing my train of thought, caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “I know you want to get home, but can’t you wait until Louisville?”