The Hammer of Eden

under critical pressure.”

Priest’s mind was racing now. When you were in real trouble, sometimes the way out was to do something so weird, so totally unexpected, that your enemy was paralyzed by surprise. He said to Melanie: “How would you cause a vibration in the earth’s crust?”

“That would be the hard part,” she said.

Ride, ride, ride …

I’m gonna ride that no-good train…

* * *

Walking back to the town of Shiloh, Priest found himself thinking obsessively about the killing: the way the wrench had sunk into Mario’s soft brains, the look on the man’s face, the blood dripping into the footwell.

This was no good. He had to stay calm and alert. He still did not have the seismic vibrator that was going to save the commune. Killing Mario had been the easy part, he told himself. Next he had to pull the wool over Lenny’s eyes. But how?

He was jerked back to the immediate present by the sound of a car.

It was coming from behind him, heading into town.

In these parts, no one walked. Most people would assume his car had broken down. Some would stop and offer him a ride.

Priest tried to think of a reason why he would be walking into town at six-thirty on Saturday morning.

Nothing came.

He tried to call on whatever god had inspired him with the idea of murdering Mario, but the gods were silent.

There was nowhere he could be coming from within fifty miles — except for the one place he could not speak of, the dump where Mario’s ashes lay on the seat of his burned-out pickup.

The car slowed as it came nearer.

Priest resisted the temptation to pull his hat down over his eyes.

What have I been doing?

— I went out into the desert to observe nature.

Yeah, sagebrush and rattlesnakes.

— My car broke down.

Where? I didn’t see it.

— I went to take a leak.

This far?

Although the morning air was cool, he began to perspire.

The car passed him slowly. It was a late-model Dodge Neon with a metallic green paint job and Texas plates. There was one person inside, a man. He could see the driver examining him in the mirror, checking him out. Could be an off-duty cop—

Panic filled him, and he had to fight the impulse to turn and run.

The car stopped and reversed. The driver lowered the nearside window. He was a young Asian man in a business suit. He said: “Hey, buddy, want a ride?”

What am I going to say? “No, thanks, I just love to walk.”

“I’m a little dusty,” Priest said, looking down at his jeans. I fell on my ass trying to kill a man.

“Who isn’t, in these parts?”

Priest got in the car. His hands were shaking. He fastened his seat belt, just to have something to do to disguise his anxiety.

As the car pulled away, the driver said: “What the heck you doing walking out here?”

I just murdered my friend Mario with a Stillson wrench.

At the last second, Priest thought of a story. “I had a fight with my wife,” he said. “I stopped the car and got out and walked away. I didn’t expect her to just drive on.” He thanked whatever gods had given him inspiration again. His hands stopped shaking.

“Would that be a good-looking dark-haired woman in a blue Honda that I passed fifteen or twenty miles back?”

Jesus Christ, who are you, the Memory Man?

The guy smiled and said: “When you’re crossing this desert, every car is interesting.”

“No, that ain’t her,” Priest said. “My wife’s driving my goddamn pickup truck.”

“I didn’t see a pickup.”

“Good. Maybe she didn’t go too far.”

“She’s probably parked down a farm track crying her eyes out, wishing she had you back.”

Priest grinned with relief. The guy had bought his story.

The car reached the edge of town. “What about you?” Priest said. “How come you’re up early on Saturday morning?”

“I didn’t fight with my wife, I’m going home to her. I live in Laredo. I travel in novelty ceramics — decorative plates, figurines, signs saying ‘Baby’s Room,’ very attractive stuff.”

“Is that a fact?” What a way to waste your life.

“We sell them in drugstores, mostly.”

“The drugstore in Shiloh won’t be open yet.”

“I’m not working today anyway. But I might stop for breakfast. Got a recommendation?”

Priest would have preferred the salesman to drive through town without stopping, so that he would have no chance to mention the bearded guy he had picked up near the dump. But he was sure to see Lazy Susan’s as he drove along Main Street, so there was no point in lying. “There’s a diner.”

“How’s the food?”

“Grits are good. It’s right after the stoplight. You can let me out there.”

A minute later the car pulled into a slantwise slot outside Susan’s. Priest thanked the novelty salesman and got out. “Enjoy your breakfast,” he called as he walked away. And don’t get into conversation with anyone local, for Christ’s sake.

A block from the diner was the local office of Ritkin Seismex, the small seismic exploration firm he had been working for. The office was a large trailer in a vacant lot. Mario’s seismic vibrator was parked in the lot alongside Lenny’s cranberry red Pontiac Grand Am.

Priest stopped and stared at the truck for a moment. It was a ten-wheeler, with big off-road tires like dinosaur armor. Underneath a layer of Texas dirt it was bright blue. He itched to jump in and drive it away. He looked at the mighty machinery on the back, the powerful engine and the massive steel plate, the tanks and hoses and valves and gauges. I could have the thing started in a minute, no keys necessary. But if he stole it now, every Highway Patrolman in Texas would be looking for him within a few minutes. He had to be patient. I’m going to make the earth shake, and no one is going to stop me.

He went into the trailer.

The office was busy. Two jug team supervisors stood over a computer as a color map of the area slowly emerged from the printer. Today they would collect their equipment from the field and begin to move it to Clovis. A surveyor was arguing on the phone in Spanish, and Lenny’s secretary, Diana, was checking a list.

Priest stepped through an open door into the inner office. Lenny was drinking coffee with a phone to his ear. His eyes were bloodshot and his face blotchy after last night’s drinking. He acknowledged Priest with a barely perceptible nod.

Priest stood by the door, waiting for Lenny to finish. His heart was in his mouth. He knew roughly what he was going to say. But would Lenny take the bait? Everything depended on it.

After a minute, Lenny hung up the phone and said: “Hey, Ricky — you seen Mario this mornin’?” His tone was annoyed. “He should’ve left here a half hour ago.”

“Yeah, I seen him,” Priest said. “I hate to bring you bad news this friggin’ early, but he’s let you down.”

“What are you talking about?”

Priest told the story that had come into his mind, in a flash of inspiration, just before he picked up the wrench and went after Mario. “He was missing his wife and kids so bad, he got into his old pickup and left