“Why is he after us?” Carmen said. “If we knew that ...I mean what does he stand to gain?”
“I think getting thrown out a second-story window has something to do with it,” Wayne said, “though he doesn’t seem to need a reason to shoot people. I guess it’s just the way he is. Or right now he’s working for the Indian and does whatever he’s told. From what Scallen said, the Indian’s the one to look out for. I’ve thought that all along. When I was sitting at Nelson’s desk watching him, I think about it now, he didn’t touch a thing. They found Richie Nix’s fingerprints all over the place, but not the Indian’s. We think Richie’s bad but, Jesus, what about Armand, the things he’s done?”
“There sure isn’t much privacy around here,” Donna said, “having two men in the house.” She was sitting on the side of her bed in her pink chenille robe, rolling up a pair of sheer black panty hose to stick her toes in, the nails painted an orange-red.
Armand stood in the bedroom doorway watching her.
There were furry stuffed animals on Donna’s bed, on the purple-red-and-yellow chenille spread done in a big peacock design, and a picture on the wall, over the head of the bed, a color portrait painted on black velvet that Armand believed was supposed to be Elvis Presley. He was pretty sure that’s who it was because Donna had a rack of Elvis Presley records, that Elvis Presley doll dressed in the white jumpsuit and Elvis Presley plates out in the kitchen. Eat down through Donna’s TV Salisbury steak and there was Elvis Presley looking at you.
“You want privacy,” Armand said to her, “you close the door. But I don’t think it’s what you want.” He could see her thighs where the pink robe was open, pure white thighs. “You know what else I think? You don’t have nothing on under your robe.”
“That’s why I happen to be getting dressed,” Donna said, “if you don’t mind. What’re you, still hungry?”
“Not now. Maybe I will be later.”
“I like to see a man enjoy his food. Richie hardly picks at his.”
She raised her foot to the edge of the bed, ready to slip her toes into the panty hose she held rolled up. Now he could see the underneath part of her thigh and a dark place that could be only darkness or a dark place that was part of her. He said, “You’ve been getting dressed for two hours, parading around here. I think you been waiting for Richie to leave.”
Donna worked her foot into the panty hose before looking up at him. “Dick comes back, like he might’ve forgot something? You’re in big trouble.”
Calling him Dick. Armand almost smiled.
“What do you think he’d do, shoot me?” Armand moved into the room toward the bed and Donna raised her face, stretching her skinny white neck, her eyes unfocused and naked-looking without the glasses, eyebrows darker than her hair, that pile of deep gold, all of it sprayed hard as a rock, shining in the light.
Armand said, “I think you like guys that shoot people, guys that pack a gun. I got one. You like to see my gun?”
“What choice do I have,” Donna said. Next thing, Armand heard her sigh and saw her shoulders go slack for a moment as she said, “Well, there’s nothing I can do, you’re way bigger than I am.” Next thing, she was taking off the robe, pulling the panty hose from her foot and letting them fall on the floor. Lying back on the peacock spread, looking up at him with those cockeyed naked eyes, Donna said, “I guess you’re gonna do whatever you want and there’s no way on earth I can stop you.” She paused a moment, still looking at him, and said, “You want to turn the light out or leave it on?”
Earlier in the day Carmen had said, “I’ve probably done things that made you mad. Maybe once or twice in the past twenty years? But you never once have raised your voice to me, ever. I think about it, I say to myself, well, if he can walk a ten-inch beam way up on a structure, he has control of his feelings, he’s not the type to get emotional. But then out on the porch yelling at the police you’re a completely different person.”
Wayne said, “On the porch? The porch is only five feet off the ground. I’ll tap-dance on the porch if I feel like it. I’ll do any goddamn thing I want on the porch.”
Carmen tried to picture that, Wayne taking out his anger on those old gray-painted boards, stomping on them, yelling—that’s what it was, his anger and frustration coming out, but it still surprised her. Now every few minutes he’d get up from the sofa and go to the window, keeping track of the police surveillance.
“That was the township cops. They’re the ones light up the whole goddamn house.” He stood with his back to Carmen, looking out at the night.
She wished he’d sit down.
“You going to work tomorrow?”
“Not till they get those guys.”
“We could go away.”
“Where?”
“Stay with Mom, she’s got plenty of room.”
That turned him around.
“I’m kidding,” Carmen said, “relax.” She watched him, for a moment there on the edge of panic, move to the sofa and slump into it. “Don’t you know when I’m kidding?”
“I’d become alcoholic in about two days,” Wayne said, “living with her. Maybe one day.”
“She loves you too.” Carmen rocked back and forth in the Kentucky rocking chair. “You want to turn on the news?”
Wayne glanced at his watch. “It’s not on yet.”
“You want to know what I don’t understand?”
“When you kid,” Wayne said, “it’s supposed to be funny. That’s the whole idea.”
Carmen rocked some more, thinking about what she wanted to say. After about a minute she said, “There’s a lot I don’t understand. But you know what bothers me?”
This time Wayne said, “What?”
“The FBI thinks the Mafia’s behind the extortion. Or might be, ’cause it’s the kind of thing they do. Or they’d like to believe the Mafia’s behind it. I said to the FBI man, ‘But Armand’s from Toronto. Are we talking about their Mafia or ours?’ ”
“He thought you were being funny,” Wayne said, “calling them ours.”
Carmen paused, looking at him, but let it go.
“Anyway, he said it could be either one. What they have for sure is a suspect known to work for the Toronto Mafia driving a car that’s registered to a company they know is a front for organized crime. Armand was here last Friday, the same day a man, also known to be a member of the Toronto Mafia, was shot and killed in a Detroit hotel, with a young girl. They don’t know who she is but they think Armand did it because ...I guess because he was here and it’s what he does. Or they want to believe he did it. And they want us to realize that if it’s the Mafia, then we have more to worry about than just the two guys finding us. Is that the way you see it?”
Wayne nodded. “I guess.”
Carmen rocked some more, thinking, then stopped.
“Okay, I asked if it seemed likely the Mafia would come to Algonac to pick on a real estate company. Scallen said it wasn’t unlikely. They could come here duck hunting, see a company that’s making a lot of money, not much police protection in the area . . . Okay, then he said it was possible Armand worked it out on his own, since he no doubt has the experience. I said, ‘But he didn’t arrive till last Friday. Someone called Nelson Davies before that, to demand the money.’ Scallen says yes, and it was probably Richie Nix. But extortion isn’t his kind of crime, so they think he was hired to do it, by Armand. Just as they think Richie was told by Armand to kill Lionel. They found Richie’s fingerprints on Lionel’s boat, but not Armand’s. But killing the girl in the store, they think Richie must’ve done on his own. Scallen said something about his pattern, he robs, he kills. But Armand—he said the fact that Armand wasn’t seen before last Friday doesn’t mean he wasn’t here.”