“Did you hear your boyfriend?” I asked.
“I heard.”
“He doesn’t seem to give a damn whether I shoot you or not.”
She shrugged. “It is not that,” she said. “He simply knows that you will not kill me.”
“Don’t be too surprised, baby.”
The smile flitted across her face again, was gone almost before it started. “You will not kill me,” she said.
I didn’t answer her. I kept looking at my watch until the time was up. Nothing came from Carrera. Not another word.
“Now what?” she asked.
“What’s your name?”
She didn’t answer.
I shrugged. “Suit yourself,” I said.
“My name is Linda,” she said.
“Make yourself comfortable, Linda,” I told her. “We’re going to be here for quite some time.”
I meant that. I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to get my money from Carrera, but I knew damn well I was staying here until I did get it. Crossing the open dirt patch would have been suicide. But at the same time, Carrera couldn’t cross it, either. Not unless he wanted a slug through his fat face. I thought of that, and I began to wish he would try to get across the clearing. Nothing would have pleased me more than to have his nose resting on the sight at the end of my gun muzzle.
Ten thousand bucks! Ten thousand, hard-earned American dollars. How had Carrera found out about it? Had I talked too much? Hell, it was general knowledge that I was putting away a nest egg to take back to the States. Carrera had probably been watching me for a long time, planning his larceny from a distance, waiting until I was ready to shove off for home.
“It’s getting dark,” Linda said.
I lifted my eyes to the sky.
The sun was dipping low over the horizon, splashing the sky with brilliant reds and oranges. The peaks of the mountains glowed brilliantly as the dying rays lingered in crevices and hollows. A crescent moon hung palely against the deepening wash of night, sharing the sky with the sinking sun.
And suddenly it was black.
There was no transition, no dusk, no violets or purples. The sun was simply swallowed up, and stars appeared against the blackness. A stiff breeze worked its way down from the caps of the mountains, spreading cold where there had once been intolerable heat.
“You’d better get some sleep,” I said.
“And you?”
“With that pig across the way? I’ll stay awake, thanks.”
She grinned. “Carrera will sleep. You can bet on that.”
“I wish I could bet on that. I’d go right over and make sure he never woke up.”
“Oh my,” she mocked, “such a tough one.”
I said nothing.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said.
“Jeff,” I told her. “Jeff MacCauley.”
She rolled over, trying to make herself comfortable. It wasn’t easy with her hands and feet bound. She settled for her left side, her arms behind her, her legs together.
“Well,” she said, “buenos noches, Jeff.”
I didn’t answer.
I was watching the rocks across the clearing. Carrera may have planned on sleeping the night, but I wasn’t counting on it.
She woke up about two A.M. She pushed herself to a sitting position and stared into the darkness.
“Jeff,” she whispered. Her accent made my name sound like “Jaif.” I pulled the .45 from my waistband and walked over to her.
“What is it?”
“My hands. They’re... I can’t feel anything. I think the blood has stopped.”
I knelt down beside her and reached for her hands. The strap didn’t seem too tight. “You’ll be all right,” I said.
“But... they feel numb. It’s like... like there is nothing below my wrists, Jeff.”
Her voice broke, and I wondered if she were telling the truth. I held the .45 in my right hand and tugged at the strap with my left. I loosened it, and she pulled her hands free and began massaging the wrists, breathing deeply.
“That’s much better,” she said.
I kept the .45 pointed at her. She looked at the open muzzle and sighed, as if she were being patient with a precocious little boy. She leaned back on her arms then, tilting her head to the sky, her black hair streaming down her back.
“It’s a beautiful night,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Just look at the moon, Jeff.”
I glanced up at the moon, taking my eyes off her for a second.
That was all the time she needed.
She sprang with the speed of a mountain lion, pushing herself up with her bound feet, her fingernails raking down the length of my arm, clawing at my gun hand. I yanked the gun back and she dove at me again, the nails slashing across my face. She threw herself onto my chest, her hands seeking the wrist of my gun hand, tightening there, the nails digging deep into my flesh. I rolled over, slapping the muzzle of the .45 against her shoulder.
She fell backward and then pushed herself up from the ground, murder in her eyes. She hopped forward, and I backed away from her. She kept hopping, her feet close together, the material from her skirt keeping her in check. And then she toppled forward, and she would have kissed the ground if I hadn’t caught her in my arms.
She kissed me instead.
Or I kissed her.
It was hard to tell which. She was falling, and I reached for her, and she was suddenly in my arms. There was a question in her eyes for a single instant, and then the question seemed to haze over. She closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to mine.
Sunlight spilled over the twisted ground, pushing at the shadows, chasing the night.
She was still in my arms when I woke up. I stared down at her, not wanting to move, afraid to wake her.
And then her eyes popped open suddenly, and a sleepy smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Hello.”
She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. She took a deep breath and then smiled, and I looked deep into her eyes, trying to read whatever was hidden in their brown depths.
“Your boyfriend,” I said. “Carrera.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Her face was serious, so serious that it startled me.
“No?”
“No.”
“He’s still got my ten thousand,” I said.
“I know.”
“I want it back.”
“I know.”
“I want you to help me get it.”
She was silent for a long while.
When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.
“Why?”
“Why? Holy Jesus, that’s ten thousand bucks! You know how much work I did to get that money?”
“Why not forget it?”
“Forget it? No.”
“Carrera will kill you. I know him. Would you rather be dead without your money... or would you rather be alive without it? Alive and... with me?”
“If you help me, we can have both,” I said.
She considered this for a moment and then asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll help?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want to set a trap for him.”
“What kind of a trap?”
“Will you help?”
She moved closer to me and buried her head against my shoulder.
“I’ll do whatever you say,” she said.
We crouched behind the rocks, our heads close together. The sun bore down ferociously, baking the earth, spreading heat over the surface of the land. The sky was streaked with spidery white clouds that trailed across a wide wash of blue. It was the Mexico of the picture books, bright and clear, warm, alive, and it should have been pulsating with the throb of laughter and music, wine and song, fiesta.