“Have you thought about New York?” Catherine asked.
The free-lance speech. Decker knew it by heart.
“Look at Foley. He had a cover shot on Sports Illustrated last summer,” she said.
Foley was another photographer who’d quit the newspaper and gone free-lance.
“Hale Irwin,” Decker said derisively.
“What?”
“That was Foley’s big picture. A golfer. A fucking golfer, Catherine. That’s not what I want to do, follow a bunch of Izod shirts around a hot golf course all day for one stupid picture.”
Catherine said, “It was just an example, Rage. Foley’s had plenty of business since he moved to New York. And not just golfers, so don’t give me that pissed-off look.”
“He’s a good shooter.”
“But you’re better, by a mile.” She reached across the table and pinched his arm gently. “Hey, it doesn’t have to be heavy-duty. No Salvadors, no murders, no dead girls in Cadillacs. Just stick to the soft stuff, Rage, you’ve earned it.”
Decker guessed it was about time for the all-that-wasted-talent routine.
Catherine came through. “I just hate to see you wasting all your talent,” she said. “Snooping around like a thief, taking pictures of… ”
“Guys who cheat insurance companies.”
“Yeah.”
Decker said, “Maybe you’re right.”
“Will you think about New York?”
“Take some of these ribs, I can’t eat ’em all.”
“No, thanks, I’m fall.”
“So tell me about the quack.”
“Stop it,” Catherine said. “James’s patients are wild about him. He’s very generous with his time.”
“And the spine-cracking business is good.”
“Good, but it could be better,” Catherine said. “James is talking about moving.”
Decker grinned. “Let me guess where.”
Catherine reddened. “His brother’s got a practice on Long Island. It’s going gangbusters, James says.”
“No shit?”
“Don’t look so cocky, R.J. This has nothing to do with you.”
“So you wouldn’t come see me,” Decker said. “I mean, if I were to move to New York and you somehow wound up on Long Island, you wouldn’t drop by and chat?”
Catherine wiped her hands on a napkin. “Jesus, I don’t know.” Her voice was different now, the airy confidence gone. “I don’t know what I’ve done, R.J. Sometimes I wonder. James is special and I realize how lucky I am, but still… The man irons his socks, did I tell you that?”
Decker nodded. “You called me from your honeymoon to tell me that.” From Honolulu she’d called.
“Yeah, well.”
“That’s okay,” Decker said. “I didn’t mind.” It was better than losing her completely. He would miss her if the sock-ironing chiropractor whisked her away to New York.
“You know the hell of it?” Catherine said. “My back’s still killing me.”
Decker’s telephone was ringing when he returned to the trailer. The man on the other end didn’t need to identify himself.
“Hello, Miami.”
“Hey, captain.” Decker was surprised. Skink would do anything to avoid the phone.
“The Armadillo is dead,” said Skink.
Decker figured Skink was talking about his supper.
“You listening?” Skink said.
“The armadillo.”
“Yeah, your little pal from the newspaper.”
“Ott?”
“Officially he’s only missing. Unofficially he’s dead. You better get up here. It’s time to go to work.”
Decker sat down at the kitchen counter. “Start at the beginning,” he said. Gruffly Skink summarized the facts of the disappearance, closing with a neutral explanation of Ott Pickney’s alter ego, Davey Dillo.
“They say he was very convincing,” Skink said, by way of condolence.
Decker had a hell of a hard time imagining Ott in an armadillo costume on a skateboard. He had a harder time imagining Ott dead.
“Maybe they just took him somewhere to put a scare in him,” he speculated.
“No way,” Skink said. “I’ll see you soon. Oh yeah—when you get to Harney, don’t check in at the motel. It’s not safe. You’d better stay out here with me.”
“I’d rather not,” Decker said.
“Aw, it’ll be loads of fun,” Skink said with a grunt. “We can roast weenies and marshmallows.”
Decker drove all night. He shot straight up Interstate 95 and got off at Route 222, just west of Wabasso. Another ninety minutes and he was in Harney County. By the time he got to Skink’s place on the lake, it was four-thirty in the morning. Already one or two bass boats were out on the water; Decker could hear the big engines chewing up the darkness.