City Primeval

  Maybe, if that's the word. I don't expect to see something and then look and say, uh-huh, there it is. I try to look without expecting and see what's actually there. Is that insight?

  You're sly, Carolyn said. I think I have you down and you slip away.

  He said, You have me down . . . where? It's like filling out an Interrogation Record of an Information for Arraignment, you know what I mean? Sometimes the form isn't big enough, or it doesn't ask the right questions.

  You think I presume too much, Carolyn said, see only what I expect to see. Is that it?

  I don't know, we can talk about it sometime. He was tired and wasn't sure if he should close his eyes.

  If I make presumptions, Carolyn said, what about you?

  What about me?

  We were making love and you said, 'yI know you . . . 'y

  I didn't think you heard me.

  What did you mean?

  Well, it was like I saw you. Not what you do or who you believe you are, just you. Does that make sense?

  I don't know . . .

  But you didn't say anything, did you? I think you changed back after that and I didn't know you anymore. You became the woman lawyer again who thinks she has to be a tough broad. But look what happens to tough broads. Raymond was silent a moment. Let me take care of him, Carolyn.

  When Hunter called Raymond was sitting on the couch with Carolyn's legs across his lap, both tired of words, on safer ground now but still intimately aware of one another. Carolyn asked if he had always lived here, trying to picture him in another life, when he wasn't a policeman. And Raymond said, In Detroit? No, I was born in McAllen, Texas. We lived in San Antonio, Dallas. We came here when I was ten. She asked, almost hesitantly, if his father was a farmer and Raymond looked at her and smiled. You mean, was he a migrant? No, he was a barber. He was a dude, the way he dressed, wore pointed patent-leather shoes. The phone rang then, Raymond waiting for it. He lifted Carolyn's legs and got up. My dad was fifty-seven when he died.

  Hunter said, Mansell called back, just now. He wants Sweety to bring him the gun.

  Where?

  It got complicated. Sweety told him he was going to a family thing at his mother's trying to hurry Clement up, get it over with. Clement tells him to take the gun along with him. Sweety says he isn't gonna touch it. If Clement wants the gun tonight he has to come in the next half hour.

  Raymond said, What difference does it make? The key's under the mat.

  Yeah, he told Clement that, Hunter said. But what he did was confuse the issue with this going to see his mother and Clement says, okay, he'd just as soon get it tomorrow anyway, sometime in the afternoon. Hunter waited. You still there?

  You're gonna have to get Sweety out of there for a while, Raymond said, keep the story straight. Clement could check, he could still come tonight.

  I don't think he will. It's something he has to do, but it's the kind of thing you put off, Hunter said. Wendell get hold of you?

  Not yet.

  He talked to Toma. Toma says he'll kill the guy if he sees him. In other words, fuck you. But he slipped and gave us one. Skender's Cadillac's missing and Toma thinks Mansell's got it.

  Where're you?

  In the bar.

  He could go in there tonight. I don't mean with the key. He could come in the alley, through the yard, go in a back window.

  Is that right? Hunter said, very patiently for Hunter. It turns out the flat next to Sweety's is vacant, so MCMU's spending the night there. Is that close enough? What's the matter, you got a guilty conscience I'm out here working my ass off, you're with a broad?

  When Raymond returned to the couch he stood looking down at her, uncertain, removed from where he had been only a few minutes before. He said, My mother's name was Mary Frances Connolly.

  He saw Carolyn's face against a blue pillow, composed, looking up at him. She said, Really? a little surprised.

  You want to know what she did?

  She was a schoolteacher, Carolyn said.

  No, she was called Franny and operated a beauty shop in the Statler Hotel, when it was still there.

  Carolyn said, Do you know what my mother did? Nothing. Why don't you sit down?

  He lifted her legs and got under them, sitting low in the couch, his head against the cushion.

  You want to go to bed, I'll get out of your way.

  No, stay here. You've watched me, but I haven't watched you, Carolyn said. You like your work, don't you?

  Yeah, I do, Raymond said.

  You don't get tired of the same thing every day?

  Well, nobody likes surveillance; but outside of that it's usually, well, each one's different.

  There's surveillance and there's lying in wait, Carolyn said quietly. I think you're setting Clement up.

  He was touching her bare toes, feeling them relaxed, pliable. You're not ticklish, huh?

  A little.

  That's the way you are in court, very cool. All the pros make it look easy.

  I said, I have a feeling you're setting Clement up.

  And I have a feeling he knows it, Raymond said, so it's up to him, isn't it?

  But you seem fairly certain he's going to come.

  He's gonna do something, I know that.

  How do you know?

  We looked each other in the eye, Raymond said.

  He smiled and Carolyn said, My God, you haven't grown up either.

  Raymond worked his head against the cushion, getting comfortable. I was kidding.

  She saw him against lamplight, his eyes closed, simply himself now. She said, No, you weren't.

  Chapter 28

  AT EIGHT O'CLOCK the next morning Raymond phoned Inspector Herzog to report on the surveillance. Herzog, he was told, had left a day early on his vacation. Raymond felt relief. Then tensed up again as he had the call transferred to Commander Lionel Hearn, who was a good police officer, quiet, reasonable, but did not smile easily and this bothered Raymond. Commander Hearn was black. Raymond told him about the surveillance of Sweety's Lounge and residence and the purpose, without offering details. Commander Hearn said fine, and then asked Raymond where he had stationed himself.

  Raymond said, As a matter of fact I'm at Mansell's lawyer's place. It's only about three or four minutes away. Silence. I want Ms. Wilder to be there if an arrest is made. I don't want us thrown out of court on any surprise technicalities. We're gonna do it absolutely straight. Silence while Raymond imagined Commander Hearn putting bits and pieces together in his mind and getting a picture of Raymond in his shirtsleeves, tie off but freshly shaved, a breakfast tray on the desk next to his holstered Colt automatic. The commander said he had never heard of this type of precaution before; was it necessary? Raymond said, Well, actually Ms. Wilder's not representing Mansell and won't be if we bring him to trial. He hasn't retained her and she's willing to go along; so I think she could serve as a very valuable witness. Silence again.

  The commander said, Well, if you think you know what you're doing, good luck.

  Raymond turned to Carolyn and said, I'm not this casual, not at all.

  You convinced me, she said.

  Hunter had gone home at seven and returned just before noon. He kept in contact with Raymond using a phone that MCMU had taken out of Sweety's residence and connected to a jack in the recently vacated flat next door. Along with Hunter there were six MCMU officers in the flat, three armed with shotguns, watching front and rear. There were no automobiles on the street that could be identified as police cars. Hunter called every hour.

  At noon he said, Everything's cool. Sweety's in the bar, the key's under the mat.

  At 12:50 Hunter said, Where'd you sleep, on the couch? . . . Yeah, how come you're changing the subject?

  At 1:55 Hunter said, I'm gonna have Herzog put you in for a citation. 'yWithout regard for his own personal safety' . . . You getting much?

  At 2:25 Hunter said, Black Cadillac went past, turned around up the street, coming back. Here we go. Parking right
in front.

  I'm on my way, Raymond said.

  Shit, Hunter said.

  What's wrong?

  It's not Mansell. It's his dizzy girlfriend.

  She was supposed to walk through it, no problem, nothing to get excited about. Fine. Except it took forever to get the front door open while she danced around, dying to go to the bathroom. She couldn't find the basement light switch. She tried to open the hot water heater before she realized it wasn't the furnace. She found the gun, the Walther, and dropped it in the brown leather shoulder bag she'd brought along. Upstairs again when she went to use the phone, it wasn't there. Hey, come on. She found a phone in the kitchen, dialed and said, The way it's going, I almost forgot why I fucking came in here. It just isn't my day . . . Yeah, I got it . . . No, I haven't seen a soul. She listened to his voice that was almost a whisper and said, Hang around for what? You want me to bring it or not? She looked outside, studying the cars on the street as she was supposed to, and came out looking up and down, dragging the shoulderbag along by the straps, got in the Cadillac and drove off.

  Raymond crossed over from Carolyn's gray Mercedes as Hunter and the MCMU officers came out of the flat next to Sweety's.

  Hunter said, You see her? She's so stoned I bet she don't even know she was here.

  When Toma looked out and saw the car, he thought of a time when he was sixteen and had sighted down the barrel of a Mauser on a Russian soldier who had got out of his truck to relieve himself the same distance from the apartment window to the car across the street and had killed the man with one shot. He had waited three days for a Russian truck. He had been in Skender's apartment perhaps three minutes, getting some books to take to the hospital, and had not looked out the window with the hope or intention of seeing something of interest. But there it was, Skender's black Cadillac.

  Sometimes you had to work hard and sometimes it was handed to you. Toma put the books on the windowsill and took out his .32-caliber Beretta. Then saw that he wasn't being handed everything. The person in the car was a young girl with funny looking golden hair. Smoking a cigarette. Taking her time.

  Toma watched for several minutes. Finally the girl got out of the car and slammed the door. Then opened it again and bent over to reach inside, held this pose for nearly a minute, then came out again with a brown leather bag that appeared worn and soft. The girl held it at her side by the shoulder strap as she crossed the street, the bottom of the bag brushing the pavement, and entered the building's courtyard. Toma stepped back from the window. She passed along the walk to the front entrance. Now she stood there. She didn't go into the vestibule, she stood outside, waiting, not more than thirty feet from Toma, who was looking at her back now. She seemed relaxed but didn't move. Toma turned, looking toward the street again.

  A gray Mercedes passed slowly. A black Ford passed . . . another one.

  He's here, Toma thought.

  But how could he be?

  Then knew as he turned to look at the girl again and saw the glass door open and Mansell step outside in the basement. In the room made for hiding.

  Or in the apartment upstairs Skender was preparing, furnishing.

  Jesus, the man had nerve. Toma went to his knees to raise the window, slowly. The screen was still in place; he'd fire through it. Men with nerve died like anyone else if shot in the right place. But the girl was in the way. He could see only a small part of Mansell. The girl was holding up the big leather purse. Mansell, yes, had a gun in his hand. Toma aimed carefully. But Mansell would move, lean to look past the girl toward the street. Now he was reaching into the purse Toma thinking, What is this? Is it a show? For a moment he thought he saw a different gun in Mansell's hand.

  Why doesn't he hurry?

  Now he was going inside, the glass door closing, the girl turning away but taking her time.

  It was in Toma's mind to run, now, meet him in the hall . . .

  But something strange was going on. The girl was walking out of the courtyard with the same uncertain but uncaring stride . . . then stepping out of the way, onto the grass, and Toma saw familiar faces, Raymond Cruz, Hunter, homicide people, and some not familiar, a woman with them coming quickly along the entrance walk, past his front-row seat.

  Yes, like a show, Toma thought.

  Raymond Cruz was looking at the girl. He seemed to hesitate. The girl nodded, once. Not nodding hello, but saying something with the nod. Cruz kept going with the others. All of them eager. Of course because they know Mansell's inside.

  It is a show, Toma thought.

  They were in the vestibule now. He could hear someone buzzing the door open for them.

  The girl with the strange blond hair was still in the courtyard, forgotten looking inside her big purse now, feeling in there like she was looking for her keys as she walked out to the street past a uniformed policeman getting out of a squad car and across the street to Skender's Cadillac.

  If she had given Mansell a gun and was leaving him here, of all places No, not of all places, the only place!

  Toma ran from Skender's apartment down the hall to the back stairs, hearing others on the stairs above him. He turned off the light and started down, as quietly as he could, still not certain what the show was about, even though he had thought of a way to end it.

  Chapter 29

  STANDING IN THE FIRST-FLOOR HALLWAY, the MCMU people hurrying past them, Carolyn said, Does this happen often?

  They had searched every apartment, every room, every closet in the building and were still going up and down halls past each other. Around in circles, Raymond thought. There was no way Mansell could have gotten out, nowhere between the roof and the basement he could be hiding.

  He said to her, We'll find him.

  But he's not here.

  Yes, he is, Raymond said, with nothing to lose.

  Hunter came up to them. He said, Well?

  Raymond pictured again what he had seen from the car, going past slowly in Carolyn's Mercedes: Sandy at the door, Clement coming out. Going past again . . . going in then as Sandy came out, seeing her nod, accepting it because he was anxious, evidently too anxious . . .

  He said, Where's Sandy? Hunter looked at him. He looked at Hunter.

  Carolyn said, I don't believe this. She watched Hunter walk off toward the front of the building. What do you do now?

  Wait, Raymond said.

  For what?

  Hunter turned and started back. Hey, you see Toma yet? He's here.

  As Carolyn watched, Raymond began to smile.

  Toma left the apartment door open; he sat reading one of the books he would bring Skender, a book about the cultivation and care of house plants. When Raymond Cruz and a woman and Hunter appeared in the doorway Toma said, Well, how are you?

  Raymond said, Toma Sinistaj, Carolyn Wilder. Ms. Wilder does criminal work, she's one of the best defense attorneys in town. I mention it in case you want to retain her right now and get that out of the way.

  Toma said, You don't want to talk to me alone?

  I want you to tell me where he is. Right here's fine.

  I'm giving you something, Raymond; but you don't want all your people watching. I could have killed him. You understand that? I came very close. Then I said no.

  Why?

  You'll see. Or you won't; it's up to you. But I think you better get rid of your people.

  A door closed down the hall.

  It was quiet in the building now. Toma took them to the basement where he turned on fluorescent lights and let them stand looking around for a moment, preparing his audience.

  He had a gun, Toma said. This one, opening his suitcoat and drawing an automatic from his waistband. You see it? It's a Browning. It belongs to this family and has killed no one.

  Where is he? Raymond said.

  Toma nodded. Watch the wall there. He walked over to the furnace, where Raymond was standing, Raymond stepping out of his way, reached up, stretching to his tiptoes, and pulled the switch down.

  With the
humming sound the wall began to come apart, the three-foot section of cement blocks opening toward them, gradually revealing the room, the record player, the safe . . . Clement Mansell seated in a canvas chair with his legs crossed.

  He said, Hey, shit, what is going on? I come down here to put back something Sandy give me she says her friend Skender loaned her for protection and this undertaker sticks a pistol in my back, locks me in here.

  He had the wall already open, Toma said, waiting in there for you to find him.

  With the Browning? Raymond said.

  Toma nodded. He wants you to believe he got it from the blond girl with the hair.

  You searched him good?

  Of course.

  What about in the room?

  I made sure. Toma hefted the Browning. This is the only gun he had. There were some in there, but I took them out yesterday.

  Clement said, Are you looking for a gun, it's got P.38 stamped on the side and some other numbers and kinda looks like a German Luger? . . . I haven't seen it.

  Pull him out, Raymond thought. No, go in there with him. Tell Toma to close the wall.

  We got Sandy, Hunter was saying to Clement. Saw her hand you the gun and you hand it back, thinking you're foxing somebody.

  Hey, bullshit, Clement said. You had Sandy you wouldn't be standing there with that egg smeared all over your face.

  Raymond wanted to pull him up out of the chair where he sat low with one knee sticking out at an angle, his boot resting on the other knee, elbows on the chair arms, hands clasped in front of him and hit Clement as hard as he could.

  The man's eyes danced from Hunter to Raymond, then to Carolyn. He said, How you doing, lady? Frowning then. Jesus, what'd you do to your face, run into something? His gaze moved back to Raymond. What the undertaker says, that's my story. I come down here to return a weapon Sandy was given or swiped off her boyfriend. If you think you saw something different or you don't like what you see now, tough titty, I'm sticking to it. There ain't any way in the world you're gonna lay the judge on me, partner, or anybody else. And I'll tell you something, you never will. His gaze moved to Carolyn and he winked. Have I got 'em by the gonads, counselor, or haven't I? I want to thank you very much for that loan. He patted his jacket pocket. I got the check right here. Gonna cash her as I leave here for Tampa, Florida, never to return. Which I bet chokes you all up some. With his half-grin he looked at Raymond again. What do you say, partner, you give up?