L Is for Lawless

were now full, so I leaned against a column and scanned the paper. The jetway door had been opened and the first-class passengers began to file out, looking ever so much fresher than the travelers behind them. The coach passengers came next, eyes straying across the crowd to find the people who'd come to meet them. Many joyous reunions. Grandmothers swept little children into their arms. A soldier hugged his sweetheart. Husbands and wives exchanged obligatory busses. Two teenagers with a cluster of helium balloons began to squeal at the sight of a sheepish-looking young guy coming down the jetway. Altogether, it was a very pleasant way to spend a few minutes, and I found myself happily distracted from the grim array of the day's news in the paper. I was just in the process of turning to the funnies when the last smattering of passengers straggled off the plane. It was the Stetson that caught my attention. I averted my gaze, glancing up only fleetingly as Gilbert walked by.

13
    I glanced at my watch. My plane probably wouldn't board for another twenty to thirty minutes. The cleaning crew would have to sweep through, collecting discarded newspapers, wadded tissues, earphones, and forgotten items. I laid my paper aside and followed Gilbert, whose Stetson, pale blue denim jacket, and cowboy boots made him easy to keep an eye on. He had to be much closer to Ray's age than I'd realized on first glance. I'd pegged him in his late fifties, but he was probably sixty-two, sixty-three, somewhere in there. I couldn't figure out what Laura had seen in him in the first place, unless she was, quite literally, looking for a father. Whatever the appeal, the sexual chemistry must have been intertwined with his brutality. Too many women mistake a man's hostility for wit and his silence for depth.
    He pushed through revolving doors to the same baggage claim area I'd entered early Saturday. The area was crowded and afforded me natural cover. While Gilbert waited for the bags, I scanned the area for a pay phone. There were probably some around the corner, but I didn't want to let him out of my sight. I moved over to the hotel directory and found the number for the Desert Castle. The telephone system linked all the hotels that serviced the airport but did not admit of outside calls beyond that. I pulled a pen and paper from my bag as the line was ringing. "Desert Castle," a woman said, picking up on the other end.
    "Hi, I'm over at the airport. Can you give me the hotel operator?"
    "No, ma'am. I'm not tied in to the hotel switchboard. This is a separate facility."
    "Well, can you give me the phone number over there?"
    "Yes, ma'am. You want reservations, sales, or catering?"
    "Just give me the main number."
    She recited the number, which I dutifully noted. I'd find a pay phone as soon as opportunity allowed.
    Behind me, a bell finally sounded, mimicking a burglar alarm. The overlapping metal segments of the carousel gave a lurch and began to move in a counterclockwise direction. Two suitcases came around the bend, then a third and a fourth as the conveyor brought them up from below. The waiting passengers crowded forward, angling for position as the bags tumbled down the incline and began their slow journey on the circular metal track.
    While Gilbert watched for his luggage, I retrieved the two quarters from my blazer pocket, playing with them nervously while I waited to see what he would do. He retrieved a soft-sided suitcase from the carousel and pushed through the crowd, moving toward the corridor. I turned away long before he passed, aware that any sudden movement might attract his attention. Approaching the escalator, he stepped to one side and squatted while he unzipped his suitcase and removed a sizable handgun, to which he affixed a silencer. Several people glanced down and saw what he was doing, but went about their business as though it were no big deal. Clearly, to them, he didn't look like the sort of fellow who would cut loose in a crowd, mowing down everyone within range of him. He tucked the gun in his belt and pulled his denim jacket over it.
    He adjusted his Stetson, rezipped his suitcase, and proceeded in a leisurely manner to the car rental desk. He must not have had advance reservations because I saw him inquire at Budget and then move to Avis. I spotted a bank of telephones and found the only free instrument among the five. I jammed a quarter in the slot and dialed the number for the Desert Castle. I turned, checking