An Absence of Light

Eddie Redden was harder to deal with than Richard Ledet For one thing, he was not the sort of man who let his imagination play tricks on him. He was long on common sense. You didn’t convince him of anything by trying to work on his anxieties-he didn’t have any. He seemed to face life with an unadorned philosophy of acceptance, a kind of West Texas stoicism that had no use for breast-beating and wailing. Sometimes life pissed on you, and sometimes it didn’t. When it did, you were unlucky. When it didn’t, you were lucky. There wasn’t anything you could do about it one way or the other. That could have been his credo. And in light of that, he had become adept at making the best of a bad situation. Life might piss on Eddie Redden, but he didn’t moan about it. What he did was, he took a long soapy shower during which he gave some serious thought to how to stay the hell out of the way next time.

And that’s what he was doing now, sitting cross-legged like an Indian-probably the first time he had done that since he was fifteen-trying to figure out how not to get pissed on any more than he already had.

Graver had laid it all out as methodically and dispassionately as he could, guessing that Redden would appreciate a right-to-the-bone explanation of his situation. Graver stated the facts like an accountant. The porno film with the little girls, the cocaine, the stolen ordnance, his employment by Kalatis, the weekly money jumps to the cruisers in the Gulf-Graver had the maps for documentation-the monthly money jumps to points south… for starters… enough right there to assure Redden that when he had taxied up to the hangar a few minutes ago he probably had piloted an airplane for the last time in his life.

Now Redden was thinking it over, breathing heavily-it wasn’t easy to sit on a hot concrete floor with your legs crossed and your arms cuffed behind you while the too-tight waist of your blue jeans cut into your beer-induced and doughy overhang. He was sweating profusely, so much so that dribbles of it rolled down his forehead and clung to his ginger eyebrows like drops of salty rain. He had sweated through his guayabera which clung to his back and stomach, and the strain of his position was giving him something like a charley horse in his side, causing him to tilt slightly to try to ease it.

Redden was grunting softly with each breath. He looked up at his Pilatus PC-12. He shook his head. He grinned a little.

“Hey, Ricky,” he said, speaking to Ledet who was sitting directly behind him in the same position, but out of his sight “You cut a deal with these boys, didja?”

Neuman shook his head at Ledet.

When he didn’t answer Redden grinned and said, “Shee-it.”

Since they had walked into the hangar no one had said a word except Graver and Redden.

“Well,” Redden said, shifting on his buttocks, trying to relieve the catch in his side. Sweat dripped off the end of his nose onto the concrete floor where it soaked up immediately. “The thing about cutting a deal is… the thing about this quid pro crow is… that I got to watch my back for the rest of my life.”

“That’s right,” Graver said, wiping his face with his handkerchief. “But if you don’t want to bother with that you can just spend the rest of your life in a cage.”

Redden snorted. “Well, shit, we know where this is going, don’t we? If I can help it I’m not about to spend the rest of my life in a cage.” He grunted. “You sure it’s really necessary to keep me cuffed up like this? Goddamn.”

Graver stepped over in front of him and squatted down. He looked at him. “You smoke?”

Redden frowned. “Yeah, I smoke.”

“Want a cigarette?”

“Yeah, I want a cigarette.”

Graver looked at Neuman who went over to Ledet and took his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, along with the disposable lighter.

“Take off one cuff,” Graver said to Neuman who got the key from Murray and unlocked one cuff. As he did, Remberto loudly cocked the slide on his Sig-Sauer.

Redden flinched and then slowly turned his head toward the sound as he took the cigarette from Neuman and lit it He looked at Remberto.

“You guys sure don’t act like the law,” he said. He didn’t try to get up, but stretched his waist and shoulders, twisting this way and that.

“Okay,” Graver said, still squatting in front of Redden, “tell me what’s supposed to be happening tonight.”

Redden was not given to dramatics, but his long pause before responding to Graver’s question clearly reflected the pressure he was feeling from what he was about to do. It seemed that no one talked about Kalatis without behaving as though they were about to open the doors of hell. You just didn’t do it unless you had no other choice.