Elmore Leonard - Raylan

Cuba had pulled on his pants and was stripping the bedding from the sofa. He said, “Raylan,” shaking his head. “I could hear you lyin to each other.”

Layla had on a black kimono with touches of red here and there. She told Cuba to put on his shoes and wait in the bedroom. “With your gun,” Layla said. “We’re ready, we’ll do it here, right now. In the bathtub. Run water to wash out the blood. He comes in, we’ll lie to each other some more. I’ll see how it goes, the kind of mood he’s in. I’ll have the needle ready.” She looked around the room. “Maybe in the kitchen. I’ll get him relaxed first.”

“When he ain’t lookin,” Cuba said, “you pop him with the needle?”

“And you take him out when we’re finished,” Layla said. “Get him to disappear.”

“Not hang him on a corner and call emergency?”

“He knows us,” Layla said. “He gets on dialysis we’re fucked.” She took time to look at Cuba and said, “Am I right?”

Cuba said, “You always right, aren’t you? {areang”

S he opened the door and said to Raylan, “Follow me,” and took him through the living room to the kitchen, where two vodkas over ice waited on the counter. She watched him grin as she handed him one.

“To ease me down,” Raylan said. “Tell you the truth, I came here with the same idea. Let you know I’m not gonna snitch on you, tell the hospital you didn’t take off to see your old mom. She wouldn’t of known you, you wore a sign with your name on it.”

“I told you, I met my boyfriend,” Layla said.

“His name Cuba Franks?”

Layla gave him a tired look, shaking her head. “Whoever Cuba is, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“He brought his boss to the hospital a couple times. Mr. Harry Burgoyne?”

“I still don’t remember him,” Layla said.

“Cuba’s easy to meet, for a fella’s done hard time,” Raylan said. “I thought he might straighten out his life, till he shot the Crowe brothers. Shot the dad too, but Pervis survived. Now the old man wants to do Cuba himself. Did you know that? For killing his worthless boys.”

Layla got out a cigarette and lighted it saying, “Why don’t you finish your drink and leave?”

“You haven’t eased me down,” Raylan said, “have you? The Crowe brothers did some work for Cuba one time. Lifted Angel Arenas on the bed to get his kidneys removed. I thought, Why didn’t they do him in the tub, save messin up the bed? I guess they were still learning. The Crowes gave Angel a week to come up with a hundred grand-the second biggest mistake Cuba ever made, hookin up with the Crowes.”

Layla had to ask:

“What was his first mistake?”

“Getting involved with Miss Transplant,” Raylan said. “Why he’s hiding in the bedroom right now.”

She said, “You can’t just… search my apartment.”

“I’ve got cause,” Raylan said. “Reason to believe a wanted felon’s in there.”

“Why you’ve come after me all of a sudden,” Layla said, “I’ll never know.” She moved closer to Raylan leaning on the yellow-tile counter, his body against the fucking drawer she had to open to get the needle. {t tlos

“Do you think I’d actually steal kidneys from the center?”

“You learned how watching for eleven years. Only you do your surgery in motel rooms.”

“I think you’re crazy,” Layla said. “You want to look in the bedroom? Go ahead.”

She threw her cigarette in the sink as he straightened, leaving his glass on the counter, and watched him walk out of the kitchen in his cowboy hat. Layla opened the drawer and picked up the syringe.

Now the tricky part: walk up behind him and jab the needle into his arm before he saw her. She tested the needle, got a squirt and went after Raylan, almost to the bedroom, his left hand reaching for the doorknob, right hand slipping inside his suitcoat. Behind him now Layla said, “Raylan…?” Saw him hesitate, start to turn his head and jabbed the needle hard through his coat and into his right arm. Saw his hand come out holding the Glock. Saw him look at her, his eyes turning dreamy, his knees giving up and he stumbled against the door, hat on, gun still in his han d, Raylan in his good-looking navy suit sliding to the floor.

“Cuba? You can come out now.”

Cuba opened the door to see Layla posing, holding Raylan’s Glock and wearing his cowboy hat cocked on her head, a saucy angle. He looked down at Raylan, Layla saying, “Let’s get him in the tub.”

They dragged him to the bathroom and stripped off his clothes, everything, Layla using scissors to open the legs of his pants to pull them over his curl-toed cowboy boots, Cuba thinking they looked custom-made. Layla still had Raylan’s hat cocked on her head, not knowing how to wear it. She took his legs, Cuba his upper body, straining to lift Raylan over the side of the tub. Cuba thought he should be higher, so his chin wasn’t on his chest; it didn’t look right.

“We should move him up higher,” Cuba said.

She was looking at his privates, Cuba pretty sure she’d make a remark.

“Would you say he’s hung or not?”

“A guy knows how to use what he has,” Cuba said, “or he don’t.” He looked at Raylan again. “I want to ease him up so he’s higher in the tub.”

Knowing she’d say something else.

“Why? What difference does it make?” She said, “Do what you want, as long as he’s on his back,” and left the bathroom with Raylan’s clothes and his gun.

Cuba turned to watch her, in the bedroom now dropping Raylan’s clothes on the bed. He watched her take off the hat and toss it by the clothes, on the bed, and almost yelled at her, Get the hat off the bed, it’s bad luck.

He stopped to think, Like what?

They already had the worst kind of luck waiting for them, once they let a federal marshal die. It would be the same as a homicide, their intention being the same as killing him. She’d tell him okay, now dump his body somewhere while I clean up and get ready for bed. Only he wouldn’t come back and get in with her. That would be the moment. That would be the time to keep going, “Get out of town before it’s too late”-Layla always singin that at him-“my dear,” and givin him the cool smile and all kind of lovin.

Or hang him on a corner and call the hospital.

He’d thought of that. Do it but don’t tell her. Give the man a chance.

He looked at Raylan’s head against the end of the tub, chin stuck to his chest like he couldn’t move it, and saw his face twitch, Raylan’s face, like a fly was bothering him. Now his hand came up his bare chest to his mouth and Cuba turned to the bedroom. He saw Layla in there at the dresser laying out her things for the surgery, her scalpels, her swabs and alcohol, her staples she’d use to close him up. Cuba raised his voice to tell her, “Girl, he’s movin.”

He saw her look up at the dresser mirror.

“He’s all right. I’ll be there in a minute, maybe give him another shot.” She said, “Get him comfortable and he’ll nod off.”

Raylan heard her say, “God damn it, I didn’t bring gloves.”

Layla.

He heard her say, “Not that it matters.”

He saw Cuba by the tub, his shape, his face coming down close and out of the smoke in Raylan’s head.

Cuba said to him, “Can you hear me?”

Raylan closed his eyes. He let his hand slip down his body to his groin and learned he was naked but could feel his toes in his boots. They kept slipping when he tried to push himself up, get a little higher. He heard Cuba:

“He’s movin again,” his voice raised.

Layla said something about the fucking syringe; she couldn’t find it. Now Cuba was saying, “I could get behind you I’d pull you up, but they’s no room. I’m on get in the tub and see can I push you up.” He said, “Me and you got the kind of bodies the ladies die for. Our natures keeping us thin. None of that runnin and weight liftin shit. You eat the right food you stay trim. I think the secret is only eat fried food, then work it off quick makin love to the bitches.”