“I thought you told me you had evidence, something the cops wanted.”
Angie shrugged. “I have that, too, but I took the money because I need a way to live until I can a job. If I go to the cops and they find out about it, they’ll take the money away from me the same as Tony would.”
How much did you steal?”
“Fifty thousand, I guess.”
“And why’d you give ten of that to Andy?”
“I didn’t give any of it to your husband,” Angie insisted forcefully. “How many times do I have to tell you? I never even met the man. How could I give him money? Besides, didn’t steal it until after he was already dead”
Joanna felt as though she was spinning in dizzying circles. None of this made sense. She took a step closer to the other woman. “Your name’s not really Tammy Sue anybody, is it! Tell me your real name, lady, or I swear I’m out of here.”
“Angie,” the woman replied. “My name’s Angie Kellogg.”
“Not Cora?”
“Not Cora.”
“And where does this Angie Kellogg live?” Joanna asked sarcastically.
“Tucson,” Angie replied dully. “At least that’s where I lived until yesterday.”
“You’re lying. You live somewhere in Nevada”
“I’m not. I swear to God. What good would it do me to lie? I’ve been in Nevada only once in my whole life. Tony took me to Vegas. Walt, I’ll show you.”
Angie got up, dragged a beach bag out of the closet, and rummaged through it until she found a small, worn book, a bird book. Opening it, she took out what appeared to be a post card. It was a picture of two people standing in front of a horseshoe-shaped container, the inside back wall of which was covered with money.
“That’s us,” Angie said, “Tony and me. We had our picture taken in Vegas at the Horseshoe.”
She handed the picture over, and Joanna studied it. It was sepia rather than color or black and white, so colors were difficult to judge, but the man standing next to Angie matched Eleanor’s description-middle-aged, verging on heavy set, Hispanic features, and dark wavy hair.
“May I keep this?” Joanna asked.
Angie shrugged. “I don’t care. Anyway,” she continued, “I lived with Tony in Tucson until yesterday. And now he’s after me. He would have caught me, too, if some nice truck driver hadn’t given me a ride here.”
“And why exactly did you come here? Was it just to see me?”
Angie nodded and hung her head. “I thought we could figure out a way to catch him,” she said. “A way to put him in jail without me having to testify against him. And I have this book. Sort of a record book that Tony kept. I thought maybe somebody would want II “
“Show it to to me,” Joanna ordered.
“I can’t,” Angie replied.
“Why not?”
“I left it in the safe at the desk, just in case,” Angie answered.
“I’ll go down and pick it up,” Joanna of-
Angie shook her head. “No, I told him to only give it to me. If you didn’t tell the DEA guy about me, he won’t know who I am.” She got up and reached for the beach bag.
“Oh, no,” Joanna said. “Leave that here. It’s my only guarantee that you’ll come back.”
Tony Vargas had run into a stumbling block. Following the speeding Eagle into town, he was primarily concerned with closing the distance between the two vehicles as he came around a long, flat curve by an immense, dark hole in the ground that was actually an abandoned open-pit copper mine. Tony Vargas had no way of knowing that Bisbee locals had good reason for calling this particular stretch of Highway 80 “Citation Avenue,” but he was about to find out.
“Fuck!” Vargas exclaimed, pounding the steering wheel when the flashing red lights came on behind him. As a professional, Vargas prided himself with never returning to the scene of the crime, but Angie’s theft of his precious book had forced him to break his own cardinal rule.
Panicked, it was all he could do to keep from reaching for the gun he wore. He wanted to pull it out and blow the interfering son of a bitch of a cop off the face of the earth. In-stead, cursing his own bad luck, he forced himself to calm down.
He fumbled in the glove compartment to find the registration and extracted his driver’s license from his wallet. Tony Vargas had an unending supply of fake IDs, but he always kept one legitimate set of papers. It took effort to make sure the current set of paperwork-driver’s license, registration, and insurance forms-all checked out. Traffic cops liked it better that way.
“Evening, sir,” the young police officer said cheerfully. “Mind stepping out of the car?”
Vargas did as he was told. Concealing him inner turmoil, he did his best to remain affably contrite while the cop checked both his ID and registration. As far as the police officer was concerned, he, too, was equally agreeable.
“You were doing eight over, so I’m only issuing a warning,” the cop said, as he set about writing it up. “We like tourists around here, ml we want you to come back, but we also want our visitors to drive safely.”
“You’re absolutely right, officer,” Tony Vargas replied with real conviction. “I won’t let it happen again.”
When the cop finished, Tony thanked him politely then took his copy of the citation back to the car. Only when his hand was out of sight behind the car seat did he wad the paper up into a furious ball and drop it on the floorboard. Then, signaling carefully, and obeying every posted speed limit sign, Tony Vargas went hunting for Joanna Brady.
He drove into the mouth of Tombstone Canyon, the bottom of what’s known as Old Bisbee. He followed the winding main drag up through the commercial district until businesses gave way to a residential area with houses stacked improbably on either side of the narrow street.
She has to be here somewhere, Tony thought grimly. The town isn’t that big.
A mile or so up the narrow canyon Vargas came to a wide spot in the road where he was to make a careful U- turn around what was evidently some kind of statue. Then he retraced his route back down through the business district a second time. Most of the way the commercial area was no more than a single street wide. But this time, as he drove back down, he came to a level spot in the road where he could see another small section of business off to the left.
Expecting to have to comb the entire area, he turned left and left again. And there it was-Joanna Brady’s Eagle-parked directly in front of a place called the Copper Queen Hotel.
“Hot damn!” The Copper Queen was just the kind of place Angie would go, thinking she’d blend into the woodwork. What did that stupid bitch know about life in small towns?
Vargas had to drive on up the one-way street before he, too, was able to find a parking place. Once parked, he didn’t approach the hotel directly. Instead, using a roundabout route, he made his way down to a small city park. From there he tried to reconnoiter. The hotel seemed to be three or four stories high with the entrance and lobby situated between a dining room on one side and a bar on the other. At ten o’clock there were only one or two late diners left in the dining room, but the bar seemed to be serving a modest crowd.
The bar offered the best opportunity of getting inside the hotel without anyone noticing him, so Vargas gravitated in that direction. He had no way of knowing for sure if Joanna Brady was actually inside the hotel, and there was only a remote chance that Angie was there as well. The trick now was to find out for sure.
After years of leading a charmed existence, Tony felt his life unraveling. He had meant to use that damn book as his own ace in the hole if he and his employers ever came to an unexpected and disagreeable parting of the ways. Now though, by its very existence, the book had blown up in his face. If he didn’t get it back before it fell into the wrong hands, then Tony’s very survival would be in question. The cartel had plenty of other high-priced, hired killers, ones who were every bit as thorough as he was.
Tony sauntered easily up the steps and peered in the windows. Three or four men were stationed at the bar. Several of the candlelit tables were occupied, but he saw no one who resembled either Angie or what he had glimpsed of Joanna Brady.
Opening the door, he walked the length of the L-shaped bar and took the corner stool at the far end. To avoid
