He stood outside, away from the entrance and watched nurses coming out till almost five. No sign of Layla. He went up to the transplant floor and found out she was off today. He called Nichols. “You know it’s Saturday?” Raylan said. “It wasn’t, I wouldn’t be mowin the lawn.” “Layla’s off till Monday.” “You call her home?” “Her voice said leave a message and hung up.” “You called last night you’d of had her in cuffs.” “I wanted to give her time to get jumpy before I make my appearance.” “I can stop mowin this minute,” Nichols said, “you want me along.” “I got to locate her first. I’ll call her again or go over there, 156 Virginia Avenue, push her buzzer till she answers.” “If she’s home,” Nichols said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, see how you’re doin. Come on over, we’ll grill steaks, have a few beers.” “I was gonna tell you,” Raylan said, “I checked out of the Hilton, didn’t work with my per diem. I took a cab to the office and got a Chevy assigned to me—it’s okay—I’m not goin anywhere, but I’m now stayin at the Two Keys Tavern on South Limestone.
