Then Vinnie said, 'So what the hell does that mean?'
'Means we're in the middle of some kind of very big swindle,' Sapp said.
'So whose side are we on?' Chollo said.
'I'm not sure,' I said.
Hawk said, 'Preacher might know.'
'Yeah,' I said. 'He might.'
Chapter 52
HAWK AND I sat in the dark on the front porch of The Jack Rabbit Inn drinking coffee and waiting for the light. When it finally arrived it came slowly, from behind us, seeping up over the hotel until it splashed gray, barely perceptible, onto the street in front of us. Hawk poured some more coffee from the Thermos. On the street there was no movement beyond the pale creeping illumination of the morning.
'You figure The Preacher an early riser?' Hawk said.
'I wanted everything in place.'
'That's for sure.'
We sat some more, sipping the coffee, looking at the inactive town, waiting. A yellow cat eased across the street and disappeared down the alley to the left of Mary Lou's storefront. Somewhere from the rooftops we could hear the twitter of birds.
'You know this ain't the best way,' Hawk said.
I didn't say anything. The coffee smell was strong and comforting in the unsullied morning air.
'Best way,' Hawk said, just as if I'd asked him, 'be to pen them into that canyon and shoot them from up above.'
I nodded.
'You know that, well as I do,' Hawk said.
I nodded.
'But we going to do it this way.'
I nodded.
'Being your faithful Afro-American companion ain't the easiest thing I ever done.'
'But think of the positive side,' I said.
'Which is?'
'Lemme get back to you on that,' I said.
The light had spread across the street and past Mary Lou's storefront. Behind it came sunshine, still weak, but tinged with color, and carrying with it the promise of heat. I could feel the tension begin to knot. Hawk showed nothing. I'd never seen him show anything. He'd been cool for so long that if there were something to show, he probably wouldn't know it. Hawk drank more coffee, looking out over the rim of the cup along the now bright street.
'Need donuts,' Hawk said.
'Try not to think about it,' I said.
A few people began to appear. There were a couple of fortyish women, in sneakers, shorts and tank tops power-walking on the sidewalk across the street. Some of the shops began to open. Doors were unlocked. Shades went up. Mary Lou, her hair held back by a blue-and-white polka dot headband, opened up on the other side. If she saw us she chose not to acknowledge it. In the hotel kitchen they were cooking bacon. The yellow cat reappeared, looking satisfied, and pattered down the sidewalk away from us, with his tail in the air.
'Bet he had a donut,' Hawk said.
We were out of coffee. The street was bright now, and hot. Hawk seemed almost asleep in the chair beside me. His eyes were invisible behind his sunglasses, his gun concealed by a light silk warm-up jacket, the sleeves of which were tight over his upper arm.
Cars began to appear. More shops opened along the street. People spruced up for the morning walked past the hotel. Many of them trailed a hint of cologne and shampoo and shaving soap in the still air. One of Potshot's two police cruisers rolled slowly down toward the station.
Hawk watched it go by, his head turning slowly to follow it. Otherwise he was motionless.
'We follow that cruiser,' he said, 'we find donuts. Cops always know where there're donuts.'
'Ever have a Krispy Kreme donut?' I said.
'No.'
'Me either.'
The sun had gotten high enough to shine straight into the windows of the shops across the street when they came. The old Scout was first, and even from a distance, as it turned into Main Street, I could see The Preacher, a contrast in pallor and black, sitting in front in the passenger seat. There were three other men, one of whom was almost certainly Pony, looming in the back seat, the Scout canted toward his side. Behind them came a ratty looking Jeep Wrangler that might once have been blue. There were four men in it.
'Maybe we can get a donut after,' Hawk said.
