Elmore Leonard - Riding the Rap

Louis was thinking he could sell the car himself, ship it to Nassau-he’d done that plenty of times in his youth-but didn’t say anything about Bobby’s arrangement. Keeping the peace, for the time being.

He said, “So we don’t pay Dawn right away. It ain’t like she can take us to court.”

What Bobby was thinking now, watching the fortune-teller’s house, there could be a problem with her. He knew it without knowing the woman. Felt it looking at the house, the vegetation almost hiding it: an old melaleuca rotting inside itself, palmettos that had never been cut back growing wild across the front windows. A woman who lived alone in a house like that had problems. And a woman with problems, man, could make you have some of your own.

When the white Cadillac rolled past, crept up the street to stop in front of the house, Louis said, “Here we go,” sitting up now, alert. “Your friend Mr. Arno. Man, it worked, huh? I wasn’t sure it would.”

Bobby watched Harry get out of the car and stand looking at the house, his hand resting on the mailbox mounted on a crooked post.

Louis said, “Man’s older than I thought.”

Bobby didn’t say anything. He had no feeling about Harry, one way or the other.

Now a compact Toyota came past them, faded red, trailing a wisp of smoke from the tailpipe. The car braked and turned into the drive that looked like gravel and weeds. Bobby watched Harry Arno walk over to greet the woman getting out of the car, saying something to her, Bobby seeing the fortune-teller for the first time. He said, “She isn’t bad,” sounding a little surprised.

“She’s something else,” Louis said. “Can tell you things about yourself you never even knew.”

The house reminded Harry of Florida forty years ago, a little stucco crackerbox with jalousie windows where a garage door used to be. He said to the girl, “Nice place you have,” trying to sound like he meant it.

She didn’t say anything. Took him past a sign next to the front door that said:

PSYCHIC READINGS

DREAM INTERPRETATIONS

PAST-LIFE REGRESSIONS

and into a room full of dark furniture from some other time and a gray leatherette recliner that seemed out of place. She touched the backrest saying, “I’d like you to sit here, if you would, please, and try to relax. Close your eyes if you want.”

He got in the chair and looked around at all the clutter, knickknacks, dolls, little china and ceramic figures and a few stuffed animals, an old teddy bear, all of it here and there on bookshelves and side tables. On the walls, an Indian rug with a design that looked something like the zodiac, and a framed print of Jesus-that one where he’s surrounded by little kids.

Reverend Dawn Navarro said, “I was thinking on the way here, I asked if you had any investments over in Italy and you said no, just the villa you leased.”

“That’s right,” Harry said, still looking around. The recliner faced the doorway into the room with the jalousie windows that used to be a garage. He saw more clutter in there-old aluminum lawn chairs, a plastic swan that looked like a planter… Reverend Dawn wasn’t much of a housekeeper.

Her voice said, “You got the villa through a real estate agent. They showed you pictures of different ones…”

“Right again,” Harry said.

He felt her hand touch his shoulder and rest there and he looked up, but she was behind him.

“You didn’t pay cash, though, for the villa.”

Harry smiled. “No, not that time. I had to transfer enough from a Swiss bank to one in Rapallo, establish myself there to make the deal, you know, and have money for living expenses. I bought a car, too, a Mercedes.” He said, “That could be the unfinished business. I have to do something about the car.”

He heard her say, “Maybe,” as her hand left his shoulder and he watched the light reflecting on the ceiling dim and heard the rattle of venetian blinds being closed, her voice saying, “But I don’t think the car’s the reason you’re drawn to Rapallo. Where is it exactly?”

“On the coast, not too far from Genoa.”

“I’m trying to picture it. I know Italy’s shaped like a boot…”

“That’s right, so Rapallo’d be up there on the shin, just below where the boot spreads out to cover your knee.”

“In the northern part,” her voice said. “And you like to travel, don’t you?”

“You bet. That’s one of the advantages of Rapallo, it’s centrally located. Drive down to Rome, couple of hours to Milan. Anywhere you want to go’s fairly close.”

“Visit other countries,” Dawn Navarro’s voice said. “Isn’t Switzerland right there?”

“Not too far.”

“You’ve been there.”

“Yeah, a number of times; it’s beautiful.”

“Harry, use that lever to tilt back; the footrest comes up.”

He eased back all the way.

“How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“You’re comfortable?”

“I could go to sleep.”

Her voice said, “Close your eyes, but not too tight, and breathe slowly. I’m gonna count backward, Harry, down to one and then start to regress you. Okay? Here we go. Ten. Imagine all of your muscles relaxing, going limp… Nine. In your face… your shoulders… down through your body… into your legs… Eight. You feel yourself drifting into a deeper state of relaxation… Seven. But you’re completely aware of everything that’s happening… Six. You’re drifting deeper and deeper…”

Bobby came around back to the kitchen door, Louis following with a roll of duct tape. Through the screen they could see Chip on the other side of the kitchen, by the door that opened into the living room, but couldn’t see what was going on in there. Chip, standing with his back to them, blocked their view-until Bobby opened the screen and Chip turned, pressing a finger to his mouth. Bobby went in first, moved across the linoleum to the doorway and shouldered Chip over to make room. He didn’t like it. He put on a look Bobby caught but ignored, Bobby watching the fortune-teller standing next to Harry in the recliner, the fortune-teller looking this way now, brushing her long hair from her face with the tips of her fingers, looking this way right at Bobby-checking him out-Bobby sure of it, the woman calm, still looking this way as she said, “Two. You’re deeply relaxed, Harry, you feel safe, comfortable.” Now she was looking at Harry again. “And one, you’re ready to begin. First, though, I’m gonna take your hand in mine and stroke it, okay? You tell me what you feel.”

Bobby watched her pinch the skin on the back of Harry’s hand, hard, and was surprised Harry didn’t jerk his hand away.

She said, “Harry?”

“What?”

“Did you feel anything unpleasant?”

“No.”

“Do you want to look at your hand?”

“No.”

“Are you willing to talk to me? Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“And go back in time? Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go back gradually, Harry, regress you to last year when you were in Italy for a short time. You said your money is over there in a Swiss bank? Yes or no.”

“No.”

Bobby could see the fortune-teller, frowning now at Harry, didn’t expect him to say that. He watched her use two fingers to slide the man’s eyelids back and stare at him before taking her hand away.

She said, “Harry, you told me you transferred money from a Swiss bank to a bank in Rapallo. Not all of it, but enough, for expenses. Were you telling the truth, Harry? Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“So you do have money in the bank over there.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t mean in Italy, I mean Switzerland. Do you have money in Switzerland, Harry? Yes or no.”