Elmore Leonard - Raylan

“I’m not workin for her no more,” Boyd said, “and that’s all I can tell you. I got to go now, pick her up.”

Raylan let him walk out. He wasn’t going far.

C arol came out of the mine company building with a couple of manila envelopes under her arm and got in front with Boyd this time.

“What did you do, go to a bar?”

Boyd came right out and told her, “As a matter of fact, I stopped off to see my old buddy again.”

He could feel her staring at him, Boyd looking at his outside mirror, waiting for cars to pass.

She said, “Tell me why.”

“I wanted to get something straight with him.”

She reached over, turhed overned the key to kill the engine.

“You know I’m an attorney.”

Boyd said, “Yeah…?” feeling he had the edge here.

“I’ve told you how many times,” Carol said, “there is no possibility of your being convicted. You won’t even be brought to trial, even if I were to admit you murdered him. I’m an accomplice, it’s my gun-the company’s actually. Even if I say I tried to stop you.”

Boyd held off from screaming at her, I didn’t shoot him, you did! as loud as he could in her face.

He cleared his throat to get himself ready and said in his normal voice, “Raylan knows I didn’t shoot the man. He knows me from standin on picket lines with him, couple of coal miners on strike hopin our Higher Power’s on our side and not the company’s.”

Carol said, “You told him you didn’t shoot Otis.”

“That’s correct, since I didn’t.”

She said, “Boyd-”

“You call me by name, you’re about to yell at me for somethin.”

She said, “When have I ever raised my voice?”

“I figure you’d fire me anyway.”

“You told him,” Carol said, “I shot Otis?”

“What I told him was I didn’t.”

“And you think he believes you.”

“Yes, I do.”

“It seems to me,” Carol said, “nothing’s changed. Whether you told him I shot Otis or not. He’d still have to prove it wasn’t self-defense.”

Boyd said, “Tell me who did it, all right? Just so I’ll know.”

“What’s the difference? You were there, you didn’t stop me. I said empty his shotgun, and you aided and abetted. But whether you keep your big mouth shut or not,” Carol said, “now that you’ve found God, you want me to give myself up so you won’t have to turn snitch. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You know what they say, que sera sera, era sera” Boyd said.

“God,” Carol said. “You’re too dumb to be a threat.”

He turned the key and started to pull away from the curb, his jaw clamped shut, and she stopped him.

“Get out and I’ll scoot over. Take a taxi to the nursing home, St. Elizabeth, the address is on the envelopes.” She handed it to him. “Get Marion to sign wherever it’s indicated and tell her I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“Thank her for being so cooperative. God, talking to her on the phone was an extreme test of will. Tell the old lady she’s getting five bills a month and that’s it.” She said, “Boyd,” her tone becoming almost soft, “let me do the thinking, okay?”

T he taxi driver said, “You going to see your fatha or your mama in this place?”

“My old mom,” Boyd said, holding the envelopes on his lap, the one with the deed not as fat as the one with the agreement the old lady had to sign, three different places.

“Is nice you go see her,” the driver said. “You bring her some candy?”

“She eats sweet stuff she gets pimples.”

“Yes? How old is she?”

“I believe goin on eighty.”

“She still has teeth?”

“I haven’t examined her mouth, but I believe they long gone.”

“Get her some candy she can suck on.”

Boyd could not tell where this guy was from, but not anywhere close to America. “She’s old-lookin from the life she’s had, married to a coal miner.”

“He die?”

“Yes, he did. Was shot.”

“Oh, you know who shot him?”

“Yeah, but I’m not tellin.”

“You say okay? You not gonna shoot him?”

Boyd said, “Where you from?”

“I come here from Albania,” the driver said, “but I’m not Muslim. I have to shoot some guy, I do it.”

He pulled into the drive of St. Elizabeth’s, the nursing home. Boyd got out and paid the driver, telling him, “You oughta try to control your emotions, partner,” and went in the building: two stories of red brick with white trim, a nice-lookin place to end your days. But wasn’t at all nice inside. It smelled of old people wettin theirselves all day long. A woman took him down an aisle, around the corner and down another aisle to Marion Culpepper’s room.

T here she was sitting in a rocking chair, a quilt over her legs to the floor, limp hair stuck to her head, eyes sunken, not showing much life in there. She had oxygen tubes stuck in her nose, the line going underneath the quilt to the floor. As a representative of the coal company, Boyd said, “Ms. Culpepper, don’t you have a cozy setup here.” The room had the rocker and a straight chair, a chest of drawers, a bed you pressed a button and it changed its shape and, on the wall, a picture of Jesus showing his Sacred Heart.

It was a room at the end of the trail.

Boyd said, “Hey, you got your own bathroom.”

Ms. Culpepper said, “Wasn’t you suppose to bring a jar?”

Boyd frowned. “I only was given these papers.”

“I told Sista to find when somebody was comin.”

“I never heard from her,” Boyd said.

“Miz Conlan’d never bring any.”

“As I say, I only brought these papers for you to sign, the deed to the house and how much you’re settlin for. It says five hundred, cross it out and write in what you want or you won’t sign it. You can discuss it with Ms. Conlan, she’s the one wrote it up. Or,” Boyd said, “you can sign it, and I’ll get ’em to write any changes you want.” He thought a moment and said, “I tell you what, you sign the papers, I’ll run out and get you a jar of shine.”

“I miss Otis,” Marion said.

“I ’magine so, but you’re gonna be with him pretty soon, aren’t you?”

“Doctor says they’s years left in my bones. I’m only sixty-nine. He told me I only had a touch of black lung, my cooked lungs was from smoking reefer all my life.”

Boyd said, “Try to get some Oxy off the nurse.”

“She said I need to be in pain. I’m not takin any sass off that company woman no more. She’s always short with me. I hear her yellin I get what she gives me or nothin. I said, ‘Where you think we’re livin, back in 1940?’ It all started with that goddamn fishpond of Otis’s. I threaten to cook the fish, he’d go up on Old Black and shoot us squirrels. One time he got us a buck.”

Boyd said, “Ms. Conlan’s stoppin by tomorrow. Whyn’t you come out’n demand what you want?”

“Six hunnert, I ever speak to her again. Up from five hunnert, what I been tellin her. Hey, you work for her, don’t you?”

Boyd said, “I’m in charge of”-came close to saying Disagreements, but changed it to-“drivin her around.”

She said, “You was with her, wasn’t you? The night Otis come up to you?”

Boyd straightened, saying to the widow, “Ma’am, I did not shoot your husband.”

“I know that,” Ms. Culpepper said. “I’ve heard her talk and now I’ve heard you talk, offerin to go out and get me a jar. Get two, please. I suppose you don’t have much patience, but she don’t have none. She like to get things done right now. She come to get these papers signed, you now what I’m gonna do?”

Boyd shook his head.

She threw off the quilt covering her legs and was aiming a shotgun at him.