'Not bad,' I said to Tedy. 'Not many people can stay with Hawk.'
'Not good, either,' Sapp said. 'Nobody ever stayed with me before.'
Sapp made a couple of Scotch and sodas and handed one to Hawk. I went in and got a can of beer and came out and sat on the porch railing with one foot hanging free.
'Chollo and Bobby Horse went off somewhere in the car,' Bernard reported.
I looked at Chollo.
'I went up and reconnoitered the Dell,' Chollo said, 'with my faithful Indian companion.'
'How'd it look?' I said.
'Hard to get to,' Chollo said.
'I know.'
'And they got sentries out all night.'
'I assume you weren't spotted?'
'Spotted? Senor, I was with the great Kiowa scout, He-who-walks-everywhere-and-is-never-spotted.'
Bobby Horse had no reaction. It was as if he didn't hear us.
'Silly question,' I said.
'I maybe found a way to get above them and shoot down.'
'Can you find it again?' I said.
Bobby Horse drank some vodka and tonic.
'I am a Native American,' he said.
'Oh, yeah,' I said. 'I forgot. Can you show me?'
'If you can walk as softly as I can,' Bobby Horse said.
He never smiled. I never knew for sure how much of his white-man-speakum-with-forked-tongue Indian routine was schtick. I was pretty sure most of it was. I looked at his bare chest.
'Tomorrow you can take me and Hawk up there,' I said.
He nodded. His upper body was bunched with muscle. There was a white scar that ran across the coppery skin of his chest, from near the left shoulder almost to his bottom rib on the right side.
'You been out all day with no shirt?' I said.
He nodded again.
'Don't Native Americans get sunburned?' I said.
'Use 'um sunblock.'
Chapter 41
IN THE MORNING I called Fresno State University and said I was planning to hire Mary Lou Allard, and asked about her undergraduate career. The registrar spoke with enough accent for me to know that English was her second language.
'Ms. Allard graduated cum laude with a Bachelor of Science degree in Geology,' she said.
'Date?'
'June 3, 1985.'
'Is there anything else you can tell me about her?' I said.
'No sir, there is not.'
'Thanks anyway,' I said.
I then called information and asked for Walker in Santa Monica. My question was too hard for the electronic apparatus to which I had asked it, and after a few clicks and bleeps I got a live female voice.
'What listing, please?'
'Judy Walker in Santa Monica,' I said.
'What state please?'
'California.'
'Do you have a street address?'
'No.'
There was a moment of silence in which I knew I was being disapproved of.
Then she said, 'One moment, please.'
A mechanical voice came back on and gave me a telephone number. I broke the connection and dialed the number. She answered on the third ring.
