“I don’t like sitting here,” Owen said. “They know this car; hell, it’s his car. One of them sees it out here, what are they going to think?”
They were parked in the darkness a good quarter mile from the house, nobody was going to see them, but Arlen had no reason to hold him here either, so he told him to go ahead and drive away.
“Awful lot of house,” he said as they cruised by for the final time, Owen keeping the headlights off.
“Was the owner of the timber company that built it. He was the richest man around for miles in his time. Now Wade is.”
So it went. Legitimate work disappeared and what stepped in its place were the likes of Solomon Wade. Arlen wondered what the locals thought when they passed by the place. Probably felt broken, helpless, the way Thomas Barrett seemed to. Arlen wondered what they’d think when Wade was dead. Would any good come from it here, or would another like him simply fill the void?
“He have servants at the place?” Arlen asked.
“None that stay there. People come and go during the day, but he doesn’t like anyone living on the property.”
That would help. Now that he’d had a look at the house, Arlen was figuring it was the best spot he’d have, and dawn the best time. He’d done some killing in dawns of days past, had left men to bleed out as the sun showed faint in the east. He could do it again. As he’d told Owen earlier, all that changed was the circumstances, not the act. He’d never wanted a circumstance like this, but hell, he hadn’t wanted a war either. A man never did get as much say in this life as he wanted to have, as he’d expected he would when he was young. No, you took what was offered and you handled it best as you could.
“How will you get the money?” he asked.
“Sheriff will bring it.”
“The sheriff?” It was all he could do not to laugh. Some law they had in Corridor County.
“That’s right. He’ll drive it down Thursday evening.”
“But the boat’s not coming in till Friday night.”
“They like to have their distance,” Owen said. “And they have Tate McGrath watching. Tate’ll be watching the whole time. Basically from the moment Tolliver delivers the money, Tate will be around, watching. Who was it you think killed my father? It was Tate, I’d just about guarantee it. And my father went out on the boat just the same as you want us to.”
His voice was rising, and the speed of the car right along with it, his foot pushing harder at the gas as his nerves took hold. Arlen said, “Ease up, son,” and Owen slowed the car but shook his head, still unhappy.
“It’s a shit plan,” he said. “You’re sending us out just like my father went and somehow expecting it to go better.”
Arlen didn’t have an answer for that. Hell, the kid was right. All he knew was that he wanted Rebecca gone by the time he moved on Wade, just in case anything went wrong. He wanted the two of them to be under way and prepared to keep going. Tate McGrath, the damned watchdog, was going to be a problem.
“The boat’s a bad idea,” he admitted. “You leave in the boat any time ahead of when you should, they’ll not like it. Better idea is you and Rebecca climb into her truck in the middle of the afternoon, nothing packed. Make as if you’re just heading up the road to Barrett’s store. Be so damn obvious about it that he won’t imagine you’ve got any other plans.”
“Doesn’t leave as much time, though.”
“No, it doesn’t. But any time is better than none, and I think you’re right-we try to get too crafty while McGrath’s watching, it’ll go sour fast. The way to handle it is for you and Rebecca to drive off in that truck of hers like it’s just another afternoon, and I’ll stick right where I always am, down at the boathouse swinging a hammer. Long as we all don’t leave together, I imagine he’ll give it some time at least. Won’t expect something’s wrong right away.”
“So we take off that afternoon,” Owen said, “and you wait to kill Wade until evening?”
“What time do the Cubans get in?”
“Long after dark.”
“All right. Then I got a bit of time. Hell, I’ll have a word with Tate before I leave. Tell him you gave me instructions to clear out, that I wasn’t to be around the place. He’ll believe that; it’ll sound proper to him. He doesn’t trust me and he wouldn’t expect you to.”
“So you’ll talk to Tate,” Owen said, “and then you’ll-”
“Get in this car and drive up the road and kill Solomon Wade.”
It would change the timing of things. He wouldn’t be able to wait on Wade as the sun rose, the way he’d imagined. No, he’d have to venture into town in daylight and find him and follow him and take the first opportunity that was there. He’d have to do it fast, too. Rebecca and Owen would have a few hours of head start, but by the time evening settled in and they still weren’t back, Tate McGrath would grow suspicious.
When Owen spoke again, it took Arlen by surprise. Things had been that quiet.
“It should be me,” he said.
“What?”
“That kills him. Shouldn’t be you. Ain’t nothing personal between you and him. Me and him, though? That’s plenty personal. Should be me that pulls the trigger.”
Arlen said, “You realize you helped cause all of this?”
Owen turned and gave him a confused look. “What?”
“You read that letter from your father. You know what you’d gotten into with Wade. Sure, your old man might’ve led the way, but it was you who helped put the knife to his neck. Don’t forget that. You want to blame Wade, go on and blame him. Don’t forget your own decisions, though.”
“You got some brass, saying a thing like that. Just because I did some work for the man doesn’t mean-”
“You did more than work for the man,” Arlen said. “You wanted to be him. Wanted to run around in fancy cars with a gun in your belt and a pocketful of money, dirty money, blood money, just so you could feel like you got some power. Feel like you’re a big shot. Came swaggering in the day you got out of Raiford and never so much as thought about your sister, what she’s been through waiting on your worthless ass. No, all you wanted to do was tell tales about the thugs and hoods you knew. Except you don’t even know them. You got any idea how sad that is, boy? You’re pretending to be Solomon Wade. That’s what you want out of this life. To be just like the man who had your daddy’s throat cut.”
Owen’s jaw had gone rigid, and his hands were tight on the steering wheel.
“I’ve been places where words like that would get a man killed,” he said.
“Son,” Arlen said, “you ain’t been anywhere. You don’t have so much as a rumor of what this world’s really like. You’re getting a taste now, and it’s your first. All that tough-boy bullshit aside, this is your first taste, and you know it.”
Owen didn’t answer.
“Look me in the eye and tell me if I’m wrong,” Arlen said.
Silence.
“There’s only one thing that you need to do now,” Arlen said, “and that’s take care of your sister. Try to make up for the mistakes you made and your father made that got you all into this fix. I’ll do your bloody work. You just be a man for a change.”
That night he sat awake with Rebecca on the back porch, and they listened to the waves break and roll back and break again, and neither of them spoke much for a long time. Owen had climbed the stairs as soon as they got back and shut the door to his room, never appearing again. There was a lot going on in his mind. Let him have his time, so long as he didn’t set the fool’s temper to work again.
Paul had been in the barroom until Arlen entered, and then he stood and walked past him without a word and went up the steps as well. Arlen let him go. How he wished Paul had never come back. He had to make sure that he’d be gone soon, long before anything went into motion with Solomon Wade. That would require waiting on the money, though, and that would give Arlen only about twenty-four hours to convince Paul to hit the road… and only about twenty-four hours of distance between the boy and Corridor County. Arlen didn’t figure they’d pursue him, but there was a chance. Paul would need to travel smart, travel with a plan, and that would require a conversation between the two of them. Right now, the boy wouldn’t even speak to him.