Joe Lansdale - Waltz of Shadows

We looked around a bit, then brought the groceries in and put them away. Tim assigned the kids, Arnold, Bev and me bedrooms. The rooms were so far in the back of the house, I thought I ought to drop some bread crumbs so I could find my way back to the front door.

“Use what you want,” Tim said. “He doesn’t care. We finish, I’ll have everything fixed up like it was.”

· · ·

That night, about eleven-thirty, Virgil call, Virgiled Price at home. Price agreed to meet us. He said he had a plan. Virgil gave him directions to a meeting place. Arnold’s cabin. Virgil decided just me and him should go.

I kissed Bev and the kids goodbye and hugged Arnold. Poot wagged his tail and Tim got a beer out of the refrigerator and turned on the living room television. He was the sentimental sort.

Virgil and I took the big boat over to the other side of the lake, over to Arnold’s cabin. We docked, got off the boat and walked out back of the place and around. The air was cool and sharp and the wind was hooting in the bottle tree.

Price heard our boat motor and came around and met us at the side of the house. He was dressed in a different suit than before, but it was too dark for me to tell much about it.

“Que paso,” said Virgil.

“You didn’t say you’d be coming by boat,” Price said. “You’re on the other side of the lake, huh?”

“Our network is large and devious,” Virgil said.

“Nice boat,” Price said.

“Can’t see that much of it in the dark,” Virgil said.

“Any boat’s a nice boat when you don’t have one,” Price said.

“Man of your nature,” I said. “I figure you’ll have a boat in time.”

“Same way I figure it,” Price said. “All right, this Snake guy. I got him figured. He’s too strange to be anyone but Tommy Ray Mault, Fat Boy’s cousin.”

“That’s sweet,” Virgil said.

“The whole family’s full of sugar,” Price said. “They’re sweeter than me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Virgil said. “I get sugar diabetes just looking at you.”

“Tommy Ra… Snake. He’s supposed to be dead. Records say he is, but…”

Price reached inside his coat and came out with a photograph and a penlight. He handed them both to me. I turned on the light and looked at the photo. It was Snake holding an arrest number card. He looked his same special self, except a little younger.

“That’s him,” I said.

“Yeah,” Price said, taking back the photo and the light. “Story goes they let him out of his last Huntsville stretch early on account of his stink. Nobody could stand him. Got some kind of disease makes his sweat smell like something dead. Gets worse as he gets older. He had him any dates, he must have had ’em in grade school.”

“How is it he was thought to be dead?” I asked.

“Third time he was supposed to go up, this time for raping some girl over in Busby, girl’s daddy came to the court house and decided to be the Lone Ranger. He knew they were moving Tommy, and he knew they’d be bringing him out of the courthouse in irons and under guard. He jumped out of hiding and tried to pop Snake with a. 22 pistol. Missed the fucker near pointer near blank and put one in a deputy’s ear. Other deputy wiped his partner’s brains out of his eyes and shot a hole in Daddy’s chest, and while he was beading up for another round, Tommy Ray put the smoke on the deputy and got his gun. Shot him dead and put a couple in Daddy. Not that Daddy really needed them. The deputy’s shot had punched out some parts.

“Snake got away wearing leg irons, stole a cop car. They found the car later, abandoned. Month after that some guy was discovered in a stolen car alongside the road. He was burned to a cracker, but his cousin, Fat Boy, identified the body as that of Tommy Ray. Supposed to have been a suicide. Coated himself in gasoline, sat in the car, and put a match to himself.”

“What about dental records?” I said.

“What about them?” Price said. “Had a positive I.D. on him from the only relative ever had anything to do with Tommy Ray. Cousin ought to know him. Right? It was near Busby, Fat Boy’s territory. No one questioned him. They took him at his word.”

“Sounds to me,” Virgil said, “you know Fat Boy’s methods pretty well for someone yesterday didn’t know nothing.”

“Fat Boy could do what he wanted long as he didn’t track shit in my house,” Price said. “He’s got it on my rug now.”

“Who was the body they used for Snake?” I asked.

“Someone who hasn’t wrote home lately,” Price said. “Or they dug a fresh corpse out of the cemetery and burned it. No telling. That’s not our problem. That doctor you told me about. The plastic surgeon. We’re going to his place. A little late call.”

“All of us?” I asked.

“You said have a plan, so I got a plan,” Price said. “You gonna play or not?”

“We’ll play,” I said.

“You didn’t bring the dog, did you?”

“It’s his night off,” Virgil said.

“Good,” Price said. “I hate fucking dogs.”

· · ·

Price drove us there in his Plymouth. We arrived after midnight. We parked at the curb and went up the walk with Price in the lead. Price rang the doorbell. It took a while for the porch light to come on. There was a voice contraption in the door and a voice talked to us through that.

“Who is it?”

Price took out his identification and held it up so it could be seen through the spy glass in the door.

“Doctor Benjamin Parker?” Price asked.

“Yes,” said the voice.

“Open up,” Price said. “Police.”

While we waited under the glow of the porch light, I took a good look at Price’s suit to pass the time. It fit beautifully. It was dark blue. The shirt was grey. The tie was dark blue with thin gray lines. It had a ks. It hanot tied in it about the size of a plum. He wore expensive gray socks. The shoes had a bluish cast to them. A moth, perhaps attracted to the mousse on his hair, circled his head a few times then dove for the porch light and fluttered.

Doc opened the door. He was dressed in a black silk robe and black house shoes so stylish he could have worn a tie with them and gone to church.

Price pushed past Doc and went inside. We followed. Doc closed the door, said, “What’s this about? Have I done something?”

A young woman with sleepy eyes, wearing a shorty, white, silk robe well filled by her breasts, stepped out of an open doorway. She also wore pink bunny slippers, with ears. She looked as timid as a deer. She called the Doc’s name. He said, “Go back to bed, sugar. It’s business.”

“Emergency nose job,” Price said.

“Oh,” said the young woman, and went away.

“Time to change her diaper?” Price said.

“What?” Doc said.

“How old’s she?” Price asked.

“Nineteen,” Doc said. “She looks young for her age.”

“Yeah, like maybe she just got off the baby formula,” Price said. “’Course, those tits are plenty mature.”

“Look, Chief,” Doc said. “That’s right, isn’t it? Chief? The girl’s nineteen. Check it out. Someone’s given you a bum steer, if they’re telling you she’s underage.”

“That isn’t it,” Price said. “Let’s go somewhere and sit down.”

Doc looked at me and Virgil, trying to determine our part in all this. We didn’t offer to fill him in. He said, “This way.”

The room he took us into was the room Bill had described. The one with the long table and the big windows. There was a huge piece of plywood covering one of the windows. Price noticed that, looked at me and Virgil. I presumed Virgil had told Price everything he had gotten from me, about how Bill had escaped and all, and Price was puzzling it together.