"She's pretty," said Ozburn. He turned to watch her, gun in one hand and the bags in the other. His breathing got faster and in a smooth, quick motion Hood raised his right knee and slipped the derringer from its home, then quietly set his right foot down again.
"I'm going walk past you to the door and open it for her," said Hood. "I'll make the introduction."
Ozburn continued to stare out the window and Hood heard the rattling wet inhale of his breath as he passed behind the man. Ozburn swung around, the silenced machine gun pointed at Hood's middle.
"Hold your fire, Sean," said Hood. "I'm a friend, remember?"
Hood stepped to the door. He was between Beth and Ozburn now, the derringer cupped in his right hand and held firm by his thumb. He let her knock, then swung open the door with his free hand and cocked the hammer into the gust.
"Finally!" Beth stepped in and threw an arm around Hood's neck and kissed him. He broke it off quickly and put his mouth to her fragrant ear.
"Beth. There's someone behind me. Don't be afraid. But if anything happens, run outside into the darkness and don't stop. I'll come to you."
"What?"
He felt her body tense and he drew her by her hand into the foyer and pushed shut the door, then turned and presented Beth Petty to Sean Ozburn.
"Pleased to meet you," she said cheerfully. "Nice guns!"
Ozburn stared at her. "You are an unbearable pleasure to my eyes."
"That's the nicest thing I've heard all day." She glanced at Hood and offered her hand to Ozburn. Hood's heart was pounding.
Ozburn set down the bag, took Beth's hand lightly, bowed and kissed it. Then he let go of the gun and closed his other hand over hers and smiled at her. "You're mine now and I'll never let you go."
"Well, don't tell him, but I'm kind of Charlie's for the time being."
"I was the best of them once."
"Oh?"
Ozburn pulled her closer and leaned into her, head tilted, nose to her temple, then her ear, then her neck. A thick ribbon of saliva swayed from his chin.
Beth looked at Hood, the fear bright in her eyes. Then she made a graceful tangolike turn that left her sweater coat half-on and half-off and Ozburn no gentleman's choice at all. He took the brown bag from her and held the coat so she could slide out of it.
Palming the derringer, Hood stepped between them and accepted the coat from Ozburn, which left the concealed weapon pointed roughly at Ozburn's heart.
"It was good seeing you, Sean. You're a true and good friend. We need to talk again. Soon, but not now."
"Unbearable." Ozburn wiped his chin on the back of a fist and looked ashamedly at Beth, then Hood. "I am sorry."
"Here are the treasures from Seliah."
Ozburn took up the bag. "Thank you. Remember to talk to Soriana about my proposal."
Hood stood in the doorway and watched him walk into the wind. Ozburn stopped and turned and Hood knew that at this range he was defenseless against Ozburn's weapons. Ozburn saluted him, then lowered his sunglasses and continued on, looking back once, then continuing down the driveway to the road. Hood saw the glint of glass and metal in the distance. Beth came up next to him. Hood watched Ozburn make his way down the gravel road. He stopped once and waited, then walked on. A moment later the interior lights of a vehicle came on and Hood could make out a red pickup truck. A dark shape moved back and forth inside the cab. Ozburn opened the door and climbed in. The interior lights went out and the brights shot to life. A moment later Ozburn hooked a U-turn and sped down the road and out of sight, his dust a faint contrail rising in the darkness.
"I'm not sure what we just avoided," said Beth. "But I think it could have been very, very bad." She held his arm in both hands and Hood could feel her trembling.
"We can't stay here," said Hood. "But I'll take you to the very finest motel in Buenavista."
"How about my place?"
"Better."
"You've got a story to tell me."
"Do I ever."
While Beth packed up the dinner provisions from the refrigerator Hood called Soriana, Bly, Morris and Velasquez.
He drove them to Beth's home in his vehicle, his Colt unholstered and secure between his thigh and the seat. He didn't think Ozburn would change his mind and try something, but Hood wanted Beth Petty in his sight. He watched the rearview attentively and took an elaborate route before rolling to a stop inside her garage and waiting for the garage door to close behind them. When it clunked into silence Hood felt a flutter of relief.
Hood hugged her but did not close his eyes as he wanted to, and he kept his ears tuned to the sounds of the night around him.
"It's okay, Charlie. He's gone."
33
Ozburn woke up in a motel room with disjointed memories of how he got there. He remembered Hood's house. Wind and a pretty woman. Flying Betty through the cool, clear night. A young Mexican man who would watch over Betty for a modest price. A beaten, once-silver Mercury courtesy of Father Joe. Meeting Paco in a bar and collecting the remaining eighty-seven thousand, five hundred dollars for final payment on the Love 32s and later giving him the first ten guns right here in this motel room. No wonder I'm exhausted, he thought. He propped himself up against the headboard and took stock.
Daisy was curled up at the foot of his bed, eyes on him, tail thumping against the spread. His duffel was on the floor, brimming with money, right where he had put it. His vision was clear and not colored with green. He showered and put on clean clothes and left a disappointed Daisy to guard the fort.
He stepped out of the lobby and into the tourist zone of Nogales, Mexico. He recognized it immediately. Just across the border from Arizona, the narrow streets jammed with cars and pedestrians, bars and restaurants, curio vendors presiding over acres of wood carvings and colorful pottery and leather purses and boots and belts and blankets hanging brightly in the sunlight.
He took some video on his Flip, then had the proprietor shoot him as he picked out a dozen wooden flutes painted in scintillant pinks and yellows and purples, twelve leather purses, twelve pairs of huaraches with soles made of old car tires, like numbers of assorted earrings and necklaces possibly containing turquoise, and a dozen tooled leather wallets. He examined the many small wooden crucifixes arranged neatly in a display case, remembering the surge of strength he used to feel at such a sight and comparing it with the blankness he now felt. But he bought twelve anyway, each with its leather necklace. He overpaid the woman and thanked her effusively for taking the video.
He bought breakfast burritos and sopadillas from a street cart and ate them standing up outside an art gallery, looking through the window at the paintings inside-Madonnas and calla lilies and peasants done in the style of Rivera. His feet began to tingle then lose feeling so he ate faster. When he was done he hoisted up his plastic bags and walked back across to the cart and got Daisy carnitas wrapped to go in tinfoil.
An hour later they set off in the old Mercury heading south on Highway 15. Near Cibuta he pulled off the road where a group of schoolchildren waited for their bus. He covered the machine guns on his front seat with the bags of curios, then got out and gave the children the flutes. They accepted the gifts happily and Ozburn tried to say a prayer for them but he couldn't think of anything to say and they seemed puzzled by his words. When he pulled away he heard musical notes and laughter rising up behind the car in spirited chaos and he believed he had touched the children in some good way.
He drove through the rough country, his mind fixed on Seliah, trying to find her in the depths of her unconsciousness. Was she thinking? Did she feel? He imagined her in the hospital bed, nurses and doctors hovering above her, her pale beauty arrested in sleep, Seliah an object to them, a hope, a possibility given certain odds. What could he do?