When her voice came on again:
She said, “Raylan?”
“What?”
“If we knew who owed Harry money, would that help?”
Like that, back to poor Harry.
“It might.”
“When I was driving him around, he had names in a ledger he’d check off, with the amounts. Then when he called me from where you are and left the message? He said the guy would have sixteen five for him. The one who didn’t show up.”
“He mention his name?”
“No, only that he’s Puerto Rican.”
“I’ll call you after I see the tarot card lady.”
“Call me at Harry’s. I’ll go right now and look for the ledger.” She said then, “Raylan, I’m sorry. I really am.”
He said, “I am, too,” without knowing exactly what either of them was sorry about. As soon as he’d hung up, though, he felt a sense of relief.
Harry would say, “Is somebody there?”
He’d wait, feeling someone in the room with him.
“Will you please tell me what you want?”
Nothing. No answer.
So he’d wait. Sitting on a metal cot, a blanket and a thin mattress, no pillow. His ankles chained and padlocked. His hands free. At the time they brought him here he said, “You’re gonna leave the blindfold on?”
No answer. They never said a word to him or to each other, not even in a whisper.
The last voice he heard was the little girl’s, Dawn Navarro, asking him how much he had in the Freeport bank. Like being half asleep and hearing it, lying in that chair with his eyes closed, and telling her he wasn’t exactly sure, close to three mil… Was that what he said? What he actually had in there was just under two million. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d been awake or actually hypnotized. He remembered lying there waiting… then all of a sudden realizing a blindfold was being taped over his eyes and he thought it was the little girl doing it, so he wouldn’t be distracted. But then there were hands all over him holding him down and tape being pressed over his mouth. They pulled him out of the recliner, got him facedown on the floor, rough hands on him, and taped his wrists together behind his back. The tape covering his mouth touched his nose and he could smell it trying to breathe and turned his head from side to side to let them know, Christ, he couldn’t breathe. He did hear the little girl, Dawn, heard her say, “What are you doing?” yelling it out. That was the last thing he heard-not her asking about the bank account-but didn’t remember her saying it until he was here in this room and began going over in his mind step-by-step what happened. How he tried to calm down and breathe through his nose and that part wasn’t too bad; he could breathe okay if he didn’t get excited and start to panic thinking he was suffocating. It was an awful feeling. They sat him in a chair and never said a word to him or to each other or to Dawn, if she was still there. Maybe they’d done the same thing to her and she was sitting right next to him taped up. He heard them moving around on the wood floor that creaked under them and was bare except for an old braided throw rug-remembering the rug from before, when he was looking around at all the clutter. Then for a while there wasn’t a sound in the little girl’s house, not until he felt himself pulled out of the chair.
Two of them, each taking an arm, brought him outside, shoved him into the trunk of a car and closed the lid on him. Not his car, his still had that new-car smell. He was afraid again of suffocating, his face against the rough texture of the carpeting. So conscious of trying to breathe he wasn’t sure how long he was in the trunk or what direction they went after making a few turns, maybe to confuse him. Harry believed he was in there over an hour before they stopped and pulled him out-Harry ready to be marched into a woods or a swamp out in the Glades and one of them would say okay, that’s far enough. No, they brought him into a house. Harry couldn’t believe it. He sensed it was a house, a residence, as soon as they brought him up a carpeted stairway that curved up to a second floor and along a hallway to what he assumed was a bedroom. But then wasn’t so sure when they sat him down on a cot with a thin mattress. He did feel deep-pile carpeting on the floor and decided, yes, he was in someone’s house and this was a bedroom.
When they pulled the tape from his mouth Harry was so glad to suck in air he didn’t mind the pain; it stung like hell. As soon as they cut his hands free he touched his face, his mouth… Then tensed, expecting them to rip the tape from his eyes, but they didn’t; they got busy chaining his ankles and he asked about the blindfold, if they were going to leave it on.
No answer.
“You want to tell me what this is about?” He waited and said, “I guess not.”
He could feel them around him, two guys, maybe three. Harry was pretty sure who they represented, so he tried again. “Look, you know I wasn’t skimming on you guys. The individual now running the crew, Nicky, he told me himself I had nothing to worry about.” Harry paused. “Wait. Am I talking to Nicky Testa?”
No answer.
“What’re you treating me like this for? What do you want, for Christ sake?”
No answer.
Only the sounds they made fooling with the chains.
He had to get himself calmed down. Thought about it a minute and said, “I didn’t quit on you guys. I was put out of business by the U.S. attorney. I get busted again, I do five years straight up and not at one of those country-club joints either. I’m retired, okay? You mind?” Harry becoming agitated.
No answer.
“You people can’t talk? What’s the problem, I might recognize somebody’s voice?”
Still no answer
“Okay, I’ll keep quiet. You guys are running some kind of game on me. Fine, I’ll wait. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to tell me what this is about.” He paused. An obvious reason for being here hit him and he said, “Wait a minute. Is this a kidnapping? Jesus Christ, you better talk to me if it is. You know what I’m saying? I’m a friend of Nicky Testa’s. If you guys are smart… Or you’re part of his crew and he finds out, Jesus, what you’re doing…?”
He waited.
“I said I’m gonna keep quiet,” Harry said, and did, kept his mouth shut after that, sitting there chained and blindfolded. Minutes passed. He thought he heard them moving around and did hear a door close. Harry listened, pretty sure he was alone before reaching down to find a light chain wrapped around each ankle and padlocked, about twelve inches of chain between his legs and the rest of it extending along the floor. Harry got down on his hands and knees and followed the chain, about eight feet of it, to a metal ring bolted to the floor, through the deep-pile carpeting. He stood up and began to shuffle around, touched the wall by the cot, then shuffled off across the room and banged his shin on another metal cot. He felt along the wall and got as far as an open doorway before the chain stopped him.
He wondered if it was the way he came in. If it was… He began to imagine them on the other side of the doorway watching him, some guys he might even know, Harry becoming more sure of it. He said, “You’re right there, aren’t you, you fucks.” He said, “Will you say something, for Christ sake?”
“Talking to somebody he thinks is in the bathroom,” Louis said that first day, watching Harry on the TV screen in the study. “Uh-oh, he’s trying to lift up his blindfold.”
“He’ll learn quick,” Chip said.
They watched, on the screen, the door open and now Bobby was in the room, Harry turning toward the sound, getting all the way around as Bobby clobbered him with a right hand-Chip saying, “Pow, right in the kisser”-and Harry stumbled and went down.
“So now he knows,” Louis said, “no peeking.”
They watched the monitors all that weekend, cutting from the patio to the front entrance to the driveway-watching the driveway more than the other areas now-to the bedroom upstairs, Harry sitting on the cot with his head raised, listening, like a blind man looking around.