“Don’t rehearse tonight.”
“It’s an evening rehearsal and I’m going.”
“He’ll cruise downtown when you don’t go back to the Windsor. Easy to spot you. Don’t be a fool.”
“I’m nobody’s fool, Charlie Hood. Not even yours.”
She hung up on him. Hood dialed but she didn’t take the call. He drove around front and parked near Castro’s silver Flex. The salesmen eyed him with a new humorlessness and Hood figured he’d been made. He headed across the lot to where the new SUVs were waiting but no salesman bothered to follow. He walked the rows of Explorers but the one he’d seen in the prep area-much like the one described by Mary Kate Boyle-was not there. He circled back and stepped inside the showroom to find that the display cars had been changed. He paused to check out the new black F-150 outfitted for off-road, a pink Fiesta, and a burgundy-colored Flex. The pickup stirred him.
“Hey, it’s Charlie Hood, ATF’s finest.” Castro came toward him, tossing one of the promotional Castro Ford soccer balls from hand to hand. “Come back to buy that Taurus?”
“I had my eyes on a cobalt blue Explorer but now it’s gone.”
A shadow of doubt crossed Castro’s face. “That’s what happens to cars. Kind of like guns. They just vanish sometimes. I saw you for a few seconds on TV and I thought, man, I’m trying to sell that guy a Ford. Congress! You’re a mover and shaker, Charlie. You should be thinking Lincoln Town Car, not Taurus or Explorer.”
“You sold it?”
“To a very nice soccer mom.” Castro spun the soccer ball on one finger, as if this confirmed his statement.
“Can you get another one?”
“Sure. But I can sell you a black one you’d like even better. Look, you’ve got black shoes and a black belt. Black is what a secret agent should drive.” Castro shot the soccer ball into the big bin of balls over by the Fiesta. “Of course, since you’re government you’ve got that Charger for free, right? So why do you need to buy an Explorer?”
“I need a car of my own.”
Castro studied him. “No. I don’t want to sell to you. Never thought I’d hear myself say that. What I want is for you to get out of my dealership. You proved on TV that feds are idiots. I don’t sell Fords to idiots. Ford Motor Company didn’t take fed bailouts either, like Chrysler. You deserve that piece-of-junk, government-subsidized wop Charger.” Castro barged through the front door and stood with his hands on his hips, barking out at the salesmen. “Hey, men! You see this guy drive up again, call the cops, okay? Tell them Israel Castro needs their help with a trespasser!”
Hood tipped his hat to Castro and burned rubber on his way out. Down Interstate 8 he tried again and got Mary Kate to pick up. “Keep inside, Mary Kate. Please. And call nine-one-one if something happens-if you even suspect that something is happening. Tell them you’re part of a federal investigation and you’re afraid for your life. Then call me. I’m asking you to do this.”
“I didn’t think you cared.”
“Don’t go to rehearsal. Keep the deadbolt thrown and don’t leave the room.”
“I know what to-”
“Don’t leave the room.”
“Okay! Okay! Fine. I’ll sit right here at this rickety little table and wait for a handsome man with diamonds in his teeth to come rescue me.”
Hood said nothing, watched the ocotillo flashing past.
“You’d at least do that for me, Charlie. Right?”
“I would do that. Please, Mary Kate, stay low.”
“Charlie, I’m a blacksnake crawlin’ through the berry patch.”
• • •
He drove up the steep dirt road toward his home. Cresting the rise he saw his home and the familiar carport and the Fox News van and Erin standing at the open front door, talking to Theresa Brewer while Gabe Reyes yelled and waved at the video guy, who was backing up slowly but shooting. The dogs bounded around, barking. Hood gunned the Charger and skidded to a stop in the gravel. The video shooter swung away from Gabe and captured Hood’s brisk advance.
“Here’s Agent Hood just now,” said Theresa Brewer.
“No, Charlie!” called Erin. “It’s okay!”
“Be cool, Charlie!” yelled Reyes. “I got this.”
Hood was not only tall but fast and he covered the ground to the videographer before the man could get the camera down. Hood twisted it away and fumbled distractedly for the delete buttons as Daisy and Minnie herded and barked at the cameraman.
“These dogs bite?” he asked, backpedaling.
Erin waddled from the house wearing a loose muumuu, white hibiscus on a red background, both hands under her giant middle for support. “It’s okay! I asked them to leave and they were leaving, Charlie!”
“And you’re committing a crime,” Brewer told Hood. “You’re abridging the constitutional rights of a free press.”
“You’re trespassing, lady. Get out now.”
Beth spilled out of the house wrapped in a bedspread, hair wild and eyes squinting, freshly wrenched from sleep.
“Who are you?” Theresa Brewer asked.
“I’m a woman who resents being awakened by trespassers. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Charlie, can you make these people go away?”
By then the dogs had the cameraman backed against the low stone wall. Hood strode over and called them off to no avail and gave up on the delete. He two-handed the recorder into the shooter’s chest and the man managed to hang on to it and not fall backward over the rocks. Hood dragged Daisy and Minnie by their collars into the house and slammed the door on them. He could hear them barking behind the heavy wood and adobe. The video guy ran for the van and Brewer scrambled away also, reaching back with her microphone to catch the last of the chaos. Reyes was on his cell phone, and Hood figured he was calling in his old buddies on Buenavista PD. Beth clutched the bedspread at her neck with one hand and helped Erin back up the steps to the front door. The Fox News van made a dramatic gravel-spraying turn.
“Don’t miss Fox News at Eleven!” Theresa Brewer called out. “I love your music, Erin!” When Beth opened the front door, Daisy and Minnie bolted after the van in a yelping frenzy and chased it down the hill.
Hood looked for Erin’s reaction. She was steadying herself on Beth’s shoulder and looking down toward her feet. “Guys? My water just broke?”
37
Hood watched through a window as Dr. David delivered Thomas Firth Jones. Beth assisted in the birth. It took nearly two hours, but when it was over, Beth held up a robust-looking baby boy. Hood’s eyes misted over when he saw Erin’s face, dazed, exhausted but joyful. He’d never seen an expression like that on her before. Beth looked at him through the glass, hopeful and proud of her work. Hood thought he saw a glimmer of maybe us someday? in Beth’s smile and in spite of the things that seemed to be collapsing upon him, the idea pleased him and he smiled back.
Thomas Firth Jones himself was seven-plus pounds, ruddy and wrinkled and doubtful. Doubting Thomas, thought Hood. His eyes were shut tight and his fists were clenched up at his mouth and the plastic bracelet was large upon his small wrist. His hair was fine and sparse, light brown. He didn’t cry much after the shock of being born was over. He seemed to be recuperating. Hood wondered if he was even more spent than his mother. Thomas was outfitted in a white blanket and a small blue cap to fight off the chill of his brave new world, and he looked perfect in Erin’s arms.