Barbara got out of the car and picked her way across twenty yards of desert in her high heels to a clump of flora.
"Uh-oh," Vittorio said. He was looking in the rearview mirror.
Cupie swiveled his head around and looked back down the long, straight highway. "It's a black dot," he said.
"Right."
"Gimme those binoculars of yours." Cupie focused on the black dot. "Uh-oh," he said. He rolled down the window, letting in a gust of hot, dry air. "Barbara!"
"Just a minute," she yelled.
"Stay where you are," Cupie called. "Car coming."
"Big deal!"
"I hope not, but it could be." Cupie watched through the glasses as the black dot got bigger. "Take off your hat," Cupie said.
"What?"
"Vittorio, they may not remember you, but they'll remember that fucking hat."
Vittorio took off his campaign hat and dropped it on the floor. "You know what I wish?" he said.
"What?"
"I wish I had a heavy machine gun."
Cupie was still glued to the binoculars. "It's a black SUV," he said. "I wish I had a hand grenade."
Twenty-three
CUPIE AND VlTTORIO WERE HOLDING UP A MAP, CONCEALing their handguns beneath it, when the black Suburban pulled alongside them and stopped. A window slid down, and two men grinned at them from the front seat. They couldn't see who was in the backseat.
"Buenos dias, senores," the man in the passenger seat said. He was middle-aged, mustachioed, bad teeth.
"Hiya," Cupie yelled, smiling, too. "You speaka the English?"
"Of course, senor," the man replied. "Do you need help?"
"We're just looking for the best way to Juarez."
"You go straight ahead, all the way to Tijuana, then turn right on highway number two, and that takes you all the way to Juarez."
Cupie looked at the map, puzzled. "Wouldn't it be shorter to go more cross-country?"
"Yes, senor, but the roads are not so very good, and, of course, there are the banditos."
"Oh, I see. Well, it sounds more exciting that way. Thanks very much."
The rear window of the Suburban slid down a couple of inches and a pair of eyes appeared, looking into the rear seat of the Toyota, then it slid up again.
"Adios, senores," the front passenger said. "Vaya con Dios!" The Suburban roared away.
"Speaking of banditos," Vittorio said, "that guy looked just like the bandit in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. The 'We ain't got no steenk-ing badges' guy."
"Yeah, and his intentions are pretty much the same." Cupie looked over to see Barbara coming. "Get back in the bushes!" he yelled, and she turned around and disappeared again. He turned back to Vittorio. "You think they bought it?"
"Well, they didn't see the lady, did they?"
"I don't think they bought it." Cupie yelled out the window. "All right, they're gone; get back in the car."
Barbara made her way back to the Toyota and got in. "Was it them?"
"You bet your sweet ass it was," Vittorio said.
"Where did they go?"
"Straight ahead."
"Then let's turn around and go back to the Acapulco airport."
Vittorio shook his head. "The driver of the Suburban talked to the cops there; they'll be looking for you."
"He's right," Cupie agreed, "and they're probably on the phone right now, giving them a description of us and our car."
"So what do we do?" she asked.
"Let's make a pass at the Puerto Vallarta airport," Cupie said, "and if it's staked out, we'll just go straight on to Tijuana and walk across the border. We'll get you a cab to the San Diego airport, and you're free as a bird."
"Sounds right to me," Vittorio said. "You on board, Babs?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Vittorio put the car in gear and drove off, dawdling along at fifty miles an hour. "Let's let them gain a little on us," he said.
EAGLE WAS BACK at his desk at three o'clock, showered and relaxed.
Betty buzzed him. "That realtor, Sally Potter, is on the phone."
Eagle picked it up. "Hi, Sally."
"Hi, Ed. I just sold a house; you up for a closing?"
"Sure, send me the contract."
"I'll have the buyer bring it over; you in all afternoon?"
"I'll be here until five."
"You're not breaking a sweat over there, are you?"
"Not so's you'd notice."
"The buyer will be there in twenty minutes."
"I'll dust off the welcome mat." He hung up. Sally Potter and other realtors often recommended him as an attorney for house buyers. He did forty or fifty closings a year, and an assistant did all the work. It paid for the copying machine and the phone bill, he reckoned.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Betty buzzed him. "Your buyer is here," she said.
"Send him in."
There was a chuckle from the other end of the line, and Betty hung up.
Eagle looked up to see a knockout blonde walk into his office. She was in her thirties, five-seven, a hundred and twenty-five pounds, wearing tight, starched jeans, a fringed buckskin jacket and a chambray shirt with the top couple of buttons invitingly undone. Her breasts were contained in about a 36C, and he reckoned it was a cup size too small. Eagle was sure he had seen her someplace before, but he couldn't place her. He was on his feet in a flash. "Good afternoon. I'm Ed Eagle."
"Hello," she said in a throaty voice. "I'm Susannah Wilde." She held out a hand.
Eagle shook it and waved her to the sofa, taking the chair opposite. The movies, he thought. He didn't go to the movies much, waiting for them to turn up on satellite TV, but he'd seen her in something. "So, you've bought a home in Santa Fe?"
"Yes, I have. The seller accepted my offer a couple of hours ago." She dug into a large handbag and came out with a paper. "Here's the contract."
Eagle scanned the document. A nice place on Tano Norte. A writer had built it and sold it to somebody else, who was now selling it. Three million bucks; Ms. Wilde was either very successful in the movies or handsomely divorced, or both. "Will you require a mortgage?" he asked.
"No, it will be a cash deal."
"I'll get a title search done and arrange for title insurance. I can recommend an insurance agent for your homeowner's policy."
"Thank you, but Sally has already put me in touch with somebody."
"What brings you to Santa Fe, Ms. Wilde?"
"Please call me Susannah. I'm an actress, and I live in L.A., but frankly I'm tired of it. I've sold my house there, and I've found a pied-a-terre for when I'm there on business, but I plan to make my real home here."
"I know the original owner of your house, and I've been there for dinner. It's a beautiful place. I especially remember the library."
"Yes, I'm thrilled to have it."
"When do you want to close?"
"The owner says he can close quickly, so the sooner the better." She gave him the name of the seller's attorney.
"A couple of weeks okay?"
"That's fine with me."
"Where are you staying?"
"At the Inn of the Anasazi."
"I'll call you as soon as we've agreed on a closing date. Will you be staying long?"
"I'm going back to L.A. tomorrow, to get moved into my new apartment, but I'll be back for the closing, and I'll move in the same day, so can you schedule it for first thing in the morning?"
"Of course." He took a deep breath. "Would you like to have dinner tonight?"
She smiled. "How kind of you. Is this all part of the service?"
He smiled back. "No, this is a special occasion," he said.
"I'd love to." She stood and shook his hand again. "What time?"
"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty, if that's all right."
"I look forward to it." She turned and walked out of his office.
He watched her go. "Oh, shit," he whispered to himself. "I may be in trouble again."
Twenty-four
THEY ENTERED THE OUTSKIRTS OF PUERTO VALLARTA AND saw the airport sign.
"Not yet," Cupie said. "Drive into town; I got an idea that might buy us a little breathing room."