“I gotta go now, Mary Kate. I love you sure as the sunrise. I’ll be home soon.”
“Maybe I’ll be here and maybe I won’t.”
“I’ll bring you something.”
“What?”
“Something nice. You like a necklace or choker or something? They got the Walk of Fame up in Hollywood, maybe I could find something there.”
“Get me a Spider-Man doll,” she said, looking at Hood, who of course didn’t get the reference.
“Since when do you like Spider-Man?”
“What I’d really like is for this shiner to go away and my lips to stop bleeding every time I try to smile.”
Mary Kate punched off her phone and watched Hood as he turned off the recorder. “It feels good to get a little even with that sonofabitch. Play his own kinda game right back on him.”
“You’re good.”
“I can act, alright. Since I was born, Mom said.” She saw that darkness cross Hood’s eyes again.
“A MANPADS is a Man-Portable Air-Defense System,” Hood said. “It’s a guided shoulder-fired missile. They’re not hard to use and you can take out a commercial airliner from five miles away.”
“Who’d want to do that? Oh, damn, stop-that was utterly idiotic. I’m getting hungry-dumb.”
“Transcribe the conversations with Lyle if you can. At least keep notes after you talk. Call me after every one. Don’t press him and don’t call him unless you feel him losing interest. Make him call you.”
Mary Kate studied Hood’s earnest face, his clear steady eyes, and thought she saw something of the boy he’d been and of the man he would become. She sensed secrets and resident obsessions. “Charlie, I’ve been dreaming Double-Doubles. Can we go to the In-N-Out down the street? I’ll pay.”
Hood pushed the recorder toward her. “Rain check? I’ve got paper to push.”
“That sounds exciting.”
They stood and Hood looked down at the computer screen and moved and clicked the mouse. From this angle Mary Kate could see the change in the color of the monitor light but not what was on the screen.
“What was the name of the fourth man? The one who disappeared?”
“Officer Pat Parsons.”
Hood nodded and rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “This morning the Russell County Sheriff reported his body found out by Birch Springs.”
“Miles of hollers out there.”
“Gunshot. Foul play suspected. Coroner can usually tell a suicide from a homicide.”
Mary Kate’s heart stuttered a beat and she felt darkness falling over her thoughts. “I don’t think Lyle and them are capable of that.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Just what my gut says.” She watched Hood’s calm eyes rove her face and she saw full well that he was looking at her shiner and her split lips. “Anybody that gets their heart involved can make a mistake. Whether you work for KFC or FAT.”
“That’s the truth. It’s good you’re helping, Mary Kate. You’re doing the right thing. And just so you know, it’s ATF not FAT.”
“I’m funnin’. Last call for In-N-Out.”
“Sorry.”
“See you around, secret agent man.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
She left him in the lobby standing behind Oscar’s desk, both men looking at her with such gravity that she wanted to laugh but did not.
13
After dark Hood got a large coffee and drove out to Castro Ford in El Centro. Again he parked off the street behind the parts-and-service yard. He sipped the coffee and turned the news down low and looked through his camera at the new-car prep bay, which was open and well lighted. Two men he didn’t recognize were peeling the protective film off a shiny new Taurus. Beside it was a stunning Explorer painted a metallic cobalt blue, still partially wrapped in white. Across the expanse of flat sand desert that separated Hood from the dealership he could hear the sound of the Mexican music playing from the radio while the men worked.
Half an hour later he drove around to the front and parked again in one of the guest spaces. Israel’s Flex wasn’t there. Hood wandered through the showroom, coffee in hand, admiring the new cars, then walked past the financing cubicles and past the just-closing service center. He found a restroom, then took the EMPLOYEES ONLY door that let him into a hallway that led to the parts and used-car offices and the new-car intake area.
Hood walked across the compound, toward the spray of light coming from the intake bay. He came through the rolling door and nodded at each of the men, then approached the Explorer and stopped. The older of the two men slung a shop rag over his shoulder and walked to a workbench and turned off the radio. The other, young enough to be his son, continued peeling the film off the Taurus.
“What I can help you?” asked the older man. His hair was curly and gray and his face etched by the sun.
“I’m interested in this Explorer.”
“You talk to sales. We are not sales.”
“Does it have the same gas-guzzling six cylinder as the old one?”
“No. Is V-eight. Now you go to sales. They make you a very good deal.”
Hood walked around the car, frowning, fingers to his chin. When he had completed his circumnavigation the older man was still there, his polish rag still over his shoulder. Hood nodded and turned his attention to the two Lincoln MKZs and two Ford Tauruses that he’d seen delivered here a few nights ago.
He pointed. “Better mileage if I got one of those.”
“You decide, then go to sales.” The old man shrugged, then took his shop rag in hand and turned the radio back on and returned to the Taurus. Hood listened to the banda ballad, heavy on the accordion and tuba. He sipped his coffee and strolled closer to the MKZs and Tauruses. To him they looked showroom-ready, right down to the fresh tire black and the MSRP and Monroney labels. He threw open a driver’s side door and leaned in. The smell was terrific. He pulled the trunk and hood latches and had a look at the engine first. It was amazing how densely packed the compartment was. Around back he lifted the trunk lid and thought of Clint Wampler’s finger, and noted that the spare was not in its well but rather lying out in the open. The cover was loose and out of place. He pulled it up out of curiosity and saw the empty declivity where the spare would sit and the big bolt and plastic nut to hold it fast. He saw the dusting of off-white powder in the well, and he glanced over at the hardworking men before running his finger through it, then touching it to his tongue. The dust was cool and bright and a moment later the tip of his tongue was numb. I’ll be damned, thought Hood.
He looked through the other MKZ and the two remaining Tauruses and he found another dusting of cocaine in one of the trunks, this time in a small tool compartment. He slammed the trunk lid authoritatively. He used the bathroom and strolled back through the bay. He found the delivery whiteboard propped on a long table between a water dispenser and a very stained coffeemaker. He saw that the MKZ/Taurus shipment of days past had originated at the Hermosillo Ford Plant in Mexico. He wondered if that was where they loaded in the magic powder, or if the new Hermosillo cars made another stop before Castro Ford. The next Hermosillo delivery was set eight days away at nine thirty A.M., a Saturday.
Hood returned to the Explorer, wrote down the VIN in his notebook. “I really want this car,” he told the older man.
“Then you go to sales.”
“I might need financing.”
“Go to sales and they give you it.”
“Maybe I need to think about it. The GMC Yukon gets better mileage.”
The man shook his head and turned his back to Hood and went back to his job.
• • •
Hood walked back through the dealership building to the showroom and paused again to check out the new Mustang. Over invoice but sweet. He stopped to talk to one of the salesmen about the Explorer back in the intake building, explaining how Consumer Reports had said buyers could sometimes save a few dollars by buying a vehicle that hadn’t been totally prepped yet. The salesman offered to bring it around for a drive, but Hood said he was in a hurry. He drove away, then circled back a mile down and parked behind the dealership again, with a view of the new-car intake yard. The rolling doors were still open, and when he rolled down his window, he could hear the radio sounds lilting across the desert toward him.