“Witnesses,” Arlen echoed.
She nodded.
“That’s why he picked Paul and me up,” Arlen said. “We served a role. So did you. We’d all tell the story in the same way.”
“I think you’re right,” she said. “But he also called you a good-luck charm. Apparently he stopped to speak with David Franklin’s girl in Cassadaga, and she offered him some sort of advice. You even said that yourself; I remember you told it to Tolliver. That she’d told him to watch for hitchhikers.”
“For travelers in need,” Arlen said. He thought about that conversation, the bolita game, the way Sorenson had let Paul drive the Auburn. His mood had changed dramatically when they arrived at the Cypress House, when the next step of his attempt at escape loomed large.
“I wish he’d made it,” he said, and he was surprised at the sadness in his voice for a man he’d hardly known. “I wish the son of a bitch had made it.”
“Me, too.”
He looked at her. “You didn’t know this. You truly did not?”
“No. I’m making guesses, and that’s all. But I think they’re good guesses. I didn’t recognize the hands, though. Wade must have thought I would.”
“He also must have suspected you were involved.”
“I know that he did. They confronted me about it, Solomon and Tolliver and McGrath. I think the only reason they believed me in the end was that you and Paul were telling the same story.”
“So we were good-luck charms,” Arlen said, “but not for Sorenson.”
“They asked me a lot of questions about David Franklin,” she said. “Whether he’d ever been around with Walter, things like that. I’d never seen him. Had no idea who he was. Not until the night… the night they brought him here.”
“Gwen, the one from Cassadaga, she was Franklin’s girl,” Arlen said. “They used her to get to Franklin, and Franklin to get to Sorenson. But who in the hell burned in that car? If it wasn’t Sorenson, who was it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, they didn’t just find a body. Someone was killed. Who?”
“I just said that I have no idea. But Walter… he wasn’t a murderer. He wouldn’t have killed anyone.”
“Well, it wasn’t a mannequin that burned in that car.”
“He wouldn’t have killed anyone,” she repeated stubbornly.
Arlen lifted the newspaper article. “Why’d they bring this to you? Why today?”
“Reminder,” she said. “Solomon likes me to be refreshed, time to time, on what happens to those who cross him. Now that Owen’s out, he can’t hold that one over me. So he’s turning to other things.”
She lifted her hands to her face as if shielding her eyes from a bright light. “Poor Walter. He was the best of them. Not a bad man at his core. Just a man who’d made too many concessions for money.”
“If you’re right, then he didn’t make the concession he needed most,” Arlen said. “He was a thief but not a killer. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, to get away from Solomon Wade, he needed to be the latter.”
She lowered her hands and looked at him.
“He has to die,” Arlen said simply. “There’s no running from him. All this is simply more proof of that. We can’t afford to leave him behind.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yes,” he answered. “I’m going to do it, Rebecca. It’s the only chance you’ve got. You aren’t going to walk away from him.”
“You can’t kill him. I can’t let you do that. Not for me, not for Paul, not for anyone.”
“It’s not a matter of what you can let me do,” he said, “it’s a matter of what needs to be done. What has to be done. You want out of this mess? This is the way you’ll get out. I don’t believe there’s any other.”
“We’re not killing anyone. No matter how evil they are, we’re not going to do murder ourselves.”
“Then he’ll find us,” Arlen said, “and he will settle the score. I wonder who will get your hands as a reminder? Mine? Your brother’s?”
They shared a long stare, and then she broke it and turned away.
“It’s not just him, though,” she said. “Solomon Wade is valuable to people we’ve never even heard of, dangerous people. He’s part of a chain, and if we remove that part, don’t you think those other men will want to retaliate?”
“I don’t intend to leave a calling card saying it was me that killed him,” Arlen said. “And if he’s in as deep as you say, then they’ll have plenty of other people to worry about. We’re nothing to them.”
“Arlen, no.”
“The way to leave this place without having to look over your shoulder every day for the rest of your life,” Arlen said, “is by leaving with Wade dead. You know too much about what he does. You’re a danger to him. The things you could tell the law, they’re things that put him at risk. He’ll find a way to keep you under his control, just as he always has. Last time it was with your brother. This time he may have to give up on any such patient technique.”
They were both quiet. She had tears in her eyes, but they didn’t spill over.
“I wanted it to be as easy as it could be,” she said. “I just wanted to take Owen and go. To run away and hide and let time pass. I thought that we could do that. But he won’t let us, will he? He’ll never let us.”
“No,” Arlen said. “He won’t. And you’re going to need to tell Owen the truth now. You’re going to need to trust him. Because I can assure you of two things: one, he isn’t going to leave of his own accord. And, two, we’re going to need him.”
38
IT WAS NEARING SUNDOWN when they finally returned. Paul walked up to the porch in stride with Owen, head high and shoulders back.
“Been a long day,” Arlen said. “What were you doing, Paul?”
“He was agreeing to do the right kind of work for the right kind of money, old-timer,” Owen said. “Going to carve himself a piece out of this world.”
“You want this piece?” Arlen said, still looking at Paul. “This swamp county, this seems big-time to you? You bothered to ask yourself what in the hell must go on in a place like this that it’s worth a damn to anybody?”
“I need your opinion like I need another hole in my head,” Paul said.
Owen laughed. “Damn straight, Paulie. Why don’t you mind your own, old-timer?”
“I’ll mind what I like,” Arlen said. “And you call me old-timer one more time, I’ll have you spitting teeth, you shit-brained little bastard.”
Owen’s face darkened and he stepped toward Arlen, only to be cut off by Rebecca. Arlen wished she hadn’t been there, wished the little shit would step on up and get his blockhead knocked right off his shoulders.
“Owen,” Rebecca said, her hand on her brother’s chest, “we’re going to talk.”
“Isn’t talking I want to do with this son of a bitch,” Owen said, pointing at Arlen.
“Talking is what you’re going to do with him, and with me,” she said. “I waited in this place for six months for you, and you’re going to listen to me for once! You are going to listen!”
Her voice had risen to a shout, and it seemed to surprise everyone. Owen stared down at her but didn’t put forth an argument.
Rebecca said, “Paul, I’d like you to go inside. This is a family matter.”
“What’s he staying for, then?” Paul said, nodding at Arlen.
Rebecca put her eyes on him and said, “I’m asking you, please.”
Paul wanted to object. Arlen could see that. He wanted to tell her to get lost, he’d do what he pleased, and to hell with her, the one who’d broken his heart. He didn’t have it in him, though. Not when her eyes were on him like that. For everything else that had changed in him, one thing had not: he cared for her. He wanted to please her.
In the end he went inside as he’d been asked, shoved past Arlen and stomped indoors like a sullen child.