The Cypress House(34)

Arlen did as he said. They left Paul and Rebecca behind and walked in silence until they reached the Ford. When they got there, Wade pulled open the driver’s door and stood with one foot resting in the car and one on the ground, his arm leaning against the roof. He put the Panama back on his head.

“Shame to hear about the loss of your savings,” he said. “Tough country right now for a man with no dollars.”

He was staring back up at the inn, where Paul was watching them and Rebecca was pretending not to.

“I’d expect,” Wade continued, “that you’d like to have that cash back.”

He was waiting for an answer again, just as he had with Paul. Arlen said, “I expect you’re right.”

Wade nodded. “Now of course I know nothing of the circumstance of your loss. I don’t know how much money you carried, if there even was any money.”

“Of course not,” Arlen said, wanting to smash those glasses back into Wade’s face.

“But I do know of a way that your loss could be made up. I have some sway in this county, and I believe I could see that you’re reimbursed.”

“On what condition?” Arlen said. “Because you’re damn sure not making that offer without a string on it.”

“On the condition that you do what you should have done all along, and tell me the truth about Walter Sorenson.”

“Judge,” Arlen said, “you’ve heard the truth. Heard it over and over. I can’t make you believe it.”

Wade gave a little sigh, as if this were expected but still disappointing.

“You believe you’re making a stand, Mr. Wagner, and, like so many foolish men, you believe that making a stand, even at the loss of a few dollars, is worth something. It’s a sad, silly notion. You couldn’t fathom the amount of money that passes through this place. Tell me, where do you think it goes?”

“Right into your pockets,” Arlen said, and Wade smiled and shook his head.

“You make my point for me. You possess a staggering lack of understanding of the world. The dollars that pass through my hands, Wagner, they rise and disappear like smoke. Then men you’d never imagine are connected to a place like Corridor County fill their lungs deep with it. You know my role in all that?”

Arlen didn’t say anything.

“I am,” Solomon Wade said, “the match.”

He shook out a cigarette, put it between his lips, then struck a match theatrically and lit the cigarette. When the tip glowed red, he inhaled and then blew smoke into Arlen’s eyes.

“Those men I speak of,” he said, “they need their smoke. I provide it. Someday, a day not far off, I will breathe of it myself.”

He leveled his gaze at Arlen. “I suspect you believe that you can carry on out of this place and out of my reach, Mr. Wagner. Believe that once you’ve made a few dollars from Miss Cady here, you can just go back to Alabama or West Virginia.”

Arlen bristled. He had never spoken of his home state. Not to the judge or the sheriff. In fact, he rarely spoke of Fayette County to anyone.

Wade looked at him and nodded. “Yes, I know where you’re from. The boy, too. And if I desire, I can tamper with his life same as yours. Hell, I’m one phone call away from bringing shame down on his family.”

“What do you know about his family?”

“More than you, probably. His old man used to work in a silk factory in Paterson. Got into an accident, lost the use of his legs. Was in a wheelchair until he killed himself on some bad hooch.”

“I don’t see any shame in that,” Arlen said. “I just see some sorrow.”

“Sure. Thing is, with no father around to work, his mother had to. Pretty woman, his mother, or so I’ve been told. She took to waitressing at a few supper clubs. They aren’t the sort of clubs where you want your mother waitressing, you know? She’s not getting paid for delivering steak and potatoes. Be easy enough to send some local police down to make life hard on her.”

Arlen felt a slow, liquid heat spreading through his body. “Listen,” he said, “you want to stick your short, sorry pecker into my life, have at it, Judge. But you tamper with that boy’s mother? With that boy, period? Wade, I’ll cut your damn throat. Think that’s a lie? I will cut your throat, you son of a bitch.”

Wade’s voice was cool. “You’re an ignorant man, Mr. Wagner. Not a brave one—just stupid. We can stand here and trade threats, but when the time comes to deliver on them? That won’t be a pleasant day for you.” He nodded at the inn. “Go on back to work. Go on back and hope I don’t have cause to venture your way again. Pray for it.”