Sue Grafton - L is for Lawless

Gilbert was still focused on Johnny's giveaway plan. "You gotta be shittin' me. Johnny Lee gave two hundred forty-six thousand dollars of my money to this old bag? I don't believe it. That's criminal."

"I kept an account if you'd care to see it. It's a little red notebook in that drawer over there," Helen said, pointing a trembling finger in the general direction of the drawer where she'd kept Ray's mail.

Gilbert moved to the drawer and jerked it open, pawing through the jumble of items with impatience. He pulled the drawer out altogether and dumped the contents on the floor. He reached down and picked up a small spiral-bound notebook, thumbing through it with his left hand, the gun still in his right. Even from where I stood, I could see column after column, dates and scratchy-looking numbers running crookedly from page to page. "Son of a bitch!" Gilbert said. "How could he do that, give the money away?" He flung the notebook on the kitchen table, where it landed in the dish of stewed tomatoes.

It was Ray's turn to enjoy. He knew better than to smile, but his tone of voice conveyed his satisfaction. "The guy kept five hundred for himself, too, so what is that? After forty-one years that brings the total up to four hundred ninety-two thousand dollars," Ray said. "Figure it out for yourself. If we netted half a million bucks from the heist, that'd leave just about eight grand."

Gilbert crossed to Ray and jammed the barrel of the gun up under his jaw, hard. "Goddamn it! I know there was more and I want it! I'll blow your fuckin' head off right this minute if you don't give it up."

"Killing me won't help. You kill me, you got no chance," Ray said without flinching. "Maybe I can find it, if there's anything left. I know how Johnny's mind worked. You don't have a clue how he went about his business."

"I found the kickplate, didn't I?"

"Only because I told you. You never would have found it without me," Ray said.

Gilbert moved the gun away, his face dark. His movements were agitated. "Here's the deal. I'm taking Laura with me. You better come up with something by tomorrow or she's dead, you got that?"

"Hey, come on. Be reasonable. I need time," Ray said.

"Tomorrow."

"I'll do what I can, but I can't promise."

"Well, I can. You get that money or she's dead meat."

"How am I going to find you?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll find you," Gilbert said.

Helen grimaced, rubbing one gnarled hand with the other.

"What's the matter with you?"

"My arthritis is acting up. I'm in pain."

"You want me to fix it? I can fix that in a jiffy with what I got in here," he said, waggling his gun. He turned back to Ray. Helen raised her hand to attract his notice.

"What?"

"Now I've set down too long. Thing about getting old is you can't do any one thing for more than about five minutes. I hope you don't mind if I stand up a bit."

"Goddamn, old woman. You're just up and down and all over the place."

Helen laughed, apparently mistaking his homicidal wrath for mere ill temper. I felt a bubble of despair rising to the surface. Maybe she was senile along with everything else. He'd kill her without hesitation – he'd kill all of us – but she didn't seem to 'get' that. His threats sailed right over. Maybe it was just as well. At her age, who could tolerate fear of that magnitude? The anxiety alone could push her into heart failure. Me too, for that matter.

Gilbert pointed the gun in her direction. "You can stand up, but you behave," he said. "I don't want you running out of here, trying to flag down help." His tone shifted when he spoke to her, becoming nearly flirtatious. "Patronizing" might be another word, but Helen didn't seem to pick up on it.

She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm afraid my flagging days is over. Anyway, I'm not the one you have to worry about. It's my friend, Freida Green."

At least she'd caught his attention. I could see him suppress a smile, pretending to take her seriously. "Uh-oh. What is it, Freida some kind of hell-raiser?"

"Yes, she is. I am, too, for that matter. My late husband used to call me Hell on Wheels, get it? 'Hell on.' Helen."

"I got it, Granny. Who's Freida? She likely to be popping in here unannounced?"

"Freida's my neighbor. She lives two doors down with her friend, Minnie Paxton, but they're out of town right now. Hasn't anyone ever said, but I think them two are sweet on each other. Anyway, we had us a rash of burglaries about four months back. That's what they call them, a 'rash,' like somebody caught a disease. Two nice policemen come down to the neighborhood and told us about self-defense. Minnie learned to kick out real hard sideways, but Freida fell flat on her back when she tried it."

Ray fixed me with a look, but I couldn't read the contents. Probably simple despair at the banality of their exchange.

Gilbert laughed. "Jesus, I'd like to seen that. How old is this old bag?"

"Let's see now. I believe Freida's thirty-one. Minnie's two years younger and she's in much better shape. Freida cracked her tailbone and she got mad. Whoo! Said there had to be a better way to fight crime than tryin' to kick some fella in the kneecap."

Gilbert shook his head with skepticism. "I don't know. Bust a guy's kneecap, that can really hurt," he said.

"Well, yes," Helen said, "but first you'd have to get close enough to kick, which isn't always easy. And then my balance is not that good."

"Freida's balance ain't good, either, from what you said. So what'd she suggest?"

"She suggested she make us each a rack and bolt it onto the bottom of the table, where we could keep a loaded shotgun about like this." Helen turned slightly sideways as she rose to her feet. She took a long step away from the table, pulling up a twelve-gauge side-by-side shotgun with twenty-six-inch barrels. She pinned the butt stock between her forearm and her side, letting the butt stock rest on her right hip for support. The four of us stared at her, riveted by the sight of a gun that unwieldy in the hands of someone who, a nanosecond before, seemed so harmless and out of it. The effect, unfortunately, was undercut by the realities of age. Because of her poor eyesight, she was aiming at the window frame instead of Gilbert, a fact not lost on him. He made a face, saying, "Whoa! You better put that gun away."

"You better put that gun away before I blow you to kingdom come," she said. She backed up against the wall, all business, except for the problem with her aim, which was considerable. The heavy flesh on her upper arms shook, and it was clear she could barely keep the barrel up, even if it was pointed in the wrong direction. I could feel my heart begin to thump. I expected Gilbert to shoot, but he didn't seem to take her seriously.

"Gun's pretty heavy. You sure you can keep it up there?"

"Briefly," she said.

"What's that weigh, six or seven pounds? Doesn't sound like much until you have to hooolld it up for long." He dragged out the word "hold," making it sound exhausting. I got tired just hearing it, but Helen didn't seem dismayed.

"I'm going to shoot you long before my arms get tired. I feel it's only fair to warn you. The one barrel's loaded with number nine birdshot. The other's double-O buck, tear your face right off."

Gilbert laughed again. He seemed genuinely tickled by the old woman's attitude. "Jesus, Hell on. That's not nice. What about your arthritis? I thought you had arthritis so bad."

"I do. That's right. Affecting all but the one finger. Watch this." Helen shifted the gun to the left, drew a bead on him, and pulled the trigger. Ka- blam ! I saw a few bright yellow sparks. The blast was deafening, filling the room. A shock wave of air and gas spread out from the muzzle, followed by a faint doughnut of smoke. The mass of bird-shot blew by his right ear, continuing on past him at an upward angle, shattering the kitchen window. Stray pellets tore his earlobe and the top of his shoulder and the spreading fingers of the trailing shot cup raked his neck, painting it with blood. Laura screamed and hit the floor. I was down before she was. Ray's startled reaction tipped his chair over sideways. Gilbert screamed in pain and disbelief, his hands flying up. His handgun flew forward and skittered across the floor.