“They’re always out there,” Dieter said. He made a gesture of philosophic resignation; his hand shook. “If June turned us in,” Marge said slowly, “maybe she didn’t get Janey to my father.”
“June is a stand-up chick,” Hicks said. “Don’t worry about it” He turned to Galindez and then to Dieter. “Are they coming up? What are they gonna do?”
“At the moment,” Dieter said, with a faint smile, “they’re lost. Elpidio took them up and left them.”
“What the hell kind of cops are they? Ask him what they look like.”
“One has a beard,” Dieter said when he had spoken with Galindez. “One has bleached hair like a maricon. One is ordinary.”
Hicks examined the portrait of Moussorgsky. “You know what?” he said. “They may not be cops at all.”
_
THEY WAITED IN A GRASSY HOLLOW concealed from the house across the canyon by an outcropping of blue-black rock. Smitty was leaning over the ledge spitting, watching his spittle whip on the wind and sail into the treetops below.
“Lost In Space is right,” he said. “Weird stuff in the woods. Walkin’ everywhere.”
Converse watched him spit with fascination. His thick lips puckered as he sought secretions to disgorge. The pink point of his tongue slid between his lips conveying gathered saliva, a homely little entity in the cosmos.
On the climb, Converse had fallen back on the Long View. It came to him that Smitty, in some respects, bore a physical resemblance to Ken Grimes. What a ruffianly sense of humor things had, he reflected, to compose themselves now into a Grimes, then into a Smitty.
He glanced at Danskin and saw that he too was watching Smitty spit. There was a fond possessive smile on his face.
Danskin extended a leg and kicked Smitty on the elbow, causing him to lose his balance for a moment.
“Whoa,” Smitty cried, and seized firm ground.
“What are you thinking about, dipstick?”
Smitty pulled himself away from the ledge.
“A dream,” he said.
Danskin nudged Converse covertly.
“I know all about that shit,” he told Smitty. “Tell me, I’ll interpret.”
Smitty blushed and bared his gums.
“I got this guy,” Smitty told them, “it’s like him.” He pointed to Converse. “I kidnaped him, right? But suddenly he’s gone. I want the bread from his folks. But I don’t have him. I’m gonna be like the dudes up in Canada, I’m gonna cut off his ear like and send it to them. Pay up or I slice more. But he’s gone. I got to cut my own ear off and mail it.”
Danskin clapped his hands in delight.
“Wait, wait,” Smitty said. “It doesn’t work. I got to cut more of myself off. They still don’t pay up. I got to cut myself all into strips and mail it all to his folks.”
Danskin rolled over on his back, his belly heaving.
He waved his hands, fingers splayed, like a Salvationist.
“You wonder,” he asked Converse, “why he’s my buddy? Who else could have such a dream?” When he had finished laughing, he stared at Converse.
“How about you? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking, ‘Why me?’” Converse said.
“Ha!” Danskin said.
“You did wrong,” Smitty informed him, licking the spittle from his lips. “You gotta admit it. You’re a crook.”
“I’m not a crook at heart,” Converse said.
Smitty was staring into the brush above them. They turned suddenly and saw Antheil climbing down to their cover.
“I surprised you completely,” he said. “I could have been anybody.” He looked down at them peevishly. “What are you doing lying around up here?”
“We had a guy bringing us up,” Danskin told him, “but he cut out on us. I don’t know where he went or how he did it.”
“You shot at him?”
“Of course,” Danskin said.
“Well he’s up in the house now — Angel saw him. He must have got up there some way.”
“We looked,” Danskin said. “We can’t find it.”
“How about these wires. Did you follow them?”
“The wires run down the cliff and into the woods.
There’s no trail.” Antheil leaned against the rock and peered over at the house for a moment.
“I’ve been following wires all day. They’re strung up and down sheer drops.” He sat down on the short grass beside them and took another Geological Survey map from inside his safari jacket. “According to this thing, there are two trails up there. Neither of them exists. The trails I’ve found aren’t on here and none of them goes anywhere.”
“So,” Smitty said, “they’re not so dumb.”
“I don’t get it,” Danskin said. “I thought you had this place doped out. Don’t you have any information? Isn’t there a file on these people?”
“Look,” Antheil said, “every cornpone cop down here knows the way in. All these wetbacks know the way. Of course there’s a file.” He put his map away. “We had to be discreet. We didn’t want to make it official until certain things were taken care of. I thought we could improvise a little. It seemed reasonable enough.”
Smitty looked patiently from Danskin’s face to Antheil’s.
“Maybe it’s a bummer,” he suggested finally. “Maybe we should just drop it.”
Everyone turned to look at Converse.
“No,” Antheil said.
“It’s getting dark. While we’re fucking around looking for a trail, they’ll come down here and zap us.”
“I’ll back you up,” Antheil told him.
“Yeah?” He looked at Antheil with something close to contempt. “You really went for this one, huh?” Antheil stared back at him, stony-faced. “If they can’t get to a car, they can’t get out. Angel’s got
the road covered and he’s as good as they come. They can’t leave the house without being seen. If they try to walk out we’ll run them down.”
Danskin gnawed his finger in silence. “You get yourselves where you have a clear shot at the house. Talk to them. Tell them you’ll waste Asshole here.”
“Oh, man,” Danskin said, “what do they care? They’ll laugh at us.”
“Tell them you’ve got the little girl.”
“They know fucking well we got no little girl.”
“Try it, I’m telling you.” He turned on Converse in fury. “You talk, Asshole. Use your influence with your wife.”
Smitty laughed.
“Because goddamn it,” Antheil told Converse, “I’m gonna kill you if you don’t produce.”
“I think he realizes that,” Danskin said.
They watched Antheil climb quickly up the bank and walk into the woods looking over his shoulder.
Danskin’s dark eyes were bright with anger. “He’s uncomfortable turning his back, you notice that? He’s got a bad conscience.”
“He’s flipping,” Converse told them. “He’s obsessed.”
“He flips,” Smitty said, “and our balls get busted.”
Danskin took Converse by the sleeve and pushed him against the bank. “Up,” he said. “One thing at a time.”
They went back into the woods and wandered among the trees for a while, trying to find where the Mexican had gone. After a few minutes, they gave up and followed a trail that led through the edge of the woods, following the line of the bluff.
“Let’s try it here,” Danskin said, when they had gone a short way. “It’s gonna get dark on us.”
They went crouching through the brush; Danskin kept one hand on Converse’s arm and carried his air marshal’s pistol in the other. Smitty came behind with the rifle.
Just below them was another ledge with a rise of dark rock behind which they could shelter. The stone house was directly across the way and from their new point of vantage they could see the top of its bell tower and a corral against its wall in which a white horse stood.