“To Cuenca Seco.”
“What about the other direction?”
“It’s a dead end.”
“How far to Cuenca Seco?”
“About seven miles.”
“Can you take me there? Right now?”
“Well ...”
“I’ve got to get to a service station or a garage—some place that has a wrecker for my car.”
Jana considered it. He seemed harmless enough, an even worse tenderfoot that she was; and he hadn’t even looked at her as a woman, only as a savior, a beacon in a sea of arid heat. She couldn’t very well refuse him, not after what he had obviously been through today. He looked exhausted, and those blisters and skin cracks and sunburned patches needed medication. She was being too cautious—overreacting. This was the desert, not the streets of New York City. There was a different set of rules applicable out here.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll take you in.”
“Thanks, Miss—”
“Hennessey, Jana Hennessey.”
“Thanks, Miss Hennessey.”
“What’s your name?”
“Delaney,” he said. “Pete Delaney.”
Jana turned and began gathering up the blanket and the other things. She said, “You probably haven’t eaten all day, have you?”
“No,” he answered. “Nothing.”
“There’s some crackers and cheese in my bag. You’re welcome to what’s left.”
“Thanks,” he said again, softly, and followed her across to the waiting Triumph ...
Twelve
Di Parma didn’t like what they were doing.
He didn’t like it one single damned bit.
What was the matter with Harry, anyway? He was acting like this was a picnic or something, sitting over there grinning in that funny little way of his, his eyes all bright. Vollyer was the best in the business, everybody said that, and he was a nice guy, too, and a friend. It was a real pleasure to work with him. You learned a lot from Harry, there was no doubt about that. But what kind of thing was this?
They had been on this damned twisting dirt road all day now, driving back and forth at ten miles an hour and all they had seen was some kid in a jeep chasing jackrabbits a half-mile from the county road—and him three hours ago. This guy, this Lennox, wasn’t going to show up around here, Harry was crazy if he thought that’s what was going to happen. The son of a bitch was long gone by now, he had made it back to that oasis or to the intrastate highway to flag down a car. Oh sure, Harry sitting there telling him about percentages and how you had to put yourself in Lennox’s shoes, but it still didn’t make any sense. Di Parma couldn’t see it at all.
What they should have done, they should have cut out. They should have hit the highway and driven straight back to the state capital and caught the first plane home. That’s what they should have done. So all right, the guy saw them make the hit. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as they had first thought. Lennox didn’t know their names, maybe he hadn’t even seen their faces clear enough to make a positive identification. Maybe he wouldn’t even go to the cops at all. A drifter like that, he wouldn’t want to get involved in any killing, he’d probably move out fast if he was a runner the way Harry kept saying he was. It was crazy to hang around on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. When the cops found the target’s body, they’d be leery of any strangers who had no good reason for being in the area. Christ, they were asking for it, they were just asking for it, it was crazy.
Di Parma reached down and turned the air conditioner up a little higher. It was hot inside the Buick, the bitch heat got through the windshield and through the other windows and the sun was so bright it was like having needles poked into your eyes after a while. He had a throbbing headache.
He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to be on that plane, he wanted to be home with Jean. He wanted to be in bed with her, holding her close, telling her how much he loved her. Oh Jesus, he loved her! He was crazy for her, to touch her, to be near her. She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her hair was like silk; he ran his fingers through her hair and he thought of silk and kitten fur and everything soft that he had ever touched. And her skin like rich cream and her body so perfect, and her laugh—oh, that laugh she had! Like music playing, sweet and low and warm. She loved him too, she told him that almost as often as he told her. She wanted to give him a kid. Imagine him with a kid; he’d never liked kids much but now he wanted one, he wanted to have one with Jean. A little girl. A little girl that looked like her, sweet and soft, and they would call her Jeannie, what else?
God, he wished he was with Jean!
Di Parma turned to look at Vollyer, and Harry was sitting there with that little smile, that damned little smile, sucking on an orange and looking out at the desert. He would tell Di Parma to stop any minute now, like he’d done a dozen times before, and then he would get out with those binoculars he’d taken from the target’s cabin and he would sweep the desert with them and he wouldn’t see anything this time either. It was crazy, it was just plain crazy.
“Harry,” he said impulsively, “Harry, haven’t we been out here long enough? He’s not going to show, Harry. I tell you, he’s not going to show.”
“We’ll give him a little more time,” Vollyer said, and it was the same thing he had said five or six times already. “You can’t make it five miles across the desert in a couple of hours, Livio.”
“You don’t know that’s what he’s doing,” Di Parma said.
“That’s right, I don’t know it.”
“And what if he is? What if he does reach this road like you figure? Maybe he won’t walk right along it. Maybe he’ll hide in the rocks when he sees a car. How do you know he didn’t spot this one back at the oasis? He might recognize it, keep to ground.”
“It’s a chance we’re taking.” Vollyer said evenly. “He’s a runner, Livio.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Runners don’t think, they just react.”
“Harry—”
“Stop the car,” Vollyer said suddenly.
“What?”
“Stop the car!”
“For Christ’s sake,” Di Parma said. He touched the brakes. Vollyer had the door open before the Buick came to a complete standstill, pulling off his sunglasses and raising the binoculars to his eyes. He was looking straight ahead, down the length of the road.
“There’s a car coming,” he said. “See the dust down there?”
Di Parma stared through the windshield. “Yeah, I see it.”
“Pull off in those rocks there. Hurry it up, Livio.”
Di Parma took the Buick off the road on the left, out of sight behind a jagged formation of sandstone that arched skyward thirty feet or more. Vollyer swung out, the binoculars in one hand, the Remington scope handgun in the other. Di Parma shut off the engine and followed him.
The sandstone arch was smooth and gently sloped on its backside, and Vollyer climbed it hastily, face bright red from the exertion. When he reached the top, he stretched out prone and stared along the road at the growing dust cloud.
Di Parma dropped down beside him. “It’s just another kid in a jeep.”
“Maybe.”
“Who else would it be?”
“Does that matter? We don’t want to be seen out here.”
“Why the gun, Harry?”
“Just in case.”
