stuffed the shirt into his pants and then took his own belt out of his jeans and put it on, cinching it up tight to keep the pants from falling down. After that he put on the clean socks that Sarah had brought and pulled his boots on. He was tired of walking around in his bare feet, and, besides, he never knew when he was going to have to kick someone and it was much more effective kicking someone with a boot on than a bare foot.
Now there was nothing he could do but wait for Sarah to come back for his breakfast dishes so that he could ask her if she could get the things he needed. The plan wasn’t fully formulated in his mind, but it looked as if he was going to have to adapt it to the situation as it came.
Chapter 7
Sarah said with a frightened look on her face, “Get you a pair of pliers? custis, I’m not even sure I know what pliers are or where to get them.”
He said, “Sarah, everybody has seen a pair of pliers. They’re something you grip with, like tongs. You might find them in the blacksmith shop or in the shed or there might be some in the kitchen. You turn a nut on a bolt with them.”
She still looked uncertain. “Well, I can try.”
“Well, if you can’t get those, get me a stronger knife. I’m trying to work the lead heads out of their brass casings. A pair of pliers would work best, but get me whatever you can.”
She had her tray loaded with his breakfast dishes. She said, looking him over, half smiling, “I never thought I would like to see those clothes again. They look so much different on you than they did on him.”
Longarm said impatiently, “Honey, we’re going to have a long time to talk about this sort of thing. Right now, we’ve got to get out of here. Now, we need a candle and I need you to bring more kerosene than is necessary for the lamp—a good deal more. And I need a whole big double handful of matches. Can you handle that?”
She looked uncertain. She said, “I think I can do it all except maybe the pliers. It’s not that I can’t get them in to you, but it’s just that I don’t know where I’ll find them.”
“Invent an excuse.”
She answered, “They’d never believe I needed a pair of pliers.”
“Well, try, honey, try. Tell them you got a bent bedspring on your bed. Tell them you need to work a nail out of the wall, tell them anything. But don’t tell Miguel or Martin or Chulo, tell one of the Mexican women. Just a small pair of pliers.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile and then raised her face for a kiss. He kissed her lightly and then she was gone out the door, shutting it behind her. He could hear the key turning behind her.
Now all he could do was wait. He walked thoughtfully over to the bedside table and picked up the empty whiskey bottle. There was a full one there that had been brought the night before, but it was the empty one, he thought, that would prove much more valuable than any full bottle of whiskey that he had ever seen, and he certainly didn’t think he’d ever be making such a remark as that.
The time passed slowly as he expected it would. He was getting restless, getting cabin fever, getting very tired of the white room with the thick walls and the two little bitty windows and the one light. The food was good, that was all he could say about the place—well, the female companionship wasn’t bad either—but he preferred to be able to take a long walk after making love to a beautiful woman, to sort of cool down like you would with a racehorse. You couldn’t exactly cool down in a room fifteen by eighteen feet.
But slowly the minutes crept by and turned into hours and the hours stacked up enough until it was one o’clock and he could hear her unlocking the door. The next thing he knew, she was through it in a rush, pushing it nearly shut behind her with her foot. She was wearing the bulky blanket robe. She whispered, “Quick! Reach under my robe. There’s a sack there tied with string. Get it out and throw it up under the bed. It’s got everything in it.”
He moved quickly, running his hand up underneath until he felt the cloth sack tied with string. He whipped out his penknife and cut it quickly and slung the bag under the bed. He stood up while she was busy setting his dishes out on the table. Just as he was able to straighten up, the door was pushed slightly open and Chulo stood there, his white teeth flashing, gleaming in his dark face.
“Ah, here is the lovebirds. No? Hey, senor, how you like this one? She look like a cow, don’t you think?”
Longarm sat down on the bed. He said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Chulo said, “Hey, we send you this woman. Maybe if You don’t like her, we don’t send her no more.”
Longarm said, “You’re not being much of a gentleman, Chulo. Why are you trying to embarrass this woman?”
“Hey, this ain’t no woman. This’s just some ol’ rag that got cast off, just a stray dog.”
Sarah had finished unloading her dishes on Longarm’s table. She turned and hurried past Chulo. As she went by, he slapped her on the rear end with the back of his hand, a slap that was harder than necessary.
Longarm felt his jaw muscles tighten. He said, “Hey, don’t be bruising the goods. Do you mind?”
Chulo laughed loudly. He said, “Ho, ho. Maybe you in love, huh, senor? You want to marry this cow? This stray dog we got here? This bitch? Maybe your dick rot off, you fuck her again.” With that, still laughing, he turned on his heels, pulled the door shut behind him, and locked it.
It had unsettled Longarm slightly that the man had come after Sarah. It had not been part of his plan. He had understood why she wanted him to move quickly. He had hoped for more time to talk to her; now he was going to have to wing it, play it by ear. It could get very dangerous with her not knowing what he was going to do. Hopefully, she would be back in a couple of hours to gather up his dishes as she normally did. The pistoleros had not been accompanying her. All he could do was hope that Chulo’s visit had been casual, not planned. Perhaps he had just wanted to look in on the star boarder and see how he was doing. It was very important that he have time to explain to her what had to happen for them to reach freedom. Hope was the one commodity that he had the most of. He had eight cartridges, an empty whiskey bottle, a candle, a bunch of matches, some kerosene, a woman who was ignorant of his plans, and overlaying all of that was a big mess of hope. He smiled to himself and shook his head. Well, it didn’t much matter. He had to proceed with his part and he had plenty to do. He ducked under the bed, got the sack up, and opened it. There was a small pair of pliers, a lot of matches with big phosphorus heads, and a candle. There was no extra kerosene and that worried him. But he had to get to work just as if he knew what he was doing. He found a newspaper, one of the two-week-old ones that they had brought him. He spread a single sheet out on the bed and then took his knife and began working on the matches. He was shaving the phosphorus
