He drove slowly back. The gun lay ready on the seat. He searched the farthest reach of his headlights up the road looking for the first sight of a walking man. He did not know what he would do when he saw him, it was in the future, unrevealed, as unknown as someone else’s choice, or as if he were someone else, a stranger.
The previous image of Ray on the road had been the quick flash of a slide upon a screen, glare of light without color. Standing there, watching the car go by without fear, not hitchhiking but not realizing either that he might be pursued, for if he had wished he could have disappeared into the woods well before the approaching light reached him. Tony remembered himself watching the car’s lights, how they swung around, how they came at him, how he had to jump into the ditch. Here they were again, a year later, and now Ray was the hunted, Tony the hunter, and even the car was the same.
He passed the little white church and knew the trailer would appear in a moment and realized this was the first time since the original night he had been on these roads by himself. He imagined having the freedom to revisit alone and from the safety of this distance the places which had scarred his mind so deeply. He was not free yet, though, he was still on Bobby Andes’s errand, though no longer sure what the errand was, and Ray Marcus was approaching along this road. That was the main thing, Ray Marcus approaching on the road. He wondered why he hadn’t met him yet, he ought to have met him by now.
He saw the curve where the trailer would appear, which for the first time would not take him by surprise. Then it was there, he looked at it hard, and then, after checking to make sure Ray Marcus was not now coming around the curve, he stopped. He saw the dark window which had been lit before with a print curtain. He remembered inside with Bobby and George, where he had slugged Ray, how small it was, the brass bedposts on the little bed, the stove, the trashbox with newspapers. He wondered if he could look inside again now. But it might not be empty, someone might be living in it, someone might be in there. But no one was there because no car was parked. Then it occurred to him, Ray Marcus was there.
The possibility Ray Marcus was there, only a possibility, he said, call it rather not an impossibility. Say only, it was not impossible Ray Marcus was in there. For if Ray had continued walking from where they had passed before, they should have met again, well back down the road before now. He could have picked up a ride, but he had not been hitchhiking when Tony had passed. Almost certainly Ray Marcus was in the trailer. He would have arrived a few minutes after Tony had seen him and slipped inside to rest. It would explain why Tony had not met him again.
If he was there, he was probably looking out the window at the car. Tony picked up the gun on the seat. He fixed the safety so it wouldn’t go off while he moved about. He got the flashlight from the glove compartment. The chances of Ray’s being in the trailer were slight, Tony just wanted to take a look at it because he was by himself, because he had never seen it by himself. Or else, he wanted to check out Ray, make sure he wasn’t here. If he was, he had his gun.
With the gun and the flashlight, he got out of the car, making as little noise as he could. He slipped around the front of the car, into the ditch and up to the front end of the trailer. Pebbles scraping around his feet, he stopped, waiting for silence. He heard the distant roaring of mankind being civilized, but nearby nothing, only the wakeful stillness of the woods in the night. If Ray was watching, Tony had his gun. There was no way Ray could have acquired a gun of his own. If Ray stopped here to rest, he was probably asleep. Tony said, if Ray is here I will capture him. The reason I am doing this is to help Bobby Andes. Thinking again, Bobby Andes is helping me. Some other reason. He looked for it, this debt he owed. He told himself, it makes no difference if Ray did not kill Lou Bates, or if his arrest tonight was not legal, because he killed Laura and Helen, which I know.
He crept through leaves around the front of the trailer to the door. He thought, probably the door is locked. In that case I shall not pursue this further. I shall assume the trailer is empty and go back to Bobby’s camp. If I don’t meet Ray on the road, which seems likely now, I can report how he eluded me and there was nothing I could have done. Unless, if the door is locked, I might look with my flashlight in the window.
The door was not locked, the latch yielded. A moment’s alarm, too late, as he felt his fingerprints go onto the latch, which would have messed things up if this had been a year ago before they could take the fingerprints placing Lou and Turk here with the crime. He took the flashlight out of his belt with his left hand, the gun still in his right. He thought, if Ray is inside the door, waiting to jump. He cocked the gun again, held it up, nudged the door open with his side. He turned on the flashlight, swept its beam across the room, which was empty. He noticed the light switch by the door, switched on the light, and saw Ray Marcus asleep on the bed.
Who rolled over suddenly, covered his eyes, turned, squinted at Tony, sat up. “Christ,” he muttered. He fell back on his elbow.
“You,” he said. “Where’s your pal?”
“What pal?”
“Ganges, whoever.”
“Andes. He’s not here.”
“Your cop friends. Where are they?”
“They’re around.”
“Are they here?” He sat up and pulled back the curtain on the window, tried to look out.
“It’s just me,” Tony said.
“Just you? With that fucking gun? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“Me? Aw Christ, what the hell for?”
“You know.”
“Aw shit.” He ran his hands through his mostly bald head. “I was asleep, man.” Tony waited. “What happened to Lou?”
“He was killed.”
“What? That sonofabitch killed him?”
“He’s dead.” Some odd shame prevented him from confirming it was Bobby who killed him, a shame Tony felt no obligation to feel.
“That’s big trouble for your friend, you know that?”
“He’s not my friend,” Tony said, wondering why he said it.
“He ain’t? Ain’t that interesting?”
“Let’s go,” Tony said.
“Go where?”
“I’m taking you in.”
“In where?”
“Back to the camp.”
“You ain’t taking me anywhere, mister.”
“You’re coming with me. Come on, now.” He jerked the gun.
Ray laughed. “You think that’s going to make me go?”
Tony cocked the gun. Ray got up and came toward him. For a moment Tony thought he was obeying, then he saw differently. “Stand back,” he warned.
“Relax,” Ray said. “I ain’t going to hurt you.” He turned to the door. “I’m just taking my leave. So long, old buddy.”
“Stop,” Tony said. He thought, desperate, it can’t happen again. He thought, resolve, I’m different now. He pointed the gun at the door, in front of Ray. There was an explosion and a flash and a violent force jerking his hand up. He saw Ray stop, yank his hands back like a burn. He saw the torn aluminum frame of the door jamb where the bullet must have hit.
He saw Ray looking at him with surprise. “Well,” he said. “You missed.”
Tony Hastings felt a thrill. “I wasn’t trying to hit you,” he said. “That was a warning.”
“Warning. Okay. May I go sit on the bed, sir?”