“No, no. I wouldn’t do that. Makes no sense for an old woman like me. Old people can’t always depend on physical strength. Even Freida said that. That’s why I had all them locks put in. Summertimes, I used to leave my doors standing open to let the breeze come through. Not no more. No sir.”
“Hey, Ma. Before I forget. You have any mail here for me? I think my buddy in California might have sent me a package or a letter in care of this address.”
“Well, yes. Now you mention it, I did receive something and set it aside. It come quite some time ago. I believe it’s here somewhere, if I can recollect where I put it. Take a look in that drawer yonder under all the junk.”
Ray opened the drawer, pawing through odds and ends: lamp cords, batteries, pencils, bottle caps, coupons, hammer, screwdriver, cooking utensils. A handful of envelopes was crammed in at the back, but most were designated “Occupant.” There was only one piece of personal mail, addressed to Ray Rawson with no return address. He squinted at the postmark on the envelope. “This is it,” he said. He tore it open and pulled out a sympathy card with a black-and-white photograph of a graveyard pasted on the front. Inside, the message read:
And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shah bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven. Matthew 16:19.
Thinking of you in your hour of loss.
On the back of the card, a small brass key was taped. Ray pulled it off, turning it over in his hand before he passed it to me. I studied first one side and then the other just as he had. It was an inch and a half long. The word Master was stamped on one side and the number M550 on the other. Shouldn’t be hard to remember. The number was my birthdate in abbreviated form. I said, “Probably for a padlock.”
“What about the key you have?”
“It’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it as soon as Laura’s finished in there.”
Supper was almost on the table when Laura finally emerged. It looked as though she’d made a special effort with her hair and makeup despite the fact her grandmother couldn’t see all that well. While serving dishes were being filled at the stove, I stepped into the bedroom and picked up my Swiss Army knife from the pile of my belongings on the bed table. I slipped the jacket from the cleaners bag and used the small scissors to snip the stitches I’d put in the inside shoulder seam. I worked the key from the hole. This one was heavy, a good six inches long with an elongated round shaft. I held it closer to the table lamp, curious if this was also a Master. Lawless was stamped on the shaft, but there were no other identifying marks that I could see. Master padlocks I knew about. A Lawless I’d never heard of. Might be a local company or one that had since gone out of business.
I returned to the kitchen table, where I sat down and handed the key to Ray.
“What’s that for?” Laura asked as she took her seat.
“I’m not sure, but I think it goes with this one,” Ray said. He laid the skeleton key beside the smaller key in the middle of the table. “This one Johnny left taped to the inside of his safe. Chester found it this week when they were cleaning out the apartment.”
“Those are connected to the stash?”
“I hope so. Otherwise, we’re out of luck,” he said.
“How come?”
“Because it’s the only link we have. Unless you have an idea where to look for a pile of money forty-some years after it was hid.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she said.
“Me neither. I was hoping Kinsey would help, but it looks like we’re running out of time,” he said, and then turned to his mother. “You want me to say grace, Ma?”
Why did I feel guilty? I hadn’t done anything.
The supper was a lavish testimony to old-fashioned southern cooking. This was the first food I’d had in days that wasn’t saturated with additives and preservatives. The sugar, sodium, and fat content left something to be desired, but I’m not exactly pious where food is concerned. I ate with vigor and concentration, only vaguely aware of the conversation going on around me until Ray’s voice went up. He had put his fork down and was staring at his daughter with a look of horror and dismay.
“You did what?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“When did you talk to her?”
I saw the color come up in Laura’s face. “When we first got here,” she said defensively. “You saw me go in the other room. What did you think I was doing? I was on the phone.”
“Jesus Christ. You called her?”
“She’s my mother. Of course I called. I didn’t want her to worry in case Gilbert showed up on her doorstep. So what?”
“If Gilbert shows up, she’ll tell him where you are.”
“She will not.”
“Of course she will. You think Gilbert won’t charm the socks off her? Hell, forget charm. He’ll beat the shit outta her. Of course she’ll tell him. I did. Once he started breaking fingers, I couldn’t wait to unload. Did you at least warn her?”
“Warn her of what?”
“Oh, jeez,” Ray said. He rubbed his palm down his face, pulling his features out of shape.
“Look, Ray. You don’t need to treat me like a nincompoop.”
“You still don’t get it, do you? That guy’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill you, too. He’ll kill Kinsey, your grandmother, and anybody else who gets in his way. He wants the money. You’re just the means to an end as far as he’s concerned.”
“How’s he going to find us? He won’t find us,” she said.
“We gotta get out of here.” Ray got up and threw his napkin down, giving me a look. I knew as well as he did that once Gilbert got confirmation of our whereabouts, he’d be here within the hour.
“I’m with you,” I said as I pushed my chair back.
Laura was aghast. “We haven’t even finished eating. What’s the matter with you?”
He turned to me. “Get your clothes on. Ma, you need a coat. Turn the stove off. Just leave this. We can take care of it later.”
His panic was contagious. Helen’s gaze was drifting around the room, her voice was tremulous. “What’s happening, son? I don’t understand what’s going on. Why would we leave? We haven’t ate our ice cream yet.”
“Just do what I say and get going,” he snapped, hauling her out of her chair. He started turning off burners. He turned off the oven. I was not dressed for flight. All I had on were my Reeboks and Helen’s chenille bathrobe. I crossed to the utility room, nearly knocking his chair over in my haste to reach the dryer. Laura protested vigorously, but I noticed she was moving as fast as the rest of us. I pulled the dryer open, grabbed an armload of hot clothes, and headed for the bedroom. I flipped my shoes off, pulled on socks, bra, and underpants, pulled on my turtleneck and jeans, and shoved my feet back into my Reeboks, breaking down the backs. God, here I was again, going for the gold at the Throwing Clothes On Olympics. I put on my blazer and started jamming personal items in the pockets: cash, credit cards, house keys, pills, picks. From the kitchen Laura let out a shriek, followed by the sound of a bowl smashing on the floor. I moved into the kitchen while I crammed the last of the odds and ends in my jeans pockets.
The room was dead still, Helen, Ray, and Laura unmoving. The bowl of mashed yams lay on the floor in an orange splat of puree and broken china. It didn’t matter at this point because Gilbert was standing in the door to the dining room with a gun aimed right at me.
17
Gilbert no longer wore the Stetson. His hair was disheveled, still bearing the faint indentation where the hat had rested. His pale blue denim jacket was lined with sheepskin, the fabric saturated in places and stiff with dark red. “Maria sends greetings. She would have come with me only she wasn’t feeling that good.”
At the reference to her mother, Laura started to weep. She made no sound at all, but her face got patchy and red and tears welled in her eyes. She made a barely suppressed squeaking noise at the back of her throat. She sank into a chair.
“Hey. Get up and get your hands up where I can see ’em.”