Sue Grafton - L is for Lawless

"You're saying Johnny kept in touch all these years because of guilt?"

"Mostly that," he said. "And maybe because I was the only one who knew he'd been in jail besides his wife. With everybody else, he was always pretending to be something he wasn't. All the tales about Burma and Claire Chennault. He got those from books. His kids thought he was a hero, but he knew he wasn't. With me, he could be himself. Meantime, I got into grand theft auto and armed robbery, which is how I finally qualified for accommodations in the penitentiary. I did time in Lewisburg and a bid in Leavenworth, but I was mostly confined in Atlanta. That's a real test of your survival skills. Atlanta's where they're housing all the Cuban criminals Castro's sending over to keep us company."

"What happened to Maria? Are you still married to her?"

"Nah. She finally divorced me because I couldn't straighten up and fly right, but that was my fault, not hers. She's a good woman."

"It must be unsettling to have freedom after forty years."

Rawson shrugged, looking off across the room. "They did what they could to prepare me for the outside. When I turned sixty, the BOP – Bureau of Prisons – started weaning me off hard time. My security level dropped to the point where I was eligible to move out of the joint. I got sent back to FCI Ashland, and what a revelation that was. It'd been thirty-five years since I'd seen the place. I'm looking at punks the same age as I was when I first got sent up. All of the sudden, I'm 'getting it,' you know? Like I can see the big picture. I did a complete turnaround in the space of a year, picked up my GED, and started taking college classes. I started taking care of myself, quit smoking, started lifting weights, and like that. Got myself buffed up. I went before the parole board this time and got early release."

Ray paused to look around at the kids nearby. They were crowded into booths and tables, chairs pulled up. Menus were being passed hand to hand above their heads while the rustle of restless laughter washed across them in waves. It was a sound I liked, energetic, innocent. Ray shook his head. "Kids are up on my floor, about two doors down. My God, the shrieking and pounding up and down the halls. It goes on 'til all hours."

"Are you still in touch with Maria?"

"Now and then. She remarried. Last I heard, she's still in Louisville somewhere. I'd like to go back and see her as soon as I'm done with this. I want to see my daughter, too, and make it up to her. I know I haven't been a good father – I was too busy screwing up – but I'd like to try. I want to see my mother, too."

"Your mother's still alive?" I asked, incredulous.

"Sure. She's eighty-five, but she's as tough as they come."

"Not that it's any of my business, but how old are you?"

"Sixty-five. Old enough to retire if I ever had a real job."

"So you were released fairly recently," I said.

"About three weeks ago. I went from Ashland to six months in a halfway house. Soon as I was sprung, I headed for the coast. I wrote to Johnny in April and gave him my release date. He said to come ahead, he'd help me out. So that's what I did. The rest is just like I told you before. I didn't know he was dead until I knocked on Bucky's door."

"What kind of help was Johnny talking about?"

Rawson shrugged. "Place to stay. A stake. He had some ideas about a little business we could run. I worked in the joint – every able-bodied inmate works – but I was only earning forty cents an hour, out of which I had to pay for my own candy bars, soda pop, and deodorant, stuff like that, so it's not like I had any kind of savings built up."

"How'd you pay for travel getting out here?"

"My mother lent me the money. I said I'd pay her back."

"Who's the guy who broke into Johnny's place?"

"His name is Gilbert Hays, a former celly of mine. He's a guy I did time with a couple of years ago. I shot off my big mouth, trying to impress the crud. Don't ask why. He's such a cocky piece of excrement, I'm still kicking myself." His grimace opened up the split in his lower lip. A line of blood welled out. He pressed a paper napkin to his mouth.

"Shot your mouth off about what?"

"Look, we're in the joint. What do any of us have to do except BS each other? He was always bragging about something, so I told him about Johnny. The guy was a miser, always squirreling cash away. Johnny didn't come right out and say so, but he used to hint he had big bucks hidden on the property."

"You were going to rip him off?"

"Not me. Hey, come on. I wouldn't do that to him. We were just telling tall tales. Later, Hays and me had a falling-out. He probably figured he could pick up a wad of cash and I'd never know the difference."

"You told him where Johnny lived?"

"California is all I said. He must've followed me across country, the slimy son of a bitch."

"How'd he know you'd been released?"

"Now that, I don't know. He might have talked to my PO. I seem to recall I might've threatened him once upon a time. He probably told 'em he was worried I'd come after him. Which I still might."

"How did you figure out it was him?"

"I didn't at first. Minute I heard about the break-in, I knew something was off, but I didn't think about Hays. Then I realized what happened and, like, it had to be him. Simple process of elimination because I never breathed a word about Johnny to anyone else." Ray lifted the napkin away from his bleeding lip. "How's that?"

"Well, it isn't gushing," I said. "Can we back up a bit? Once you heard Johnny was dead, what made you so sure he still had money stashed somewhere?"

"I wasn't sure, but it just made sense. Guy drops dead of a heart attack, he doesn't have time to do anything. Talking to Bucky, I realized the kid didn't have a dime, so if there's money, it's probably still hidden somewhere on the premises. I figure if I rent his place, I can look around at my leisure."

"Meanwhile, you didn't say a word to Bucky about this."

"About the money? No way. You know why? Suppose I'm wrong? Why get their hopes up if there's nothing? If I do find some money, I can ask for a cut."

"Oh, right. This is money they don't know anything about and you're telling me you'd turn it over to them?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I might skim off a small percentage, but what harm would that do? They're still gonna come up with more than they ever had reason to expect."

"And in the meantime, this former cellmate's followed you to Johnny's door."

"That's my guess."

"How'd he know about the kickplate?"

Ray held up his battered hand. "Because I told him. Otherwise, he'd have broken every bone in my hand. He had me at a disadvantage because I wasn't expecting him. Next time I'll know, and one of us is going to end up dead."

"How did you know about the kickplate?"

Ray tapped himself on the temple. "I know how Johnny's mind worked. That day I came up there and you were looking through his books? I was doing a little survey. He'd used a kickplate before – this was way back when – so I was thinking I'd try that first." He stirred in his seat. "You don't believe me. I can tell by the look on your face."

I smiled slightly. "You're a very slick man. You lie about as well as I do, only you've had more practice."

He started to say something, but the waitress had reappeared with two steaming plates on a tray. She looked harried, to say the least. She set down juice, two side orders of buttered toast, and a variety of jams. She took a couple of small paper packets from the pocket of her uniform and put them by his plate. "I got you these," she said.

Ray picked up a packet. "What's Midol?"

"For cramps, but it'll cure anything that ails you. Just don't take too many. You might develop PMS."