"That's for sure."
We sat some more, sipping the coffee, looking at the inactive town, waiting. A yellow cat eased across the street and disappeared down the alley to the left of Mary Lou's storefront. Somewhere from the rooftops we could hear the twitter of birds.
"You know this ain't the best way," Hawk said.
I didn't say anything. The coffee smell was strong and comforting in the unsullied morning air.
"Best way," Hawk said, just as if I'd asked him, "be to pen them into that canyon and shoot them from up above."
I nodded.
"You know that, well as I do," Hawk said.
I nodded.
"But we going to do it this way."
I nodded.
"Being your faithful Afro-American companion ain't the easiest thing I ever done."
"But think of the positive side," I said.
"Which is?"
"Lemme get back to you on that," I said.
The light had spread across the street and past Mary Lou's storefront. Behind it came sunshine, still weak, but tinged with color, and carrying with it the promise of heat. I could feel the tension begin to knot. Hawk showed nothing. I'd never seen him show anything. He'd been cool for so long that if there were something to show, he probably wouldn't know it. Hawk drank more coffee, looking out over the rim of the cup along the now bright street.
"Need donuts," Hawk said.
"Try not to think about it," I said.
A few people began to appear. There were a couple of fortyish women, in sneakers, shorts and tank tops power-walking on the sidewalk across the street. Some of the shops began to open. Doors were unlocked. Shades went up. Mary Lou, her hair held back by a blue-and-white polka dot headband, opened up on the other side. If she saw us she chose not to acknowledge it. In the hotel kitchen they were cooking bacon. The yellow cat reappeared, looking satisfied, and pattered down the sidewalk away from us, with his tail in the air.
"Bet he had a donut," Hawk said.
We were out of coffee. The street was bright now, and hot. Hawk seemed almost asleep in the chair beside me. His eyes were invisible behind his sunglasses, his gun concealed by a light silk warm-up jacket, the sleeves of which were tight over his upper arm.
Cars began to appear. More shops opened along the street. People spruced up for the morning walked past the hotel. Many of them trailed a hint of cologne and shampoo and shaving soap in the still air. One of Potshot's two police cruisers rolled slowly down toward the station.
Hawk watched it go by, his head turning slowly to follow it. Otherwise he was motionless.
"We follow that cruiser," he said, "we find donuts. Cops always know where there're donuts."
"Ever have a Krispy Kreme donut?" I said.
"No."
"Me either."
The sun had gotten high enough to shine straight into the windows of the shops across the street when they came. The old Scout was first, and even from a distance, as it turned into Main Street, I could see The Preacher, a contrast in pallor and black, sitting in front in the passenger seat. There were three other men, one of whom was almost certainly Pony, looming in the back seat, the Scout canted toward his side. Behind them came a ratty looking Jeep Wrangler that might once have been blue. There were four men in it.
"Maybe we can get a donut after," Hawk said.
He got up and took off his jacket. He was wearing his big.44 in a shoulder rig, and there was no further need to hide it. We walked across the street and stood in front of Mary Lou's store, Hawk on my left. The Preacher saw us and said something to the driver and he kept coming, and the second car followed, until he pulled up to a stop in front of us. The Preacher gestured and the two cars emptied, leaving only The Preacher and his driver still seated. Pony was in front of me. But he was aware of Hawk. I could see his eyes shift over and back. The others spread out around us in a semicircle. No one spoke. The Preacher seemed almost amused. Peripherally I could see Tedy Sapp's car move slowly in from the north end of the street, and Bobby Horse drive up from the south. Otherwise nothing moved in the street.
"So who are you," The Preacher said finally, "Wyatt fucking Earp?"
"I got some questions," I said.
The Preacher smiled.
"Pony," he said.
Pony took a step toward us and Hawk's gun barrel was suddenly pressed against his forehead. Guns came out all around us. The sound of hammers thumbed back was brisk in the hot silence. The Preacher showed no expression. Everything stopped stock-still. Behind The Preacher, to my left, Tedy Sapp was out of his car with his elbows resting on the hood and the shotgun leveled. To the right Bobby Horse was the same.
"The ball goes up," I said to Tedy Sapp, "kill The Preacher first."
My voice seemed blatant in the cavernous silence. The men in front of us glanced quickly around. Chollo walked out of the alley behind us, his Glock 9-millimeter handgun hanging loosely by his side.
"Let me kill him," Chollo said.
His voice was amplified by the silence as mine had been. Bernard J. Fortunato, with his shotgun at his shoulder, stepped out across the street. He didn't speak, but the shotgun was steady. From the secondfloor window of the hotel I heard Vinnie. I couldn't see him, but the barrel of the Heckler Koch was resting on the windowsill.
"No," Vinnie said. "Let me."
The silence seemed to twist and tighten. The frozen immobility of the scene seemed to squeeze in upon itself as though it would eventually shatter. I felt as if the pit of my stomach were clenched tike a fist. Fortunately I was brave, clean and reverent, otherwise I might have been a little scared.
"You got any preference?" I said to The Preacher.
"This all the people you got?" The Preacher said.
"All we need at the moment," I said. "You know a guy named Morris Tannenbaum?"
The Preacher just stared at me.
"Morris tells me you and he had a deal," I said. "But he's mad at you now and wants you gone."
No one moved. The Preacher stared.
"Wants to pay us to get rid of you."
Hawk still pressed the muzzle of his.44 against Pony's forehead. I could hear Pony breathing.
"This guy Tannenbaum," The Preacher said. "He tell you this himself?"
"Ronnie told us," I said.
The Preacher thought about that.
"So what's your question?" The Preacher said.
"What was your deal with Tannenbaum?"
The Preacher thought about that. I was pretty sure he wasn't brave, clean and reverent, but he didn't seem scared. In fact he didn't seem anything. His pale eyes showed nothing that I could detect. His voice was without inflection. His body language revealed nothing. In fact there was no body language. He sat motionless.
"Why should I tell you?" he said.
"Why not?" I said.
The Preacher looked slightly amused. His face like one of those close-up photographs of rattlesnakes where the snake seems almost mischievous.
"Why not," he said.
I waited, both of us ringed with weapons, both of us heated by the sun. Then The Preacher made some sort of facial gesture which was probably a smile.
"Why not," he said again. "Tannenbaum wanted us to run people out of Potshot."
"Why?"
"He never said."
"What did you get?"
"I got a fee. And we got whatever we could squeeze out of the town."
"Why is the deal off?"
"Maybe you should ask him."
"I don't have him in the middle of the street with six weapons pointed at him."
"You think I'm talking 'cause I'm scared?"
The Preacher's empty eyes held on me.
"No," I said.
He nodded slowly.
"We like what we got," The Preacher said. "We can live off this town forever, we don't use it up."
"So you didn't want to drive people out."
"Not till we got all there was."
"And Tannenbaum didn't like it."
"Fuck him," The Preacher said.
In the silence I could hear my own breathing. I felt stiff with tension. But I held still. Everyone was probably as tight as I was. I didn't want to start the shooting.