Daniel shook his head. ‘What do you say, Volta? Was that a vision, an optical illusion, a hallucination, or a nightly occurrence I just haven’t noticed before?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. He put the Diamond in the bowling bag and headed for his truck. When he pulled onto the highway five minutes later, he was laughing.
When Smiling Jack called Volta the next morning he had something besides his essential good humor to make him cheerful. ‘We have made Melvin Keyes “extremely uncomfortable.” That’s his description of how he felt about providing the identity of the Livermore snitch, but I thought his discomfort came from the idea that we were about to start running downhill with his nuts in our hand. I gambled that the guy was this Debritto shit, and it was. I could almost feel the phone trembling in poor Melvin’s hand. I told him I’d get back to him soon, and while I understood he could fabricate any name he pleased, dump it on anybody, I knew it was one of three people as sure as I knew Debritto did Dredneau – and I also mentioned that solid documentation brightened my disposition and excited my gratitude.’
‘Excellent,’ Volta said.
Jack’s smile broadened. ‘Let’s make it a roll – you give me some good news.’
‘He hasn’t called,’ Volta said. ‘However, the sun rose this morning.’
‘Now, you got it, Volt – look on the bright side.’
Daniel had driven an hour west, watching the mountains take form in the rising light, when he caught some words in the corner of his eye, a blink, subliminal, but enough to shatter his reverie. He hit the brakes and fishtailed to a stop, then slammed the truck in reverse and backed up the highway.
The sign was written in sun-bleached red paint on a piece of whitewashed plywood wired to a cactus:
TWO MOONS REST STOP
1 mi. right on dirt road
Cabins Food Pool TV
Daniel decided the two moons he’d seen earlier were a vision from the Diamond instructing him to rest. The last time he’d slept was before the theft. The last time he’d eaten, too. He’d been drawing energy from vanishing with the Diamond, and now maybe it wanted some back. He drove on slowly, turning right at a rutted dirt road marked with an arrow that lanced two circles.
A dusty mile farther on was a weather-beaten building with office vacancy lettered in peeling white paint. Behind the office, arranged in a ramshackle circle, were twelve cabins, none of which had been close to a paintbrush in the last decade. Daniel stiffly dismounted from the cab and looked around. If not for some tire tracks near the office, he would have thought the Two Moons Rest Stop had been abandoned. He knocked on the office door.
A short, strong-shouldered man wearing black cotton slippers with plastic soles, jeans, and a short-sleeved red-and-yellow checked shirt opened it immediately. Daniel thought he might be either American Indian or Mongolian: of all the faces Daniel had studied with Jean Bluer, this would have been the most difficult to duplicate. He judged the man to be in his early fifties, but realized he might be off twenty years on either side.
The man looked past Daniel. ‘Nice truck,’ he said. ‘That three-fifty’s a good engine.’ He turned his attention to Daniel. ‘You want a cabin?’
Daniel, about to slide into his Isaiah Kharome voice, looked into the man’s shrewd black eyes and decided to play it straight. ‘Yes, I do. I know it’s a little early to be checking in – wanted to make Phoenix, but I’m too tired to drive. Safer to stop.’
The man nodded. ‘Figured you were a guest. The bill collectors never drive campers. They like those compact foreign rigs. I’ll get you a key.’ He turned back into the office, saying over his shoulder, ‘Welcome to come in if you want.’
‘Thanks, but I could use some air.’ Daniel glanced around as he waited. The cabins didn’t look like much, but as long as they had a hot bath and a bed he didn’t care. He didn’t see the pool or the coffee shop.
The man, moving silently in his slippers, returned holding a large leather cup and a feather.
Daniel indicated the feather. ‘That from an owl?’
‘Great Horned. Found it on the door step the day after we bought the place.’ The man squatted on the porch and slowly swept the owl feather back and forth above the sun-bleached planks, shaking the cup and chanting softly to himself. Abruptly, he spilled the cup’s contents onto the decking: twelve small brass keys, various small bones and claws, a flat silver disc, a small gold nugget, obsidian shards of various shapes and transparencies, a pig tusk, and four dried seeds, each different, and none that Daniel recognized.
The man studied the arrangement a moment, then decisively picked up a key and gave it to Daniel. ‘Number Five.’ He pointed to the cabin. ‘That one there. Park in back.’
Daniel hefted the key in his palm. Hesitantly, he said, ‘I didn’t notice the coffee shop.’
The man looked up blankly. ‘Coffee shop?’
‘I mean, I just assumed – the sign down the road said food.’
The man tilted his head. ‘You hungry?’
‘A little.’
‘Got some jerky and half a loaf of pumpernickel bread in the house. I’ll bring it over as soon as I get the keys put away.’
‘Don’t bother yourself, really – I have some stuff in the truck.’
‘No bother. I’ll bring it over in a bit. You go ahead and get started on your rest.’
‘Thanks,’ Daniel said. He felt he should go, but stood there watching the man return the various items to the cup. ‘I’ve been told my curiosity often lapses into rudeness, but I can’t help asking how you can tell which key to select.’
The man dropped the last seed into the cup and rose to his feet, facing Daniel. ‘I don’t know how I do it. Kept trying, and after a while got a feel for it, I guess.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Daniel said, ‘I see. So it’s intuitive, right? I mean, there’s no method.’
‘No, no particular method. But there are traditions.’
Daniel plunged to the point: ‘Well, what exactly do you feel?’
The man cocked his head, sunlight catching his high, strong cheekbones. ‘What do I feel? I feel which key fits the guest.’
‘Ah ha,’ Daniel said, realizing no secrets were going to escape the tautology of the obvious, ‘sure – that makes sense. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.’
The man shrugged. ‘I don’t mind.’
Daniel parked behind the cabin. As he came around to the front – there didn’t seem to be a back door – he saw the swimming pool set in the center of the encircling cabins. It appeared to be about six feet wide, and sloped dramatically from three feet deep to nine. There was no water in the pool. Weeds flourished in the long cracks where the cement had buckled and slipped.
The cabin wasn’t locked. The interior, though sparely furnished, seemed even smaller than the outside suggested. But it had four large windows and it was clean. A wood heater dominated the center of the room. The squat lines of the iron bedframe were softened by the sheen of its polyester cover. Half a cord of wood was stacked along one wall, and on the opposite side was a formica table with two straight-back chairs. A TV, a fat seventeen-inch Philco from the mid-sixties, occupied most of the tabletop, its rabbit-ears antenna giving it an odd sense of alertness. Daniel assumed the single door led to the bathroom, but found only a toilet and washbasin behind it. He pissed, then washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He soon discovered there were no towels.
Moderately annoyed, Daniel – face still dripping – was standing in front of the TV waiting for it to come on when the manager said from the open front door, ‘It’s not plugged in.’
‘Oh,’ Daniel said.
The man set plastic-wrapped jerky and slices of pumpernickel on top of the TV. ‘Actually,’ he said, looking at the screen, ‘it wouldn’t matter if it was plugged in, because we don’t have electricity. And if we did, they would probably turn it off after a couple of months and send some righteous, brutal men around to collect money. I don’t like to do business with such people. Their hearts are no bigger than mouse shit.’