by Carey Lewis
“Make them on and off from what I understand. Guy had an eighty-one, turned it into one of them drag cars, then decided he’d get more ass if he put some hydraulics in there. Hector decided he liked the car but didn’t want to get his own so he took it. Pulled him over after he boosted the car, had a three-eighty in the glove box.”
“Ran down his rap sheet for me like he was listing achievements.”
“The guy you’re looking for, Cesar Riso? Want to know what he was in for?”
“You’re dying to tell me.”
“Break and enter. Want to guess what he was stealing?”
Carter stared at him.
“Stocks,” Whitmore said.
“Stocks?”
“Gets picked up we say, What the fuck you know about stocks? He says he knows they’re going to be worth more than they are now. His big plan was to sit on them for ten years, cash them out then.”
“Not a bad idea. You’re the one picked him up?”
“It’s the story they tell me I phone around. I still don’t see how you get that Marshal thing to work.”
“Tell them I’m with the Marshals, got the star and everything. You tell them it’s Federal, put that kind of fear in them, sometimes they turn, not wanting to do that kind of time hiding their buddy under a mattress.”
“You got the tin?”
Carter pulled the star off his belt, handed it across the desk to Whitmore. He looked at it, looked at Carter with a smile, said, “It says cowboy on it.”
“They don’t look too close.”
“Good thing for you,” Whitmore said, reaching across the desk to hand the toy star back.
“Got cards made up too, helps sell it.”
“Got your name on it?”
“Got a friend does Photoshop.”
“When they call?”
“Sometimes they do.”
“The life of a bondsman.”
“Don’t let the glamor fool you. It’s not all red carpets and celebrities.”
“So what do you think? Think I’m going to be working a murder?”
“You do I don’t have to go after the grandma for the ten grand.”
“Not sure who I want to win this one,” Whitmore said with a smile. “Won’t Cesar recognize you though? He’s gone through you before.”
“Always through the grandma. Wouldn’t know him to cross the road and piss on his head if it was on fire. Thanks for your help Walt,” Carter said, standing up from the chair. “I should head back.”
“In case he calls,” Whitmore said, standing, extending his hand.
Carter shook it, said “Sometimes they do.”
CESAR CALLED US MARSHAL CARTER Grant at nine in the morning, then gave himself an hour to get ready and head into the Heritage District to meet him. He got to the restaurant first, the kind that was only open to serve breakfast and closed around one or two in the afternoon. He got a table near the windows, able to see out to the paved lot, watched the Honda Accord come in and park, watched the man in his plaid shirt and skinny tie come in, walk right up to his table, like he already knew who he was.
“Cesar Riso?”
Cesar stood up and extended his hand.
The man shook it, said he was US Marshal Carter Grant.
They sat down.
“Been reading up on you guys. Just watched that movie The Fugitive. Holds up well,” Cesar said.
“Puts some glamor to the job, you got Hollywood taking notice,” Carter said.
The waitress came over. Cesar ordered eggs over easy with sausage and hash browns. Carter ordered a coffee.
“That mean you’re not staying awhile?” Cesar asked.
“Got a man to catch.”
“Every doghouse, lighthouse, outhouse, poor house?” Cesar said, paraphrasing a line from the movie.
“If we have to.”
“I told the cop everything. We stop for barbecue, I go to piss, Randy’s gone.”
“What I’m wondering is why Randy would run this time. He doesn’t seem the type to leave his grandma the way she is.”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Cesar said. “I joked he’d have to pay the bill, maybe he took me seriously.”
“Bubs Barbecue?”
“That’s where we were, yeah. Told the other guy, you can go ask.”
“Sounds like you’re in a hurry to prove you’re innocent.”
“Trying to get ahead of the curve. You said you’re in a rush.”
The waitress came back and put their coffees on the table, then went off to a group of tourists that came in.
“That’s a nice ride you got. Honda’s a good car.”
He watched Carter turn in his seat, looking at his car, then turned back to him. “Got no complaints.”
Cesar took a sip of his coffee, thinking. He crossed his arms on his chest, wondering if he should burst the man’s bubble. He heard a bell ding at the back of the restaurant.
“What I’d like to know, Mr. Riso,” Carter said, “is who else Randy might run to. Man can’t run too long being on his own.”
“You can’t get some of them choppers in there? Start looking through the woods for him?” Cesar asked, smile on his face.
Carter smiled back, said “Think you might watch too many movies. Before I go stomping through the woods seeing where he’s been, prefer to see where he might go. Save me a trip.”
“Don’t think I can help you there. So you’re a US Marshal huh?”
“You’re trying to tell me you were Randy’s only friend?”
“I’m sure he had other friends. We hung in different groups.”
“Hector Gonzalez in your group?”
Cesar smiled.
The waitress came over and put the plate of breakfast in front of Cesar. Carter said he was fine when she asked if he wanted anything again. She went away, Cesar still smiling at Carter.
“How much you out you don’t find him?”
“Marshals always get our man,” Carter said. “Get paid regardless.”
“Is that right?” Cesar nodded, looking down now. Then he looked back up, silent, staring at Carter. “You’re getting them mixed up. Mounties always get their man is the saying. The Canadian police up there with the red jackets and big hats. Mounties always get their man.”
Now Carter was silent, no expression on his face looking back at Cesar. Trying to show he wasn’t playing a game.
Cesar pushed the plate in front of Carter. He stood up, walked to the other side of the table beside Carter still in the chair and patted him on the shoulder. “Get some of those helicopters up there, start looking in the woods around Bubs.” Then he walked out.
He came out of the restaurant, taking his cell from his pocket as he climbed into his Acura. When Hector answered, Cesar told him US Marshal Carter Grant wasn’t a US Marshal at all.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S not a Marshal?” Hector asked.
Cesar took a haul off the joint, held the air in his lungs as he said, “Look at this,” holding up the laptop. “See it says there the President appoints one Marshal for a Federal District?”
“So?” Hector said, squinting at the screen.
“So there’s only one. All the other ones are Deputies.” He blew the smoke out, putting the laptop on the couch beside him. “They don’t go around introducing themselves as the real thing. That guy look like a Presidentially appointed man?”
“Maybe he got confused.”
“His own job title?” Cesar handed the joint to Hector. “You think a Presidentially appointed man going to be driving a Honda?”
“He had the star on his hip.”
“Man, you get those from them Cowboys and Indian sets.”
Hector breathed in the smoke from the joint. “So who is he?”
“Probably the bondsman got Randy out. Knew who you were, said your whole name so he’s got a hook somewhere. Probably that Whitmore brought me in. Knew me too. Walked right over, not even looking at the others there.”
“Y
ou probably the only Mexican in the place, where’s he going to go? We going to do anything about him?” Hector passed the joint back to Cesar.
“No, bondsman can’t do shit. What you need to stop doing is saying our shit in front of Huey. Telling him there’s a Marshal was here.”
“Fuck Huey.”
“Huey going to get scared, start acting out of line you get him riled up.” Cesar took a haul off the joint, handed it back to Hector. “No more, got to keep my head straight.” He crossed the room and opened the door, letting the dogs out.
“So that’s one problem you got gone, you sure he’s not going to be a problem.”
“What’s a bondsman going to do? He’s out ten grand, not happy about it is all.” Cesar leaned against the door frame, watching the dogs in the yard.
“And you’re out forty.”
“Huey with the TV people?”
“What he says,” Hector said, snuffing the joint out in the ashtray, putting the end of it in an Altoids tin. “He got two more days there what he’s told. Fat boss of his says he got better shit to do than get berated by a dark woman.”
“Huey said that?”
“Said his boss said it.”
“Boss was jealous, the TV folk taking a shine to Huey.”
“Shows you how fucked up they are right there. No one in their right mind takes a shine to Huey.”
“Lucky for us they do. They finished here we take the guy out to party.”
“That’s how you’re going to get him to rob Motley?”
“Get him feeling loose, tell him we shooting our own TV show would he like to participate.”
“You get him on camera doing a crime, turn around tell him you going to turn him in he don’t give you the forty.”
“The forty-two yeah.”
“Been thinking on this have you? Thought about how we getting in there?”
Cesar looked over his shoulder at Hector. “Motley knows we got hit yeah? We tell him we need another order, coming to get it. That’s when we hit him.”
He watched Hector thinking it over, the business man in him trying to think of all sides. “Man clearly don’t think much of you, he’d have his guard down. Make a good scene for a movie.”
“Tell Mr. TV the gun full of blanks, they all wearing the blood packets.”
“Get him fucked up enough he don’t start looking for a director.”
“Tell him I’m the director, this a low budget thing we’re shooting.”
“You still got the bunker to worry about, how you’re getting it.”
“That’s what I’m thinking on now.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“JUST WATCH IT TELL ME what you think after,” Rodney said, smile on his face, small contraption in his hand.
“What am I watching?” Deacon asked.
“There,” Rodney said. Deacon kept his eyes on the wall in the barn, the loose planks of wood running vertical. He watched one of the planks kick to the side, saw a face behind it, then the face moved to the side, disappearing behind the wall.
He looked over to Rodney, big shit eating grin on his face. “Right?”
“What was that?”
“Special effects Deke. They got so many loose boards here practically falling off. Was walking through the house and one of them fell. It’s where I got the idea.”
“I told you the house wasn’t haunted.”
“And I told you I had ideas, so who’s right?” Rodney was walking toward the wall now. “I figure we get you saying ‘What’s that?’ or something else stupid you say. Dom has the camera on you pointing over here, he swings his camera over with the light on top, we see the board fall. He comes back to you, then back to the hole there, finds the face I put up. The key is seeing the face move away after that. Just a split second, but the face moving, not the camera, sells it. Why I made the gag move.”
Deacon reached through the hole and grabbed the piece of wood, a piece of paper stapled to it. “What’s this?”
“Creature from the Black Lagoon I got off the Internet. Put the dim lighting on there it’s scary.”
“But the house isn’t haunted.”
“But that picture’s scary as fuck when you look at it.”
Deacon looked at the picture. It was a good gag, you sell it for the camera right.
“They got a lot of pictures up in the house too, can use those gags,” Rodney said.
The picture gag was something they came up with in a Historical House they were looking at. Had these big portraits of people that died a long time ago. Rodney put some things behind the paintings that made one corner of it fall, the other corner clung to the wall, made it seem like the picture was floating. They did that twice, on the third, Rodney put some fake blood behind it. It tilted and the blood smeared along the wall.
“Maybe we can use some of the gags if you find things wrong with the house. If there’s a draft or something,” Deacon said.
“This place is perfect, I don’t get why you can’t see that.”
“The house would cost too much to flip.”
“Can you stop your greed for a minute and realize you’re the host of a bad TV show?”
“I’m offended.”
“At which part, the fact I called the shit we do TV? Deke, what we got available to us? I can make this the best show we ever had. The tile they got in the kitchen? It’s all chipped, coming up. I can put some of those tiny fireworks under there, get a timer involved, get the little chunks flying up when we’re walking over them.”
“You see that family in there?”
“There’s a family here? Thought they were ghosts.”
“We go tell that family this house is haunted, what do you think they’re going to do? They’re on the verge of selling already. We tell them it’s haunted, put it on the air, what do you think they’re going to get for the place?”
“So the two people who watch this show won’t offer much.”
“There’s a stewardess watches the show too you know.”
“She in the market for a house?”
“They won’t live here. What they get for the house? They won’t even afford a motor-home to live in by the end of the year.”
“So you’re saying the house isn’t haunted because you’re a good guy? Has nothing to do with what you can flip it for?”
Deacon didn’t say anything to that. He looked away, up to the rafters. “Maybe we can make some of the shit up there fall, say the wood was rotten.”
“You’re trying to make a compromise. Tell me make the house haunted but able to explain it all. Lights playing tricks on you, just the wind, that sort of nonsense.”
“Think you can do that?”
“I got a choice?”
“We can ask Brooke.”
“Because that’s fun. So do that and throw in the effects of what we did last night?”
Last night they did a walk through of the house, reacting to things, talking about lights and cool spots that Rodney should be taking today to fix up on the computer. Adding in little lines on the instruments in their hands and such, spooky noises, wind whistles.
“Can you get it done by tonight?” Deacon asked. “When we do the second pass?”
“You two on the wrong show,” Rodney said, ripping the picture off the piece of wood. “Y’all should’ve hosted one of those fix-up-your-house shows. Seem to forget you’re supposed to be selling ghosts.”
“Don’t be sore Rodney.”
“That’s right. You fix up the houses on TV, you don’t get to lower the price and buy it cheap after,” Rodney said as he made his way out of the barn.
THEY GOT THE MILLERS BACK in the house, sitting in the living room now on the old furniture covered in throws. Dominic loved the natural light coming in through the giant window, trying to rush them, making sure they didn’t lose it. Brooke and Deacon showed them the footage as Terry filmed the Millers’ reaction, the youngest child on the wife’s lap.
The wife jumped, Deacon seeing the
stress in her shoulders. Watched Ben take her hand in his, calming her. He stole a glance at Brooke, never having the chance to do that with her. Nerves of steel on that woman. Would tell you to stop being a pussy before she ever got scared.
The footage of them walking through the house ended. Tears ran down Mrs. Miller’s cheeks. Deacon looked down at the couple’s intertwined hands, the husband’s turning blue from her squeezing it so hard. They were watching him and Brooke, waiting to hear if their house was haunted.
Deacon looked at Brooke, watched her smile. He returned it, both of them turning to the Millers, smiling.
“Your house isn’t haunted,” Brooke said. Deacon watched the confusion on their faces, wanting to release the stress but apprehensive about it.
“Excuse me?”
“Your house isn’t haunted Mr. Miller,” Brooke said, the smile growing wider.
She and Deacon talked about it after the conversation with Rodney.
“What’s more important,” Brooke asked when Deacon caught up with her before the second walk-through. “This family being homeless or ratings?”
“It’s what I was thinking,” Deacon said. “We’re sure it’s not because it’s not worth a flip?”
“Makes the decision easier.”
Now that he was sitting across from them, watching new tears stream down Mrs. Miller’s cheeks, he knew it was the right decision. They got one house from this trip that was haunted, and those people deserved it. This couple didn’t. He looked down at Mrs. Miller’s hand, saw the color returning to Ben’s fingers.
“It’s just an old house,” Brooke said. She held up an old nail Maggie found in the barn earlier that day. “This is why the picture kept falling,” she said, referring to the family portrait they had done at Wal-Mart. The Miller’s looked at each other, confused. Like they knew it wasn’t the same nail but ignored it. Wanting to believe it was the fault of a nail neither of them recognized.
“You also have old pipes that are leaking. At night when you go to bed, that’s when you hear sounds because everything is quieter than the day,” Deacon told them. “You also have some wood that needs to be replaced. You get the wind whistling through sometimes that’ll make sounds you wouldn’t normally hear in the daytime.”
