craters in the dust. I asked, 'When was the last time you ate?'
'Yesterday,' he said, his mouth full of bread and meatballs. 'Lunch.'
I put my beer can on the floor, went to the table, took the carton of Salems from the bag. I shook out a pack, found a book of matches in the bottom of the bag. I lit a Salem as I sat down again.
Jimmy watched me. 'You hate those,' he said.
'Damn right,' I answered.
I smoked and Jimmy ate. I asked, 'Where were you yesterday?'
'Here,' he said, wiped his mouth on a wadded-up paper napkin. 'Been here for a few days.'
'How many?'
He looked uncomfortable. 'About a week,' he answered. 'Since Allie threw me out.'
Over by the wall, Alice dropped her arms, turned around to stare out the window at the impenetrable darkness.
'Allie—' Jimmy said.
She shook her head, didn't turn around.
Jimmy looked at me, helplessly. 'I come up here sometimes. To think. You know. Nobody comes here, except in summer. When Allie . ..' His eyes shifted to her; she didn't move. 'Where was I gonna go? I didn't want to crash with nobody. No way I was going back to Tony's. So I came here. I mean, just for a while. Just, you know, to get it together.'
I said nothing, tasted the cool taste of menthol, wished for a Kent. Jimmy went on, 'I was on my way to work yesterday, in the van. Had the police scanner on just to listen to the cop talk. Heard about Wally. Heard Brinkman was looking for me. Well, no shit, Sherlock!' He grinned, but the grin seemed strained.
'What did you do?'
'Turned the hell around and came back here. What'd you think?'
'Did you talk to anybody?'
'What do you mean, talk?'
'You have a CB in the van, don't you?'
'Oh, yeah, and I said, 'Breaker, breaker, this is Jimmy Antonelli, tell Brinkman I'm up at the quarry.' What're you, fucking nuts?'
'How did Alice know you were here?'
'He called me,' Alice said, without turning around. Her voice was strong, but waiting to crack, like spring ice. 'In the middle of the night, from someplace closed. He asked me to come after dark, and bring him some things.'
I looked around the shack, at the leaning walls, at the cardboard jammed over the missing windowpane, at the sleeping bag spread on the floor, at the dirt and the darkness in the corners.
'How long you figure to be here?' I asked. 'A couple of months? A few years, maybe, until everyone forgets?'
'Years? What the hell are you talking about?' Above the grin Jimmy's eyes were confused. 'A few days, that's all. Just till the heat lets up a little.'
'Then what?'
'Then I'll take off. Time I left this dead-end place anyhow.' He crumpled his empty beer can one-handed, flipped it into the Stewart's bag, popped the top on another.
'And go where?'
'What's the difference?' He slurped beer off the top of the can. 'New York, Chicago. Hell, L.A.! I hear it's nice out there. You been there?' I didn't answer. 'Anywhere. I got a million choices, man. I'm gonna disappear. Change my name. You know.' He laughed. 'I'm gonna grow a big fuckin' mustache, be a real dago wop, like my grandaddy! Hey, whadda-you a-think?' He looked from Alice's back, which didn't move, to me. His grin was desperate for company.
I dropped my cigarette butt in my empty beer can, listened to the hiss it made. 'All right,' I said, looking up at Jimmy. 'Now listen to me, and hear every goddamn
word.' The grin wavered a little. 'You don't know shit about life on the run. You'll never get out of the county. If you do you won't last six months. You'll be spotted in Asshole, Texas, by some pork-faced sheriff who sits around reading wanted posters because he's got nothing else to do. And you're a cowboy, aren't you, Jimmy? You'll pull out that Winchester when they come for you in the hole you're hiding in, which'll be just like this one except instead of cold and filthy it'll be hot and filthy and the water'll taste bad. And they'll blow your head off. And that'll be it, Jimmy. That'll be all of it.'
He stared at me for a long moment; then he pushed sharply away from the table. He turned away, ran a hand over his hair, turned back. He stood looking at me, his empty hands opening and closing.
'What the fuck you want me to do, man?' For the first time the fear stood out in his eyes. 'Brinkman's after my ass, you know he is. He's gonna hang this on me if he can. What am I supposed to do, just let him?'
Alice turned from the window then. Her lip trembled as she looked from him to me and back again.
'Did you kill Wally Gould?' I asked him.
Color drained from his face. He sank down slowly onto the chair.
'You think so, Mr. S.?' he asked quietly. 'That what you think?'
