Don’t antagonize. Play for time. De-escalate the situation.
As if reading her mind, he said again, “Don’t try anything.”
“I won’t.”
He saw her phone on the seat between them at the same time she did. He grabbed it, buzzed his window down, and threw it out. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”
That was a cliché she’d heard in at least fifteen movies. Those exact words.
“I’m good,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Drive.”
“Drive where?”
“Up I-17.”
“OK,” she said. “Do you see that truck over there? Sunline Traders?”
He said nothing. She glanced out the corner of her eye and saw that although Conroy was nervous, he was also in control. She wondered what he had to lose. The impression she got was: nothing.
“The truck?” she said again. “It’s blocking the freeway entrance.”
“Then take the access road.”
No choice. She did.
THEY DROVE. MAX couldn’t believe he had threatened the deputy with a weapon. It was unreal. He knew what he was doing would change everything. It would end badly. He knew that, but he didn’t see that he had a choice.
“You don’t have a radio,” he said.
“No.”
“Why is that?”
“The car’s new.”
“Oh.”
The guy in the pink granny glasses and the shower cap materialized between them. Shoved his bony elbow into Max’s side. Max could see his own hand, still hovering over the semiautomatic pistol’s butt sticking out of his waistband, with Shower Cap superimposed over it. Max could see right through him.
Shower Cap said, “Tell her what happened.”
“Why should I? She won’t believe me.”
The deputy glanced at him, her eyes sharp. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. Just keep your eyes on the road and drive.”
“You need her help,” Shower Cap said.
“Fuck off, I’m doing this my way!”
This time the deputy didn’t glance at him. She glanced at his gun. Her voice was calm—soothing but in charge. “Do what ‘your way’?” she asked him.
He didn’t answer. What could he say? He was hallucinating? He was the one with the gun—he didn’t owe her any explanations. He just wanted to get to Gordon White Eagle.
“Gordon White Eagle,” the deputy said. “That’s where we’re going? The Desert Oasis Healing Center?”
How had she heard him? He must have spoken out loud.
Shower Cap grinned, started to fade. Max fished around for a thought—any thought. The image that cropped up was a silly one, but he gave it voice. “Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?”
She said, “I’m not a deputy anymore.”
“They fired you?”
“No. They made me detective.”
“Detective? You were promoted.”
“You could say that.”
“I played a detective in three films. Worked with a homicide dick.”
“We don’t call ourselves ‘dicks.’ ”
“Sorry.”
They lapsed into silence. The heavy Caprice ate up the road. They must be going eighty.
Tess. That was her name. The woman who’d saved him from Gordon’s thugs. The woman who had a perfect, photographic memory.
He wanted to trust her, but she might take exception to the fact he’d threatened her with a firearm…
The land whizzed by, the color of a dusty lion, studded with prickly pear and yucca, scrub bushes and trees. Mountains off to the left. Mountains off to the right. The two-lane unspooling before him, leading him to Gordon White Eagle. Finally, he would get relief. Finally, he would make Gordon fix him. The deputy—the detective—might even be a help. He wanted to be put back together, better than Humpty. But more than that, he wanted the answer to a simple question. Why? Why had Gordon messed him up like that?
Why send a killer like the woman after him?
Why?
And now he was on the run, a “person of interest” in three killings. And somewhere out there, looking for him, were the woman and the boy.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “I didn’t do it.”
Tess kept her eyes steady on the road. At least he thought she did; he couldn’t see past her sunglasses.
“Didn’t do what?” she asked.
“Kill those guys.” His throat was dry. He licked his lips. She seemed so damn calm. “Everyone thinks I killed those guys in the bomb shelter. Why else would I be a ‘person of interest’?”
She said nothing.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
He did. He described everything, how Luther had lured him to the house. How they’d kept him in the bomb shelter. The ransom demand, the kidnap video. “You know what my wife said?”
“Talia L’Apel?”
“Yeah, Talia. She said, ‘You can have him.’ What do you think of that?”
She shrugged.
“So now they think I killed them. Do you believe I have superhuman powers? How would I get the drop on three guys? Especially Corey. That’s one mean son of a bitch.” Stopped himself. “Was a mean son of a bitch,” he amended. “But I didn’t kill him.”
“Who did?”
“I’m pretty sure I know.”
“Oh?”
First time there was an inflection in her voice. Interest. Could he be making headway with her?
“I think Gordon sent somebody.” He paused, realizing how paranoid he sounded.
“Who?”
He couldn’t tell if she was just humoring him, waiting for her chance to get at the weapon in the holster on her side. He should have grabbed it and tossed it out of the car when he’d had a chance, but he hadn’t been thinking straight.
His window was still open, the air buffeting him. “I’m going to take your gun. Don’t try anything.” He leaned sideways, reaching for the butt of her weapon.
And at that moment, quick as a snake, she knocked his hand aside and whipped out her gun.
The car started to slow.
“Nobody will believe me,” Max said. Staring at the gun muzzle. Mesmerized by it.
“Not after this they won’t,” she said.
“Listen, I—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. He felt the thud, rather than heard it. He did hear the squeal of tires. The car lurched sideways—Max had plenty of time to think about it, because everything slowed to a glacial pace. It was like one of those motion simulator NASCAR rides you find at amusement parks, only much slower: sunglasses floating through the air, Tess’s weapon joining his like an animated Disney movie, the one with the waltzing fork and spoon, the rear window taken up with a black and silver grille, an enormous grille with a giant Chevy logo, the squarish titan-sized white hood above; and then the view shifted and went topsy-turvy as their car left the pavement and soared-rolled-shuddered down the embankment in a fountain of dust.
Chapter Thirty
GUS STENHOLM, WHO worked part time for Belvedere Mining as security, had not been to the Rosasite Mine for a couple of days, due to a bad cold. Usually, he drove around there once a day to check the outbuildings for vandalism, but the main reason he had this job was to make sure no hiker or bunch of pot-smoking kids breeched the old adit on the property. That was pretty much his whole job, which would go away once Belvedere filled the mine up as required by law. He slowed for the Frying Pan Road exit, glad for the four-wheel drive SUV. Used to be hell driving around in the first car they gave him—a Mercury Marquis that had been run into the ground by Bajada County sheriffs. Got hung up on a hump of dirt on one of those two-tracks and dinged the oil pan. That was the end of the Merc.