Ritchie had been waiting a few yards off to the side. He walked over now.
"We pulling out?"
"Let's let him think so," McAllen said, "and see what happens."
Chapter 11.
THE BROKER ACTED like he was doing him a favor, buying the trailerload of melon s a nd waiting around after quitting time while Majestyk unloaded the cases himsel f b ecause the warehousemen had gone home. He asked Majestyk how his hired man was.
Majestyk told him Larry Mendoza was his friend, not his hired man. The broke r s aid it must've been an accident. Mexican sleeping there in the shade, car come s a long doesn't see him, rolls over his legs. Those people were always gettin g h urt with broken beer bottles and knives, the broker said. Now they were gettin g h urt while they slept. Majestyk didn't say anything. It was hard not to, but h e h eld on and finally the broker went into his office. Later, when he picked u p t he check, he didn't say anything either. It was getting dark by the time he go t o ut of there, heading home with the empty trailer.
Home. Nobody there now. A dark house at the end of a dirt road.
As he turned off the highway onto the road he looked at the rearview mirror , then out the side window to see the car that had been following him for severa l m iles continue on. An Oldsmobile, it looked like.
He could hear crickets already in the settling darkness, nothing around t o b other them. The packing shed was empty, Mendoza's house, the melo n f ields--driving past slowly, looking out at the dim fields the way he had looke d a t fields and rice paddies from the front seat of a jeep a dozen years before , feeling something then, expecting the unexpected and, for some reason, beginnin g t o feel it again, now.
Majestyk drove up to within fifty yards of his house at the end of the road , stopped, turned the key off, put it in his pocket and waited a few moments , listening. When he got out he reached into the pickup bed for a wrench and use d i t to free the trailer hitch, crouched down between the pickup and the traile r w here he could inch his gaze over the melon rows and study the dark mass o f t rees beyond his house. Pine trees. He didn't know what kind of trees he ha d w atched twelve years ago, lying in the weeds not far from a Pathet Lao villag e a fter the H-34 helicopter had gone down, killing the pilot, the mechanic, an d t he ten Laotian soldiers. No, the trees were different. Only the feeling insid e h im, then and now, was the same.
Lundy cut his lights as he turned off the highway, hoping to hell he didn't ge t h ung up on a stump or something. Once the road got into the trees it was al l r ight. It was so narrow brush and tree limbs scraped the car on both sides, an d t he ruts were deep enough that he could feel his way along in the darkness an d n ot worry about going off the road. He came up next to the Dodge parked in th e s mall clearing, got out, and moved through the trees to where Bobby Kopas wa s w atching the house.
Hearing him, Kopas looked over his shoulder. "He just come home."
"Who do you think I been following?" Lundy said. "Where is he?"
"By the truck. See him?"
It was about forty yards across a pasture to the house with its dark windows , and about the same distance again down the road to the pickup truck and trailer.
Lundy held his gaze on the front end of the truck.
"I don't see him."
"Unhitching the trailer. He was."
"Well, where's he now?"
"Goddamn it, he was there a minute ago."
"He go in the house?"
"I'd have seen him."
Lundy looked around, getting an uneasy feeling. "Where're the others?"
Kopas pointed with his thumb. "Down there in the trees. So's to watch the sid e a nd back of the place."
"Later on," Lundy said, "we'll bring some more people in, seal him up." He l ooked at Kopas. "If he's still here."
"He's here. We can't see him is all. Down in behind the truck."
"I hope so," Lundy said. "You imagine what Frank would do to you if the ma n s lipped out?"
He moved through the melon rows to the irrigation ditch and again, smelling th e d amp earth close to his face, experienced a feeling from the time before. It wa s e asier this time because he wasn't carrying the M-15 and the sack of grenades.
He wouldn't mind having the M-15 now, or the .30.30 Marlin in the house or the 12-gauge Remington. The shotgun would be best, at night, at close range. He ha d t hought of the gun when he thought of scouting the house and decided against it.
He could be caught in the open too easily. It was better to look around first , make sure, and not approach the house until it was full dark. He reached the en d o f the irrigation ditch and came up behind the pump housing. From here, in th e d eep shadows, he was able to walk into the trees.
It had been midsummer when the pesticide tank truck came in through the bac k r oad to spray his outlying fields. Studying the trees he had remembered th e r oad. It was a point to reach and follow, to help him keep his sense o f d irection. He remembered the clearing, too, and approached it through the dens e t rees and scrub as he had approached the village, smelling the wood smoke from a h undred meters away. He stopped when he heard the voice.
"I mean the man's got to be around, hasn't he? His truck's here. How's he goin g t o go anyplace 'less he's in his truck?"
He knew the voice. There was another voice then, lower, and the sound of a ca r d oor slamming.
"Hey, I forgot to tell you--this afternoon, right after I got back--"
The familiar voice was drowned out by the car engine starting. Majestyk move d b ack into the trees. He waited. When the Olds 98 rolled past him he was clos e e nough to touch it.
The deputy at the road repair site, sitting by the radio in the tool shed, sai d t o the Edna Post, "His truck's still over there. Haven't seen nothing or heard a s ound, so I judge he's home safely."
"Harold's about to leave," the voice coming over the radio said. "He wants t o k now what you want on your hamburgers."
"Mustard and relish," the deputy said.
"Mustard and relish, out."
"Out," the deputy said and flicked the switch off.
He heard the car coming and waited until it passed before stepping outside wit h t he binoculars. So he saw only the tail-lights of the Olds, the lights becomin g l ittle red dots before they disappeared. He raised the binoculars putting the m o n Majestyk's house, inching them over to the trees and back again. It was to o d ark to see anything. Dark already, the melon grower was probably in bed, an d h ere he hadn't even had his supper yet.
There were five of them watching the house. He came on them one at a time as h e c ircled through the trees, passing them, seeing dark silhouettes, hearing a m uffled cough. The last man was looking out of the trees toward the equipmen t s hed and past it, across the yard, to the back of the house. Majestyk knew h e c ould take the man from behind if he had to, with his hands. But he told himsel f n o, as he had told himself the time before, circling the perimeter of the Pathet Lao village and almost running into the sentry--a young man or a boy who wore a c ap with a short visor and held a Chicom machine gun across his skinny knees. He r emembered the profile of the boy's face in the moonlight, the delicat e f eatures, and remembered wondering what the boy was thinking, if he was afraid , alone in the darkness. He could have shot him, cut his throat or broken his nec k w ith his forearms. But he backtracked into the rain forest and waded for mile s t hrough a delta swamp so he wouldn't have to kill the boy. Maybe he had lost to o m uch time and it was the reason they captured him the next morning as he slept , opening his eyes to see the muzzle of the Chicom in his face. He wasn't sure i t w as the reason he was caught; so he told himself it wasn't. They were on patro l a nd had stumbled across him.
There had been five of them then, as there were five now. They tied his arm s b ehind him with hemp and looped it around his neck, to lead him back to th e v illage or to another village. He was filthy and smelled from wading through th e s wamp. At a river he remembered was the Nam Lec, he asked if he could was h h i
mself. One of them untied him and took him, with his Chicom, to the edge o f t he water. The rest sat on the bank ten yards away and began rolling cigarettes , leaning in toward the match one of them held, and the one guarding him wa s t urned to watch them. Almost in one motion he grabbed the man by his collar , pulling him into the river, chopped him across the face with the side of hi s h and, took the Chicom away from him and shot two of the Pathet Lao with a singl e b urst as they scrambled to raise their weapons. The three that were left h e b rought with him, thirty miles to the fire post at Hien Heup.
They gave him a Silver Star and a seventy-two-hour pass, which he spent in th e b ar at the Hotel Constellation in Vientiane. He told the story to a friend o f h is, another combat adviser sergeant, saying it didn't make sense, did it? Fal l a sleep and have to work your ass off to get out of a bad situation and they giv e y ou a medal. He remembered his friend saying, "You think people set out to wi n m edals? They're just guys who fuck up and get lucky, that's all."
He was still glad, when he thought about it, he had not killed the sentry.
The one here, watching the back of the house, was nothing to worry about.
Majestyk came out of the trees fifty yards down from the man, crossed at a n a ngle so that the equipment shed would give him cover, and reached the side o f t he house without being seen. Then over the rail to the porch, where he waited a g ood minute, listening, before going in through the screen door.
In the dark he moved across the room to the cabinet where he kept his deer rifl e a nd automatic shotgun, placed them on a long table behind the sofa that face d t he front door, and went back to the cabinet for shells and cartridges. He bega n l oading the shotgun first, thinking, You could go out the same way and take the m o ne at a time. Except Bobby Kopas would be last and he'd run. Get them al l t ogether somehow. And Frank Renda, get him out there. That would be too much t o a sk, to have Renda waiting for him in the woods and not see him coming.
The sound was faint, the squeak of a floorboard, but clear in the silence. He c ame around with the shotgun at his hip, almost in the same moment he heard th e s ound, and put it squarely on the figure in the bedroom doorway.
"Don't shoot me, Vincent."
Nancy. He knew it before she spoke, seeing her size and shape against the ligh t f rom the bedroom window, though not able to see her face. Her voice sounde d c alm.
"How'd you get here?"
"On the bus. It was going by--I went up to the driver and told him to stop. I told him I forgot something."
"You must've forgot your head. You know what you walked into?"
She didn't say anything. She had never heard this tone in his voice. Not loud , quiet, but God there was a cold edge to it, colder than it had been when he tol d h er to leave.
"There are five men out there," Majestyk said. "With guns. They're not going t o l et me leave and they're not going to let you leave either. You got nothing t o d o with this, but now you're in it."
She said to him quietly, "So I guess you're stuck with me, Vincent."
After a moment, when he came over to her and put his hand on her shoulder , turning her in the doorway so that the light showed part of her face, she kne w h is tone would be different.
"Why did you come back?"
"I don't know," she said, and that was partly true. "Maybe see what it's like t o b e on the same side as the grower. That's a funny thing, Vincent. All my life I've been fighting against the growers. Now, this is different."
"You like to fight?" He kept watching her, making up his mind.
"You don't know me yet," Nancy said. "I like to do a lot of things."
He raised the barrel of the shotgun. "You know how to use this?"
"Show me and I will."
"How about a deer rifle?"
"Aim it and pull the trigger. Isn't that all you do?" She waited, looking up a t h im.
"I don't want you to be here," he said then, "but I'm glad you are. Yo u u nderstand what I mean?"
"You don't have to say anything. If I didn't know how you feel I wouldn't b e h ere."
"You're that sure?"
She hesitated. "I hope so."
"You do have to leave yourself open, don't you? Take a chance."
"That's what it's all about."
"We'll have to talk about it again, when we have more time."
"Sure, it can wait." She smiled at him, even more sure of herself now.
"I'm going outside," he said. "Bring the truck up closer to the house--case the y g et it in mind to pull some wires."
"Are we going to make a run?"
"I don't know what we're going to do yet. First thing, I'll show you how to wor k t he rifle." She followed him to the table and watched him as he began to loa d t he Marlin. "If anybody tries to come in," he said, "shoot him. Don't say, 'Pu t u p your hands' or anything like that, shoot him."
"All right, Vincent."
He handed her the rifle and picked up the shotgun again. "But make sure it isn't m e."
Wiley was on the bearskin couch with her book. She looked up, over her readin g g lasses, at Lundy and said, "Gene's here."
Renda didn't pay any attention to her. He was on the phone again. Lundy ha d n ever seen a guy who was on the phone as much as Frank. The first time he eve r m et him--after doing seven on the armed robbery conviction and getting out an d g oing to see him with the note his cellmate had given him--Frank was on th e p hone. It seemed like he had been on it ever since.
Right now he was listening, standing by the bar making a drink, the phone wedge d i n between his shoulder and his jaw. He put the scotch bottle down, picked u p h is drink, took some of it, then put the glass down hard and said, "What th e f uck you talking about--I got back yesterday. Where's the wasted time? What if I was still in Mexico? You going to tell me everything would stop? Shit no." He l istened again, moving about impatiently. "Look, it's a personal matter--you sai d s o yourself. It's got nothing to do with the organization. I get it done and w e g et back to business. Not before."
He slammed the phone down and picked up his drink again. "Fucking lawyers. Yo u d on't know if they're working for you or you're working for them."
Wiley said, "I think your friends are worried you might get them involved."
"That's what I need, some more opinions."
She went back to her book as he turned to Lundy.
"What's he doing?"
"He picked up his trailer," Lundy said, "and went right home."
"Alone?"
"He was. But Bobby says there's a girl there. Come before he got back. I don't k now," Lundy said, "man's waiting to get shot he's got some tail with him."
Put yourself in his place, Renda was thinking, and said, "The cops could've tol d h im don't worry and he feels safe. Thinks, with all that's happened, I won't c ome for him right away."
"Whenever we do it," Lundy said, "we can't just walk in. The cops could be ther e w aiting."
"You see any?"
"No, but they could've slipped in when it got dark. Be all over the place."
"I don't have time to fool around," Renda said. "They're starting to pressur e m e, give me some shit, tell me forget about the guy or hire it done."
Lundy agreed with them 100 percent, but he said, "You want to hit him yoursel f y ou got to wait for the right time, that's all."
"I don't have time! Can't you get that in your head?" He took a drink of scotc h a nd calmed down a little. "How many guys you got there?"
"Five. In the trees by his place. There's a back road takes you in there." He w atched Frank put his glass down and go over to a window that looked out on a d ark patio and swimming pool.
When Renda turned to him again he said, "If it can take you in, nobody sees you , it can take him out, can't it?"
"If there's no cops in his house."
"All right, you watch his place. He tries to move during the night, stop him. We s ee who comes out in the morning. We don't see any cops around we grab him, pu t h im
in a car, take him out in the desert."
"What about the girl?" Lundy said.
"What girl?"
"The one with him."
"If she's with him she goes too."
Looking at the page in her book, Wiley wondered what the girl looked like. Sh e w ondered if the girl knew she might get killed. Or if the melon grower knew it.
Yes, he'd know it, but she wasn't sure about the girl.
Lundy was gone. Frank was at the bar again making another drink. He was drinkin g t oo much, taking more pills than he ever had before.
Wiley said, "Do you ever worry about--that you could get caught by the police? Or s hot? Or killed?"
"Are you going to give me some more opinions?"
"I was just curious. Is that all right?" He didn't answer her and she said, "Th e g uy really didn't mess you up that much, did he? I mean is it worth it? All th e t rouble?"
He turned from the bar with a fresh scotch.
"Is your book any good?"
"It's different."
"Good and dirty?"
"Dirty enough."
"Then why don't you read it?"
"And shut the fuck up."
"Right," Renda said, "and shut the fuck up."
For several minutes Majestyk stood by the screen door, holding it open a fe w i nches, looking down the road toward the migrant quarters and the packing shed.
He thought he had heard a car, not an engine sound but a squeak of spring s r olling slowly over ruts. Now all he heard were the crickets. He looked out a t h is fields, past the pickup, that was parked about twenty feet from the porc h n ow, facing the dirt road and the highway at the end of it. With his shotgun h e m oved to a side window and looked out at the dark mass of trees. There was n o m ovement, no sound. He left the window.
From the bedroom doorway he could see the girl's profile against the window an d t he barrel of the Marlin.
"Anything?"
She shook her head. "I have trouble concentrating, Vincent. What I'd like t o m ore than anything is straighten this place up."
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