The Devil’s Share (6 page)

“I want your blessing, you know that. I'm all alone out there. I need to know you're on my side, even when we're apart. I need that.”

She felt the distance growing between them. Shut up, she told herself. Don't ruin the little time you have. She moved to touch his hand again, stopped herself.

He watched her for a moment, his face softening. He leaned forward again.

“I'm always on your side, Red. But like I said, I worry. I just wish you'd come talked to me first, before you signed on.”

“There wasn't time. And like I said, it's just me out there now. I need to make my own decisions.”

“I know.”

“Someday I'll get you out of here, get us set up someplace. Together. And that's going to take money. A lot of it.”

“Better off spending it on yourself, starting a new life.”

“I am.”

“One without me.”

“I didn't come all the way here to listen to this.”

“I'm serious.”

“I know. But I'm not ready to start thinking like that yet.”

“You will be before long. And sooner's better than later.”

She felt a stinging in her eyes, chewed her lip. Trying to find the words.

“You know I'm right,” he said.

“You don't know how tough this is for me.”

“I do. And you shouldn't have to live like that.”

“I feel…” But the words were gone. She looked away, then back at him, feeling the wetness in her eyes. “It's like I've got a big empty space here.” She touched her chest. “I have a lot to give, and no one to give it to. I need you. None of this makes any sense without you.”

He sat back, met her eyes. “Way I look at it, you deserve better.”

“You sound like you've giving up hope. I haven't. Not yet. Not ever.”

The female guard was watching them. Don't cry, she told herself. Not in here. Don't let these bastards see it.

“If you're trying to cut me loose,” she said, “just say it.”

“I'm just thinking about what's best for both of us.”

“So am I.”

“Someday, you know, you're going to have to make a choice.”

“Four minutes,” the guard said.

Crissa inhaled, let it out slow, centering herself. They'd have to leave it this way for now. Again.

“How are you on money?” she said. “I can put more into your account.”

He shook his head. “Plenty in there still. I don't buy much, and there's not much I need. Things are simpler in here, one good thing about it. Keeps your priorities straight.”

“Two minutes,” the guard said.

“I need to get on the road,” Crissa said. “I've got a flight out of San Antone tonight.”

“You headed home?”

“Not yet. I have to make a couple stops. People I need to see.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Maybe.”

“Time,” the guard said.

Crissa rose. He looked up at her, then stood.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “But I wish…”

She put her arms around him, pulled him close, felt his warmth. He stiffened, tried to draw back, but she held him tighter. He relaxed then, didn't fight it, put his arms around her waist, held her.

“Boudreaux,” the male guard said. “Door!”

She felt him start to pull away, gave him a final squeeze, let him go.

He put a hand to her face, thumbed a tear from her eye. “Take care of yourself, Red.”

“I love you.”

He looked into her eyes, winked, then he was turning away, the guard watching him.

He crossed the room, stood at attention at the closed security door. She looked at his back until the door buzzed open and the guard on the other side waved him through.

He turned at the last minute. His lips formed a kiss, then that smile crossed his face again, and he was gone. The door closed behind him with a solid thump, a snap as the lock engaged.

She stood that way for a moment, looking at the closed door. Then she put on her sunglasses, walked back out into the heat of the day.

 

SIX

There were lights on in the camper, so Hicks went around it as quietly as he could, walked up the tree-lined driveway in the dark. Winged seedpods crunched under his feet. The camper's hood and windshield were covered with them. It hadn't gone anywhere in a while, if it even ran anymore. A heavy-duty extension cord stretched from a back window, across the lawn to an external outlet on the side of the house. He stepped over it.

Sharon would be waiting for him. He'd called as soon as he'd gotten into Sacramento, hoping that no one answered, that she wouldn't be there. When he'd heard her voice, he had to stop himself from hanging up, turning around and going back to L.A.

He went around to the bare backyard, where a floodlight was mounted over the doorless, half-screened porch. Stiff from the ride, he rotated his neck to get out the kinks, then went up the porch steps, knocked on the kitchen door. Inside, a small dog began to bark.

He looked around. Planks were cracked and missing in the porch floor; what screening there was had rips in half a dozen places. All the money Greggs had brought in back then, and he'd spent none of it here.

He heard her talking to the dog, trying to calm it. Then the door opened and she was smiling at the sight of him.

“How you doing, Sharon?”

The dog, some sort of poodle mix, ran past her and out onto the porch. It circled his legs, barking, snapping its jaws.

“Down, Snowflake,” she said. “Down, girl. It's all right.”

“You got a killer there.”

“Snowflake wouldn't hurt anyone. She just likes to kick up a fuss. Come on in.”

He followed her into the kitchen. She closed the door behind them, leaving the dog on the porch. It scratched at the door, barked.

“She'll calm down after a couple minutes. Then I'll let her back in. Sorry about that.”

“That's okay. Sorry I got here so late.”

The kitchen was old but clean. Peeling linoleum on the floor, an old refrigerator and gas stove. She was barefoot, wore a bathrobe over jeans and a T-shirt, was thinner than he'd last seen her. Her hair was washed-out brown, tied in back. She looked tired.

“I didn't hear you drive up,” she said.

“I parked down the block. I didn't want Arlen to know I was here. Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Let me get you something to drink, then. Tea? A beer? I think there's some left in here.”

“I can't stay long. I just want to talk to Arlen, then I have to get on the road. I'm headed back to L.A. tonight.”

“Let's sit, then, at least.” The table was Formica and aluminum tubing, at least thirty years old. He waited for her to sit, then drew out a chair for himself. She pushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes.

“I told him you were on your way,” she said. “Maybe he'll listen to you. I've given up.”

“He stay out there all the time?”

“Hasn't been in the house in weeks. I bring him his food out there, groceries when he needs them. Beer mostly. I asked him to go back to that VA doctor, but that just sets him off. God knows what he does out there all day.”

“He ever talk to you about what's going on, what he's thinking?”

“He says he feels safer out there. It's a smaller space, he can ‘control the perimeter' better, whatever that means. I don't know what to say when he starts talking like that. I just get upset.”

“Anyone else ever come by, talk to him?”

“No. The home health aide visited once, but he wouldn't let her in. He doesn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone. I wish there was something I could do.”

“There isn't,” he said. “Not at this point. You've been taking good care of him, as far as he'll let you. That's all you can do.”

“Maybe. But it just isn't right, living like this. What kind of a marriage is this?”

“I'm sorry. It must be rough on you.”

She got up. “I think I'm going to have some of that tea. Sure you don't want any?”

“I'm good,” he said. The dog had stopped barking.

She went to the stove, filled a kettle with water and set it on the burner, got the flame going beneath it.

“How many years have you known him, Randy?”

“Long time.”

“Longer than we've been married.”

“I expect so.”

“Was he ever like this before?”

“No, but this isn't the first time I've seen this kind of thing. Guys coming back from active duty, guys who saw combat. They like small spaces, quiet, environments they can control. It's not that unusual.”

“Not unusual? We're supposed to be husband and wife, and he lives in a camper parked in the driveway. I'm surprised code enforcement hasn't been out here yet.”

She got a mug down from the shelf, a tea bag from a ceramic canister on the counter.

“He's up until all hours of the night,” she said. “I see the lights on, hear the TV going. He sleeps mostly in the daytime. Maybe he feels safer then.”

“He ever seem … I'm not sure how to put this.”

“What?” she said.

“Like he'd hurt himself? Do something like that?”

She set a hip against the counter. “I don't think so. I mean, who knows for sure? But he never talks about it, if that's what you mean. He's never threatened it.”

“That's good.”

The kettle began to whistle. She turned off the flame, poured water into the mug, watched the steam rising up. “I don't know what to do. I really don't.”

“I'll talk to him,” he said. “But I don't know that it'll do any good.”

“You're his oldest friend, Randy. You two went through a lot together. If he'll listen to anybody, it'd be you.”

She spooned sugar into the tea, stirred it, sat back down.

“He say anything to you about what's bothering him?” he said. “I mean lately?”

She blew on the tea, shook her head. “Nothing new. It just seems like he's mad at the world. It's the ‘effing' this and the ‘effing' that. The VA and the politicians and the NSA. And something about drones that doesn't make any sense at all. It's always the same.”

He crossed his legs, adjusted his right boot, looked down the short hallway into the living room. It was dark there except for the light of a TV.

“Anybody else here?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Anybody. Is there anyone else that's been around here, knows what's going on?” He tilted his head toward the driveway.

“No. He won't see anybody, won't talk to anybody. His sister called once, from North Carolina, but he wouldn't talk to her. Not that I blame him. She has her own problems.”

He exhaled, looked around, heard a clock ticking somewhere, voices from the television.

“Well,” he said. “I guess there's no sense putting it off.”

“He has a cell phone out there. When I need to, I call him from the house phone. You want me to do that?”

“No.” He stood. “Don't bother. I have the number. I'll call him when I'm outside.”

“He might not say it, but he'll be happy to see you, I bet. He always talks about you.”

“What does he say?”

“Just what a great marine you were. That you saved his life in Fallujah. He's always telling that story. Is it true?”

“Some of it. But he exaggerates. We were all in the same boat over there. Just doing our jobs.”

“Sometimes it seems like you're the only person in the world he isn't mad at.”

“We'll see about that, I guess.” He started for the door.

She touched his arm. “Will you come back after you talk to him? Tell me what he said?”

“I will.”

He opened the door and the dog rushed in, began to bark at his heels again. Sharon called “Snowflake!” and he eased the dog aside with the edge of his boot, stepped out onto the porch, shut the door. Moths swirled in the floodlight.

As he started down the driveway, he took out his cell, dialed Greggs's number. He answered at the first ring, said, “Where the fuck are you?”

“In your driveway, jagoff. Where do you think?”

“I knew someone was out there. I could hear that goddamn dog.”

“You gonna leave me standing around out here, or invite me in?”

“Came all this way, I guess I can give you a minute. It's open.”

He went up the frame steps, knocked on the door, stood to the side as a precaution.

“I said it's open.”

Inside, the air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and sweat. Greggs sat on an orange daybed, crutches leaning against the wall beside him. He held a .45 automatic in his right hand, pointed at Hicks's chest. The hammer was back.

Hicks raised his hands. “Careful with that.”

“Where's your car? I didn't hear it.”

“It's down the street.”

“Why?”

“I didn't want to disturb Sharon, in case she was sleeping. If she was, I would have turned around, come back tomorrow.”

“That your story?”

“It is.”

Empty Olympia cans on every flat surface, cigarette butts on the floor. Greggs's prosthetic leg, all gleaming metal and white plastic, was on the table in the breakfast nook, a Nike sneaker on the foot piece. Greggs wore a stained white T-shirt and knee-length camouflage cargo shorts, the left leg loose and empty. On his right foot was the other Nike. He was unshaven, his hair long and dirty.

“Make me nervous,” Greggs said. “Sneaking up like that.”

“Wasn't any sneaking involved.”

“Anyone else out there with you? Durell maybe? Sandy?”

Hicks shook his head. “Durell's still over there. And I haven't seen Sandy in months.”

“Close the door.”

Hicks lowered his hands, pulled the door shut behind him.

“Now step over here.”