Authors: Steve Weddle
“Yeah. That’s because of the hat.”
“The toboggan?”
“Yeah. That made it a search warrant for a robbery.”
“So? Still found the pot. And didn’t find anything about the robbery.”
“Right. Because the whole thing was a setup.”
“What whole thing?”
“The robbery,” McWilliams said, leaning his head on the headrest.
“How do you mean?”
“Two guys rob the place. Then the only evidence pops up at the end of Rudd’s driveway? On a public road?”
“Whoa. No kidding. Whoever robbed the store wanted to frame Rudd.”
“Not frame Rudd. They wanted his place searched. Draw us out there so we’d find the whole damn operation.”
Caskey nodded, thought about it. “But why now? How did they know there’d be all that shit there today?”
“Who signed off on the search warrant?”
“Judge Gordon.”
“How is that different than all the other warrants?”
“Because this time we found something?”
“No.” McWilliams squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath. “Because this one didn’t go through the multijurisdictional grand jury because it was for a store robbery, not a drug search.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“So you think Judge Boggs was tipping off Rudd before? Saying here comes the search?”
“I don’t think anything. I’m just noticing some things. Some inconsistencies.”
“It has to be Boggs.”
“No, could be someone in his office.”
“I guess,” Caskey said. He whistled. “Damn. Somebody’s going to be in a world of hurt.” They pulled into the parking lot for the sheriff’s office. “Hey, what about the cigarettes? What about that?”
McWilliams thumbed the pack in his pocket. “Guess that turned out to be nothing,” he said.
• • •
On the way to Grady and Delsie’s that night, McWilliams asked Cora about her brother’s employment.
“He’s doing some odd jobs, I think. Delsie’s doing all right with the beauty shop, she told me. He’ll find something.”
“Good.”
“I know why you’re asking.”
“Just asking.”
“You think he’s going to get mixed up in all that nonsense you think he was mixed up in before.”
McWilliams didn’t say anything.
“You still think he’s some kind of criminal ring leader. You need to let that go. Dennis, he’s my brother. You think I don’t know him?”
“I was just asking.”
“All right. Fine. Look, I don’t want to go through all this again. It’s over and done with, and I don’t want you to keep bringing it up.”
“I wasn’t. Just asking about the job search.”
“Well, don’t mention anything about it tonight. You can say something about the beauty shop. That would be nice. But don’t say anything about Grady not finding work. He’s touchy about that. You men always are.”
“All right.”
“Let’s not fight. I don’t want to fight about this. Let’s just have a nice, quiet evening with no trouble. You turn off your radio and your cell?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Oh, right. You men and your jobs.”
McWilliams didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, putting her hand on his leg. “But he’s my brother. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know,” McWilliams said, holding her hand.
When they pulled up at the house, he asked Cora to go on in and send Grady out. Wanted to show him a problem with the truck’s engine.
“Howdy, deputy,” Grady said as he walked down the steps to McWilliams. “Cora said you’re having some engine trouble. What’s the problem?”
“Oh, it’s probably nothing,” he said, closing the hood of his truck. “You hear about all the commotion up at Rudd’s farm today? Big day.”
“Commotion?” Grady rubbed his chin, looked away to nothing. “No, can’t say as I did. They have a fire?”
Hank Dalton was dragging his index finger down the morning’s sports page. This was after supper on a Tuesday, box scores had been reprinted from Monday’s paper. So he was scrolling through Sunday’s games, recreating what he could. A couple of days behind, which was just fine. No rush.
The kid from Magnolia, the Womacks’ boy, had gotten into the game against the Padres. Pinch-hitting for the pitcher. One at-bat. Nothing to show for it. Padres over the Marlins. “Hope he went down swinging.”
“What’s that?” Ruby asked from across the den, looking up from her crossword.
“Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just mumbling to myself.”
She moved an afghan, patted the couch. Took off her drugstore reading glasses. Set them on the side table. “Well, come mumble a little to me.”
When he got up to move closer, he heard the gravel pop on the edge of the road in front of their house. A car going slowly along.
He walked to the front windows, spread the curtains. The sun was dropping to the tree line in the field across the way, the slowing car in darkness, then light. Shadows inside.
“Who’s out there?” she asked. “We got company?”
“No. Just looks like someone’s having a bad day.”
“Well, I hope it isn’t company,” she said. “We could use a little quiet around here.”
He nodded. Took a breath. “I’ll see what the trouble is, if they need something,” Hank said, letting the screen door close behind him as he stood on the front steps.
“Just be careful,” Ruby called after him.
But he wasn’t paying attention to his wife just then. His full attention was devoted to the man now
back, like set the standing next to him, the man with the pistol pressing under Hank’s jaw, the man in the ski mask, pressing his mouth against Hank’s ear and saying “motherfucker” this and “motherfucker” that.
Hank should have known to be careful.
About two weeks before, sixteen days to be exact, he and Ruby had walked through their side door to find their house had been robbed. The night had been perfect until then. They’d gotten the good news from Ruby’s oncologist and called a few people to celebrate. By the time they got from the clinic in Texarkana to Wiley’s on the Bayou, three dozen people had joined in the full-remission party. Bernice had to set aside the meeting room for them, bumping the Rotary meeting to a few tables by the kitchen. No one complained. In fact, the Rotarians came along, too, all so pleased as hell Hank’s wife was going to be all right. No, you never know, but this is great news. The Good Lord is looking after ya, Hank. Luck’s coming around, yes, sir. She’s the strongest woman I ever did see. Everyone shaking hands, hugging. Most of them wondering the same thing.
Someone must have called Chet
.
Wouldn’t Hank and Ruby have called? Your mother gets this kind of news, doesn’t the family call? Were we supposed to call?
Hell, you know how Chet is. He’s probably too doped up to move
.
Don’t say that. Don’t you talk like that tonight. Of all nights. Don’t you talk like that about their son
.
I’m not saying anything you weren’t thinking
.
Well, just don’t say it. Not tonight
.
All right
.
A couple of the men, after enough congratulatory time had passed, came over to talk to Hank. Away from the women.
“Great news, Hank.”
“Great news.”
“Yeah,” Hank said. “Not out of the woods, yet, I don’t guess. Never are, really.”
“My wife’s brother had cancer off and on for ten years,” Eddie Pribble said. “Went to chemo. Radiation. Went to the little Chinese fellow over in El Dorado. Stuck needles all up and down his back. In his arm. Did everything they could think of. Took ’em damn near a decade, but they got his ass cancer free.”
“What kind of cancer did he have?” one of the men asked.
“Like I said, butthole cancer.”
The men groaned, looked somewhere else.
“He wasn’t gay or nothing like that,” Pribble said. “Just caught it in the a-hole, somehow.”
They all said “damn” and shook their heads. You just never know.
“He doing all right now?” Hank asked.
“Naw. Lost his job. All the medical bills. Sick days. Took a shotgun to his head last Easter. Blew his jaw into a hundred pieces, clear across the kitchen. Earlene and the girl moved to Vicksburg. She works at that big Chinese buffet off the interstate. Nice place.”
The smell of fried fish was dying off. Squeaks and chirps coming in off the water. Catfish, frogs, something flopping here and there on the water.
“Damned shame. I think I remember something about that last year,” somebody said.
“Yeah,” Pribble said. “It was in the paper.”
On the way home, Hank and Ruby held hands, awkwardly, across the emergency brake between them. But neither one let go until they pulled up the drive. He pulled her hand to his, gave hers a kiss, then put the Jeep in park, took the keys out, walked across the carport to the side door, and saw through the window the mess inside.
She walked in, said “sweet Jesus” the way you might start a prayer. Then they walked through the house, seeing what was missing. Neither of them gave any thought to whether someone else was still in the house. They called the sheriff’s office and started making a list of what was missing. Then they sat at the kitchen table, drank coffee, waited.
“So that’s it?” Deputy Lacewell asked. “They came right for the safe?”
“Far as we can tell,” Hank said, standing in the bedroom with the deputy. “Made a mess of the place, but didn’t take anything else. Pistol and some money from the safe.”
“How much money you say it was?”
“Didn’t say.”
“Well,” Lacewell said, moving his tongue around the back of his teeth. “How much was it?”
“You need me to say?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I mean, what’s the point. It’s cash. It’s gone. Not like I had the serial numbers written down. Can’t you just put ‘Stolen: Cash’?”
“Was it a lot of cash?” Lacewell asked.
“Enough to take, I reckon.”
“Hank, I get the feeling you’re not being completely forthright with me.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”
“Well?” Lacewell waited.
“What if I told you it was twenty-two thousand dollars?”
“Jesus H. Christ, Hank,” he said, catching Ruby’s attention from the living room. “Sorry, ma’am.” He nodded her way. He lowered his voice. “Shit, Hank, that’s a fucking shitload of money. What you got that much cash for? Holy Christ.”
“I’m just saying, what if I told you that’s how much?”
The deputy shook his head. “I’d tell you that’s a lot of damn money to have lying around the house and I’d ask you why the hell you had that kind of cash.”
“What if I said I’m not a fan of banks?”
“I’d want to know why you had that kind of cash. Jesus, Hank. This is starting to sound a little questionable, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I mean, that’s something you’d have to put in the report, the amount of cash.”
“Yeah, I’d sure as hell think so,” Lacewell said.
Deputy Dennis McWilliams had come over from talking to Ruby. He’d talked to her about the doctor’s visit, heard the good news. Said they were all praying for her. In the bedroom, he asked Lacewellq"> hadck what was going on.
Once he was caught up, he looked at Hank. Then he scratched the back of his neck. “So you had two thousand dollars?”
“Is that what I had?” Hank asked him, then looked to Lacewell.
“I’m not sure that’s what he said.”
McWilliams turned to Lacewell. “Mike, how about you make sure Mrs. Dalton’s all right, okay? Been a long day for her. Maybe she’d like a glass of water.” He took Lacewell’s notebook, pulled the last page out, slid it into his pocket, and handed the notebook back.
When Dalton and McWilliams were alone, the deputy said, “My dad wasn’t a fan of banks, either.”
“That right?”
“Said he didn’t need the feds breathing down his neck about how much money he made and how much he had to pay in taxes, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess he figured the shoebox under his mattress was his Cayman Islands account.”
“That sounds like a smart man.”
McWilliams nodded. “It was good money. He was just kinda particular about who got a piece of it.”
Hank nodded. “Smart man, indeed.”
“And the combination to the lock?”
“Yeah?” Hank asked. “What do you mean?”
“Anniversary? Phone number? Your kids’ birthdays?” McWilliams asked, wincing after he said it.
Hank nodded. “Birthdays and mine and Ruby’s anniversary.”
“When’s the last time you changed it?”
“When the guy put it in.”
McWilliams looked around the bed. “Still a little peculiar they just came straight for the cash.”
“And the pistol.”
“Yeah.” McWilliams looked at the registration Hank had handed him. “A .32, huh?”
“A Colt, right.”
“No other guns in the house.”
“No,” Hank said. Not since their firstborn, Billy, had died in that hunting accident over around Lewisville six years ago. The sort of day you play through with “what ifs” for the rest of your life. No. A pistol to keep the house safe was all. No rifles. No one was doing any hunting anymore.
“And they didn’t take anything else?”
“Not much for them to take, don’t reckon.”
“TV? Computer? Jewelry?”
“Old. No. And cheap. Ruby has a diamond necklace, but it’s her good luck charm. She was wearing it today. Probably still is.”
“All right.” McWilliams held the registration between his fingers. “Might want to see about getting another pistol.”
Hank nodded, but never got around to getting one. Not that it would have helped him sixteen days later when the man on his steps was holding a pistol on him.
The man with Hank waited as his partner pulled the car next to the carport, got out of the car, pulled a shotgun from the backq"> hadck seat. The man with the shotgun said, “Get inside.”
Hank came through the door first, and Ruby asked what was going on. Then she saw the two men behind him. She had taken her slippers off while he was outside, was scrolling through the channels to find something to watch.
“Get your asses down on the ground,” the man with the shotgun said.
Hank went to one knee, all creaks and pops. He looked over at Ruby, thinking to reassure her. Ruby didn’t move.