Stuart Woods - Under the Lake

“No, you haven’t. You won’t live a week. Listen, Scotty, if you don’t pack up and get back to Atlanta today, I mean right now, I’m going to go to Bo and tell him who you are and blow your whole ball game.” Howell knew, even as he said this, that it didn’t carry much conviction, but he felt he had to try to get her to protect herself.

“He already knows who I am, smartass, or thinks he does. If you do that, I’ll come up with a good story. I’ll tell him I was dipping into my expense money at the paper and got fired and changed my name out of shame and came up here to lose myself. Anyway, if I go, you’ve got to go, too. He’ll know you know everything I do. How can you find out about the O’Coineens then?”

That stopped in his tracks for a moment. “No, no,” he continued, but with even less conviction, “if he brings it up, I’ll just tell him that you came up here to find out if he was dirty, then couldn’t find out anything and left.”

“Oh, yeah? You think he’d buy that? Bo’s a lot more careful than that. He wouldn’t be happy until you were out of the way.”

“Scotty, please, know when you’re licked. Go.”

Scotty stood up. “I’m going to work,” she said, emphatically.

“You’re going to get blown away, Scotty.”

She rummaged deeply in her handbag. “Oh, no, I’m not,” she replied, pulling out a small revolver and waving it above her head. “I’ll defend myself if I have to.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Howell howled.

“And I know how to use it, too,” she said, triumphantly. “I took a course.”

“Yeah? What gun did you shoot with?”

“A police thirty-eight.”

“Well, what you’ve got there is a.25 Saturday night special with a two-inch barrel. Just remember that you won’t be able to hit anything more than a few feet away, and that it probably won’t stop what you hit. All that will do is just help you get killed faster.” He reached for it. “Give me that.”

She snatched it away and dropped it into her purse again. “No, sir. I’m hanging onto it, and I’ll use it if I have to.” She started for the door.

Howell felt totally helpless. “Scotty.”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“Bo knows. You know Bo knows, but Bo doesn’t know you know he knows.” Howell shook his head to clear it. “I think that’s right. Anyway, that’s all you’ve got going for you, that he doesn’t know you know he knows.”

“This is starting to sound like an Abbot and Costello routine.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t back him into a corner, Scotty. Let him think he’s in control. And for God’s sake, don’t let yourself end up alone with him, okay?”

Scotty nodded. “Okay. That’s good advice. That’s what I need from you, now, John, good advice. See you later.”

Howell watched her walk down the steps to her car, then he closed the door and leaned on it. They were in a whole new ball game, now, and he didn’t like it at all.

Howell paid for the groceries at the supermarket and waited while a teenager bagged them. His eye wandered about the store and stopped. A glass partition separated the modern grocery store from its equally modern drug department a few steps away. On the other side of the glass, he saw Leonie Kelly paying for something at the prescription counter. He turned to the boy bagging the groceries and handed him half a dollar. “Just put them in the green station wagon over there,” he said, pointing toward the parking lot.

He started toward the door, glancing through the glass again to see if Leonie had left, then he saw something he had not bargained for. She was walking toward the front of the drugstore, her back to the clerk at the prescription counter; as she passed near a shelf, she reached out, took a packet of something, and dropped it into her handbag.

Howell watched her leave the store without paying for it, then hurried to catch up with her. “Leonie!” he called out.

When she turned, she did not look glad to see him. “Sorry, I can’t stop to talk right now. I’ve got to get back to the house. Mama needs some medicine. I’ve just had her prescription filled.”

“I’ll walk you to your car, then,” he said, falling into step with her. She said nothing. “Listen, I could grow old waiting for you to call me. Why don’t we get together the next day or two?”

“I can’t. Mama needs me all the time, now. I just can’t get away.”

She seemed very cool and distant. They had reached the Kelly truck, and she climbed into the driver’s seat. Her sister, Mary, waited patiently for her. “Hey, John,” the girl said.

“Hey, Mary.” He turned to Leonie. “Listen, things must be pretty rough for you right now. Can I lend you a few hundred bucks to help get you through this?”

She looked at him, surprised. “Why on earth do you think I would take any money from you?” She seemed insulted by the idea.

“Well, look,” he said, lowering his voice so that Mary wouldn’t hear him, “taking a few bucks from a friend beats shoplifting, any day.” She looked taken aback. “I saw you in the drugstore,” he said, feeling immediately guilty, as if he had been deliberately spying on her.

She flushed angrily and turned to start the truck. “I think it would be better if you just minded your own business,” she said and drove quickly away, nearly knocking him down.

Howell watched the truck disappear, then walked to his own car. The grocery boy was putting the last bags into the rear of the wagon. He started the car and drove toward the Kellys’ house. Leonie and her family, he was now beginning to realize, were people he had become fond of, indeed, the best people he had met in this town. He felt particularly for her, an attractive and intelligent woman, trapped in circumstances that were not of her making, who had paid him the compliment of wanting to make love to him. He had given precious little back, and he felt badly about it. He wanted to help. He didn’t want Leonie stealing in order to make ends meet for her family while her mother was dying a slow and painful death.

But by the time he was nearing the Kelly house, he was reconsidering. A direct approach when she was embarrassed and angry might not be the best way. Perhaps he should wait and talk with her later, instead. When he came to the Kelly driveway he drove on past, idly following the road.

He had driven only a couple of hundred yards when an enormous roar from above made him duck reflexively. He leaned forward and looked up to see a light airplane passing over very low, gaining altitude slowly. Where the hell had that come from? A moment later, he knew. He stopped the car and stared at the sign in front of him. It read:

SUTHERLAND COUNTY AIRPORT

Howell knew where to find Bo at this hour of the day. He tapped the sheriff lightly on the shoulder as he slid into the booth with him. “Join you, Bo?”

“Sure thing, John. Make yourself at home.” Bo seemed just a bit cooler than his usual self.

“Cheeseburger and a beer, Bubba,” Howell called across the room. Bubba nodded.

They traded idle chat until the food arrived. Then Howell took a deep breath. “Bo, there’s something we have to talk about.”

Bo looked wary. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s been bothering me ever since we had the conversation about the credit card.”

“Yeah?” Bo sipped his coffee and waited.

“The credit card is Scotty’s, Bo.”

Bo lifted an eyebrow, set down his coffee cup and looked at Howell for a moment. “Tell me about it,” he said, finally.

He was good, Howell thought, Academy Award good. “Scotty’s name is MacDonald, not Miller. Heather MacDonald. She’s a reporter at the Constitution, or at least, she was until recently.”