Back aboard the Flush I was in time for lunch only because Chook had delayed it until there was an improved chance of Arthur keeping it down. He was wane and humble, reeking of guilt, his eyes sliding away from any direct glance.
“All these empty boats around us,” he said. “I don’t know. I kept hearing things. A little creak or a thump, after it got dark. Each time I knew he was sneaking aboard. And I knew what he has to do, Trav. He has to get rid of everybody who can link him with Wilma. And I saw her there. I went back and forth in the lounge in the dark, with the loaded gun, and I’d peer out the windows and see things, see some shadow duck across an open space over there, coming closer. I felt I could empty the gun right into him and he’d come right on at me, laughing. He certainly found out the name and description of this boat, and I just knew he’d hunted until he’d found it. Then I thought a drink would give me some confidence. And one didn’t. But the second one worked so good, I thought three would be even better. Hell, I can’t even remember what I did with the gun. We hunted all over. Chook found it. In a corner up against a locker. I must have dropped it and kicked it. I’m a lot of help to everybody.”
Chook stepped from the galley to the dining booth and glowered down at him. She wore pale blue stretch pants that rode low on her hips, and a red bikini top so narrow that only a perfect adjustment, which she attained but seldom, kept the umber nipple areas entirely covered. Halfleaning over the booth in that cramped area, in the glow of sun off the water shining through the ports, it seemed an almost overpowering amount of bare girl.
“Why don’t you go sit in the garden and eat worms, lover?” she demanded. “Your self-pity rends my girlish heart. You got drunk, a condition so rare you can find it only in medical books. God’s sake, Arthur!”
“I got terrified.”
“That man beat you within an inch of your life, with Wilma watching it and enjoying it, and if that railing hadn’t broken, maybe he would have killed you. Do you think a thing like that shouldn’t leave a mark?” She hissed with exasperation. “Since when is it a sin to be scared? Am I going to move out of your bed because you can get frightened? Are people going to spit on you on the street? Drop this boy scout bit. Every day in every way, nine out of ten people in this big fat world are scared pissless. You have some obligation to be different? Even the mighty McGee isn’t immune, believe me. God’s sake, Arthur!”
She strode back into the galley area, made a vicious banging of copper pots.
“Wow,” Arthur said in a low tone of awe.
“She’s right,” I said. “And tonight you get another chance to get a little jumpy Arthur. You and I are going calling.”
His throat slid up and down in a large dry swallow. He put his shoulders back. “Fine!” he said heartily. “Just fine! Looking forward to it.”
Chook appeared with a big scarred pewter plate for each of us, banged them down. “Huevos rancheros,” she said. “There’s enough chili in those eggs, love, and enough heat in that sausage to give your stomach something brand new to think about.” She brought her own plate and slid in beside him. “Ours are merely hot, my lamb. Yours is volcanic. And choke it down or you’ll wear it like a hat. It’s an old home remedy for the squeams.”
Arthur made it. It was a noble effort. It gave him tears, the snuffles and the sweats, and frequent glares of astonished agony before snatching at the soothing blandness of buttered bread.
“You briefed him?” I asked her when we’d finished.
“On the whole thing, at least when he wasn’t clattering off to go whoops.”
“Cut it out, Chookie!” Arthur said firmly. “Enough is enough. Let’s drop it for good.” He stared her in the eye.
Suddenly she grinned, nodded, patted his arm. “Welcome back to the human race.”
“Glad to be aboard,” he said politely.
“Wilma’s background too?” I asked.
“It’s so strange,” Arthur said. “I never knew her at all, did I? I realized something odd today. I can see her very vividly, the way she stood and sat and walked. But in every memory, she’s turned away from me. I can’t bring her face back at all. I can remember the color of her eyes, but I can’t see them. So now somebody I never knew is dead. And… she was married to somebody I didn’t know very well. I see two strangers living in that beach house. Does that make any sense?”
“It does to me,” Chook said. “Trav, please, what happens tonight? Until you’re both back safe, I’ll be half out of my mind. Please tell me.”
Thirteen
It ws very close to eleven when I turned the dark green sedan onto Clematis Drive. The other houses were dark. There were more vacant lots than houses. As I approached the Watts home I saw that the light over the front door was not on. And so I touched the gas pedal again and started by saying to Arthur, “I guess lawyer boy is still semiconscious.”
Quite a few lights were on in the house. And just as I passed it, I saw, in the darkness of the side lawn beyond the carport, something that made me give a little sound of surprise.
“What’s the matter?” Arthur said in a strained voice.
“Good ol‘ Boo’s white Lincoln tucked nearly out of sight at the side there. Top down. See it?”
“Yes, I see it. My God. We better go back, don’t you think?”
I did not answer him. I turned left onto the next street and after the first few houses, there was nothing but the emptiness of development land, where asphalt turned into damp dirt with deep ruts. I backed and filled and got the car turned around, and on the last swing I turned the lights off, proceeded slowly by faint watery moonlight. I bumped it up over curbing and tucked it into the shadows of a clump of cabbage palm. In the silence a slight wind rattled the fronds, making a rain sound.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. There was a tremor in his voice.
“Take a look. Both the Watts’ cars are there. I’ll cut across and come out behind the house. That’s it, over there. The lighted one. You wait for me right here.”
“And what if you g-get into trouble, Trav?”
“I’ll either come back on the double, or I won’t. Then, if I don’t, if you think you can handle it, get as close as you can and see what you can see. Don’t take any chances. Use your judgment. Here.” I took the pistol out of my jacket pocket and shoved it into his hands. Morale builder. I had to turn my frail reed into something stauncher; just in case. Even at the expense of making me feel naked.
“I don’t like this,” he said. He was not alone in that appraisal.
“If it turns very very sour, go and get Chook and get out of the area fast, Use this car and drive all night, right up to Tallahassee. In the morning get hold of a man in the State Attorney General’s office. Remember this name. Vokeler. Truman Vokeler.” He repeated it after me. “Don’t talk to anyone else. If he’s away, demand he be sent for. And you and Chook level with him. Everything. He’ll take it from there. Trust him.”
“Why don’t we just…”
I got out of the car and closed the door. I walked fifty feet into the field, stopped and waited until I had enough night vision to pick up the contour of the ground, and keep from falling over palmetto and small bushes. I kept the vision by not looking directly at the house lights. Brush was thick beyond their rear property line and I moved toward a gap and came upon a woven cedar fence, low enough to stop over. Once in the back yard, I stopped in the shadows, examining the house, refreshing my memory of the layout. Kitchen windows were lighted. Light from the living room shone out into the cage, on plantings and shadowy terrace furniture. I could hear no sound. There was an odd flickering light which puzzled me. After moving a little way to the side, I could see through the cage and into the living room. Crane Watts was slumped in a big green leather wing chair, legs sprawled on a hassock, head toppled to the side. I could detect no sound or movement in any part of the house, nor see any other person.